#i wept its so adorable

[witchinatree]

addition to my previous post

martin could not fathom making a choice that would make him lose jon, because they always had each other. even if jon hated him, he was a constant in martin's life through the horrors™. and it hurt him when jon was able to think of a plan that would take him away from martin, because he thought jon didn't feel the same about him. he thought jon didn't need him, like everything else in his life

jon hated himself, he blamed himself for ending the world and felt like no punishment would be enough. he wanted to lose martin because he knew it would hurt more than anything in the world. he felt the exact same as martin, he just hated himself so much he felt like he deserved that unimaginable loss

they make me so ill :( they are so in love to the point that the idea of losing each other is the most painful thing in the world. they doomed another universe because it meant they kept each other. they died together because it meant they kept each other

[eyesxxyou]

Hello ik your reqs are on hold BUT I LOVE YOUR HOBIE FICS SO MUCHHDHSH IMAGINE READER JUST SUCKING HIM OFF WHILE HOBIE GIVES THE READER HEADPATS/HEADSRATCHES ITS TMSNDJSKSMX

The idea has been rotting in my brain

❝ darlin' ❞ hobie brown x gn!reader

❝ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ❞ oral (hobie receiving), sappy Hobie, praise, head scratchs, forehead kisses just a lovely little fic

“You got i’, darlin’, breath through ya nose.” Hobie settled his hand on the back of your head, his other on the bed behind him to lean on. You were settled between his legs, your lips wrapped around the girth of his cock, taking him till your gag reflex prevented you from taking him any further.

Tears dribbled down your cheeks, your eyes looking up at him with the intent to please. Drool slicked down the length of Hobie's cock, the flat of your tongue tracing a thick vein along the underside. You simply wanted to please him, your throat constricting every time he slid into the tight pocket of your it, holding you there with the slightest amount of pressure before letting you go, coughing.

“Yer doin’ so good f’me, darlin’.” Hobie scratched the back of your head, cooing at your desperation. He offered a lighthearted smile and your feeble attempt to take him deeper, only for you to start choking on him. Was it an ego boost? Yeah, of course. Did he think you were cute for trying? Also of course. You were fucking adorable.

He kept scratching the back of your head, lightly, tenderly, beautifully. “So good, fuck~ keep goin, jus’ like tha'.” Hobie let his eyes flutter slightly and he sighed out a moan. He kept you bobbing your head, kept you on his dick, sucking like it was your favorite flavor of lolli.

Sure, maybe you were a bit inexperienced, maybe you didn't know the best way to give him the most pleasure. But Hobie guided you tenderly. He told you to lick up the underside of his shaft, from his balls to the tip where he wept precum like tears. Every moan kept you going, every lick sent shivers down the length of his spine. 

He petted your head softly with a tender praise and you purred with satisfaction, humming around his cock with his tip smearing pre against the soft inner flesh of your cheeks. “Yer so good t’me. So good, darlin’. C'mere.”

Hobie tugged you up slightly by your hair, his other hand coming to grab your chin. You looked up at him with those glossy eyes he adored so much, lips wet and a little swollen from taking him for so long.

Hobe leaned in and placed a soft kiss against your forehead, his nails scratching slightly at the nape of your neck. “Ya looked so pretty down there, I jus’ had t’do sum ‘bout i’.” His pecked your head again before letting you return to your task.

You let him slide back into your mouth, once hand on your chin and the other on your head to keep you still.

“Jus’ be a darlin’ ‘n keep still.”

[sehtoast]

Protect Me (Homelander x gn!Reader, Powerswap!au)

homelander!reader x human!John, nightmares, hurt/comfort | Fic Directory

You sob on him.

It’s never happened before and neither of you particularly knows what to do about it. You’ve always been, well, you.  The Homelander is not someone who is breakable.  You’re not some weak kneed baby who can’t hold it together, who can’t swallow all the pain you’ve been put through and resist the urge to choke upon how badly it wants to spew out anyway.

He knows precious little about your life.  You’ve always wanted to keep it that way.  Nothing would hurt you more than to see those beautiful blues of his gazing at you as though you were anything less than who you’d built yourself up to be.  And yeah, sure, you’ve come home to him drenched in blood, no better than a wet dog needing someone to save it from the mess it’s made rolling in the mud– but this? 

You never meant for him to see this. You should've known better than to fall asleep. But you just… you felt so safe with your head on his chest and his heartbeat lulling you. 

You thank whatever pathetic excuse of a god is out there that you didn't blindly lash out at him when he woke you. The worst he got was the threat of glowing eyes that dissipated as soon as you recognized his voice.

But this..? God, there wasn't meant to be choking, sputtering sobs.  No fingers curling into your hair to tug painfully in an attempt to distract from how the void in your chest swallows you whole.  He shouldn’t be witnessing your snotty upper lip or the heaving of your chest.

This isn’t you.

But it is.

You refuse to touch him even as he holds you, cooing in your ear about how it’ll all be fine and that you’re safe with him– all the bullshit.  He is all you have, and you can’t for the fucking life of yourself defile him with your grip, can’t risk hugging him too tight or perhaps snatching away a hand and removing it entirely by accident because you’re so out of control.

You have to take it out on yourself.

He pulls you close, but you can’t do anything more than hide your face in the crook of his neck.

“Talk to me, sweetheart. You can tell me.”  John coos, fingers scritching softly at the nape of your neck.  You can smell the stress response raging inside of his body.  He reacts to your woe as if it were his own.  Cortisol.  Elevated blood pressure and pulse. Shaky breaths. 

You want to shove him away.  

Pity.

But you can’t, so you don’t.  Instead, the dam breaks and out comes everything.  The nightmares, the labs, the scientists, the bad room and the goddamn furnace. 

You could still feel its heat after you woke up gasping, desperately heaving against the unbreathable, scorching air.  Too hot, lungs too dry, skin on fire with not a single mark to show for it.  The way the doctors would crank the dial as they peered in at you like a zoo animal, uncaring no matter how much you screamed.  

Unbothered even when you’d stop.

You’re not even sure your words are coherent.  You’ve wept each one into his neck, still too afraid to peek and find him looking at you differently.  Your nails dig into the skin of your bare arms.

“It’s too– I can’t– I still feel it–” And there's no rhyme or reason for why you do. Not even now, when rehashing it restores that blistering burn beneath your skin that radiates deep into the marrow of your bones, does it make any sense.  You shiver and shake against him.

It’s all you’re good for.

He shifts to the side, fumbling with something on the nightstand, but does not release you.  “Y’feel that?”  John asks.  “Fan’s on now.  Nice and cool, okay?”

The first gusts kiss your back and you practically flinch at the ghostly touches.  It’s a shock to your system and almost burns in its own right, even with his hand trailing up and down your back, fingers smoothing over the curve of your spine, nails lightly dragging in that way he knows you simply adore.

John leans back onto the bed, bringing you with him.  “You’re not there, babe.  I promise.”  He murmurs.  He takes you by the hand, unfurling the grip you’ve got on yourself to press kisses to your knuckles.  “We’re here.  My place.  In bed.”  He tells you, voice as sweet as honey and thick with the remnants of sleep that hadn’t quite been shocked from his system.  “You’re safe.”

He’s said it a million times now.  

“You’re safe and I love you so, so much.”  He rasps through the tightness of his throat, through the little sob that finally breaks through whatever restraints he’d placed on it to make it this far. Knowing that he’s taken it all to heart guts you in the worst way.

John’s legs tangle between yours and pull you close, as if to make sure there wasn’t a single inch of you left unprotected from his embrace.  He holds you even through his own shivers, completely exposed to the chilly breeze after having kicked the covers to the end of the bed.  Anything to draw you away from the illusion of heat, anything to spare you one more moment of agony.

By the time your heart rate simmers down from its erratic thumps and the blistering burn of the furnace is no longer digging beneath your skin, the only sound to be heard is his chattering teeth despite how valiantly he tries to hide his own discomfort.

If he were anyone else, you wouldn’t care at all.  But he’s not just anyone.  He’s not some casual fuck or one of the many who have dangled love over your starved maw.  He’s your Johnny, your greatest love, the kindest man you’ve ever known and the brightest light you’ve ever stumbled upon in this world.  You would topple nations to guarantee his happiness.

He reassures you that he’s fine when you scoff and yank the blankets back up to cover the both of you. 

“No, no, no–” he rattles. “S’fine, I promise.  I don’t want you to–”

You cut him off with a kiss.  You meant only for it to be a single drawn out peck to his lips, but you find that the deeper it becomes, the better you can convey all that you need.

Your love.  Your appreciation.  How fucking much you care.  Everything words fail to deliver.

All while you continue pulling up layer after layer until his lower lip ceases its chilled quivering between yours and his body stills from its shivers.  You don’t untangle yourself from his hold, nor does he move away from yours.  Stranger yet, even with the nightmares still fresh in your mind, the heat you find yourself enveloped by now is far from one that burns.

His flesh against yours, the warmth emanating between you, his heated breaths gasped against your lips– it’s all one big balm that soothes every ache and pain into nothing more than the distant memory it should be.

