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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 27 days ago

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New Beginnings | Yandere Animal Town

You'll want to read Only Human Series | Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

The smell of a hearty meal brings a warmth greater than the heavy comforter you're curled up in–-a ray of light from the open curtains beaming on your face. Your body started to rise before you fully registered that someone had to be the cause of such a heavenly scent and you were pretty sure you’d taken back all the keys from your former roommate. Slipping into your slippers and wrapping a robe around yourself you made your way down the creaky steps of your late grandmother's home. Running your fingers over the aged wooden walls, tracing the frames of the art and pictures that were still hung. It brought back memories of her entering your life, your original apprehension, and the slow realization that you loved her just as much as your grandfather. Smiling at the frame you had hung just before the staircase.

"Morning Poppop, Mam! I made it another year without burning the place down...please wish me well."

The words spilled out earnestly devoid of the filters preparing in your head. Seeing as you had revoked Eudora's key a week earlier after the incident with your bedroom your whole being was readying to scold whoever had found themselves in your home.

"Happy New Years, Hun! Decided to start the year with a good meal. Pull up a chair and take yer time; I will warn you though you'll be having company in a few. I tried to stop them but you know how these nosy neighbors of ours tend to be."

The motherly canine hounded on about each of their pleas; all of it all too familiar. letting her voice fade into the background you tried to remind yourself that this was reality. The space connecting the kitchen room was spotless. Wooden floors glisten and windows let in clear rays of light without a speck of dirt to darken it. Your couch known for its crotchety, dusty presence was abnormally bright for its beige color, and when you pressed a finger into the cushion it plumped up as you pulled away. As if its stuffing wasn't devoured by mites. The carpet and curtains shared the same treatment, smelling of lemon cleaning products. At the center of your transformed living room were the other two canines wagging their tails happily.

"So do you like it (Y/n)?"

The small voice of Titan woke you up. Memories of when you first met the pup all teary-eyed and worried for his mother. It was a stark reminder as to why the years to come would likely never be quiet again.

" How did you guys get in? You didn't break my other door did you?"

The child giggled before rocketing himself into your thigh. Despite this being a regular occurrence you still doubled over to nurse the bruised spot; leaving your neck perfectly exposed to tiny, grabby arms. The little hybrid hung onto you waiting for the rest of your body to accept his impromptu hug.

"Didn't have to this time with that new mini-door I finished installing for ya!"

Tank cheered from the floor behind the couch, popping up to reveal his typical attire of worn and tattered overalls hanging off his bulging pecks. Its single good strap hanging on for dear life over his tanned chest which was puffed up with pride as he watched you examine only his his and his brother's work.

" Thanks you guys...oh uh Happy New Year."

The family returned the saying before ushering you to your seat to eat. All of them seemed more than certain you wouldn't be alone much longer. With one sip of orange juice and three bites into your toast, you no longer were. Mama Tiffany had the decency not to groan exasperated at the knocking on the door. While you knew dog hybrids had more intense senses than humans and likely told them who exactly was at the door, you had the impression it didn't matter who it was. Just that they were interrupting a quiet New Year's Day with you.

"Darling I've brought the champagne. Since we missed each other New Years Eve i say we drink it now and finish the bottle before lunch!"

It was Eudora the cow-woman you helped get back on her feet (hooves?) rocking her usual cow-print designer brand jumpsuit with champagne wrapped in her hand and two caps of wine bottles sticking out of her matching bag.

"AHEM."

In an instant Tank and Tiffany were behind you. Arms crossed and sporting a sneer, one hidden well and one not, Eudora was forced to realize she wasn't your only visitor.

"Fine. I'll share but I'm not going to like it."

Tiffany hummed," Sorry dear but while a child is about we all can't be...under the influence."

Shrugging you had to agree. Titan for as independent and rambunctious of a child he was still one and it was in bad taste to be indulging with him so close by.

"Sorry, Dor maybe another time."

The cow-woman whined latching onto you to fake-cry into your chest. Being sure to nuzzle indulgently.

"Every time I come over you’re surrounded by that brat! How ever will we get to be alone?!"

Her dramatic plea made Tank roll his eyes, slipping around her to grab the neck of a wine bottle from her purse. Immediately jumping away she chased after the scampering dog hybrid as best as she could in her speckled pumps. Tank and Titan were snickering as they weaved around passing the bottle between the two as she struggled, slipping onto the newly shined wooden floor.

"Give that back you have no idea, how important that is!"

Above her head, Tank dangled the bottle mockingly as he chuckled.

"Oh, I don't?"

"Noo! You don't! A farmer dog would never understand the kind of luxuries I earned to get--"

"You mean you earned by selling this milk" Titan had mysteriously slid the bag off her arm rummaging through it to pull out a jar of milk with a label on top which he so dutifully began to read,"(Y/n)'s spe-speshul milk?"

Eudora blushed, gasping in horror abandoning the laughing Tank to snatch the jar from Titan's hand. Cradling it to her chest she glared at the dog boy hoping he'd shiver and tuck that tail of his. Alas he didn't. He was smiling devilishly at the cow-woman, who was too distracted by him to stop Mama Tiffany from snatching the jar from her manicured hands.

"Hm good readin' Titan," her boy proudly wags his tail. Eudora dives for the jar but misses on account of the mother canine easily dodging her and heading straight for the kitchen her victorious smile seen by only Eudora , "Anyway if you made this for (Y/n) I might as well use it to make some more french toast. What d'ya say Hon?"

"Wait—"

"Sounds good to me!"

"H-hold on!"

"Great I'll get started on 'em right away," she popped the lid open giving it a good sniff before recoiling something fierce. Tank shivered and fought the urge to gag as he picked up the scent. Titan retched and ran into your side doing his best to shove his wet little nose as deep as he could into your skin. Eudora was appalled watching Tiffany dump her creation down the sink, turning to her with a sorrowful hostile look she sighed.

"Ah that's too bad seems like this batch is spoilt. Betta check the rest of the batch if you plan to take that to market."

Eudora looked furious as though Tiffany had curdled it herself. On a warpath, she stomps over with her painted finger stabbing it into Tiffany’s chest. From where you were standing you couldn’t tell exactly but you were certain her face was contorted with an unbecoming snarl. On instinct Tank and Titan stood alert ears pinned back and the faint grumble of a growl in their throats.

It would be best to diffuse this. Separate them both before Tiffany lost that already twitching smile and Eudora did something with her pointed finger. Thankfully someone else has knocked on the door.

“Ack-! Tiffany could you maybe get the door for me I’m still in my PJs?”

“Sure thing, Hun be quick now.”

She shoved Eudora out the way, shouting that ‘she was comin’’ to whoever was at the door. You had your guesses but you figured whoever it was you better be properly dressed. In your absence the guests congregated with whispers spat through their teeth. Tank was the first to speak.

“You’re disgusting, cow.”

She stuck a specific finger in his direction, that had him hurriedly cover his younger brother’s eyes. Much to Titan’s unhappiness he could hear the air whipping with some other unspoken gestures of hatred. A shame he only saw the one.

Tiffany opened the door with a smile on her face, her nails barely chipping at the latest coat of paint on the door. At the very least this nuisance wasn’t as…troublesome.

“Stein. A real surprise. Didn’t know you were invited to celebrate the New Year.”

The librarian snake-hybrid shuffled his feet as his hands wobbled, making an irritating clacking of the platter he brought. Tiffany shut her eyes. Couldn’t wish to scratch his hands off if she couldn’t see him. Stein’s tail was at attention curling and twisting behind him with the nerves he was still battling. He had originally felt encouraged not only by his newly found meditation breathing but because his…group of devvotees had assured him.

“Great Stein they’ll be so happy you’re there!” They said and they promised,” Excalibur will certainly compliment you for your new scales.”

Which was what he had predicted would happen especially since he’d practiced the scenario so many times in his head. But how could this be if the one he wanted needed+ wasn’t answering the door?! Still he wasn’t too discouraged…he could tell there was someone moving upstairs; the thermal signature reminiscent of his one and only human.

“W-w-well we’d been s-speaking about plans and they said I could–”

“I’m not accusing, (Y/n)’s a real sweetheart to those decent enough.”

“I–yes they are!”

Stein happily followed Tiffany inside, unsurprised at seeing her children and the peeved cow woman. It was already confirmed by many of his devotees that they were incredibly adamant about guarding you. Of course their theories ranged from their own obsessions to their secret plots to control the world with (Y/n) as their tool. It really was absurd but Stein would never complain for he had so many slashed tires to thank them for. Those ‘little gifts’ were incredibly nice when he had extra time to speak with them.

“Hey Stein! Happy you’re here! And look at that, do you think the new shed goes nicely?”

He nodded returning the hug. The seconds spent in (Y/n)’s arms felt all so incredibly right for Stein. The small amounts of contact through clothes regrettably brought a heat he wasn’t expecting, a heat felt a sliver of when he was with them.

“Uh, are you hibernating?”

The small voice calling out to him and the silence calling for an answer. He hurriedly straightened himself out but he still couldn’t get his arms or his tail to fully un-intertwine from the human. Still he made the effort of tilting his head hovering just above his human (Y/n)’s shoulder.

“Excuse me?”

Titan sighed like children did. In the whiney strangely annoyed way they did. He’d like to have a clutch with you.

“Y’know! Are’ya fallin’ asleep on ‘em or what?”

Stein laughed joylessly. He wasn’t the best at speaking but the pinched brow of the little dog hybrid said this wasn’t an innocent question but a tempered reaction from an annoyed predator. Stein would have no way of knowing but minutes before Titan had done the best work that he could to scent his favorite human. He knew his puppy dog face and his irresistible charisma could get him so far with all these adults coming over he had to make his mark….and yet when his human returned it was gone.

“No little one I’m just–,” Stein let himself release the human only up to their hands keeping his fingers in between their own. The only reason he could get his tail to naturally release was because he wanted to see his human’s smiling face. Stein internally swooned but settled for a warm smile,” Happy to see my friend and kindred spirit.”

Your heart warmed at the thought—’ kindred spirit.’ Half a year ago it would have been bizarre to know anyone was willing to give this human in a hybrid-only town a chance. A feeling of gratitude washes over, making your cheeks warm and your heart full.

Here. These were your people, your friends, and despite their odd violent, creepy, invasive behavior they cared about you and are likely the reason you wouldn’t be alone from now on.

“Happy New Year you guys! Let’s make this one count!”

Titan howled in agreement, while Tank and Tiffany cheered! Eudora let her pout cease…for long enough to crack open the champagne. With a successful poignant pop, the wooden peg shot faster than you could catch. However, there was something fast, a black shadow that whipped across Stein’s face. But looking at the hybrid’s tail it was swaying casually below him; the only thing different was the slight curl at its end almost like it was holding something—-

“(Yyyy/nnnn)!!!! The cow is making me drink this horrible adult juice.”

“NO! I’M NOT! Tiffany come get your pup before I skewer him!”

“Ah (Y/n) I–I noticed you were looking at my t-tail and I just th-thought I’d offer if you’d like to touc–”

“Shut it, worm. (Y/n) I wanted to remind you about some of the new piping I fixed for you. Just a minor fix but I can personally show you now.”

“Oh, Hon he did such a good job~ You two should check it out! But not before you give Mama’s pies a taste!”

This Year would not be quiet, not with these guys around and with many more to come.

____________________________________________________

Sneak Peak:

Knock Knock

“More people? So soon?”

The question wasn’t for anyone in particular but you were already walking away from the squabbling hybrids at your dining table. Looking discreetly over your shoulder to see Titan successfully nip at Stein’s tail and nearly avoid its constricting, you worked hard to hold your laughter. Depending on your latest guest they might not take lightly to your troublesome attendees. Swinging the door open you realized your assessment was spot on…at least for one of your new arrivals.

“Morning (Y/n).”

“Mr. Mayor! G-glad to see you!”

You really wish you’d looked at yourself in the mirror again.

“I didn’t realize so many others were invited to this function.”

“Sorry if I was misleading, you don’t have to join if you don’t–”

“No please (Y/n). I deal with the citizens of this town every day. This will be no different.”

“Then uh welcome,” you move to the side allowing the pristine presence to grace your newly renovated living room. Watching the slight twitch of his nose you wrestled with the same feelings of anxiety when you do see it. The tell was either one of annoyance or great excitement, you could only hope it was the latter,” we were all just about to play a board game if you’d like to join.”

The mayor gave a smile over his shoulder before he claimed a seat at the table. With no time to follow up, you focused on inviting the rest of your guests.

“Look at you rolling out the red carpet for that sucker!”

“Before the both of us, the working class really is overlooked.”

You shook your head at the duo before entering the hugs their arms were already opened for. Of course, this wasn’t as simple as giving a one-armed hug to both of them at the same time. They demanded a full hug to each of them by wrenching you in their direction when you thought the hug was over. How pleasant.

“Duke, Sher welcome we haven’t started yet so we can deal you in.”

Sher smiled, his little tail likely wiggling with pride as he let himself in.

“Good you really shouldn’t have even started the New Year without me but as long as you let me win I’ll forgive you.”

You opened your mouth to correct him now, if only to avoid a tantrum later but Duke stopped you with a hand to your shoulder. With a blush he had you come closer so he could whisper–it must have something to do with eggs.

“I did bring the years first eggs with me but I didn’t want to draw attention by bringing it to the door.”

“That’s fine Duke! I’ll make an excuse so I can grab them.”

“M-maybe you should include me so that I can help it’s a lot.”

“Wow, if it’s that much you’re giving to me you must’ve had a real good New Years Party.”

Duke’s blush deepened and his dark eyes trailed away from your face; it made you wonder what exactly was so embarrassing about his ‘party’ by himself. You tried to ask only for him to shake his head again, more of his face taking on the redness originally on his cheeks. Worried he might pass out you let him stumble into your home and nervously wave at the rest of the group. With a satisfied clap of your hands and a look down the road, you were pretty sure that was it for guests willing to spend their precious New Year with the only human in town. That is until the skirting sound of rubber burning on the roads carved through the rural area with an engine obnoxiously humming the loudest it could have arrived. Unlike your friends, it had stopped on the road instead of parking on the filled driveway. Outstepped the source of too much of your grief with being harassed for simply existing—Margarine.