Neither one of you lets go, not even when sleep settles over your restless minds and pulls you to other worlds.

This time, you dream of him.  Of your Johnny in his cute little sweaters, of how he springs out of his chair at work to throw himself into your arms, of how he comes to your penthouse after his shifts are up just to see you.  You dream of his lips upon your cheek as you dance among the clouds, blue eyes taking you in as if you were the most magnificent sight they’ve ever held.

And when you wake?

Those same oceanic eyes twinkle with a smile that is simply all for you.  They don’t look at you differently.  They don’t judge you or make you feel weak for having told him of your horrors.  True to the nature of his very existence, your Johnny does something so wonderfully special with just one look.

He makes you feel safe.  He makes you feel protected.

He makes you feel loved.

[silassinclair]

hiiii💙💙💙

i just have a request about Maddox but i want to start with saying english is not my first language and secondly i LOVE your writings, they are sooo good like i just read them again and again and again......

so about my request, its like a story but i just hope you will understand what im trying say

So darling and him while running away from the law Maddox face some other outlaws or having a duel he gets shot, some bad wounds or whatever and darling has no choice but runaway. Before running away darling says that she loves him and will wait for him, something like that.

After two years darling and Maddox meet again (can be when he is leaving a saloon or when he is stealong from the people on the road who is just moving from town to another town) Darling doing really great, she has a small but cute house, she has a great job paying her greatly BUT darling carrying a child

BIG SUPRISE its his child

Yes!

When darling was runing away she was pregnant but didnt tell him cuz she was afraid of his reaction

Anyway him and darling talk about what happened after she runaway, how she manages to live, about the child

so the thing is how he will react about all of this, i mean he has a child and a cute house he can live with darling but he has to run from the laws. Would he somehow live with darling or will he take darling and his child with him and keep runing

I know its long but i tried so hard to make it short and i hope you undertand it AND if you want you can ignore it

💙🤍 I LOVE YOU 💙🤍

UWWAAHH THIS IS SO CUTE <3 I’m about to cook so hard with this one ya’ll aren’t ready 🥶

Masterlist Here!!

Yandere Wild West Outlaw x Long Lost Lover Reader

CW// Pregnancy, Gun Violence, Blood, Suicide Mention, Maddox kills pedophiles, Pedophilic comments

“Shhh! Just stop! Stop talking!” Y/n wept as her s/c hand put pressure over Maddox’s oozing bullet wound. Her skin was stained with his crimson blood. The whole world was collapsing down on her. Maddox, her husband, was dying. He was losing so much blood and those damn bounty hunters were getting closer.

Coming to this town was a mistake. It was a fucking trap and they walked right into it. It was a false rumor spread to lure Maddox to the bank. It was supposed to be unguarded; and instead of cash and gold in the vault there was a lethal group of bounty hunters unloading their bullets in a barrage right at Maddox.

The masked outlaw coughed, hacking up some blood. Y/n and Maddox were lucky to get away. Using all her strength she pulled his body into a neighboring saloon and hid with him behind the bar. The outlaw's tearing brown eyes looked into Y/n’s with a mixture of emotion. Adoration and despair. Because he knew this will be the last time will ever see her again.

“Sweetheart, princess please look at me..” He utters. Y/n can barely hear him over the gunshots and screams from around. But her ears are honed to only listen to his voice at the moment. He is all she sees and hears.

“Untie my bandana… Use it to pack the wound.” The paling man says.

Her eyes widen at his request. Her and Maddox have been in so many life or death situations. All of them they have escaped narrowly. Maddox has had mortal wounds, he’s bled countless times over the years. But never, never has he taken that bandana off. Even when they kissed he would tell her to shut her eyes and she would obey, respecting his privacy. When they made love the lights would be off or she would be blindfolded. His face was a mystery that she always wanted to solve.

She imagined the say he showed her his face they would be watching a sunset. Or maybe laying underneath the star in a romantic setting. But now… It’s different. She doesn't want to see him. Not now, not like this. He was dying and this was a desperate attempt to extend his life. This was the end.

“Maddox…” Y/n sniffles. Her vision blurs as tears cascade down her cheeks. She knows this is the end for them. She can feel it.

The woman’s hands go behind his head as she shakily unties the burgundy bandana. And when she takes it off what she sees has her crying even harder.

He’s gorgeous. This is the face of her husband.

“Why Maddox? Why does the first time I have to see you also have to be the last?” Her voice cracks as she stuffs the wound with the bandana.

He smiles and for the first time she can see it. His cracked lips, stubble of facial hair, his crooked nose from being broken so many times, and the scar above his top lip.

“I love ya’ Y/n.” Is all he says in reply. His hand comes up to cradle her cheek. “I need you to do one last thing for me..” He takes her hands in his one hand as the other holds the cloth to his wound.

“Anything… I’ll do anything for you.”

“Run far away baby… Run away from here and don’t look back. Don’t come back for me.” Maddox peeks over top the bar counter they’re and sees the bounty hunters about to enter the saloon they’re hiding in.

Y/n bites her lip as she shakes her head back and forth. “I’m not leaving you! I can’t! You can’t die, I need you! You’re..”

Y/n freezes. She wants to say it but she can’t. Not now, not when he’s going to die.

“You’re going to be a Father.”

“Y/n.” Maddox smiles. “Jasper should be outside. Get on him and get outta this town.” He brings his lips to her hand, kissing her blood stained skin.

The sobbing woman can’t bring herself to move away from him. If she leaves she will never see him again. But she has to leave, she has to survive and save their baby. It’s what he would want.

“I love you.” Y/n pulls him into a passionate kiss. One which he returns as he tries not to wince in pain.

Maddox is the first to pull away for the first time. And it only breaks her heart even more.

“Now go princess… Go live ya’ life to the fullest. And I’m… I’m sorry for killin’ your old man back then…”

Y/n stands up silently and nods. So after a full year he finally apologizes. Honestly, Y/n forgave him long ago. Was it Stockholm syndrome? Was it love? It didn't matter, her love for Maddox was true. But now he was dying... If she turns around and faces him now she’ll never want to leave.

Without facing him she lets her tears fall and hands form fists, “Goodbye Maddox. And I forgave you long ago. Back when I fell in love with you for the first time.”

She runs to the back of the saloon and leaves out the back entrance. Once the woman is outside she hears shouts from inside, along with gunfire.

“NOOO!” She screams and clenches her hair in her fists. Her vocal cords strain from her guttural scream. The pain of losing Maddox feels unbearable. She can’t feel her legs, so she drops to the dirt ground. All she can do is cry and curl up alone. The trotting sound of a horse is heard from above. Looking up she sees Jasper, Maddox’s loyal horse and best friend.

“Jasper…” She weeps. The horse looks down at his owners lover with sympathy behind his dark eyes. The animal can tell she’s in pain. He neighs and uses his nose to nudge her.

“L-Let’s go bud.” Y/n says and stands up from the ground. She gets on Jasper’s saddle and rides out of town, leaving behind the painful memories of losing Maddox. The ring on her finger has never felt so heavy.

"I help! Rosie help Mommy!" A small two year old girl says as her chubby little hands reach out towards Y/n who is carrying a pail of milk.

Y/n Graves; widow and single Mother, smiles down at her daughter. When she lost the love of her life she gave birth to a new meaning to go on. When Maddox died Y/n felt alone. She contemplated ending the pain permanently but she knew she could never do that to him and their baby. So she lived, and thank the lord she did.

The past two years were hard. Being pregnant, working a job, finding a place to live, and raising a newborn all by herself. Life was hard but that's just how it is. Being a Mother is a sacrifice that Y/n took the day she decided to keep on living after Maddox's death.

Now she has a beautiful baby girl. And her resemblance to him brought tears to the Mother's eyes.

She has his dark brown hair that almost looks black and his brown eyes that Y/n would find herself lost in. At the young age of two and a half Rosie even knew how to speak and understand English. She has her Mother's smarts and her Daddy's looks.

Rosie was a gift from Maddox, a parting gift so she wouldn't have to be alone anymore. Just thinking about how she almost killed herself and Rosie destroyed Y/n. The thoughts she had during those dark times were regrettable. She hates herself for possibly thinking such things.

"Mommy? Why sad?"

Y/n blinks a few times and doesn't even realize she was crying. Rosie tugs on her Mother's dress, big brown doe eyes creased with worry. Giggling, she wipes her tears and puts the heavy pail down. She reaches for her daughter and picks her up and holds her instead.

"Because you look just like your Daddy princess. You remind me of him and I miss him a lot." Y/n kisses Rosie's cheeks, making the little girl squeal and kick her little legs.

"Now let's finish up our chores yeah? We need to get this milk to a cool place." Y/n reaches down and grabs the pail to take it to the cellar.

"I carry it Mommy!" Rosie pouts and reaches her arms towards the pail in Y/n's hand. But the woman only laughs softly at her daughter's antics.

"It's too heavy for you baby. Besides, princesses don't do chores like this yet. Rosie's only job for now is too behave and listen to Mommy."

The little girl pauses and leans her head on her Mother's shoulder. "Okay.." She mumbles.