Stepping out of her iconic reddish-orange car was the fox hybrid responsible for your continuously outcasted status. So naturally you were far from pleased. Nonetheless, she stepped out smiling cruelly with her camera in hand.

“Don’t cry ape-breath, I’m just getting the first shot of the human for the new year. The papers are going to love this.”

You were going to retort, thinking about setting a hose on her or something, until you felt the presence of one of your guests at your back. One of your freakishly tall guests with his intimidatingly large pointed smile.

“Hi there, Margory. Do we have a problem here?”

It felt good to see her scramble, waving nervously as she returned to her car. Struggling for a little while to start it, when she finally got it she sped off. Thankfully saving her other nasty remarks for later, when your house wasn’t filled with six different people who would actively tear her in half.

“Thanks Sykes!”

“No problem, I only hope you remember this kind act of mine if I ever need some extra cards in this game of ours.”

Shaking your head you closed the door and let him pull you back to a bustling table filled with all the new friends you’d made. A group who truly didn’t mind that you were the only human.

Taglist: @midnight-nightmares@xrenka@candlesworlds-blog@00hellohello00@lem-hhn@kawaii-cakes@ceramic-raven@lilyalone@asleepysouluniverse @mel-vaz @sxftiebee @staarflowerr @horror-lover-69 @stanfordswifey @butratherbutrather @24-7aroundtheclockanxious @li-ravings @librarymouses @cooldonbutt @whoreforeverythingspice

First post of the year and it's hopefully holding everyone over for this series. Thanks everyone for the response to this one. I don't know what this year holds but I've got big ideas. Thanks to everyone here and Happy New Year! 🖤🖤🖤🖤

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eliima141 · 2 months ago

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please can you make a part 3 of dragon price, deer reader?

(Sorry for the late post, Ive been working on a personal story. I will try to make smaller posts in the future to improve my writing.)

NSFW below (minors DNI)

Dragon hybrid! John Price x Deer hybrid! hybrid reader

• After he lured you successfully into his cave he had already started digging out rooms for his future children on the other side of the den. Each room hastily made to be filled soon as possible. Installing thick wooden doors to keep them safe.

• Reader had to adjust to Prices schedule, Hibernations and heats? Don’t worry he’s got it covered. Brings in extra food right before his hibernations in winter, he has a internal water source so its not an issue. And don’t worry if Reader gets horny, he gives Reader full permission to ride his cock all they want. If Reader does end up riding his cock during Prices hibernations his dreams quickly turn dirty. He’ll let out grunts of pleasure and sometimes trap you between his giant biceps and mattress then roll his hips into Reader until they’re a soaked, sobbing mess and John wont even know cause he’s in a deep sleep, he wont know of the times he “accidentally”overstimulated Reader to the point of passing out. Little does Reader know John can feel by the weight of his balls if user had been using his cock or not. Plus near the ends of his hibernations John slightly wakes up but not fully, meaning he retains the memory if Reader used him, even if the memory’s are fuzzy

•Gosh his mating season is even worse. Spring and winter being so close. One season he’s completely knocked out and the next he’s a very hungry, horny beast. As soon as he wakes Reader better be near or he’ll fuck anything that smells the slightest of them. Reader packed their favorite plushie and it sleeps with them every night? If you’re not there he’ll fuck your plushies, pillows, panties. Anything and everything that reminds him of Reader. If your right next to him he’ll pounce, quickly removing your panties, boxers, shorts- whatever you have on- and breed you, his cock reaching all those delicious spots he couldn’t reach unconscious, making up for all the lost time together in one fuck.

•I imagine Johns cave in a more secluded area of the British mountains. Not exactly a snowy area but not exactly fully thawed. He would have a thick wooden door built for a man of his bulk. Who knows, maybe after his sweet deer moves in he’ll get some plants and a welcome mat to decorate outside.

I imagine his cave to look like this. The thick wooden door more visible as you step inside the bulky entrance too large for John himself.

•John will let Reader turn his cave into a home. All they need to do is ask for the supply and he’ll get it and make it happen. Custom cribs? He’s got it, actual lights other than shitty candles? fine, even if be doesn’t see the point of such “tacky” designs. Reader knows he’s fully down bad when they’re pregnant and she has him busting his ass building wooden archways between the sculpted hallways-another project from Reader- that makes their cave even more homey. You can already hear him groaning and getting his Material ready whenever Reader says they want windows and a balcony.

• With each dragon hybrid out there, there is toxicity. He doesn’t let Reader outside, until they have children of corse cause only then does he know Reader wont run from him. What kind of Deer hybrid would leave their young children? Even then he keeps Reader close, his dear children closer. Keeps Reader on more strict rules than their children. Only he can bathe reader-unless he’s hibernating- He expects Reader to know how to do anything, make a special meal from when he was growing up, fix a broken bed frame, ect. Luckily he’s doting on the children will only be strict towards important things. Not leaving at night, staying close in the forest, treating their mother respectfully. Over all John is a good man, amazing father, and an even greater partner. Other than his few issues!

Thank you guys for reading! Ill take recs on more hybrid stuff, I don’t mind dabbling in Alpha omega beta dynamics. Just request and I’ll see if Im comfortable writing the content.

#john price smut #call of duty #deer hybrid #captain john price #dragon hybrid #john price x reader #john price #deer!reader

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theteasetwrites · 8 months ago

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Begin Again

Chapter 3: Éveil

❧ Media: The Walking Dead: Daryl Dixon ❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 1 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: none ❧ Word Count: 5.5k

❧ In This Chapter: You awaken in what seems to be a convent, crawling with nuns. When you find Daryl, you must come up with the next move in order to get home, but your current circumstances complicated things as your trust in the strange nuns proves thin.

❧ A/N: Hey there! Long time no see. So um I'm still doing this writing thing, believe it or not. And I'm working on this series slowly but surely. The second season of DD is supposedly coming out in September, so I have some more time to finish up season 1! Well, as much of it as I can. Anyway, enjoy this long-awaited third installment. Reader meets Isabelle... there's some tension there for sure. But who knows? Maybe they'll become friends <3

You woke with a start, your heart racing as soon as your eyes shot open. Above you, there was a thin drape of natural linen—a canopy. Underneath you, a rather firm bed.

Looking around, you tried to make sense of your surroundings, to assess your safety. No walkers, but the place was so different from the last you remembered. What stood out to you most was the crucifix, directly across the room and mounted high upon the wall. A less than welcoming motif.

At your right, a small wooden table, upon which sat a burning candle with wax beginning to drip down the iron holder. A glass of water was beckoning to you, so you sat up quickly, tearing the neatly tucked blankets off your body and reaching over to take it in your hands. The liquid soothed your sore, dry throat as you drank it greedily, letting it dribble down your chin and onto some fabric that adorned your body. You looked down—you weren’t in your own clothes, but a white woolen frock that reached your calves. You’d had an extensive collection of nighties and lingerie back at home, but this was much more… modest for your taste, with wool sleeves and a high neckline that threatened to cut off your breathing.

Without another moment’s hesitation, you raised yourself to your feet, bundled up in thick hand-knitted socks that protected them from the chill of the old wooden floor beneath you. You moved slowly, steadily, until your dizziness took over, causing you to grasp at the bedside table and shake the wobbly little structure until the glass fell to the floor, breaking into a hundred tiny shards.

But that was hardly noticeable to you as you came to, remembering everything you could before you had blacked out: the young French woman and her grandfather, the two paramilitary men, the mysterious blurred figure approaching as your eyesight faded to black… Your memory faded in and out after that, with only snippets of what must’ve happened since you passed out. You recalled what seemed to be… nuns. They were women dressed in long white gowns, their heads shrouded in hoods that framed their faces.

That wasn’t all you remembered, though. There was a faint memory of a scream echoing through your mind, a scream that you’d only heard a few times in your life, but you knew it. It was a scream of agony, which had riled you up in your stupor as the nuns had tried to restrain you last night. You recalled the panic, the fear as you heard him cry out in abject pain, the screams echoing through the walls from somewhere else, somewhere not too far away.

The memory made you move, your shaky but determined steps taking you towards the door of the room you’d been seemingly confined to, with several other unoccupied beds lining the walls. But your head was dizzied from the sudden movement as equilibrium took its time to set in. Your body careening swiftly towards the wall, you clung to the dark fabric of a curtain. The light of the window it draped over was enough to shock you into coherence, or at least some semblance of it. Pushing back the fabric, your eyes adjusted to the bright, cool light of the morning.

The window gave way to a new scene playing outside, in a courtyard. You made out old, pale bricks forming elaborate arches encircling a slightly overgrown, yet somehow cared for, garden. Tall cypress trees that seemed particularly well maintained reached up to the open air, where voices echoed between the walls of the courtyard. Speaking in French, of course, so you couldn’t make heads or tails of it, but a child’s voice chimed above the others.

As your eyes began to collaborate with your ears, you pinpointed the child in the courtyard—a boy. Or at least, you assumed to be a boy. You couldn’t make out his face, as he was wearing a… helmet. A silver knight’s helmet that must’ve compromised his vision as he stumbled around, two rusty tin cans strapped to the bottom of his feet to make him almost taller than the nuns that playfully chased him. In his hand, a small wooden sword.

Chickens scurried around as the boy wobbled on his tin cans, brandishing the sword at the veiled women chittering around him in amusement. The boy could not keep balanced, however, making a wrong step as he lunged towards the nuns, only to stumble onto the ground. A few of the nuns quickly swarmed him, doting on the boy with pitiful “aw’s” and other expressions of overbearing, smothering concern that you as a mother were not unfamiliar with.

But this scene was just a distraction, a pointless waste of time that could’ve been spent finding your other half. Pulling yourself away from the support of the wall, you pressed on towards the door. You stumbled forward, just about to reach for the doorknob when the doors were pushed open from the other side, startling you backwards momentarily.

A young nun, one you could vaguely recognize, stood in front of you, her dark brown eyes wide and her hands outstretched as if to usher you back to bed. She couldn’t have been much older than twenty.

“Qu’est-ce que tu fais?” she exclaimed slightly, though you could not bother to even attempt to translate with what little you had picked up from your French-to-English dictionary.

The nun came forward as you tried to side-step around her, but her hands grabbed onto your shoulders, her worried face matched up with yours. This time, she spoke in English, “You must lie down. You need rest.”

Dizzied but determined, you shook your head so hard you swore you could feel your brain bouncing off the interior of your skull. “No.”

Despite a brief struggle, you pushed past her, limping slightly as you came into a narrow hallway that opened into a bright corridor of arched windows, letting in the nearly blinding sunlight that momentarily obscured your sensitive vision.

There was no time to ask questions, and no time to wonder how on Earth you ended up in a… convent. All that concerned you now was finding Daryl, whose cries of torture and pain still echoed inside your head. God only knew what they had done to him, and you didn’t trust a nun as far as you could throw one. Though you yourself hadn’t grown up Catholic, you’d had a childhood friend who did, and her horror stories of the corrupt church she grew up in were enough to keep you mostly guarded when it came to Catholicism and its most ardent practitioners.

You could feel the nun behind you, walking quickly to keep up with your pace. At one point, she grabbed your wrist, pulling you back to look at her again. You huffed in aggravation, combined with the irritability that accompanied your worry.

“You must rest,” she said, squeezing your hand gently.

But you yanked your hand away, too frustrated to even try to say anything back. You turned around again, making your way to the first door across the hall, in the hopes it would lead you to wherever Daryl might be.

The large wooden doors creaked as you pushed them open, into a room not unlike the one you’d woken up in. Much the same, actually, except for the bathtub at the far end of the room, on which your eyes set first, because Daryl’s soaking wet head turned around and looked your way, his face relaxing in relief, yet still cautious as the nun beside him looked up at you, dropping the wet rag in her hand into the water.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Your lips tightened as your back straightened to stand up a little taller, more rigidly. The wave of relief that washed over you was soon overpowered by combined confusion and embarrassment… with just maybe a tad bit of irrational resentment of the rather attractive French nun ostensibly bathing your naked and possibly disoriented husband. You supposed you had a right to be just a little skeptical.

“You’re awake,” said the nun, smiling at you in a way you could not quite find very comforting. Her intention seemed innocent, as did that of the other nun, but perhaps you just could not get past the habit, yours and hers. “I see you’ve met Sylvie.”

She nodded towards the nun behind you. You followed her gaze. The younger, shyer nun bowed her head, remaining silent before scurrying away. One less nun to deal with, you supposed.

“My name is Isabelle,” she said. Her English seemed more confident than that of Sylvie, her accent sounding almost more English than it did French. “You must be (Y/N).” Isabelle must’ve sensed your immediate discomfort at the fact that she seemed to already know your name. She perked up to say, “Daryl was quite concerned about you, asking where you were. Of course, you were asleep.”

“And now I’m awake,” you replied softly, but with a somewhat stern tone.

In your mind, you faced a very sudden dilemma, an almost amusingly irrational conflict of thoughts. What you knew in your head and your heart to be the most sensible belief was that these nuns seemed good-natured, taking in two injured strangers and providing them shelter. Perhaps they could even somehow aid in your journey home. After all, that was what you wanted: people who could help.

But there was that doubt that contradicted all your hopeful rhetoric. That possibility that these nuns could be some sort of a clandestine cabal of cannibals or a bloodthirsty band of brutes in disguise as meek servants of God. You’d seen stranger things before, heard of stranger things, too. It had to always be considered when approaching new groups, especially in a world where the likelihood of someone killing you was higher than the likelihood of them helping you with seemingly altruistic intent.

And then, of course, was the part of you that you were embarrassed to even think about. The part of you that was purely annoyed at this Isabelle for having the audacity to bathe your husband… But you had to repress that thought, because you knew it was just a very petty, irrational, ridiculously juvenile jealousy that was skewing your first impressions of this woman.

However, you figured you’d cut yourself a little slack and allow yourself the momentary annoyance, considering you’d never once in your relationship ever been jealous of another woman. You figured this one moment of weakness wouldn’t sully your track record, especially considering just how much your skull felt as though someone had reemed into it with a battering ram.

The silence did not become less awkward, of course, only more heavy, with you practically staring down this strange nun whose balance of gentleness and seriousness seemed to challenge yours, and with Daryl sitting naked in a bathtub, probably not very comfortable.

“Well,” sighed Isabelle, picking up a few towels in her arms as she walked by you, that small smile still on her face, “I’ll go fetch you some fresh clothes.”

Your eyes followed her as she shut the doors behind her. You couldn’t help but be suspicious, after all.

With a huff, you quickly moved to the large tin tub at the center of the room, where Daryl began to lift himself out, but you wordlessly stopped him, kneeling down and gently grabbing his shoulder with enough pressure to coerce him back into the soapy water.

You eyed his skin carefully, searching for any injuries you might’ve not seen, or ones that he might’ve gotten while you were asleep. The one that drew the most attention, though, was the hand-shaped burn on his left forearm, the one that worried you so much that you were sure you’d dreamt about it in your restless sleep.

It looked different now, much more healed, despite the clear indication that it had been through more trauma—more burning. In fact, you knew the look of it.

“They cauterized it,” you said to yourself, taking the cloth the nun had left floating in the cloudy lukewarm water. You rolled up your long sleeves and took his arm, carefully washing around the wound. “I heard you screaming last night. I thought they had you in some… medieval torture device.”

He watched you intently scrubbing further up his arm, your face concentrated on the task at hand, as if you were inspecting Isabelle’s ability to properly bathe him. Afterall, you were the world’s only authority on the subject.

“Was just a hot stick,” he said, the soft gravel in his voice offering immediate relief to your somewhat frazzled state. “Said it stopped it from spreading.”

The term spreading frightened you. Did that mean the burn would’ve covered his whole body? Or that the burn soon would’ve caused Daryl to turn? Everyday you learned more about a new walker variant, you missed the days when you assumed they were all the same basic dead people with a propensity for biting things.

“Well,” you said, “I’m glad they did it.” That was about the only courtesy you would offer those nuns.

Now dabbing the cloth along his collar bone, you began to reach his neck and face, where wet strands of his long dark hair clung like sinuous clumps of tangled seaweed. Your other hand carefully pulled back each piece of hair until you could properly see his face—the scar that ran over and under his left eye, and the new cut on his forehead that still worried you.

“I wonder if they have something to put on that.”

“She did,” he said, and for a moment, you had no idea who he meant. “The, uh, nun.”

Oh, her.

“Isabelle?”

Chewing his lower lip, in the way he often did, he grumbled a low, “Mhm.”

“She… put it on?”

“Yeah. Honey garlic, or somethin’.”

Honey garlic? What a bitch.

“That was nice of her.” You swallowed hard, annoyed by how annoyed you were. She did something nice, she helped your husband. Your sudden jealousy almost terrified even you.

Of course, Daryl could sense it, that odd feeling of distaste you had for her actions. He knew you well enough to know that, when it came to taking care of him, you were the only one qualified to do so. Anyone else stepping on your toes, albeit well-intentioned, was going to get you a little bit out-of-step.

It was almost amusing, though, he had to admit. Afterall, he’d never seen you like this. It was subtle, but he noticed it, and it was clear that you were, despite all your composure, a bit jealous.

Daryl knew jealousy very well. It was a silly emotion to have in the context of your relationship, considering there was no distrust nor betrayal in any sense, but sometimes, he simply couldn’t help his attitude when a man back in Alexandria or the Commonwealth or even back at the prison got a little too comfortable around you. He’d never do anything irrational, but his thoughts would run wild, mostly born of his own insecurity.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen ya jealous before,” he said, watching you lift his arm to scrub underneath.

You almost dropped his arm as you looked at him, wide-eyed, then broke out into a small laugh, as if to hide your embarrassment. “Jealous? Jealous of what?”

He tilted his head at your act. He knew you knew exactly what he meant. “The nun givin’ me a bath.”

Somewhere between embarrassment and disbelief, you stared at him with a raised eyebrow and a twitching smile, culminating in a dismissive scoff.

“Please. I have a lot more to worry about than some… French nun. She didn’t do a very good job, anyway.”

“Yeah,” agreed Daryl, watching you scrub his chest with uninhibited enthusiasm. “She didn’t get in all the nooks and crannies like you always do.”

You scoffed. “Well, I certainly hope not.”

He huffed out a laugh under his breath, which you quickly caught.

“What?”

“You’re jealous, angel.”

Despite the blush blooming upon your cheeks, your lips straightened into a tight line. Daryl flinched slightly as you half-heartedly whipped the wet rag against his chest.

“Stop it. I’m not jealous, that’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you got nothin’ to be jealous of.”

A small smirk lifted your blushing cheeks. Only Daryl could flirt with you in a convent somewhere in France and still make you feel like a schoolgirl.

And only Daryl could flirt with such a straight face, his eyes doing most of the talking as he roamed your body, somewhere between checking you out and checking you for injuries.

But he couldn’t see much beyond the modest nightgown that covered most of your body, all the way up to your neck.

“Ain’t ever seen ya in a nightgown like that neither.”

Your eyes followed his as you looked down your chest, examining the large white cotton thing draped over your body.

“Mm, you like it?”

He straightened up in the bath, making the cloudy lukewarm water splash against the sides of the tub. Of course, he’d find you adorable even if you were dressed in a trash bag.

“Yeah. Real cute… Help me outta this thing, would ya?” He winced as he tried to lift himself out of the tub, his soaking wet arms straining hard. If you were at home, you might’ve taken the opportunity to admire his well-developed muscles, but the situation was much too unfamiliar for such a thing.

So you stood up, grabbing his forearms as he winced in pained soreness. His weight made you strain hard to help him, but soon he gained his footing and stepped out of the tub, dripping water all over the stone tile.

In a rush, you turned to grab a fresh towel, left by Isabelle, you presumed. Despite knowing he was more than capable of drying himself, perhaps a part of you wanted to make up for the attention that the nun had given him earlier, so you wrapped the towel snug around his shoulders, your hands running up and down his arms to dry them.

The room was silent for a while as you focused intently on towel-drying him. He watched in slight fascination at your diligence, his eyes never leaving your concentrated face despite your eyes never meeting his.

Cute, was indeed the word that came to his mind during this moment, a little pocket of intimacy and affection within the confusion and peril of the unfamiliar world in which you found yourselves now.

At least, he thought, you were with him, because he wasn’t quite sure he could get very far without you.

“We’re getting out of here, right?” you asked, reaching up to wrap the towel around his head and knead his hair dry as he scrunched up his face.

“Yeah,” he said. “Soon as I get some clothes on.”

Indeed, the first step to getting out of here was getting Daryl dressed, lest he walk around naked in a French convent and scar a few nuns for life. You turned to look around you, until your eyes landed on a neatly folded stack of clothing, sitting on a wobbly wicker chair. As Daryl was left to dry himself, you lifted the first article—a sweater, made of charcoal colored wool. It looked just about Daryl’s size, and you always liked the rare occasions on which he wore the sweaters you picked out for him, so the outfit the nun had chosen for him was so far granted your stamp of fashion approval.

Next, a long pair of wool pants, black in color. The waist was quite wide, you reckoned. You were all too familiar with Daryl’s build—widest in the shoulders, slimmest at the waist. He’d lost some weight recently, too, on account of extensive traveling all over the east side of the States, and the fact that you weren’t able to make him cookies for the last several weeks. You were sure these pants would fall off him about as soon as he’d slip them on.

“These are way too big,” you sighed. “We’ll have to see if—”

But as soon as you lifted the pants, two more articles of clothing revealed themselves at the bottom of the neat little pile: a set of off-white cotton briefs, which amused you greatly, as Daryl’s usual underwear consisted of boxers, and a pair of… Suspenders?

A smile split your face as you held back a small chitter at the sight.

“Never mind,” you simply said, holding up the brown striped suspenders for him to see. “These will hold them up.”

He looked up at you as he dried his feet. His face was contorted in mild confusion, having never really paid much attention to such an old-fashioned accessory. “What the hell are those?”

“Suspenders. You know.”

“Pfft,” he scoffed, beginning to slide the briefs up his legs. “Yeah, think my grandpappy wore those. I’m not.”

“Why not?” you asked, a slightly disappointed pout to your lips. “You’d look cute.”

He tilted his head in lighthearted annoyance at the thought. “I’m not tryin’ to look cute.”

Of course, you knew that, and you knew that yours and Daryl’s mission was one of utmost seriousness. You couldn’t be distracted by moments of humor or amusement. However, you also knew that Daryl’s practical, survivalist nature would be more responsive to your persuasion if you took a new angle in this approach.

“Daryl,” you said, watching him pull up the pants that were, as you predicted, much too wide for his waist, even when he’d finished buttoning them. “Those pants are going to fall down. You don’t want to be constantly pulling up your pants while we’re trying to get home, do you? It would slow you down.”

As much as you found the image rather amusing, you didn’t want that either.

Without another sound, besides an aggravated huff that you knew to be his reluctant admit of defeat, he pulled on the sweater, then took the suspenders from your hands and started his attempt at putting them on himself.

He did not succeed.

“Here,” you laughed. “Let me.”

It took you a second to figure out the mechanics of the things, but within moments, you were securing the button fasteners to the corresponding holes on the inside of the waistline on his trousers. With a steady hand, your eyebrows knit together and your tongue slightly poking out between your lips in concentration, you adjusted the suspenders until they seemed to fit snug against his chest, but not too tight to cause discomfort. You flattened out any twists or kinks, then patted his shoulders in satisfaction at your tailoring.

“There.” Stepping back, you couldn’t hold back your smile. Your eyes roamed all over him, taking in his new look, courtesy of the nuns. Despite the lack of trust in them, you had to admit, they had provided you with a great source of amusement.

“Oh, cutie pie,” you teased with that old pet name you’d drunkenly bestowed upon him about ten years ago now, in a place far away from here. “You look positively adorable.”

Daryl huffed, but you saw a faint blush grace his cheeks. He could pretend all he wanted that he hated being called “adorable” or “cute” by you, but both of you knew the unspoken truth.

His eyes lingered on you for a while, and as usual, you couldn’t quite tear yourself away from them—those swirls of rain clouds tinting an otherwise blue sky, with the slight reflection of green that could be caught only at certain angles. At this point in your life, you’d recognized every minute shift in hue, and each one was like another reason to let yourself get too preoccupied with his eyes.

For his part, a bittersweet mood befell him. At once you were here with him, all he could ask for, and you were here because of him. Everything was because of him. He thought back to it now, how the choices he made this far somehow landed you oceans apart from your family. It killed him inside.

But you did not let him dwell in that state for long. You pressed your lips to his in a firm kiss, as if to forcibly derail his train of thought which you knew was entering the territory of a typical Daryl pity party.

Only a moment passed after your lips separated that the door to the washroom creaked open. It startled you back slightly, and both of you straightened with an acute alertness that came naturally after so long on the road. The nun, Isabelle, stepped towards you, with a neatly folded pile of beige-colored clothing in her arms. Upon that pile sat a pair of short lace-up boots, worn but practical.

“Here are your clothes,” she said before placing them upon a nearby chair. With each move you found yourself studying her, trying to see if there was something you could pick up on that would indicate deceit or some hidden agenda. The woman was difficult to read, however, and even Daryl couldn’t quite know what to make of her just yet.

Isabelle held a soft smile as she met your gaze for a few moments. Her eyes were clear blue and her skin was pale as a porcelain doll. Of course, being a nun, her hair was hidden, tucked neatly under the white veil atop her head. From what you knew of nuns, which wasn’t much, you understood that her veil signified her rank within the cloister. A veil of white meant the wearer was a novice, still yet to take her vows, whatever that means. Married to Christ, or something like that.

“Thank you,” you replied, your words quickly forming a new sentence: a question, of which you had many. “What happened to our clothes?” This was spoken with a tad bit of urgency, as not only had Daryl been wearing the angel-winged vest he’d prized above any other article of clothing in his possession, there was also a small assortment of polaroid photos zipped up securely in the pocket of your vest. You just hoped the nuns hadn’t disposed of your clothing, as most of it was tattered.

“All the possessions we found you with are beside the beds you awoke in,” she replied. Her voice was so… calm. Assured. Satisfied. You did not like it. Not one bit. She seemed all too pleased at your presence, as if she knew something you didn’t, but something that would ultimately benefit her. Whatever it was, you couldn’t place. “Dress yourself. I will show you both around.”

A quick exchange of looks with Daryl and the two of you were of one mind. “We’re not stayin’,” he said, much to your approval. Though you’d been eager to find people who could help you get home, you didn’t want to linger longer than needed. If you could get whatever help you needed here, you’d take it, and use it to get home. Besides, your trust was wavering. “We’re tryin’ to get back to America. Soon as possible.”

Isabelle’s face was unmoving, with that same indecipherable calmness that made you uneasy. There was more to her than she let on, and you had a feeling that Daryl could sense it, too.

“You need rest,” she said, her eyes fixated on Daryl, then moving towards you. “Both of you. A day and you’ll be back on your feet.”

Though the thought of just one more day away from home killed you a little inside, you knew she was right. You were still exhausted, and Daryl would probably want to recalibrate in terms of geography. It would be wise to take a moment to get your bearings before setting out again, but one thing was certain: you weren’t taking your eyes off the nuns.

“In the meantime,” Isabelle continued with a slight huff to her voice, “get dressed and come out when you’re ready. I’ll take you to the courtyard. You could both use a bit of fresh air.”