Sensing her daughter's sadness Y/n decides to compromise. "How about we go into town and get ice cream?"

In an instant the little girl perks up. "Really?!" She says in her baby accent; unable to pronounce the 'R' well and instead it coming out more as a 'W'.

"Yes princess. You've been good all this week so you deserve a treat."

Y/n finishes her work in the cellar with the help of her daughter. Who really was just following her around and pointing at stuff, asking what each thing was. But now that everything was done Y/n rode into town on Jasper and her daughter on her lap.

It wasn't often that the single Mother came into town. Every time she was there she could feel the stares on her and her daughter when she did bring her. And she knew why. She has a daughter yet no husband. Y/n knows what the townspeople say behind her back. Calling her a whore, trollop, and an ex prostitute. But nobody knew jack shit about her. They were all making assumptions. They didn't know her life and the pain she's been through.

Not only that but being in town just felt unsafe. The hungry stares of the men made her feel nauseous, which was why she always carried a double barrel shot gun on her back. It was her own way of silently saying "Don't fuck with me and my daughter."

Y/n tugs on the reins a little and Jasper stops in front of the ice cream parlor. She gets off of Jasper and little Rosie clings to her Mother's back as she fastens the reins to the wooden pole.

"We won't be long bud. Come on princess, let's go."

Y/n pets Jasper on the head before holding her daughters hand and taking her into the parlor. Once inside the conversation around them immediately dies down as all the patron's eyes are on Y/n and her daughter; who goes to hide behind her Mother's leg.

"Why staring Mommy?" The little girl asks. Y/n pats her hair and answers back with a reassuring smile.

"They just think your dress is pretty and can't help but look at it."

Rosie grins and giggles, her cheeks pinkening with blush.

"Now let's go get ice cream yeah? What flavor do you want?"

"Strawberry!"

Since we're in town I may as well grab a few things so I won't have to come back. After finishing our ice cream I take Rosie with me to the hardware store across the street. While in there I grab a few things from the shelves. Life shot gun shells, a new steel file, and soap.

I go up to the clerk and put my things on the counter. The old man looks at me with his usual unimpressed look, just like how any other person in this miserable town looks at me.

"Will this be all?" He asks. I nod silently and hand him the appropriate amount of cash. After bagging my things he hands me my change and I grab the paper bag.

"Come on Rosie, let's go." I say and look down by my side at Rosie. But instead of my daughter I see the hardwood floor. My heart drops to my feet.

"Rosie?" I say again and perk up, looking around the store and down the aisles. Briskly walking to the store clerk I place my things back on the counter.

"Can you watch my bag? I need to find my daughter."

The old man nods with a grunt and opens up a newspaper. I ignore his careless attitude and I practically search the whole store for Rosie. Where the hell did she go? She was right next to me! I took my eyes off her for one second and this is what happens to me? I'm a horrible Mother.

Running outside the store I approach the first person I see. A blonde woman with a green dress and matching lace parasol.

"Excuse me? Have you seen my daughter? She's about this tall and has dark brown hair. She's also wearing a white dress." My words pour out of my mouth so fast that even I can barely understand what I'm saying. But the woman only shrugs.

"I do not know. Maybe you should keep a better eye on your child and you never would have lost her."

I glare at the prissy bitch and shoulder check her as I strut past her to ask the next person if they have seen Rosie.

"I can already see the potential in her Davis. Look at those beady little eyes. She'll be beggin' to suck cock in no time."

Rosie is shaking in fear, the poor girl has no idea what's going on. One minute she was in the hardware store looking at shiny things on the shelf, the next a hand was clamped over her mouth and she was being dragged outside the back entrance. She tried to scream but the hand over her mouth was too big. She tried to fight but her body was too small and weak.

There are three men standing above her. What they are talking about? She doesn't know. But her Mother taught her that strangers were dangerous. So their intentions were bad; these men were bad news. They had her tied up and gagged, her shivering body laid curled up on the ground as she silently sniffled.

"We'll take her to Alabama. She'll go for a hefty price there. I know a guy who likes em' younger." One of the men says. The same man hacks up mucus and spits in out on the ground right next to Rosie. Making the girl whine and cry even more.

"Quit your fuckin' cryin' or I oughta' give ya' somethin' to cry bout'" The scrawniest man of the group says. But his loud voice only makes the two year old cry more.

"Fucking hell, people will hear if she keeps this shit up. Someone hit her in the back of the head an' knock her lights out."

"She looks no older than two Marty. That'll kill her you dumb oaf!"

"Then wha do we do?"

The three men bicker back and forth. Arguing about how to silence the little girl. But as the three criminals argue they don't hear the approach of footsteps. It isn't until the girl stops crying that they turn around. A man with his faced covered by a bandana has Rosie in his arms. His brown cowboy hat is tilted low, casting a dark shadow over his eyes.

"Who the fuck are you?! Put her down!" The biggest man of the trio says. He reaches for his gun but the mysterious man tuts and wags his gloved index finger back and forth at the criminal.

"I wouldn't do that if I were ya' big guy." The man holding Rosie says in his smooth, accented southern drawl. The little girl is scared stiff as she clings to the man holding her. She doesn't know what it is about this stranger but he makes her feel safe unlike the three men who made her cry.

"Don't tell us what to do. There's three of us and one of you, we oughta fill you full of lead and piss on your corpse for thinkin' you can FUCK with us!" The scrawny man draws his gun and aims it right at the masked man's head.

Rosie cries and hides her face in the stranger's neck. He rubs her back and reassures her with a gentle coo.

"You'll be okay, just trust me alright? I'll get ya back to ya Momma and Poppa."

Rosie doesn't understand what he said, but she does understand that this stranger is protecting her.

"Keep your eyes closed honey, can you do that for me?"

Rosie shuts her eyes and holds onto him tighter. Beneath his dirty red bandana the man smiles. Then he looks back at the three scum bags in front of him. He heard everything they said about the girl. All of the disgusting things about how she had "potential" and wanting to sell her.

Men like them didn't deserve to live.

"Hand over the brat you fuck-"

The masked man draws his silver revolver in the blink of an eye and cocks back the hammer. He shoots the scrawny man right between the eyes. Rosie cries out at the loud burst of gunfire but he shushes her gently as he cocks back the hammer another two times and shoots the other two men dead before they can even draw their guns or speak. The three bodies lay stark still on the ground. The life from their eyes is gone as blood pools from each of their heads.

"Burn in hell ya' nasty bastards." The mystery man walks away from the scene to go somewhere safer, the little girl still in his arms. She has her hands over her ears because of how loud the three gunshots were. But with a pat on her head from the man she lowers her hands and looks up at him.

"It's over honey. Those bad men won't touch ya' ever again." He says and sits against a tree a little bit outside of town. The little girl sits crisscross applesauce on his lap. Her chubby little hands rest on her thighs as she stares at him.

The man reaches behind her head and unties the rag around her face. Those men treated her like livestock. If not worse. Abducting a little girl and tying her up like cattle? How disgusting. Men like that didn't deserve to see the light of day.

"What's your name little girl?" He asks her. Rosie sniffles and rubs her puffy eyes.

"R-Rosie.." She stutters, still shocked from the whole ordeal.

"Hey now, no need to be scared anymore okay? I won't harm a hair on your head. And your name is really pretty. Matches ya' rosy lil cheeks." He pinches her plush cheek, making the girl smile.

"Name?" Rosie says and pokes the man's chest with a little finger.

"Maddox. Maddox Graves."

Rosie only nods. Maddox can still tell she's scared. So he asks her some questions to get her mind off things.

"How old are you?"

"Two and half."

"You got a family?"

"I have Mommy!"

"Got a Daddy?"

"Mommy said Daddy in heaven."

Maddox sighs when the girl says she doesn't have a Father. Growing up Maddox didn't have a Father figure either. He only had his Mother who worked tooth and nail to provide for him when he was younger. It was a shame she died of tuberculosis. He was only 16 when she passed. And after her death he was born a new man. When his Mother died so did Manuel Gonsalez. And he was reborn Maddox Graves, the west's most feared gunslinger and outlaw.

"My Daddy's in heaven too Rosie. But my Daddy was a bad man, he had it comin' to him."

Rosie looks at Maddox with a sympathetic expression. Though she couldn't see his face she could see his eyes under the shadow of his hat. He seemed... hurt.

"Married?" Rosie asks him. She sees his eyes crease. He's smiling.

"Yeah, to the most beautiful woman in the world."

"Where she?"

"I don't know honey. I'm looking for her. I hope I find her.."

Maddox stiffles a gasp when the little girl suddenly hugs him. Her little arms go around his neck. It's been years since he was last shown any affection. the last person to give him a hug was Y/n. This little girl just had no idea how much her warm embrace meant to the man. He hugs her back and shuts his eyes, letting his years long guard down. Maddox parts from the hug and pats Rosie's head.

Maddox goes to ask the girl another question but the feeling of a cold hard object on the back of his head makes him pause. The outlaw doesn't flinch at the familiar feeling of a barrel of a gun being pressed against his head.