With a smile she exited, closing the door behind her. Still, however, you were wary. What if she was eavesdropping on the other side? You stepped closer to each other, ready to speak in whispers. Even sign language, if necessary.

“I don’t like this,” you whispered. “It doesn’t feel right.”

Daryl chewed the inside of his bottom lip in thought. Deep thought. This threw you off a bit. Shouldn’t Daryl be agreeing with you? Not that he didn’t, at least from what you could glean from his facial expressions, but there was something going on in that head of his. Some… conflict?

“Daryl?”

Another few beats of heavy silence as he rubbed his chin in thought. “Think we should try to see if they can help us.”

For a moment, you were stunned, unable to speak except for an exasperated huff. “What? Daryl, they’re nuns. Something tells me they don’t get out much.”

Another pause. “Let's just… see,” he said. “They’ve made it this long, they gotta know their way around. Hell, maybe they’ve got a radio or somethin’. There’s gotta be other communities, like back home. Maybe they know some people who can get us back. All we need’s a boat.”

It drove you nuts when he was right and you weren’t. In this case, you couldn’t even bring yourself to admit it, but you knew it. All you could do was relent, and remind him that you weren’t staying. You knew he knew that, but just to be sure.

“Tomorrow we’re out of here,” you stated plainly. “We can see if they can help us, but we’re not staying longer than that. The sooner we get back on the road, the better.”

Daryl nodded in agreement, but his eyes scanned your face curiously. Your cautiousness and reluctance to trust the nuns was stronger than his, which both surprised him and intrigued him. He was usually the one who had his defenses up. Not that he didn’t in this case, of course, but it seemed you were more so than usual.

“I don’t trust ‘em anymore than you do, but let’s be smart about this. Just ‘cause you don’t like Isabelle doesn’t—”

Surprised at his words, you scoffed. “What?”

He huffed. “You don’t like her.”

“I never said that.”

He shook his head in slight amusement.

“Daryl.” Your arms crossed in front of your chest as your lip twitched in annoyance. At the very idea of Isabelle filling your head again, or at Daryl’s assumption, you weren’t sure. “I’m not jealous. I’m a grown woman, I don’t get jealous. Maybe… she annoys me, okay?”

“Okay.” He held up his hands as if in defense. “So I’m takin’ the lead when we get out there then, right?”

As you turned to begin removing your second-hand nightgown, you let out another scoff. “Oh, really? Daryl, I’m not going to fight with her, if that’s what you’re worried about. You know, I can be unemotional if the occasion calls for it.”

Daryl knew you well enough to know that indeed, you could suspend your feelings, despite the fact that you most often wore them on your sleeve, but he also knew you were a lot like him: stubborn.

“Just trust me,” he said, his hand curling over your now bare shoulder. Its warmth was like a gentle summer breeze caressing your skin. And now you were annoyed at him for knowing how you melted under his touch. Typical. “I’m gonna get us outta here. I’m gonna get us home…”

The rest was unspoken. He could’ve said more, could’ve gone on and on about how horrible he felt, how he felt this whole thing was his responsibility because of the chain of events that had brought you here in the first place. He couldn’t bring himself to vocalize it completely, though, for fear he might break down in a moment of weakness. As much as he knew you’d never judge him for his emotions, he still felt compelled to maintain his stoicism for as long as it could hold out under the weight of frustration under the surface.

The silence between you settled in uncomfortably for a moment, until you turned to face him, your eyes glassy and your lips curled slightly on one side in a smile that seemed heavy, like it was a burden on your visage. But you tried to hold it. You tried for him.

“I know that. But you’re not alone. We’re in this together, like we always are. And if you want to take the lead for now, that’s fine with me. Just don’t expect me to keep my mouth shut.”

“Oh, I don’t,” he said, his expression softened under your gaze. “I might need ya to step in if I do somethin’ stupid.”

“Mm, well… If that nun touches you again, I might step in either way.”

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind are always appreciated!

Series Masterlist Next Chapter ➳

#begin again series #begin again #the walking dead #the walking dead: daryl dixon #daryl dixon #daryl dixon spin-off #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead: daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #norman reedus #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus fanfic #twd fanfiction #twd fanfic #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x you

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penvisions · 10 months ago

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sneakie peek {buckles and barley}

Pairing: Rancher! Jack Daniels x Ranch hand! Reader

A/N: this is a teaser for the series, i'm beginning to outline it and wanted to share a little bit with you since i'm not sure when posting will begin

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

Bright sunshine reflected off the frame around rearview mirror, making you squint your eyes to see through the amber of your sunglasses as it hit you square in the eye. The blue expanse of the sky littered with wispy clouds blurred.

The rumbling of the engine underneath the hood was a comfort that had soothed you since childhood. Such a simple thing, to be in a vehicle that was hurtled down asphalt, eating it up foot by foot, yard by yard, mile by mile. Taking you to someplace new, transporting you into a liminal space where you didn’t have to think about anything but the road stretched out in front of you.

You glance at the directions you had printed out and laid over the passenger seat, too anxious to have typed it into your phone or into the device installed on your dash. The matte screen of it was blank, the power wire bouncing with the turbulence of the moving vehicle. It looked like there was two more curves on your path to the destination and you began to turn the wheel ever so slightly to take the one coming up. The crunch of errant pebbles underneath the tires wiping the anxiety away as the hills all around you flattened out to open plains.

Lush, tall grass as far as you could see, wooden fences winding through patches of the land. Splotches of dark color corralled within the spaces. You wondered what they could be, thoughts lost until a long, high-pitched whistle broke the peace within the cab as it snuck inside your cracked windows. You turned your head along with the closest herd of animals.

You don’t know how you initially missed the shape of the tall man atop a horse as it galloped over the land. The steady beat of hooves on the ground mirroring the ones of your heart as your eyes took in the figure. From the top of his wide brimmed cowboy hat to the spurs on his boots. He was in a complete partnership with the horse he was perched on, both of them working seamlessly together to circle around a body of what you could assume was cattle as the shine of horns glinted in the sun.

A lasso whipping up into the air had you subconsciously slowing down, your right foot lifting off of the accelerator pedal. Directing the vehicle out of the middle of the road, stopping to a crawl along the right side. Distantly following the pair as they successfully landed a hold on biggest one of the herd and began to guide them away from where they had been roaming.

Stopping at the line of wooden fence that must’ve outlined a part of his property, the man dismounted and effortlessly unhinged a portion of it and swung it open. With smooth movements and controlled balance, the man was back in the saddle. Another sharp whistle had the herd of cattle moving through the open fence.

Breath catching in your throat as the man turned to face you across the plain, his left hand secure around the horse’s reigns while his right lifted up to tilt his hat in a greeting. You could see from your spot on the road, the vehicle barely moving along now that your foot was easing down on the brake, that he was grinning.

Heat flooded your cheeks as you realized not only had you been outright starting as the stranger went about his day, but that your vehicle had nearly halted as you did so. The sound of your engine still running giving you away. You raised your hand up in response, palm open and fingers trembling slightly.

With a click of his tongue to guide the horse after the herd, he turned around in the saddle, lasso circling in the air above him in a hypnotizing manner. Snapping his wrist, the rope flew out to wrap around the top of the open partition and it clanged shut with a tug. Turning back around to face forward, the horse sped off and disappeared over the other side of a rolling hill.

taglist: @morallyinept @readingiskeepingmegoing @cumberpegg @hiddenbabynyc

@persephone-girl @agiroflee98 @sawymredfox @fuckyeahdindjarin

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kirschteinoir · 7 months ago

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[2] you're here, that's the thing.

post-timeskip osamu miya x reader.

❝he brought his other hand, not yet blessed by you, to cover his eyes as he waited for his cheeks to cool and his heartbeat to become steady again.

this was going to be a long summer.❞

when life in the city becomes overwhelming, your grandmother decides to sign you up for a summer in the countryside working at onigiri miya, the best onigiri place this side of hyogo! you're not the biggest fan of the early starts and long hot days at first, but your attractive new boss may change your mind...

wc; 3.2k

[erm why timeskip osamu kinda...kinda...]

chapter masterlist.

𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙏 𝙏𝙒𝙊. 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙨 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙖𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙖𝙮.

this was ridiculous. you were ridiculous.

suddenly the new suitcase you’d bought at the department store for the express purpose of hauling your belongings to hyogo seemed distasteful and haughty as you stood on the doorstep of your grandma’s modest home-for-one. you were embarrassed by its unscathed plastic sheen when you where wheeling it along the dirt path, following the signposts to your grandma’s street (cell service was abysmal at best - good luck trying to use a digital map!) but at least the walk had given you plenty of time to lament the choice in attire that you’d packed too, realising how out-of-touch they were as you'd passed other countryfolk on the street and subconsciously checked out their attire.

in your grandma’s defence, she’d moved further inland and this new house was a luxury compared to her old place and your childhood stomping ground. the house itself was a comfortable two storeys painted in a cool, unassuming grey. the mahogany window shutters were thrown open, allowing the shy ivory gauze curtains to flutter, peeking past the window frame as you struggled with your case up the path, whispering girlishly to each other at your anticipated arrival. it was not a new build by any means but it was definitely well-looked after and proud. someone had even installed a security camera overlooking the unused driveway as well as an intercom doorbell, which chirped happily as you rang it. you could barely announce your arrival before your grandma’s voice shrills through the speaker, bringing with it a warmth only found in a kitchen blanketed by freshly-baked goods and the smell of vanilla.

“sweetheart! welcome!”

“hi grandm-”

the front door was thrown open with tremendous vigour for a woman her age and you were engulfed in a tenacious hug barely a second later. you hugged her back, not quite as hard, before she pulled away to properly examine your grown-up appearance.

“yer ma wasn’t kidding, you really have grown into yourself. look at that, ya have new piercings! and your clothes, these are very on trend, right?”

she fussed over you and you let her, obediently answering all her questions about how much you’d changed since you’d last seen her.

“make yourself at home, sweetheart. i’ve just made some tea and i had osamu bring some onigiri over to celebrate your arrival!”

as you were busying yourself with your belongings and trying to find your place in your new life for the next four months, you hadn’t registered the namedrop. it wasn’t until your grandmother reappeared with a few onigiris on a wooden tray that you realised she’d said anything at all.

“try one, try one!”

she wasted no time in pushing one of the rice balls into your hands. the weight of it filled your heart, as if you knew that it would be a fulfilling meal even before your first bite. your grandma fluttered about you, going on one of her ‘old lady rambles’ as you so affectionately called them. you heard only fragments of the whole story, words like ‘onigiri’ and ‘osamu’ and ‘shop’, as your attention was largely on the savoury treat offered before you. the room fell silent, heavy with expectation as you took your first bite.

it was a starchy slice of heaven in your mouth. the rice was perfectly fluffy, literally cloud nine, and you eagerly dove in for a second. the slightly salty softness of the rice then burst open to allow the creamy tuna mayo to envelope your tastebuds, seasoned to a divine perfection. this easily topped every onigiri, both expensive and not, you’d ever eaten from the city and your fingertips were licked clean before you could even realise the childish mess you had created by stuffing almost the whole thing into your mouth.

“honestly! yer just as messy as i remember!” your grandma chided, handing you her handkerchief and insisting you keep it with a grimace after you’d cleaned your mouth with it.

“that was the best thing i’ve ever eaten! who made that again?”

“i already told ya: onigiri miya, which happens to be where yer starting ya new job! first shift is tomorrow, bright and early!”

…what?

slight disapproval flits over your grandmother's features at your immediate reaction; she could tell you were already brainstorming ways to get out of it.

“don’t think you were just going to laze around all summer! osamu does so much for me, like installing that new doorbell when i stopped hearing the old one! he takes care of me when my own daughter and granddaughter are too busy in the city to come and help.”

her pointed look was enough to bring another wave of shame over you, on behalf of your mother too.

“he mentioned looking for a part-timer and i said: i’ll do ya one better, i just got a call asking if my granddaughter can come and stay with me and i thought ‘hah! not for free’ so i told him you would go over n' work for him for a little while!” she was so pleased with herself whilst you were already shrivelling into a husk of your former self. unlike your mother, your grandma was not open for negotiation so you just nod solemnly as your grandmother sighs at you, a hint of mirth and cunning in her wise old eyes.

the next morning you were awoken far too early for what was your idea of a summer vacation, and very abruptly too. as you got ready for your day, making sure to choose a sensible outfit fit for your grandma’s approval, you wondered why the shop name felt so familiar to you. it left you with a sense of calm, occasionally disturbed by a fluttery feeling in your stomach and a warmth in your cheeks. you were reminded of the petal that had flitted softly through your grasp that one april afternoon. weird.

with nothing but a hodge-podge excuse of a map scrawled onto the page of an old telephone book and the clothes on your back, you were sent on your way. when you had wondered aloud about what you were supposed to eat for lunch, she’d given you a firm look before pushing you off her porch and slamming the door in your face.

luckily you found your way without getting too lost by diligently sticking to the streets. although skittish at first, relief washed over you they became more modern and more inhabited the further you walked. it was still mind-blowingly quiet compared to the bustle that you were used to in the city and you couldn’t believe that people actually smiled at you when you walked past them! you returned a few nervously before reaching what you hoped was ‘onigiri miya’ (if the wooden signboard spelling those words in thick black lettering was anything to go by).

at first you couldn’t see any other sign of life except for yourself - were you supposed to wait for this osamu guy? your grandma hadn’t told you anything about what he looked like except ‘you’ll know when ya see him’.

how am i supposed to know someone i’ve never met?

hovering outside the shop like a nervous robber committing their first heist, you definitely looked suspicious as you checked and double-checked the squiggles that formed your grandmother’s map. the creak of a door shook the bones out of your skin and you turned frantically in the direction of the sound, your eyebrows furrowing in panic. you were ready to start pleading for forgiveness, to take whatever the penalty for loitering was around here until you noticed a guy no older than yourself striding in your general direction.

chalking it up to how flustered you'd been by the sudden noise, you don’t miss the way your heart flutters as you observe him. for starters he was shockingly tall - easily 6 foot whatever. and by god was he built.

the sleeves of his black t-shirt had been rolled to his shoulders, teasing you with the tan expanse of his deltoids that bulged out of the black compression sleeves, which did little to hide the other muscles of his large arms. although only a small band of skin was actually showing, you were probably more flustered by it than seeing an entirely topless man. there was already a sheen of sweat gathering at this sweet overflow of flesh and you swallow thickly as your eyes finally dart towards his face.

from the angle at which you were standing, the black cap on his head obscured most of his features. you could just about make out a mouth (pressed into a firm line of determination), a nose (unfairly straight and sculpturesque) and his eyes shrouded by a fringe of dark brown, almost black hair. his looks made him seem both out of place and right at home tucked away in the hyogo countryside: he looked as though he'd be more comfortable on the cover of vogue or on the side of a fancy department store but he also had a certain roughness to his edges that complimented the rustle of wind through the wheat and ripples on the surface of a pond as he snoozed along a river bank.

he cut an imposing figure as he marched towards the pile of rice bags by the entrance that you'd not noticed yet. in one smooth motion he hoisted a bag over his broad shoulders, huffing slightly with the exertion as he turned to deliver it inside the shop. only then did he see your cowering figure. with one hand on his hip and the other keeping the bag of rice steady on his shoulder, he watched you with an imperceptible smugness shielded by the brim of his baseball cap. as he stares at you, you internally scream at yourself to say something that would leave a good impression.

you stutter a few times, trying to at least get your name past your teeth, when he pushes his cap out of his eyes and steps closer to you. you have to crane your neck up to maintain eye contact. you notice that his irises are steely grey in the morning sunlight and otherwise a murky mix of green, black and brown in the shadows. they remind you of a garden pond, the murkiness concealing an entire ecosystem of his thoughts and feelings, ones you were not yet privy to see.