"You have three seconds to get your filthy hands off my little girl." Y/n growls out, her finger on the trigger of her double barrel shotgun. But Maddox feels his heart skip a beat when he hears the little girl's Mother's voice. How badly he wants to turn around and confirm his suspicion. But the slightest movement on his behalf may result in his brains being splattered onto the grass.

"Mommy!" Rosie squeals and jumps off Maddox's lap, making him wheeze and cradle his gut.

Rosie runs to Y/n and hugs her leg. Tears form in the eyes of the distressed Mother. She drops her gun and falls to her knees to embrace her daughter in return, completely forgetting about the man.

"Oh princess you had me worried sick! What happened?! Who is this man? Did he hurt you?"

Rosie shakes her head back in forth and parts from the hug. "He saved me Mommy! From bad men!"

Y/n feels her heart squeeze in pain. She couldn't even protect her own daughter, let alone keep an eye on her. Instead a stranger had to save her. Speaking of the stranger, Y/n looks up and sees the man standing above her and her daughter. They make eye contact and the man's brown eyes widen as Y/n's lips part. Something about him is familiar.

"Thank you for-"

"Princess?" He says in utter disbelief.

Y/n feels her words get caught in her throat at the oh so familiar pet name. Only one man has ever called her that.

"Maddox?"

The outlaw removes his bandana. A scar, stubble, and crooked nose. The same face Y/n saw before she ran out of that saloon years ago. He drops to his knees and pulls his wife into a tight embrace. His long search for his wife has finally come to an end.

"My wife, my beautiful beautiful wife. Mmm I was searching every end of the country for you. I thought you were gone forever." Maddox buries his face into her neck and inhales her familiar lavender scent. Even her skin has the same softness it had years ago.

Y/n though, is silent. She doesn't return the embrace her long lost husband gives her. Her mind and heart are racing. It's like she's witnessing a paranormal encounter with a ghost. If this is a trick then it is a cruel one. That wound should have killed him. But no, he survived and came back to her. After about three years he returns looking more alive than ever.

"I thought you died..." Y/n utters softly. Her eyes are wide with shock as tears form from her tear ducts. Hesitantly, she hugs him back. Arms moving slowly up his back she rests her hands on the blades of his shoulders and sinks her body into his. The two are like snakes, their bodies constricting and melting into each others warmth.

"I got you sweetheart, I got you. Just let it out princess. Everything's gonna be okay." Maddox soothingly coos and rubs her back as her tears finally fall. A shrill cry leaves the depths of Y/n's soul. Her hands grip the fabric of his jacket. She's afraid if she let's go he'll die again.

But no. He never died. He survived, and he's here in her arms. All her sacrifices have led her to this moment. In the end, living was worth it.

"Mommy?"

Y/n blinks the tears from her eyes and looks to her daughter who stands there with the hem of her dress in her tiny fists. The little girl looks like she wants to cry too.

"Why crying?" She asks in a wobblily tone. Y/n smiles and pulls her daughter in with her and Maddox's embrace.

"Mommy's just happy that Daddy came back from heaven."

Rosie's brown eyes light up with wonder. The man who saved her is her Father? She opens her arms as wide as she can and hugs Maddox with all her two year old might. However Maddox is frozen.

"She's... she's mine?" He whispers.

Y/n nods. "Mhm... I had her eight months after I ran out of that saloon. She's about to turn three."

Maddox's jaw is on the floor. Not only has he found his wife but he has a little girl too? His heart hurts at the thought of Y/n going through the pain of pregnancy and childbirth all alone. The outlaw looks down at the little girl. And he looks to Y/n for silent permission and she nods with a light chuckle.

"She's your daughter, you can hug her silly."

And with that the Father hugs his little girl close to his chest. He doesn't even know that he's crying right now. And he doesn't care, all he cares about are his two girls right in front of him. Nothing matters anymore except for this. He isn't going to run anymore, he's tired of running. Running is what made him lose everything in the first place. Running is how he lost Y/n. And he never wants to lose his wife again. Especially not when he has a daughter too.

It's time to settle down and raise his family. Maddox never considered having a family before, let alone no longer being an active criminal. But for Y/n? He'd walk on glass through the depths of hell.

"I'm never leaving you alone ever again, you hear me?" He says in a firm tone to Y/n, his eyes piercing into her own. "We're gonna be a family. No more running baby, I promise."

He pulls his wife in by the back of her neck and kisses her passionately. This moment was one he would photograph into his memory; his daughter in his arms and his lips on his wife's.

Being a Father was NOT something Maddox thought he would ever be. Hell, he’s Maddox fucking Graves, the most threatening man in the west. A guy like him raising a kid? Yeah it’s unimaginable.

He’ll never admit it but fatherhood scares him. And nothing scares him (well except for losing Y/n again.) because he’s just that damn tough! Or so he thought.

Rosie is a little bundle of joy. She’s smart, funny, and damn fast. Too fast.

How did Y/n raise her all on her own!? It’s like the girl wants to die or something because why is she always getting into shit!?

“Rose! Get ya’ little mitts out of the knife drawer!”

“Hey! Jesus Christ kid you’re gonna kill yourself if you get too close to the edge of that cliff!”

“You’re giving Daddy a heart attack sweet pea. I just got ya, ya can’t leave me yet.”

Y/n has been through so much so he never asks her for help when it comes to little Rosie. He can figure it all out on his own no problem. Maddox is a man so he’s the tough guy of the house. There isn’t anything Y/n can do that he can’t do.

However…

“Y/n! Rosie done gone and crapped herself!”

Loves kissing Rosie’s cheeks. They’re so chubby! Maddox is so happy that his little girl is healthy and happy.

Rosie may have his looks but she has her Mommy’s smile and attitude. It’s adorable.

Now back to Maddox and Y/n…

They’ve been separated for nearly three years. So their relationship dynamic has changed a little bit.

No more lone wolf outlaw Maddox. No, he’s putty in his wife’s hand. Meanwhile Y/n has grown more independent over the years having raised Rosie and gotten a job all by herself.

Maddox needs her by his side 24/7. He’ll get grumpy at the idea of her leaving. He doesn’t want a repeat of the past either. Just the thought of Y/n not being within his vicinity makes him worry.

“I gotta go into town and grab some food.”

“Huh? Why’s that? We gotta garden princess! Whatchu need food from there for when we have all that we need here?”

Don’t think for a second that Maddox isn’t a yandere anymore just because he’s a girl Dad now. Nope, nada, zilch.

He won’t hesitate to kill anyone who poses as a threat to his family.

Maddox was crazy for Y/n before but now he’s outright insane. He’s just really good at hiding it. And he’s also insanely over protective of Rosie.

“I was thinking, maybe we can send Rosie to the school house when she turns th-”

“Absolutely not.”

“Huh? Why not? She needs an education Maddox.”

“I will not have my daughter be around those nasty town boys. No way in fuckin’ hell is that happening. We’ll home school her.”

“Aww you’re so cute when you’re protective!”

In the end Maddox ended up enrolling Rosie into school later on because he had no idea how to explain Mathematics to her.

MAN this was a long one. Sorry for any grammar mistakes, my phone buggy as hell 😩

[lets-try-some-writing]

Got Angst for Prime.

AU: Whatever AU you want to use.

Concept: Ratchet's Optics never really recovered from his Synth-En incident. He sees everything in a tint of green. And his optics show it. So, every time OP looks Ratchet in the optics, he sees the blue with a tinge of green surrounding it, and he gets hit with how bad he failed Ratchet.

(I've pretty much always HC that Ratchet had some lasting aftereffects of his tests. This one's my favorite though.)

I can't help it.

I am going to make this shippy.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

Optimus had always loved Ratchet's optics. If you asked him, he would deny the way he often found himself staring wistfully off in the doctor's direction. It was all professional concern for a mech who simply didn't know when he needed to rest and recover. If he shared a glance with Ratchet for a little longer than normal, it was simply because he cared. That was what he told others. Whether or not they believe him was up for debate.

But beneath that veil of half truths created for both his and Ratchet's safety, Optimus's affections ran deep.

Even before the war, he'd loved those optics. Ratchet's optics were aged even when Orion was young. And yet they held a life to them that was undeniable. Passion incapable of being smothered by the harsh words of others and the seemingly impossible trial that was going up a caste. Ratchet bore every burden and political scheme with blunt determination, his optics always shining brightly as a hint of a smirk played on his features. Optimus loved that mischievous grin and the telltale glint that Ratchet got in his optics when he had some wild plan cooked up. Even though he was unable to bring himself to utter the compliments that formed in the back of his mind, he loved the Doctor's optics more than he cared to admit. So much energy contained within a compact frame. It was beautiful in its own unique way.

Once the war began and Orion Pax became Optimus Prime, he did not think about Ratchet's optics as much. At least until they began to lose the shine that he had been so familiar with in his youth.

War was uncaring and it held no love for those trapped within its web. Optimus endured it with the patience of the old gods of Cybertron long since left to rot. Whispers of ancient beings far beyond his comprehension clouded his sense of time. Tears he wept for the fallen turned his gaze away from those around him and instead to the rivers of energon that flowed around his pedes. He endured it as the last of a long line of divines given frame. But Ratchet was mortal, and as the war dragged on, those optics that Optimus adored grew darker. Passion changed to red hot fury so bright and dangerous that Ratchet's gaze felt almost like venom at times.

Stokes of fire leapt through Ratchet's blazing optics, and more than once Optimus feared he'd be scorched by that boiling inferno of loss and grief. And yet despite being the one to lead their war ever onward, Optimus never felt Ratchet's anger directed at him. When those optics gazed up at him, Optimus felt only age old affection and care. Fire was tamed and turned to comforting warmth. Steady servos ran along his arms and a soothing voice lulled Optimus into temporary serenity on long cycles where he simply had no more tears to shed or reason to give to their Primus forsaken war. All the while those optics met his own and Optimus was at peace.

Vorns passed by. Optimus continued in his eternal march toward victory and Ratchet continued to change. Rage turned into bitterness, the molten hot wrath of war transforming into a deep set sorrow that left creases in the living metal that surrounded Ratchet's optics. Grim darkness pooled in that once passionate gaze. Those optics flickered in wrath long fostered each time Megatron made himself known. Those optics flared with every injury that the team brought with them back to base once they arrived on Earth. Those optics that Optimus loved so dearly dimmed and quieted, their light softening in the dark of the medical bay on long nights when Ratchet thought no one would hear his quiet sobs.

Optimus always loved Ratchet's optics.

He should have treated him better.

"Does it still hurt?" Optimus asked as he ran his digits over the weld on Ratchet's side.

"Of course it does. The weld has only been in place for a month and the wound ran deep." Ratchet replied clinically, not looking up from his work even as Optimus risked wrapped his arms around the doctor's waist. Others could see, but in the moment, he didn't care.

"I'm sorry." He murmured into the crook of Ratchet's neck as he leaned down, desperate to feel the comforting warmth of Ratchet's frame against his. The Doctor stilled, his field extending and wrapping around Optimus is concern.

"Optimus, please, we've talked about this. I was out of line in saying that. You are not at fault." Ratchet broke from Optimus's embrace and turned around. Optimus wanted to look away in shame as those optics looked up at him, still as lovely as ever, but tinted a haunting green.

A sign of Optimus's greatest failure.

"I am at fault, and you know that as well as I do. Let us not delude ourselves." Optimus reached out to cup Ratchet's face. The Doctor leaned into his touch obligingly. Any open affection was a risk, but there was something unspoken that needed to be addressed before time ran out and the world drew them apart yet again.

"You have always done what you think is right. I can't blame you for hoping and trying to save a mech who was once a friend." Ratchet's optics cycled and the green became more prominent within them in response to his emotions. Optimus frowned and shifted so caress the metal around the Doctors optics. His scarred digits traced creases and small scuffs, lingering around the corners of Ratchet's optics as Optimus observed the green hue in sorrow.

"You shouldn't have felt pressured to do this to yourself. The risks were too great. If I had only-" A digit pressed to Optimus's derma before he could continue, silencing his attempts at being self deprecating before they could truly begin.

"I made my choice. It is not your fault. Besides, the world is just a little more green for me now. That is all." Ratchet forced a smile, but Optimus could not bring himself to do the same. Ratchet's words while he was on synthetic energon were cruel... but undeniably true. How many times had Optimus had the chance to bring down Megatron only to let the warlord go? How many lives could he have saved if he had only put aside his feelings on the matter and acted?

"I can tell you are beating yourself up over it. Stop. It's over now and I'm fine." Ratchet pulled away and Optimus's servos fell. They stood quietly together for a nanoklik before Ratchet moved forward, his smaller frame pressing against Optimus's in a gentle embrace. Strong arms hooked themselves around the crooks of Optimus's torso, unwavering but gentle enough that if he wished, the Prime could pull away.

"Forgive me." Optimus murmured in the quiet of the medical bay. A gentle hum met his plea. Neither said another word as they stood in the relative dark, comforted in the presence of one another. Only the light of the nearby console lit up the area, but it was more than enough for the Prime to work with.

Green tinted optics glowed in the gloom, illuminating Optimus's face as he leaned down. Ratchet's optics closed, most likely expecting a gentle touch to the crest of his helm. Instead, Optimus leaned as close as he was able, even going so far as to angle his helm so that he could get near enough to place a ghost of a kiss over Ratchet's optics. Each closed optic received the lightest of touches, so soft that it may as well have been a gust of wind. But as Optimus pulled back and settled into the helm touch that Ratchet had likely been prepared for, the Prime finally smiled.

"Thank you for standing by my side." Ratchet stared in shock as the Prime's digits again found their place tracing around the Doctor's optics. Ratchet stood still, uncertain of how to respond until Optimus spoke again.

"I've always loved your optics, regardless of their hue." Optimus assured, earning a gentle huff from his companion.

"You sap." Ratchet whispered even as his optics glowed in all too rare joy at the show of affection. The green was still present, a permanent reminder of the costs of war. However Optimus continued to smile all the same, simply pleased to have those optics locked on him.

Yes, Optimus would admit it aloud if times permitted.

He had always loved Ratchet's optics.

[wriothesleysgf]

safety net — k. nanami.

notes: i needed some nanamin comfort tonight, so here's my rambling. enjoy :3

"my love, it's okay, i promise," nanami cooed. his strong arms wrapped around you as you wept into his chest, finally beginning to believe the soft sweet nothing that he's been whispering into the crown of your head. "you're safe with me; i won't let any harm come to you, no matter what,"

he didn't mind when your fists balled up his carefully ironed dress shirt. he didn't bat an eye when you crawled into his lap for comfort. he didn't complain that your tears had sodden his clothes.

instead, he encouraged you to let your feelings out. however, nanami can barely stand to see your dejection. he hushes you tenderly, waiting for your mood to shift towards something a tad brighter, or even exhaustion. the man got his wish shortly enough, for your cries began to weaken, and you became increasingly limp in his arms.

"are you tired, my darling?" nanami asked, voice barely above a whisper so as not to alarm you.

you only nodded, your feeble movements an indicator of how truly depleted your energy levels were. your arms wrapped around nanami loosely, head resting against his chest. you could hear the rhythmic beating of his heart, its strength a reminder of all the times when he told you that it beats for you, and you alone. though most would assume it cheesy, coming from a typically stoic man like nanami you found yourself touched by such sentiment.

he watched as the small smile appeared on your face, relief spreading over him. without a blanket in reach, nanami assumed that the second best thing would be his jacket, so he reached for the apparel and threw it over you. you instinctively snuggled into the material, your lover's scent bringing you a familiar sense of calmness in your drained state.

"sleep, princess," nanami mumbled, placing a kiss to your exposed forehead. "i'll be here when you wake up, i promise. nothing will hurt you now. i love you,"

you mumbled a return of his final words to you, entangling yourself in the man to get comfortable. he watched with a gaze full of adoration, allowing you to writhe as you pleased as you quickly drifted off for the night.

when the morning came, you expected to find yourself buried in the warmth of your sheets. instead, you were met with the slumbering face of nanami kento, in the same position that you'd fallen asleep in. you couldn't help but light-heartedly giggle, both thankful for his actions and as a realization of how deeply you returned the care he held for you.

[starryalpacasstuff]

She Loves To Cook and She Loves to Eat: I can't summarize my love for it sufficiently

A while ago, I asked @lurkingshan for Japanese QL recs, and Tsukutabe was her first rec. And while I'm finally watching this significantly later than I expected to, I'm so glad I did. I watched both seasons as a whole, which turned out to be a good idea because while season one was good, season two was excellent.

I think, going into this show I expected it to be a simple, domestic show that was pretty much all fluff. And while it was all those things, it was so much more too. It's got a lot of hidden depth to it, particularly in terms of how mature and real it is.

Tsukutabe is many things, but at its core, it is a show about people being kind. It's about people receiving kindness and being kind to others in turn. From inviting someone to a home cooked meal to volunteering to cover overtime work, the characters in this show exemplify how much change you can bring by simply being kind. It's something that fills you with warm, fuzzy feelings as you watch.

It's also a show about healing. We get to see people who have very different relationships with food heal and develop them as the show progresses. One thing I loved about this show was that it consistently treated everyone's problems as equal, never downplaying any of them. Nagumo and Kasuga's problems and relationships with food are fundamentally opposing, but are also equal in that they are two sides of the same coin, and are treated as such. I nearly wept tears of joy at the balcony scene with Kasuga and Nagumo, which was absolutely beautifully handled.

The show delving into the pressures of family and society in regards to marriage hit extremely close to home in the best way possible. I really appreciated the realistic and relatable portrayal of people's views on marriage, in particular how the show delved into the relationships queer people have with marriage. The depiction of the common belief that queer relationships are less likely to last was also extremely familiar. My mother, who is more liberal than most Indians, once told me that an Indian lesbian she talked to said the problem with being gay in India is that, due to gay marriage not being legal, there is very little commitment in gay relationships. While I'm still slightly unsure of whether this was true, the point stands that this is a fairly prevalent belief amongst Asians who don't grab pitchforks and torches upon hearing the word gay. I really, really enjoyed how realistic this show is in this regard, because it made me feel so seen.