“you must be y/n.”

he says your name with a smooth country drawl and you feel yourself wanting to hear him say it again.

“er, yeah that’s me! is this onigiri miya? my grandma sent me here. i mean, the sign says so, so it must be. and um- are you another employee? do you know when the boss is gonna get here? i think there’s been a misunderstanding-”

you were rambling before you could stop yourself and the handsome stranger had to clear his throat softly to make you pause. your cheeks heat as you inwardly groan at your social awkwardness.

if you could meet his eyes right now, you’d have seen the amusement swirling within them.

“this is onigiri miya alright. and i’m the boss ‘round here. name’s osamu, nice to meet ya y/n.”

you tense up at the mention of your own name again, drawing you out of your thoughts. you stammered out ‘nice to meet you osamu’ in response.

“ah-! sorry, i didn’t mean to be rude! you just seem too young to have your own shop already…” you mumble, realising a little too late how that may sound to him. before you could apologise again, osamu barks a laugh.

“s’alright y/n, i get that a lot. ‘m just lucky to be doin’ what i really love. anyway, i take it yer my new apprentice?”

that damn accent again! and you just about caught the teasing tone in which he called you his apprentice. you were about to remind him that you were only going to be here for the summer but bit your tongue in fear of potentially offending him again.

“y-yeah…”

osamu senses your awkwardness and easily leads the conversation forward. adjusting his cap once more, he brushes the hair from his eyes and readjusts the rice bag still resting on his shoulder (how strong is this man?). his head jerks wordlessly towards the closed door and you scramble to hold it open for him as he trudges past the threshold, the added weight of the rice bag slowing his stride.

“it’s just gonna be me and you for a while ‘m afraid. ‘tsumu’s trainin’ in the city and my part-timer has decided to go backpacking this summer,” he says, almost spitting out the last sentence. although you were behind him, you hear the slight pout in his words and smile to yourself.

“so yeah, just us. we’re actually closed today so i’ll teach ya the ropes in the meantime. don’t worry,” he pauses to dump the rice unceremoniously with the rest of the bags in the tiny storage room. “i won’t put ya on onigiri duty straight away. that’ll be my job. just need ya to watch the counter and take stock every once in a while, y’know.”

you nodded, entranced by his matter-of-fact voice when in reality you had no prior experience with running a food shop/restaurant. in front of you, osamu stands to full height and slots his hands on his hips. you supposed he was expecting a flurry of questions from you but you just stared up at him, blinking, awaiting his next instructions. all the questions you’d had for him only a few minutes prior to your introduction had seemingly evaporated into thin air.

he couldn’t lie to himself any longer - having your adoring gaze upon him at all times really did wonders for his ego. plus, he’d seen you checking him out earlier and deliberately flexed more than usual when he’d lifted the rice onto his shoulder just to reward your worshipping eyes.

after staring at each other for a few more intense seconds, osamu remembered the shop he was supposed to be running. he clears his throat and looks behind you at the rest of the ingredients that needed bringing in.

“hey, you look pretty strong,” he lilts, clearly shaping up your puny form (compared to his, anyway). “why don’tcha bring in those boxes of nori? s’only a couple, surely you can manage.”

now that you had your first official task, you perked up and nodded eagerly.

“sure! where shall i put them?” you ask sweetly, following osamu like a puppy dog-in-training. his heart was doing somersaults in his chest as you fluttered about him, drinking in his every word like it was ambrosia. he thanked the heavens that he was wearing his cap today so that his pinkening cheeks remained obscured from your piercing eyes.

“just chuck ‘em next to the rice, we can sort it out later.”

you nod and breathe a soft ‘thank you’ as osamu holds open the door. you then prop it open with a large jar of umeboshi paste, to which osamu nods, approving your forward thinking. you feel especially proud of yourself as you help your new boss haul the rest of the supplies inside.

there was no shortage of work to do at onigiri miya, a fact you were forced to confront very quickly. you rose early and slept late for the first couple of weeks as osamu’s new second-in-command and you two would spend all week surrounded by each other. you were nifty where he was clumsy and he was robust where you were feeble: you were the perfect pair.

it was sort of scary how naturally this new routine had come to you both, the whole thing feeling violently domestic. you’d greet him nice and early, your ‘OM’ apron already tied securely around your waist like the star employee that you were. he was always stone-faced in the mornings, his eyes groggy with sleep as he tried to function as a normal human, but by your first customer he would mellow out to his usual playful self by throwing harmless jabs at you for being from the city and you at him for being a country bumpkin.

however sometimes he would say something to you, only to immediately clam up before you could retort playfully. to you they were nothing more than a few off-hand comments about how he was glad you came back, the kind of stuff that you didn’t want to take out of context. then an offbeat look would pass over his handsome features and he'd rapidly cast his eyes away after, mumbling an excuse about being needed elsewhere.

time that should have been spent sleeping was often spent mulling these words over, words that you couldn’t connect no matter how hard you tried. every time this happened you’d be left dumbfounded in the middle of whatever menial task he had set you, feeling somewhat embarrassed. had you insulted him somehow at that moment? a weight gnawed at your stomach and by the end of the day you always felt as though you’d lost years off your life just fretting about it all.

may drew to a close as you managed to, in your eyes, level up from newbie to dishwasher. you no longer had to refer to the printed list to figure out which onigiri to give a customer and your basic addition and subtraction skills had improved since being in charge of the register all week. You even thought you’d gained some muscle after all the physical labour osamu instructed you to do, but every time you brought it up to him he would bark one of the most genuine laughs you’ve ever heard from him.

meanie.

“you’ll be lifting more than me soon,” he’d quipped one day accompanied by an instinct to reach out and ruffle your hair. surprise morphed your features after he’d retracted his hand and his smile dropped after realising what he’d done. at the time, you dismissed it as a sibling instinct and an attempt at friendship, knowing he had a twin brother. nonetheless, you swore that you saw his cheeks darken before he’d yanked his cap down and practically sprinted out of the room, leaving you alone once again.

the hand that had dared to touch you was frozen by osamu's side. if he tries hard enough, he can still feel the tingling all over his palm, nerve endings electrified after touching yours. he found himself flustered - unable to think or speak clearly. and it was the middle of the day too, he had a shop to run!

he dashed past the lunchtime rush and damn near into the middle of the road before turning sharply right to cower in the shade of the alleyway beside the shop - his secret place of respite. he brought his other hand, not yet blessed by you, to cover his eyes as he waited for his cheeks to cool and his heartbeat to become steady again.

this was going to be a long summer.

about me.

ao3 link.

#haikyuu #haikyuu fic #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #hq fanfic #miya osamu #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu x you #osamu fluff #osamu x reader

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senka-mesecine · 20 days ago

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When it comes to yandere Barnes, what do you see him doing to be sweet? Like for an anniversary or maybe he just decides to be a little sappy

All For'Ye.

Robert Barnes x Reader.

---

He was born in a 60 square feet home in the mountains.

Fact is, he never minded then.

Still didn't mind, actually.

Practiced a stiff upper lip ever since he was a kid, bred and born on the notion that incessant complaining was a marker of the soft and the weak. A putrid sort of puniness. That those moping about one thing are likely to mope about everything else because it was simply an ingrained, dyed-in-the-bone habit by then, not likely to be shaken off by anything but actual hardship. Maybe why army life always came so naturally, like gloves on a hand; a small cabin in the middle of the wilderness easily translating to a base camp on the wild jungle frontier; never wanted or knew any better. The idea was there, roaring in his head like a running train as his hammer came down on the wooden pegs laid down on four colossal square corners, a hole in the ground cleared out and adjoined to the original property, the sheer size of it, even at this early stage, already vastly dwarfing the initial house, the sun blazing in a high noon; wasn't so different to R&R on Hawaii --- in fact, all of the mirroring aspects were all there and the irony of it wasn't lost on him; the sweat, the heat and the salt. Except, Barnes did want it for you; the notion of betterment. Infinitely less so for himself. In actuality; if it was up to him alone, he could've lived out in the open and not bat an eye.

But the planks of wood stack.

The bricks, the concrete mixer, the roof tiles, the cement, the shovels, the window frames, the woods and the parquet wood. He tells himself he will work every day from dawn to dusk, stopping only for a smoke break with himself in the stretching shadow of a fortress that grew ever taller and taller with each day, sitting on three stories by the time he's done. The point of him doing it on his own was deliberate; Barnes supposed he wouldn't part with a single bit of work and give it over to someone else and through it, grant them the bragging rights that they did as much as lay down the floor where you'd walk, hang up the kitchen where you'd cook or install the window to the bedroom through which you'd look out at. Glaze the paintwork of furniture you'd touch. Thresholds you'll be stepping over every day. No. He wanted it all for himself. Down right to the last nail hammered into the last wall post. Remembered dates immaculately too; was like a red letter day. The upcoming day he's first saw you and knew he wanted you. The last tile clicks into the roof prematurely, a whole week in advance of what could be called an anniversary and Barnes makes a effort to toast to that, finally sitting down in front of the finished thing, pouring himself some whisky from a tool crate, shirt long since discarded, leaving him bare and as slick as a seal, sweat pouring off of him.

When he brings you out here next, you nearly squeal with excitement.

The house of his birth attached at the hip to something big enough to house a whole division.

Something pretty enough to make you wanna stay.

-"Bobby!"-

You let go of his hand, practically running forward, into the embrace of the property's perimeters like someone who couldn't exactly believe what they were seeing in front of them, in a circle of chopped down wood clearing the surrounding forest, leaving the rest of it to embrace the place from all sides like wall, leaving you unsure if you should advance or freeze in amazement, looking back at him several times in the process, astounded and almost utterly in a haze of disbelief. So, it was good then, huh? Figured. Barnes exhales his tobacco smoke. Could've gotten you something some ordinary sack of shit would've, but he concluded he wanted something that'll stand. Remain.

-"You did this all on your own!?"-

You question, wide-eyed, all high pitched tones.

-"And you said nothing!?"-

Eyup. Was he supposed to give you an official announcement first and make in-advance promises instead of actually rolling up his sleeves and finishing this sucker up? Barnes leans on one leg as he watches you let all the facts about this sink in and sure, he did this all on his own and said nothing; he's done things on his own without saying a thing before; wouldn't be new for him. And in any case; least any man worth his salt could do is build a place to live. Hastily, you move back to him, eyes pleading, falling upon his hands, like it started to make sense to you now while they were so rugged and coarse as of late; more than usually anyway.

-"God, why!? I could've hel ---"-

You question and he cuts you off before you can even utter the word 'help'. Was he supposed to employ his own woman in the business of roofing or setting down bathroom pipes like a roughneck manual laborer or like an army cherry? Have you hauling barrels and equipment? -"I don'work an' run my mouth."- He cocks his head to one side, taking a deep drag of his cigar, watching your expression melt into something incomprehensible. Something he could almost label as empathy and admiration; something that has him immediately change the topic and point at the house lest he drowns in your gaze and it find it soft enough to dwell there.

-"Ain' gonn'go take a good look at it? It's all for'ye."-

Is all Barnes says in a puff of smoke, chuckling around his cigarette.

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kaynineacademy · 6 months ago

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one day you walked into my life and unlocked doors i didn’t want unlocked, aired out the empty house in my mind and bought furniture for yourself. suddenly there is a love seat in front of the tv, a record player on the bookshelf next to first-editions of your favorite classics (all of which i’ll say i’ve read but never have), an elegant wooden bed frame that thankfully doesn’t creak like mine does. you threw open windows, installed brand-new skylights to let the light in. sometimes i can feel you pattering around in there, making room for your figure, for the being that is you (the spare key's under the doormat, by the way, if you ever get locked out; i doubt you will. i'll always let you in).

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losfacedevil · 2 years ago

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All Summer Long // S.F.K

a/n ~ After a drabble babble off with the lovely @gretasmokerising I took one of my ideas, added a sprinkling of hers and this was born. VERY LIGHTLY EDITED. Word Count 2.2k

Neither of them were fans of what the forecast weather of the day was going to be. Your jaw had dropped when you saw the high of the day would be nearing 100 degrees well before noon time. Pulling yourself out of bed and making quick work of making sure every supplemental air conditioning window unit was turned on high - the central air in your place not the best when temps were higher than 80 degrees.