Kasuga and Nomoto's relationship was adorable. Watching them figure out their deeper feelings for one another, stumble into a confession and then figure out how to be in a relationship was delightful. I was extremely pleased that there was little to no miscommunication, and that both of them acted like mature adults with decent communication skills (what a surprise!). And finally, they had an excellent dynamic that felt very real.

Another thing I absolutely adored was how much focus this show gave to the food, to the point where it was practically the third lead. I mean, I'm sure that it's to be expected from a show called she loves to cook and she loves to eat, but I still found myself genuinely surprised by the amount of attention that was given to the food in the show. Whenever food was cooked and eaten, we were presented with generous shots of both, which, as a lover of both cooking and eating, I greatly appreciated.

This show is amazing in many areas; the food, Kasuga and Namoto's slowly blossoming relationship, and the fantastic explorations of relationships with food. But, what really stole the show for me was the supporting cast. Each character that they introduced was someone who was at a different place in their life, with a different perspective that they brought with them. And, most importantly, as I mentioned before, they were so kind. The interactions between most of the characters were incredibly wholesome, and the story did an amazing job of showing us as much about the supporting characters as it could in the limited screen time they had.

Not only was Sayama a consistent, reliable support and voice of reason to Namoto, she had her own issues that she regularly discussed with Namoto, because that's what friends do. Too often in QL do friends of the main characters seem to only exist to listen to their problems, provide (typically questionable) advice and further the plot. I loved how the story subtly showed us how marriage pressure affect Sayama as well, who seems to be searching for a boyfriend only because that is what society expects of her, which is likely the reason she cannot find anyone. Kasuga's coworker had a wonderful mini arc of her own, and despite nearly all of it occurring offscreen, what little we got was absolutely brilliant. The scene wherein she and Kasuga talked about having to care for elders has to be one of my favourites in the entire show. In this, she was probably one of the first elders to ever encourage Kasuga to act with her own wellbeing in mind. Similarly, Kasuga was likely one of the first people to tell her to do what makes her happy. The fact that they are, in way, speaking in place of each other's loved ones only makes this moment even more of a tearjerker. The final scene wherein we see her looking for a job was delightful; it was the perfect conclusion to her story. Yako perfectly embodied the older, experienced queer and I loved her so much. It's clear that she's not had an easy time being a lesbian and asexual, but she overcame the challenges and came out smiling. Although I do wish that the show had explored her asexuality more, and perhaps even expanded on her story, I also understand that time constraints wouldn't have allowed for it; and besides, there's a certain poignancy to the conclusion she got. Honestly though, I'd absolutely love to see a spinoff based on Yako's story, exploring the hurdles she's overcome and maybe even seeing her find love (season 3 anyone?). As for Nagumo, I don't think I even need to say anything. She had a wonderful arc that was extremely well written, and by the end of the story she had blossomed into a better version of herself. I also loved her friendship with Kasuga, how the two of them grew closer over time and helped each other with their respective problems. The wide range of characters helped emphasize the show's message of how everyone is different, and how it is these differences that make our world a better place. Even Nomoto's coworker is an example of this, as someone who seems to have little to no interest in romance, who doesn't hesitate to take up the overtime work so that the two girls can enjoy Valentine's Day. (I'm headcanoning him as aroace and you can pry this from my cold, dead hands).

Found family is a trope I adore, and this show has to be one of the most beautiful executions of this trope I've ever seen. Watching Namoto and Kasuga build a little family for themselves—one that accepts everyone as they are—was a very healing experience.

Another thing I really liked about this show is how realistically conflict was handled. On the most part, the show did not antagonize characters. The man who told Kasuga to drink beer is treated as simply an annoying person one stumbled across (a common occurrence), the cooks at the restaurant make an effort by offering different sizes of rice portions after serving Kasuga a smaller portion due to her gender and both Nomoto and Kasuga acknowledge that it was not the real estate agent's fault for mistaking them to be friends. Nomoto's mother is slightly overbearing and conservative, but she clearly cares for Nomoto, something that hit very close to hom. I appreciated that the show portrayed this so well. Most people are not evil and out to get you, they're just people living their own lives based upon the beliefs they've built up over the course of their life, and most of the time it is not worth our time to get worked up over it.

Meanwhile, Kasuga's father is perhaps the only actual antagonist of the story. I really liked how this plotline was handled because of how real it felt. The show plays out exactly according to the actual thought process someone would have in a situation like this, in particular an asian; that our parents are products of their time and that while we wouldn't condemn them for their actions, the same does not make us responsible for dealing with them either. Side note while I'm on this, I was also very happy that the show did not compare Nomoto and Kasuga's different methods of dealing with family, because not only were they in different situations, the show also seems to emphasize that neither choice is wrong, and that it is up to each individual to choose their own path. Going back to what I said about being glad that the show did not compare Kasuga and Nagumo's situation, this seems to develop into a theme for the show. The show is filled with different people with different lives and different perspectives, and never once does it try to compare any of them, which I find to be a beautiful message.

If there's any criticism I have of this show at all, it's only that it's probably not the best pick for a binge. The slow plot, laid-back feel and fact that each problem that arises is resolved in the same episode makes it an excellent candidate for a show you watch a few episodes of every day. Unfortunately, I placed myself in an 8 hour flight with the downloaded episodes being my only source of entertainment, so I did end up binging most of it. It's definitely not bad as a binge, I certainly enjoyed watching it, I simply feel like watching it slowly is a far better choice. All in all, this is a wonderful show. It's cozy and comforting, and it's very realistic and mature in a way that's quite refreshing. Watching it made me feel warm inside and I'm so glad I finally watched it.

[beanibon]

GIVE ME A READER WHO KNIVES IS TEACHING HOW TO PLAY PIANO AND HE FUCKS THE READER WHILE THEY PLAY AND PUNISHES THEM IF THEY MESS UP PLEASE POOKIE

-@millionsvash

Lesson Number One

TW: Smut, potential dubcon, porn w/o plot, cock warming, orgasm denial, p in v, degradation and praise, choking, slight nipple play, rough sex.

Your mouth felt dry, hot and clammy as delicate fingers grazed your vulnerable throat. With your body shaking, quivering with embarrassment and pleasure, your mind could not focus on which note was next.

Resulting in your fifth mistake.

A disapproved sigh sounded behind you, saliva forced down with a harsh swallow, one that felt as if you had a stone in your throat. You awaited nervously for your punishment, whimpers of excitement and fear escaping you.

"You humans are useless, how many times must I correct you? This isn't rocket science, nor something vastly more difficult, it's as if you wish to suffer by my hand." Knives grumbled, those once gentle fingers squeezing the air from your lungs.

Eyes rolled deep into your skull, you gasped, drool sliding from the corners of your lips. The walls of your cunt convulsed, a growl of restraint echoing around the disturbing room of sanctum, his cock twitching within you.

"Filthy slut, to think death turns you on." Knives surged forward, smirking as you unceremoniously faceplanted against the keys. A hideous melody played out, an idea popped into the Independent's mind.

Flipping your bare body over, forcing you to look into those beautiful, deadly eyes. Knives pressed you painfully into his most precious possession, the keys singing a horrid tune. It would've made your ears hurt, if Knives crazed look of lust, anger and disgust didn't make you squirm uncomfortably.

"Don't worry, I'll make sure you'll never forget a single key again. I'll fuck it so deep in that human brain of yours until it's engraved in it!"

Before you could even protest, your cries mixed with the slamming of piano keys, filling the room. Anyone passing by would instantly know of the vile sins their Master and his pet were committing. After all, why would he ever purposely make such awful music?

There was no silencing your cries either. No, Knives liked to hear you scream his name, let everyone know that you're his filthy, whorish pet.

Fingers pinched and pulled at your swelling nipples, causing your legs to kick out. Never was he gentle, always being cruel to the point you wept in painful pleasure.

With each thrust, hips colliding with your pelvis, that piano spewed out its awful melody. And the more Knives heard, the more he wanted you ruined against it.

"What's the matter? Is my mutt getting close?" As you nodded, unable to form a proper sentence, Knives chuckled. "Good."

All movement ceased, Knives roughly flipping you, cock still buried to the hilt inside your dripping cunt. Slamming your face against the keys, his crazed eyes stared expectedly at you.

"Well? Aren't you going to play?" He cooed mockingly, fists full of your hair.

You couldn't believe it. Eyes wide with disbelief that Knives expected you to play, a song you struggled with in a sound mind, not close to drenching his cock in your orgasmic juices. Yet when slammed against the keys once more, nose aching from the impact, you knew he wasn't playing around.

Mind clouded, vision foggy from the euphoria of your cunt being ruined, you began to shakily play out the song Knives so dutifully began teaching you. Such a generous soul he was, allowing a mere human to touch the gorgeous piano he adored. You tried to be thankful for the opportunity, but in this exact moment, it proved to be quite difficult.