Sam sighed at the loss of contact, lazily slitting his eye open as he watched you move around and out of the bedroom. His bottom lip pushing out in a pout as he rolled over, burying his face in your pillow and inhaling a scent that was unmistakably you as he heard the shower kick on across the hall. He reveled in the rare moment of peace, the water of the running shower pelting down against the tub and you’re humming around a toothbrush while the water warmed slowly lulling him back into a sleep like state. But he quickly pulled himself into a seated position as Rosie barked from somewhere deep in the kitchen, her first request of the day to go outside. Another sigh slipped past his lips as his gaze fell on the alarm clock on your bedside table.

He shook his head slightly, a soft chuckle escaping him as he heard you begin singing, the sour notes slipping past your lips causing his nose to scrunch ever so slightly. Reaching above his head he arched his back slightly, effectively stretching out his stiff muscles as he pointed his toes pulling his calf muscles taut. A satisfying tingling sensation shooting through his body as he released the pressure he was using to stretch any knots out of his tired muscles.

The unmistakable sound of Rosie’s nails on the hardwood floor cut through the peaceful quiet of the morning. The pup nudged her nose against the slightly ajar bedroom door, pushing it fully open as she trotted over to his side of the bed. A soft sigh escaped him as he threw his legs over the side of the bed, reaching down to scratch Rosie behind her ears.

“Wanna go out?” His voice held a teasing tone, giggles escaping him as Rosie danced in front of him, barking at him as he stood. The pup bore down, eyeing Sam up as she pounced, the force of her paws colliding with his thighs enough to knock him back down onto the bed. A chuckle escaped him as he scratched her all over, a few licks of her tongue across his face causing giggles to bubble up his throat.

“Okay, okay, relax. C’mon.” He stood once more, padding barefoot into the hallway as Rosie zipped past him towards the back door.

A gentle rap of his knuckles against the bathroom door signaling to you the pup needed to go out as you shut off the running water and carefully stepped out of the shower. You could hear Sam playing with Rosie in the yard, the sound of the frisbee bouncing off of the new wooden pool deck that was just installed filling your ears.

“Uh oh, let’s not break anything, huh, Rose.” He cooed, tossing the frisbee in the opposite direction. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him, knew the frisbee wouldn’t do any harm but couldn’t help the feeling of endearment rising in your chest.

A decision to don your bathing suit instead of proper under garments made somewhere in the recesses of your subconscious as you got ready for the day. You plucked Sam’s swim trunks out of his drawer, turning at the waist to toss the article of clothing onto the bed as you heard the sliding glass door close.

Sam padded slowly down the hallway, the residual moisture on the bottoms of his feet causing his skin to stick slightly to the floor, the noise of it enough to raise goosebumps over your skin. But you fully enjoyed every second that Sam was unapologetically himself.

A soft smile spread across his face as he leaned against the door frame, his eyes meeting yours in the vanity mirror as you pulled a brush through your damp hair. He sauntered over to you, his hands finding your hips as he pressed a chase kiss to your cheek.

“Smell so good.” He cooed, wrapping his arms gently around your midsection. You beamed at his reflection in the mirror, gently untangling the ends of your hair.

“May I?” The soft look hiding in his eyes shifting to one of adoration as he held his hand out for the hair brush. An excited smile spreads across your lips as you placed the brush in his outstretched hand.

He had become much gentler with the brush, remembering to hold your hair at the root as to not cause too much tugging. You watched his reflection in the mirror, tongue poking out between his lips slightly as he gently pulled the brush through your now untangled locks. Shivers danced gently down your spine every time he’d swipe the brush over your scalp, the feeling of it soon replaced with that of his fingers as he set the brush down on the dresser.

“Three strands? Left over middle, right over middle?” He questioned, eyes never leaving your dampened hair as he gently carded his fingers through it, separating the locks into three equal strands. A gentle nod of your head the only confirmation he needed. You knew he had mastered a simple braid and were more than happy to sport it. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, the sheer look of concentration on his face enough to pull a real laugh from the depths of your chest.

“Elastic?” His hand was outstretched, eyes landing on the little container of clear bands. You placed your hand on your shoulder, palm side up, in a silent request for the end of you hair.

“I got it, you get changed. If we lay out by the pool now we’ll be able to actually enjoy it before the sun gets too high and the temps rise.”

Sam’s eyes met yours in the reflection once more, a soft smile playing on his lips as he reached around you and pinched your cheeks, in true grandma style fashion. You swatted at his hand, averting your attention to the container of elastics. Blowing a kiss at your reflection he turned on his heel, making quick work of stripping out of his sleep clothes and into his swim trunks before sidling back up to you.

“Can I braid your hair?” The question he always loved to hear slip past your lips. Turning his attention to you his eyes lit up like a child’s in a toy store as he nodded enthusiastically; quickly snatching the hair brush up off of the dresser he was stood in front of. You secured the end of your own braid, making sure to pull the tendrils that framed your face just so out of the woven strands.

“I’ll grab some towels and meet you outside, don’t forget the brush!” You giggled, wrapping your arm around his as you placed a quick kiss to his arm before making your way across the hall to the linen closet.

Sam walked past you, a swift tap of his hand connecting with your ass as he made his way into the kitchen, whistling into the living room for Rosie to follow.

He slipped out the sidling glass door, leaving it open just wide enough for Rosie to come and go as she pleased. He stood at the edge of the deck, eyes dancing over the clear water of the pool a smile spreading across his face. He was still in disbelief that he and his brothers were coordinated enough to build something like an above ground pool.

You made your way through the house, stopping in the kitchen for two water bottles before slipping outside. Your eyes landed on his face, heart swelling at the look of awe that swam through his gaze; knew full well he was proud of the work he and the boys did.

“Baby cakes.” Your voice was soft as to not startle him. He turned his attention to you as you tossed the towels over each chaise lounge, nodding your head in his direction as you stood behind one.

Stepping over to you he perched himself on the edge of the chaise lounge chair, quickly maneuvering so he was relaxed against it, letting his hair fall over the back of it. You began carding your fingers through it, lightly scratching as his scalp as Rosie trotted outside, laying beside his chair.

You began pulling the brush through his hair, ridding it of any tangles last nights sleep caused. A soft sigh slipped through his nose as he let his neck relax a little bit more, tipping his head backwards. Pulling your fingers through his hair once more before beginning to french braid it so it doesn’t tangle in the water.

A serene look captured his features as his eyes fluttered shut, completely lost in the feeling of your fingers in his hair and across his scalp as you made quick work of weaving the strands together. A shiver danced up his spine as your fingers swiped at his temples, gathering bits of hair to weave into the braid.

Moving your fingers quickly you finished off the braid, securing it with a small hair tie. He leaned his head back even more, just enough for you to press a kiss to his forehead before retreating to you own chair. A soft sigh slipped past your lips as you relaxed into the lounge chair, the material warm against your skin.

Sam let his body relax, his head rolling to the side as he let his arm drop, lazily scratching Rosie’s head. The pup laid out in the sun, half hidden by the shade of the chair, enjoying all the scratches he was giving her. His eyes remained shut, his breathing shallow and level as he basked in the bright morning sun.

But in true Sam fashion, he couldn’t help himself. He peeked an eye open and took in your figure before pushing himself to his feet. A mischievous grin playing across his lips as he took off at a run, catapulting himself off of the deck and pulled his knees to his chest. His body came into contact with the water, the splash it caused showering you and Rosie with ice cold water.

“Sammy!” A gasp flew past your lips as you scrambled to sit up, holding your arms to your sides as the water dripped off you. Rosie yelped, rising to her feet and retreated into the safety of the house. He popped up out of the water quickly, running his hand across his eyes to rid the water before they landed on your shocked expression. He quickly realized your once dry bathing suit had water drop marks sprinkling it, your mouth dropped open in an O shape, matching the shocked expression on your face. A chuckle slipped past his lips quickly turning into boisterous belly laughs escaping his chest as he quickly swam to the side.

“I’m sorry baby, I didn’t think I’d cause that big of a splash.” You pushed your bottom lip out in a pout, watching him lean up against the side of the pool.

“Sammy.” His name rolling off your tongue in a whine, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” A string of giggled apologies tumbling from him as he scrambled out of the pool. He made his way over to you quickly, water dripping everywhere as he kneeled next to you, pressing a sopping wet kiss to your cheek.

“It’s not funny.” You mumbled, couldn’t help the way your lips turned down into a frown. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck.

“I didn’t mean to splash you.” He mumbled, nose tracing the putter portion of your ear as water dripped onto you.

“You’re still getting me wet.” You whined, a soft giggle emanating from you as you tossed the end of his braid over his shoulder.

“Sorry babe, now you’ve gotta come with me!” He exclaimed, mischievous grin never leaving his lips. He slid his arm under your legs quickly, wrapping his other around your back as he scooped you up and rested you against his chest.

“Samuel Francis I swear.” Giggles bubbles up your throat as he stood to his full height, leaning down to rub your noses together before he took off at a jog. The jump he took into the water less aggressive as he held you close to him, air bubbles spreading around you as you blew air through your nose.

He stood quickly, shaking his head as giggles erupted from you, pressing a soft kiss to his now dripping wet cheek. His eyes met yours, adoration clear in his gaze as he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the tip of your nose.

You wiggled in his grasp, arms tightening around his neck as you tried to pull your legs free from his embrace. A sigh slipped past his lips as he let your legs go, gently falling until you wrapped them around his waist, clinging to him like a koala. His arms found their home around your midsection, reveling in the cool water against his warm skin and the weight of you wrapped around him.

#sam kiszka #sam kiszka fluff #sam kiszka fic #sam kiszka fanfic #sam kiszka fanfiction #greta van fleet

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pockymun · 1 month ago

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I made this build sometime last year. This one is very sentimental. It is a rough replica of a house that I lived in for a few years when I was young. My parents rented it from a farmer that my dad did service calls for. The house was intended to be the farmer's retirement house when he finally retired, but in the meantime, he rented it to my parents for some extra income.

This house was never marked as historical, but it had a some significance in local village history. It had once been its own farm as well. I could not build the white barn on this lot as well, and honestly I was never allowed inside the barn, so I could only guess what the interior of that was. But attached at the end of the barn was a one-story expansion where at one point, there had been a large farm stand. The family name, phone number, and two weird-colored potatoes were painted big on the side that faced the road.

I believe the original family owned this house for generations. In the neighborhood, it was known as the Old [family name] House, even though they had sold it to the aforementioned farmer, who added the land to the land he already owned (he lived just down the road). In my childhood, the family was diminished, with the few remnants living in double-wide modular homes just up the road. Last I heard, both grandparents had passed, the granddaughter was assumed in a facility due to having severe Down's Syndrome, and no one knows exactly where the grandson ended up.

Like I said before, this house had history. It was an old house, presumably from the Victorian era (although it did not look nearly as Victorian as another house 2 miles up the road with a tower). It even had the old-fashioned wooden window frames, where the panes shook in the frames when there was strong winds. In high school, I heard a local history legend that when the Civil War broke out, a woman of the family ran off, presumed a male identity, and joined the Union army. She was shot in combat and died of a nasty infection. I never looked into it, but I have to suspect that she could have lived in this house. It's the only house associated with the family that's so old.

Anyway, the left picture was the formal front of the house that faced the road. The right picture was the side of the house, and the sidewalk led to the gravel driveway. This was the entrance we always used to get in and out.

I put some stuff in for the backyard, but I didn't have enough space to show how huge it was. It sloped down on a hill, and my brother and I had lots of fun sledding down it (and crashing into our mom's little flower garden). There were two massive trees on the slope, and we would build forts in between them. In the far bottom corner, my parents planted a vegetable garden.

The white trees are supposed to be lilacs. The Sims doesn't have lilac bushes. Also there was a small tool shed in the side yard, but there was not enough room on the lot to include it.

The backside of the house was a large attached shed. That door on the end is accurate. I assume the stairs were never installed or just taken away for some reason. The shed was another place I usually wasn't allowed to go into, but one time we kept a duckling in there until she was a little bigger to go outside.

I did my best with the interior, but the Sims has specific rules around building that didn't exactly match what I remember. I cannot get round walls to work. Also, I was building this based on memories that are over 20 years old, when I was very young and my brain wasn't fully developed.

The interior of the house was huge. My parents didn't make a lot of money and they were young. They came from much smaller homes, so this was a mansion to them.

To start with, when we entered through the porch on 15, we entered a huge muckroom (noted as 1 in the picture), which was not the house proper. From there, we would enter the kitchen (2). There were actually two doors in the kitchen that went into the muckroom. From the back door, we would let our dogs out into their special yard (18). Over this yard, the clothesline hung. For some reason, the dryer hookup was in the kitchen next to the oven, and the washer was all the way out in the muckroom.

Number 3 in the picture was the formal dining room. It had a very old, hunter green damask carpet, typically found in historical houses. My parents were given a large heavy table by some of my mom's relatives who needed someone to dump it on, so naturally it ended up being the formal dining table. We only ate there when we had company over for a big dinner. We had to leave the table behind because it was too heavy and we had no place to put it.

Number 4 was the regular dining room, and also where we kept the spare freezer. There was also a small pantry closet where we kept the snacks. We did not have such a nice table and chairs that I put in there in the Sims.

Number 5 was the living room. There was shelving on the wall towards the back, and shelves and drawers made into the wall in the back that we put all our books in. In the Sims, I made it a closed closet with a bookcase.

Number 6 was the main bathroom, the one that worked properly. Both bathrooms were carpeted. It was a headache in the summer because of the humidity. The first floor bathroom had a large maple cabinet for towels and such.

Number 7 was the formal pantry, where a lot of kitchen things went. There was also a door to the basement, but I was never allowed in the basement, and the Sims gave me issues about putting stairs there when there were stairs in the next room. When we lived in this house, I was small enough to hide in the bottom shelves of the pantry.

Number 8 was my dad's computer office. He had custom built an L-shaped corner desk that took up most of the space, and also had a oak chest and a gun cabinet. It's where I first saw him playing the Sims (the first one, when it had just come out). Typically, his computer was off-limits.

Number 9 was what I refer to as the service stairs. They were steep and narrow, and went up into a back area of the house. They were hidden behind a door. My mom and my brother both had bad falls on these stairs, so my parents closed them up and we weren't allowed to use them. It was also where they hid the Christmas presents.

Number 10 was I believe at one point a parlor, then a master bedroom. It had this textured damask wallpaper that was bright pink. You'd be hard-pressed to find wallpaper like it now-a-days. I suspected it was a parlor at some point due to the large white double-doors into the room. It also had a closet off to the side with sliding doors. When my family lived in the house, it was a playroom for my brother and me, where a lot of our toys went. The room stood very tall, so at Christmas, my dad would get huge trees. My parents had to use a ladder to decorate the higher branches and put the angel on top. Those Christmases were definitely the kind of magic young kids anticipated.

Number 11 was the grand stairwell. Unfortunately, the Sims does not have round staircases like there had been in the house. In the hallway, we kept the cat box. At one point, we even had ferrets, too! The front entrance would enter through the stairwell, as shown by Number 12. Actually, I'm not sure if that door ever opened when we lived there. It might have been sealed shut.

Numbers 13 and 14 were small side porches. Neither one of them had stairs attached, so you had to climb onto them. My brother and I weren't allowed on Number 14 much because the roof was unstable. For later Christmases, we stopped getting large trees and set up modest ones in the living room, in front of the porch door.

Number 15 was the large side porch, and the one we would enter the house on. We had a couple plastic Adirondack chairs set up on the porch in front of the large kitchen window. It was also where could enter the tool shed on.

Number 16 was the back porch. We got a patio table and chairs, and my dad had the grill set up against the wall. We had a few dinners there on warm summer nights. It was surrounded by the dog yard. My brother and I would climb over the railing sometimes just to get in the dog yard, just because we could.

Number 17 was the large tool shed that I wasn't allowed into except for the duck. Number 18 was the large fenced-in dog yard. They loved it, although occasionally they did dig under the fence.

Number 19 was what we termed the front yard, also it was a side yard. In the large gray space, there were cellar doors. The Sims 4 does not have cellar doors.

Number 20 was a staircase leading into the abandoned apartment that was added onto the house, sitting above the muckroom. Back in the 1980s/90s when the original family still owned the house, the son of the family had gotten engaged. His parents build the apartment for him and his soon-to-be wife, to give them a place after the wedding. Unfortunately, the son died in a car accident. The fiancee moved on with life, and the parents closed up the apartment and let nature get to it. Not even my parents entered it much, except at one point to go through old bags of clothes dumped on them by my mother's family. There were plenty of dead rodents and birds there.

Now for the second floor! Not as many numbers, as a significant chunk was the abandoned apartment, which was not accessible on this level.

Number 21 was the large hallway from the grand stairwell. Yes, there was only one ceiling light, which made half of the hallway very dark. Coming up the stairs, on the opposite wall, there was this large oil painting of George Washington walking through a Revolutionary town, visiting a blacksmith's shop. I don't know when it exactly came to the house, but it was massive and one-of-a-kind. It was not ours, so we left it. My parents had no idea what to do with an oil painting anyway.

Further into the dark corner of the hallway was a set of stairs that led into the attic. The Sims gave me trouble about adding stairs in that spot. I didn't want to ruin the floorplan, so I omitted them. I was never allowed into the attic.

Number 22 was my dad's train room. While we lived in the house, he got into model trains and cars. He built a massive train table. We did not have such space in our current house, so all his model train stuff was shoved into the unfinished basement, where it has rotted for over 15 years. My brother and I weren't allowed in the train room without our dad. I think there was a closet in there, too. The Sims didn't have much for model trains, much less a table, so I didn't really bother furnishing this room.

Number 23 was my bedroom! That diagonal wall was actually a round wall, curving out into the hallway. I had so much Barbie stuff, and most of it was in the tiny closet. The layout changed a couple times whenever my mom thought it needed to change.

Number 24 was my brother's room. I was given the larger room for being the girl and the oldest. He complained about it a lot, but we played in his room too. He once dropped his nutcracker down the heater vent. We both had lava lamps, but I think his broke soon after he got it.

Number 25 was the upstairs bathroom. The toilet and sink worked, but not the shower. The toilet seat was sticky vinyl. We used that bathroom very sparingly.

Number 26 was my parents' bedroom. Beside my mom's side of the bed was a pile of pillows and blankets, but I just put a pet bed down for simplicity. There was a door on the other side that led into what I consider to be the servants' quarters of the house.

Number 27 was the main hallway area of the quarters. My brother and I weren't usually allowed in this area. It was where my parents stored a lot of our baby things and decorations, and the Christmas presents. Number 28 was probably a bedroom in the past, but my parents made it into storage. The same for Number 29, which was much smaller and had no window.

Number 30 was much larger, so I struggle to believe it was once a servant's bedroom. It also had a closet, and a sloped ceiling. The walls were a lavender color and the carpet was thicker. My mom made it into her sewing/craft room (notice that my dad had TWO rooms to himself in the house, and she was fortunate to get one). She didn't get into any crafts for long, so much of the room was bare.

Number 31 was the stairway leading up into the abandoned apartment. This is where the floor plan gets really dicey, because I was not allowed into the apartment except for once, and I didn't go deep into it. There's a lot of empty space between the apartment and the second floor of the house. The apartment must have also taken up that space, but I can't remember if it did. I only walked into Number 32, which had a wall partition that cut across it, for privacy.

My family only lived in the house for a few years. We loved it, but my parents wanted to own their own house, and the farmer had no intention to sell. As it was, it was impossibly expensive to keep the house warm in the winter. The servants' quarters were sealed off during the winter just to conserve heat. When we were expecting a particularly frigid winter, my parents bought a house five miles away (and immediately went bankrupt).

Unfortunately, there was miscommunication during the move. My dad never told the farmer when we were finally out of the house. The water was never shut off. Winter came, the water pipes froze, and then they burst. No one checked on the house for the longest time, long enough for the house to be flooded and mold to grow everywhere. My dad, of course, refused to admit fault for anything. It led to animosity from the farmer for years, but they eventually patched things up. Even so, the house was condemned by the health department.

Within a year after moving out, my mom had to go back into the house to get some things we left behind. She let my brother and I follow her, so long as we didn't touch anything. We had no PPE. I remember that the hunter green carpet in the formal dining room squished with every step, and slimy yellow pustules covered the walls. It was the same way in the second floor hallway, where the floor was slick and mold obscured the brown walls. The oil painting had survived then, but I can't say it hasn't deteriorated by now.

My family was perfectly happy in that house. It was when we moved out that that fell apart. My mom would avoid driving past the house if she could. I used to drive by just to remember my happy childhood where I didn't know so much, but I also learned to avoid it in time because of the disappointment. If my dad has us kids in the car, he makes a point to drive by the house, and make all kinds of claims about what should have been done to the house (he can't finish a single house project).

We have watched it further deteriorate over the years. Finally last year, the roof began to cave in on the house itself. So, I decided to make a replica of the house in the Sims, to the best of my memory (and what the game would allow me to do). The game doesn't do the house justice, but it is the best I can do.

#my build #sims 4

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vigilante24ish · 4 days ago

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The Shadow Queen of Tywin Lannister

Summary:

After the death of his wife, Tywin Lannister knew he would never remarry. However, when the relationships between Targaryens & Lannisters are put into question, marriage seems to be the only choice left. To his surprise, it is himself that will get married to none other than the King’s younger sister.

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Pairing: Fem!OC x Tywin Lannister Chapter Warnings: None

Previous - Chapter 7: A Woman in Charge Next - Chapter 9: Fire & Blood, part 1

Chapter 8: Help from the Dragons

The following night, Visenya paid a visit to her dear older brother in his solar. Rhaella was busy taking a bath before the Maester came and checked up on her condition, her belly swelling, and her health, which was surprisingly stable.

This allowed a small window of opportunity for Visenya, who had announced her presence to him once they were in private; wooden doors closed behind her. In her hands, she held two goblets filled with wine, and she walked towards her brother, who was busy reading a scroll.

He was not one to enjoy doing most of the paperwork or studying, always falling behind with his studies when they were younger. More than once, he had Visenya helping him, although it was never truly a request and more like a bargain.

Then, he had Tywin to handle everything for him, but now that he was gone, some of that pestering work had fallen on his shoulders, and by the 7, he did not like it.

Dressed in a fancy black silk robe with the Targaryen symbol in red on the back, he marched up and down while he kept reading, or at least was trying to, boredom evident in his eyes.

“You seem tired, My King. May I offer some Arbour wine?” she suggested, lifting the two goblets as she took a few steps towards him.

His violet eyes moved from the scroll to her face and then to the two wine goblets in her hands.

Everyone knew that Aerys loved a glass of good wine, and generally, he loved drinking and having fun and control over everything.

“Arbour wine? And pray, where did you get such wine?” he asked but put the scroll on his desk nonetheless.

He walked her way and took the goblet from her with less mannerism than was expected. He took a moment to smell the sweet aroma of the exotic tine and smirked before taking a few big sips.

“I had some being gifted to me by one of the available suitors. You will be surprised what they are willing to pay to gain your favour,” she lied effortlessly since the wine had been taken from Tywin’s personal stack.

Aerys did not seem to care much about the details as he savoured the sweet taste and emptied his goblet in one go. “Then, as your King, I order you to bring me whatever such wine had been given to you. It is a shame to hide it away,” he said with his usual cockiness, and he eyed her own goblet, from which she had barely taken a sip.

Understanding what he wanted, she handed him her goblet, and the corner of her lips lifted up to the faintest of smirks upon seeing him emptying it as well. “If Your Highness wishes, who am I to argue?” she said and took the goblet from him as she started to see the faintest haziness in his eyes.

“That’s right because...I am the King, and no one can argue with me...” he said, blinking a little more often now as he felt his vision blur slightly.

“Are you alright, your Grace? Perhaps you should lay down?” she asked him, but her voice sounded muffled by the time it reached him.

“No...yes... maybe....I...I...willlll....” he slurped and started to stumble towards the bed he had installed next to his desk, for when he brought women over to fuck them.

Visenya was by his side in seconds, supporting his bigger but skinnier frame and leading him towards the bed. By the time he laid on it, he could barely keep his eyes open. “I do believe you had too much to drink, my King,” she said as she pushed a strand of his white hair off his forehead.

“...mmm...” the king exclaimed, barely nodding. “Per...perhaps....I....did,” The last word was practically a whisper as his eyes closed fully and sleep quickly took over.

His breathing was quiet and peaceful, his chest rising and falling as he slept. His sister watched him for a minute before she moved away from the bed.

With elegant steps, she walked towards his desk and sat on the chair. From the space between her breasts, she removed a rolled-up piece of parchment. Unrolling it on the desk, amber eyes quickly scanned over the context.

The King’s handwriting had been perfectly forged by her, and the scroll was an order that allowed Visenya to gather troops and head for Casterly Rock. All she needed was to pour some red wax at the corner of his forged signature, and then the Targaryen royal insignia was pressed on it.

She blew on the wax to let it dry and left the stamp back on the desk before she stood up. Smirking to herself, she glanced at her sleeping brother and shook her head.

Sometimes, I wonder whose intelligence I have inherited. She thought and felt an annoying sensation from the same place where she had the scroll hidden.

Her long fingers passed behind her dress and soon pulled out a small glass vial, empty of its contents. She held it between two fingers and marched towards the light fireplace before she threw it in the flames, forever discarding the evidence.

Once that was done, she exited the room. As she closed the door behind her, she turned to the single guard standing outside; Selmy.

“Well?” he asked, unclear how much Visenya had informed him of her plan.

Offering her most charming smile, she turned to face him. “Enough sweet wine unties tongues and affects judgements,” she said and showed him the rolled-up parchment. “Inform Ser Darry to prepare my men and some of the royal soldiers. We ride before the moon reaches its zenith,” she said and started to walk away from the King’s guard, her black dress flowing effortlessly around her body. “Send me your squire as well, my friend. I will need help with my armour.”

Ser Barristan Selmy had been in the presence of the Targaryens ever since the War of the Nine Penny Kings, being knighted afterwards for his abilities in battle, having taken the Blackfyre heir all by himself.

He was a renowned swordsman and knight, filled with honour and a sense of justice. He had been the one to help both Visenya and Rhaegar with their sword training, and he was also one of the princess’s most trusted knights.

He understood that the King was not always the best to rule or that some of his decisions were questionable, but he also knew that Visenya was working in the shadows to ensure such mistakes did not last.

He respected her, for she put the good of the realm first, and she never let her gender, title, or anything stop her from doing what she had; her duty. Yet, sometimes, he did question her sneaky plans or the risks she seemed to take, worrying that one day she would not be able to escape as easily as she had by now.

In the end, though, he knew he had to obey her. Thankfully for him, he had his good friend Willem Darry to talk about, another loyal and just knight that she often worked with when she needed someone with a more direct connection to the King and his guard.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

2 days away from Casterly Rock, Westernlands.

Visenya and her men had been riding for days, around 17 by her account. They had taken the same paths Tywin had, mostly to earn them some time, although the rocky terrain had often delayed them.

Amongst the royal soldiers and knights that rode behind her, a few wooden carriages and horses were carrying mysterious barrels with them.

More than once, the Targaryen Princess looked behind to check on their condition, often inhaling sharply when the carriage rocked or bumped against the rocks.

Memories of her latest discussion with one of her secret accomplices often replayed in her mind when that would happen; as if they would ease her nerves and calm her down.

“Are you sure it is safe enough for travel, Wisdom?” she had asked the man in the long robe.