As it approached the part you often screwed up, Knives attempted to shove his cock in further, purposely. The fucker wanted you to screw up, to punish you.

So you could imagine his disappointment when you succeeded in remembering the notes.

With a deep, disappointed frown, Knives huffed. Slamming his cock into you, feeling as you came instantly from the sudden action, legs quivering as your juices coated his inhuman member.

Pulling out, watching as his cum dribbled down you quivering legs, Knives began walking towards the doors. No after-care. You were use to it, thankful that each day pleasing him was a day you lived.

"I suppose you did well, some congratulations are in order. However," Knives looked over his shoulder, watching as you leant against the front of his piano. "I would've preferred if you failed. That way, you'd be stuffed and bred for your mistakes."

You swallowed, feeling your core ache and moisten from those words alone. If you had've just played the wrong note, that tight pussy would be stuffed for hours until you were fat with Knives child.

"Oh well, there is always next time you fail to complete a simple task." With that, your tormentor left.

Leaving you. All alone, wishing you just screwed up to have him fuck you until the next morning.

A/N: HI GUYS! Hope you enjoyed my lil smutfic, the first one since I'm back. Feel free to give any feedback, and remember my requests are open!

Love you guys heaps!

[waterdeep-weavemoss]

Soul

Thank you @sorceresssundries for sending Young and Beautiful as a prompt! It's a beautiful song, I hope you enjoy this. 💜

'Will you still love me when I got nothing but my aching soul? I know you will.' - Lana Del Rey, Young and Beautiful

Taglist:

@netherese0rb @boufsy @owlseeyoulaterpal @lanafofana

@auroraesmeraldarose @aryancunin @amorgansgal

His first engagement gift to her was a white gold ring adorned with a pear cut diamond, huge and sparkling, haloed with tiny amethysts. The band twined prettily like strands of Weave, and engraved on the inside in his own hand were the words: ‘I found divinity in you.’ Tav received it via courier, opening the door in her home just off Heapside Strand to see the poor dragonborn woman obscured by armfuls of blooms: blue irises, red roses, massive clouds of peonies and bright purple anemones, even cascades of delicate wisteria.

‘Someone must absolutely adore you!’ the woman gushed, her copper scales gleaming in the morning light. ‘When you’ve taken all these, love, there’s something else for you. There’s a vase here, too- do you want me to help you arrange these?’

‘Oh! That would be wonderful,’ said Tav. ‘Thank you.’ She backed inside for the lady to pass and spied the vase. It was a work of art; a sculptural piece of rose quartz veined with gold. Bringing it carefully inside, she set it by her reading nook, filled it with water, and watched as the courier carefully arranged them. The sight of them brought her such great joy she wanted to cry.

‘And one more thing. I was told to be incredibly careful with this,’ she said, smiling and reaching into her satchel. She withdrew a small box and an ornate letter on quality parchment. ‘Have a wonderful day!’

‘Bye,’ she said to her retreating back, closing the door slowly behind her. With trembling hands, she opened the letter.

My love, I know I proposed in haste. I had to, in truth. I was so terrified it would all be a dream and I’d wake, and you’d be gone. Not that I don’t trust you, of course. It’s more that you are so beyond even my most audacious dreams that I cannot believe you’re real. I hope you like what I chose for you. White gold for your complexion of course, a diamond for the pure beauty of your soul and the endless love I hold for you, and, if you’ll forgive me a little vanity, amethysts for myself. I would say more here but those things are best said in vows. I hope you like the flowers. I’ll tell you why I chose them, but those things are best said running my fingers through your hair, murmured softly into your waiting ear. I wish I could see your face… not long now. Still, being apart from you is torture. Here’s to eternity. Gale.

‘Oh,’ said Tav, blinking back tears and kissing his name on the parchment. ‘Gale, I adore you.’ She reached for the box and gasped at its contents. The most perfect ring, just as he’d described. It twinkled on her finger like a piece of the astral plane. She curled up in her favourite chair and wept tears of joy, wishing she could hold him.

*

His second gift arrived a week later. Tav opened the door to a cheerful dwarven man holding a sturdy basket in his arms. ‘Hello ma’am,’ he said, eyes twinkling in delight. ‘I’ve a gift for you from Mr Gale Dekarios. He gave me express instructions to deliver his gift to you personally. It’s important it’s opened indoors, in a secure area, and away from any fine furnishings. Ahem. He hopes you enjoy your gift. Blessings, ma’am.’ He handed the basket over and off he went with a cheery wave. Frowning in puzzlement, Tav took it inside and set it down in the kitchen, gingerly lifting the lid. She gasped, astonished. Inside, fast asleep, was a tiny, winged kitten, silver and grey. It had a small, jeweled collar and a letter tucked beneath one dainty paw.

My love, Tara has been my stalwart companion for most of my life. She saved it, in fact, more than once. I cherish her utterly, and I want you to have the same unwavering support when I can’t be there for you. I hope that is a rare occurrence, since if it were not, I fear it would drive me mad to be apart from you for long. Still… this is Calliope. Admittedly she’s only a baby, but I want you to have as much bonding with her as possible. She’ll speak in time. May she be a   comfort to you when I cannot be. Forgive my presumption, I put your name down as Dekarios. Selfishly, it brought me such joy to do so that I wept. Be here. Would that time would speed up, just a little, so I could hold you in my arms. Gale.

The kitten stirred in her basket, stretched and mewed softly. Delicately, Tav drew her into her arms. ‘Hello, Calliope,’ she said, kissing her fuzzy little head. ‘I hope you love your dad as much as I do.’ She stroked her soft wings, cooing to her as she showed her the house. Calliope blinked her golden eyes slowly and pushed her head into Tav’s palm, purring. ‘He knows exactly how to make me feel like the most special woman in the world, doesn’t he? Hmm?’ Calliope meowed in agreement, climbing up onto her shoulder and settling around her neck, like she'd always been there.

*

Tav was in Waterdeep, finally. It was the night before the wedding, and she stared at the ceiling in Morena’s spare room, her heart like a hummingbird’s wings in her chest. Calliope had tucked her face into the crook of her neck but did not sleep, sensing her excitement. The wedding dress hung on the back of the door, a confection of seed pearls and silk perfect for the summer heat. Tiny flowers cascaded off the shoulders in a froth of lace, putting her in mind of seafoam. She knew Gale was in his tower feeling exactly the same, and drifted off to sleep with his face in her mind, the first time he told her he loved her all that time ago.

The day dawned bright and cloudless. It was a flurry of activity the moment she woke: Morena had called Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Karlach and Astarion to her home early to help Tav dress and prepare themselves.

‘I hope you’re ready, darling,’ said Astarion, kissing her on the cheek.

‘What are you doing here? I thought you’d be in Gale’s party.’

‘Oh please,’ he purred. ‘You know I love you more.’ He chucked her under the chin and winked. ‘You ought to know, I made that delicious dress for you. It pains me to know it’s just going to end up in pieces on the fl-’

‘Alright Fangs, that’s enough,’ said Karlach, clapping a hand over his mouth. ‘You’re making the bride blush and only one man gets to do that today.’

‘Chk,’ admonished Lae’zel. ‘Both of you are children.’

‘For once we agree on something, Lae’zel. It must be a special day indeed,’ replied Shadowheart. ‘C’mon Tav. Makeup first.’

‘If you get even the faintest smidge of makeup on that dress,’ began Astarion dangerously, ‘I will drain you dry, love. So be careful.’ Shadowheart shot him a quelling look and set to work. When Calliope leapt into Tav’s lap, Astarion came to the rescue. ‘Ah-ah, little one,’ he said, scooping her up. ‘Mummy’s making herself extra beautiful, alright?’ He held the kitten in his arms, looking for all the realms like a doting uncle.

‘I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, angel,’ said Morena when she came to check everything was alright a little later, ‘I think Gale may just die when he sees you.’

Lae’zel and Karlach helped Tav into her dress, Astarion hovering anxiously as they did so. Finally, he slid pearl encrusted slippers onto her feet. ‘I think she’s ready,’ said Karlach, beaming.

Her friends were dressed in assorted colours themselves: Shadowheart in midnight blue, Lae’zel in maroon, Karlach in cyan and Astarion in emerald green. Morena wore deep purple.

‘A couple finishing touches,’ said Morena, fastening a pair of diamond studs in Tav’s ears. ‘I wore these on my own wedding day. And these-’ she handed her a massive bouquet of blue irises. ‘Ready?’

‘I am,’ she said.

The wedding party converged on the tower; Tav was hidden from Gale with the aid of a strong invisibility spell, spirited away while everyone took their places, Astarion taking her by the arm. ‘Are you sure you want me to do this for you?’ he murmured softly.

‘I’m sure,’ she said. ‘You’ve become very special to me.’ He smiled, and she could’ve sworn unshed tears sparkled in his eyes.