“Of course, my Lady. A few bumps would not affect it, or my skills may be a lie. I believe I have proven to you, my Lady, that my skills are trustworthy, haven’t I?” the man had asked her, his voice having a certain edge that sounded like a blade scrapped against a metal shield.

“Not yet, and I expect this to continue. If you wish for the funds to continue, it better be ready,” she told him, towering above his hunched form. “I expect the secrecy and silence of your lot while I am away. If you do not, I will know,” she threatened, her eyes glowing in the hidden underground chamber, the torches illuminating the fires hidden within that threatened to burn them all.

Eventually, the sunset and Visenya ordered her men to camp for the night. The constant horse ride had been tiring for everyone, including her, and they needed to discuss their next strategy.

A young boy took the reins of her mare, and she decided to check upon her men while they built the tents and rested for now.

Barely an hour later, Visenya had found her way into her tent. It was bigger than the others but plain, with just the necessities: a table for the map, a few lanterns, a study, a portable basin with clean water, and a simple roll mat for her to sleep on later.

She had remained in her armour, her hands behind her back as she studied the map again and again. Her mind worked nonstop, racing like the fastest of horses in Westeros at the thought of paths and battle plans. A few pieces of parchment lay on her desk, not that far away.

She had received a couple of them throughout their travel, but 3 were the most important ones. The first was from her dear sister, who had written to her to exclaim her worries and inform her of her health.

Dear Visenya, By your last letter, I can say that you have been well. The court in King’s Landing talks none stop about your departure but also of the siege. Our brother is not happy, but I do not believe he has realised your plan or that you got his permission. My pregnancy is going well, the Maester saying 3 months before I give birth, and I dream it is another boy. This news seems to keep Aerys in good spirits. I pray to the 7 daily that you are successful and return in one piece. Sincerely, Rhaella Targaryen, Queen Consort of the 7 Kingdoms.

Visenya often found the timing odd and yet favourable for her part. The first long-term successful pregnancy of her sister, after so long, was the time she had to fake orders from the King and leave for battle.

That unborn child was certainly the only thing that had kept her from being declared a traitor, and she made a mental plan to pray to the 7 once she returned.

She wasn’t truly religious, but she did not wish to try and offend any higher power either. She was not a fool, unlike many of the people around her.

While she had never truly been into a battle or had led a military force before, she had done just fine so far. The men trusted her, followed and respected her. She had made sure to keep their well-being on top and her small speeches were always enough to keep the encouragement going.

Her mind, for a moment, went to the second letter she had received at the same time as her first one. It was from her cousin, Steffon.

Dear Visenya, This is most likely one of the most reckless and daring plans you ever had thought of. I do not know how you managed to make him drunk enough to sign that order, but he sure does not remember it. I do not know if it was originally part of your plan to use his love for wine, but due to the state in which we found him the next morning, he had not commented on your departure. Many whispers that he gave the order in secret, none daring to say that he was drunk and tricked about it. This might be the only thing that keeps you alive so far, but I fear it will not last long. End this Silver Lions group and return home before your luck from the 7 runs out, for we both know I will be unable to protect you. Highest Regards, Lord Steffon Baratheon, Lord of Stormlands and Warden of the East.

Visenya wondered if Steffon had played in those rumours or if he had helped her during her absence, her mind often answering those ideas and questions with a ‘yes’.

She liked to hope so, for she always needed loyal allies.

As time passed, the plans she had and the actions she was forced to take would be bigger and far more dangerous. Powerful allies could ensure not only the success but also the years she had left in front of her.

The last letter she received was from Tywin after she informed him that she was leading the forces and heading his way. He had not been pleased with her direct involvement, mostly because he did not wish to see her in the heat of battle.

She might not have had experience with real battles or wars, but she was not one to sit behind tall walls while her men died for her name. She was a good leader who led by example. She would not be the first to attack, but she was not going to sit back either.

Her mind was important, her strategies the keys to win the upcoming battles but her body was also trained to defend and kill if she had to. She had taken the life of men before, although in less brutal ways than the one of the sword; that did not mean she would not try that way as well if she had no choice.

She was deep in thought when someone pushed the flaps of her tent and stood by the entrance. Sensing his presence, Visenya turned slowly to greet the man, her body only halfway facing him.

“Forgive me, Princess,” the soldier and her first in command, Ser Lorne said. “The scouts have met with a group carrying the Lannister banners. Their leader claims to be Tygett Targaryen and wishes to speak with you.”

Visenya quickly repeated the name a few times in her head. She had been made aware of all of the main family Lannister children over 2 years while she worked alongside Tywin but from the shadows.

“Bring him, then”, she ordered, and the man bowed his head before leaving the tent.

Visenya returned to face the map, her back straight as her black armour reflected the light of the lanterns in her tent. Her right hand rested on the handle of her sword, a single red ruby at the base of the pommel.

Dragon’s Heart was one of the three Valyrian swords passing down from Targaryen to Targaryen. This specific one was first wielded by her ancestor, Naelys Targaryen, and then passed on to her children.

Her grandfather, Aegon V, had promised young Visenya that one day she would handle that sword, and so she did. The loyal blade was slightly lighter than the other two swords and had a smaller handle since almost all its owners had been women or younger men.

She rubbed the pommel faintly, something she did when she was thinking, but her moment was interrupted by the sound of steps. The flaps of her tent were pushed open, and someone took a few steps inside.

“A woman leading a small army, now I have seen everything,” a young man’s voice was heard, earning her full attention.

She turned slowly to face him, her black cloak having the red sigil of her house at the back, while two pins representing the same symbol held it stable on her shoulders. Her hair had been in a ponytail that fell on her back, but strands had long escaped their capture.

“Ser Tygett Lannister, younger brother of Lord Tywin Lannister,” she greeted him, quickly studying him.

He was a young man, most likely of her age, with long golden hair, the same shade as Tywin's and Lannister's green eyes. His face, while young, did carry a few noticeable scars from previous battles.

“I see my brother has already informed you of me,” he said, his face twisting at the mere mention of his perfect older brother, whose shadow was still cast upon his brothers.

Visenya did not seem to mind that much about the family drama in the Lion Family, for she had more important things to focus on. With hands behind her back, she kept her back straight and her head tall, like a true general or a queen.

“He has mentioned you but this is not of importance. Why aren’t you in Casterly Rock?” she asked, choosing not to beat around the bush.

“Straight to the point, I see,” he commented. “I had taken a group of men to Lannisport to check on those disturbances when we got attacked. We retreated, but before we could arrive in Casterly Rock, it was already under siege,” he explained.

“How many men?”

“Started with 80, we are left with 63 so far”

A small number, won’t truly make a numerical difference but it might be the edge we need in battle, she thought, her mind forming new battle formations to accommodate his men.

“Then our goal is common. A plan has been formed on how to handle this trouble; your presence and men are more than welcome,” she said and motioned with her head towards the map spread on the table.

Tygett had grown up with an older sister, Genna, and he had been used to being ordered around by her. However, Genna was his sister, and Visenya was no one but a stranger from King’s Landing, a princess trying to play it general.

It was ridiculously amusing in his mind, but he knew there was not much he could do. His men would not listen to him, and he would never hear the end of it if he failed to help his precious brother, who had locked himself up in his precious castle.

Without another word, he walked deeper into the tent and around the table, his green eyes falling on the map. Silently, he started to listen to her plan, and the more she explained it, the more he realised he had little to offer.

One would say that he heard his brother and could even imagine him standing at her place instead. There was this similarity between the two, and it made his blood boil, but he could not say or do much to outstand them; the Gods did not bless him the same thing they blessed them.

#tywin lannister #Tywin x Female OC #Game of Thrones #asoiaf #asoif/got #asoif fanfic #charles dance #house lannister #house targaryen #targaryen oc #a song of ice and fire #slow burn #slow romance #partners to lovers #The Shaow Queen Fanfic

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webslingingswiftie · 2 years ago

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NyQuil, Yoga Mats, and Golfcart Bowling

notes: i love them, also based on the fact that we learned ghosts can still get sick and stuff :)) also know i did not edit this before going to bed 🫡

Maddie sat in a random classroom watching the sunset. It was Friday, so she was without Simon for a few days. She was almost glad she wouldn’t have to think about her murder, even though she knew she couldn’t. It was like a single movie real in her head, constantly playing.

The sun was eventually gone, well as far as she could see. Pinks and oranges still littered the sky. She was lost in thought, staring at the sky, when she heard a not-so-quiet knock against the wooden door.

Wally stood there leaning against the door frame with a wide smile and glassy eyes. He look bad, well not bad, but sick.

Maddie lifted an eyebrow at him, “Are you okay?”

This seemed to through the guy off, he looked down at himself, “I thought I was?”

He walked over to the desk she was sitting on, and scooted next to her. She smiled the small smile she gave whenever he was being funny, stupid, sweet, etc.

“You sure?” she started, as she poked him on the nose, “you look sick, can ghosts get sick?”

“I don’t feel sick,” he frowned, the expression didn’t last long though, “ghost can get sick, but I haven’t ever.”

“Ever?” she questioned, Maddie didn’t believe him, he could tell by the look on her face.

“Ever.”

“I hate to tell you this hotshot, but your streak is coming to an end.” She felt his forehead, for dramatic effect.

“Blasphemy!” He yelled.

“Yeah you feel warm and everything.”

Wally put his own hand to his head, he was warm. Very un-ghost like. He frowned, which again didn’t last long, because Maddie laid her head on his shoulder.

“What do ghosts even do when we get sick?” She asked.

“Just dig around in the nurses office and suffer, but I wouldn’t know.”

“Right because you’ve never been sick.”

“Bingo.”

“till today.”

“Yea-no, I’m not sick!”

Maddie lifted her head and stared. He made eye contact immediately, excepting defeat with a sniffle.

“I’m sick.” He sighed.

“Yeah I know dumbass,” she stood from her spot on the desk, “let’s go to the nurses office.” She rolled her eyes and smiled.

Wally stood up and they started towards the hallway. They walked in silence for a moment. Before he dramatically hooked his arm around her shoulder and leaned on her, as if he was painstakingly ill.

“How will I ever go on,” he said, dragging his feet.

She attempted to shove him off, but to no avail, as he was to heavy, “Wally!” she laughed.

“Sorry Mads, I think I’ve got polio or something,” he shrugged, “can’t walk.”

They eventually made it to the nurses office, and she started digging through the drawers.

“Y’know you should’ve been a theater kid, you seem to have a love for the dramatics.” She picked up a bottle of NyQuil, “why would she have this?” Maddie mumbled to herself.

“Me? Dramatic? Never.” He said, laying back on the nurses cot-bed thing.

Maddie rinsed out the cup and poured a shot of NyQuil. Wally held it with a disgusted look on his face.

“Modern medicine is gross.”

“Just take it.” She said with an eye roll.

“Won’t it make me tired?”

“The suns down.” Maddie pointed to a window.

“It’s literally 6:30.” He counter pointed to a clock

“Oh my god, shut up and take it.”

He smiled, “you’re bossy.” He took it.

“I’m not bossy, I’m looking out for you.” She said, shoving his arm.

“Yeah, bossily.”

She rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile.

A few hours passed and sure enough he was tired, he did feel better though. Maddie stayed with him, as they wander around the school.

“Where are you sleeping tonight?” He asked.

Maddie had been moving from spot to spot, trying to find her ‘room’. Rhonda slept in the faculty lounge on the couch, Charley slept in some teachers office, and Wally started sleeping in the weight room a few decades ago when they installed it.

“I don’t know, definitely not on top of the lockers,” she said stretching her neck, “painful.”

He smiled, “been there.”

They kept walking and talking about whatever. Eventually finding their way to the weight room. Wally sat on his stack of yoga mats. Maddie sat down next to him.

“If you get passed the smell, I have the most comfortable room in the building.” He grinned laying back, patting the spot next to him. She laid back with him.

“I think you might be right.” She said, rolling on her side to look at him. He slid his jacket off and laid it over them.

“Crafty.” She joked. The jacket worked surprisingly well as a makeshift blanket.

“I’m good that way.” He smiled. His eyes looked sleepy and she though they looked pretty that way.

She couldn’t help but to push his hair out of his face. He glanced over at her, and she pulled her hand away. He almost grabbed her hand and put it back in his hair. He closed his eyes smiling a little, hoping she wouldn’t leave the room. She didn’t. He liked that. Wally put his arm around her shoulder, and pulled her in a little, before fully dozing off.

After a little bit she debated getting up to let him sleep, and begrudgingly decided she shouldn’t bother him while he’s sick. She started to move, until his arm pulled her in a lot closer than before.

“Is this okay?” She asked.

“Yeah, stay.” He mumbled.

So she did. Maddie finally pulled her self fully against him. She easily fell asleep.

He woke up first. He found her laying there, burrowed into his chest. It made him glow, but god was it odd to see her look so at peace. He smiled to himself and looked at the clock on the wall.

8:37.

He wondered how late she usually slept in. He wondered if she’d be weird about this. He hoped not. He wondered if she’d do it again. He wondered if he was still sick.

9:03

Her eyes twitched a little, and her breathing got heavier. Maddie opened her eyes.

“Hey,” she said, “how long have you been up?” She sat up a little and rubbed her eyes.”

“Like 20 minutes.” He said, his voice was lower than usual.

“Is that your ‘I just woke up voice’ or ‘I’m super sick voice’?” She smiled, but he could see a bit of concern I her eyes.

“You tell me doc,” he grinned.

She felt his head again, “You feel more dead, so all better.”

He rolled his eyes with a small smile, and sat up.

“What do you want to do today, new girl?”

She thought for moment, “run things over with the golf cart?”

He smiled widely, “Yes ma’am!”

——

that was really fun but it is now 1 AM so.. yeah.

let me know your thoughts and theories on the show, and your thoughts on this and if you want more, i think i wrote maddie a little out of character but let me know lol

#school spirits #maddie nears #wally clark #maddie nears x wally clark #ghost #sickfic #fanfic #fanfiction #rhonda #charley #fandom

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