‘Alright darling.’ He lifted the invisibility spell and threw open the great oak doors before her. She stared; Gale had never mentioned a ballroom in his tower before. It was festooned with what could only be the work of all the florists in Waterdeep, the same flowers Gale had sent her with her engagement ring. The natural magic of the space swirled around them in colourful motes, sparkling and beautiful. At the far end of the room, Wyll and Minsc were speaking quietly with Gale, Jaheira and Halsin murmuring quietly with Morena, who held Calliope in her lap. Astarion squeezed Tav’s arm as music struck up from nowhere, piano and violin and harp. She recognised this. It was the music Gale had played for her in their vision, all that time ago.

Astarion walked Tav down the aisle, his presence calming and steady. She knew he was proud of her, and she would’ve wanted no-one else to give her away. As she approached, Gale beamed, his eyes wide and soft. He took her hands as Astarion took his place beside Wyll and kissed them, unable to stop himself.

‘Hello,’ he murmured.

‘Hello,’ she whispered back, grinning.

‘Beloved, we are gathered,’ said the wood elf priestess, ‘to witness the joining of two souls in eternal love. They will speak their vows to one another, and ritual will be sealed in the ancient magics of Realmspace.’ She gestured to Gale. ‘Mr Dekarios, if you would.’

He cleared his throat, cheeks going a little pink. ‘Tav. I believe you are one half of my soul. I will protect you until my last breath, and then I’ll walk out of the fugue plane to do so again. You are sacred to me in a way I’ve never experienced before, you helped me see life for all its beauty and wonder and worth. I would die for you if fate willed it, but I swear to you I will live for you instead. I adore you. You’re more to me than anything in all the realms, including magic. If I lost it all tomorrow, I’d be content, because you are utterly irreplacable. I love you. Gods, I love you.’

Tav felt tears sliding down her cheeks, giggled when Gale brushed them away gently with his thumbs. Taking a breath, she responded, ‘Gale. You are the most special man I’ve ever known, magic or not. I’ve never known someone so generous, so open and kind and wonderful. You saved me as well. I was so lonely. So lost. And you took my hand and led me out of the dark into your world of beauty and wonder. Wherever you are is consecrated ground. I will cherish you forever. I love you.’

Dimly aware that everyone around her was weeping into their hands, Tav could only just hear the priestess telling Gale to kiss her; he drew her to him by the waist and kissed her with such tenderness it made her feel faint. Only when they needed to breathe did he pull away, pure adoration on his face. He pressed his forehead to hers as their friends and family cheered, and she felt at home- with her husband- for the first time in her life.

[muiitoloko]

hi, i love your work, you're one of my favourite writers and you're seriously amazing<33

could i please request a sheriff of nottingham x reader?? maybe with some angst thrown into the mix<3

it's okay if you don't do requests, i understand

i still adore your fics, they always make my day better<333

Title: Beneath the Veil

Summary: Perhaps, just perhaps, there was still a chance for redemption amidst the darkness of Nottingham Castle.

Pairing: Sheriff of Nottingham × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Violence, insult, infidelity, angst and Smut.

Author's Notes: Thank you so much for your kind words! It means a lot to hear that you enjoy my stories. I'm thrilled to accommodate your request for a Sheriff of Nottingham x reader fic. Your support truly brightens my day! 💖📝

As you listened to the maids gossiping about the Sheriff's indiscretions, your heart sank deeper into despair. The pain of knowing that your husband had never respected your marriage pierced your soul like a dagger, and the cruel words of the maids only added salt to the wound.

"I heard the Sheriff brought another woman to his chambers last night," one maid whispered, her voice tinged with pity.

"Of course he did," another scoffed, "have you seen Lady [Your Name]? It's no wonder the Sheriff prefers the company of other women."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you pressed yourself against the wall, hidden from view but unable to escape the cruel words echoing in your mind. The memory of the scar on your face, a permanent reminder of a childhood accident, burned with shame and self-loathing.

Your mind drifted back to that fateful day when your brother's playful antics had left you disfigured and marked for life. You had been just a child, innocent and carefree, until fate had intervened with a cruel twist of destiny.

"I'll pretend you're the dragon!" your brother had exclaimed, swinging your father's sword with reckless abandon. But his aim had been off, and the blade had sliced across your face, leaving behind a jagged scar that marred your once-beautiful features.

From that day forward, you had hidden behind veils and masks, shielding yourself from the cruel gaze of the world. Your father, desperate to salvage your future, had offered a generous dowry to any man willing to take you as his wife. And the Sheriff, seduced by the promise of wealth, had accepted, never caring for the woman beneath the veil.

As the maids continued their gossip, your heart ached with the weight of loneliness and despair. You longed for a love that would see past your scars, a love that would cherish you for who you truly were. But in the cold, unforgiving halls of Nottingham Castle, such dreams were but fleeting illusions.

With a heavy heart, you retreated to the solitude of your chambers, the echoes of the maids' laughter ringing in your ears. In the darkness, you wept for the love you had never known, for the husband who had never seen you as anything more than a pawn in his game of power and greed. And as the tears flowed freely down your cheeks, you vowed to never let the world see the pain that lay hidden behind your veil.

Later that night, as you sat alone in your chamber, the comforting click of knitting needles filling the air, you found solace in the rhythmic motion of your hands. Knitting had become a sanctuary for you, a way to escape the harsh realities of your existence within the castle walls.

Lost in thought, you focused on the delicate stitches forming beneath your fingers, each loop a small refuge from the pain that haunted you. The doll you were crafting slowly took shape, its form a testament to the love and care you poured into every stitch.

You had befriended the daughter of one of the maids, a sweet child with a smile that could light up the darkest of days. It was for her that you knitted the doll, hoping to bring a glimmer of joy to her young heart amidst the shadows of the castle.

As you continued to knit, your mind drifted back to the day you had first met her. She had been playing in the courtyard, her laughter echoing through the air like a song of innocence. And when she had approached you, unafraid of the veil that concealed your scar, something within you had stirred.

But before you could dwell too long on the memories, the side door connecting your chambers to your husband's suddenly swung open, and the Sheriff himself stumbled in, his movements unsteady and his eyes glazed with drink.

You froze, your heart pounding in your chest as you watched him, unsure of what to expect. The Sheriff rarely ventured into your chambers, preferring to keep his distance from a wife he saw as little more than a bargaining chip.

But tonight was different, his presence filling the room with a tension you could almost taste. You could smell the sharp tang of ale on his breath as he approached you, his gaze lingering on your face with a mixture of disdain and something else you couldn't quite place.

"What are you doing here, woman?" he slurred, his words slurred and his voice thick with intoxication. "Shouldn't you be off hiding in the shadows like the coward you are?"

You lowered your gaze, your fingers stilling on the needles as you braced yourself for his cruelty. But to your surprise, the Sheriff's tone softened, his eyes narrowing as he took in the doll you held in your hands.

"What's this?" he demanded, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Some pathetic attempt at charity? Who is it for, hmm? Another one of your pitiful schemes to garner favor?"

You quickly looked away, keeping your scar hidden as best as you could, not wanting him to see the source of his disdain. "What do you want?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the weight of his presence suffocating you.

The Sheriff's brow furrowed in annoyance at your lack of response. "You know what I want," he replied sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You tensed, your heart sinking even further as you realized what he was implying. Perhaps tonight, you had hoped, he would spare you this indignity, this painful reminder of your worthlessness in his eyes. But your hopes were quickly dashed as reality crashed down upon you like a wave of despair.

With a heavy sigh, you obeyed his command, slowly removing your clothes and climbing onto the bed, hiding your face in the pillows as you waited for him to take what he wanted.

The Sheriff watched you with a mixture of disgust and indifference, not bothering to hide his contempt as he undressed and climbed into bed behind you. It was always the same, the same position, the same routine, devoid of any pleasure or intimacy.

As he entered you roughly, you bit back a cry of pain, your body tensing against the intrusion. You couldn't understand how some women could enjoy such acts, could find pleasure in the harshness of it all. For you, it was simply a nightmare, a cruel punishment inflicted upon you by a husband who cared nothing for your well-being.

The Sheriff showed no mercy, his movements rough and hurried as he sought only his own release. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to endure until it was over, until you were once again alone in the darkness of your chamber.

And finally, mercifully, it was over. The Sheriff grunted in satisfaction, pulling away from you without a word, his disdain palpable in the air. You heard the rustle of fabric as he dressed himself, the click of the door as he left without a backward glance.

Alone once more, you curled into yourself, tears streaming down your face as you clung to the only comfort you had left—the comforting click of knitting needles, weaving a fragile thread of hope amidst the darkness of your despair.

As the days passed, the oppressive atmosphere of Nottingham Castle remained unchanged. The Sheriff's indiscretions continued unabated, his cruel words and actions a constant reminder of your marginalized existence within the walls of the castle.

That night, as the grand banquet commenced, you found yourself once again relegated to the sidelines, your veil shrouding your face as you observed the festivities from afar. Your husband, reveling in the company of his guests, showed no regard for your presence, his attention focused solely on his own pleasure.

As he drank, laughed, and indulged in the company of other women, you sat silently at the table, your hands clasped tightly in your lap. The sound of his boisterous laughter grated on your nerves, a stark contrast to the heavy weight of loneliness that settled in your chest.

A young lord, curious about your veiled visage, dared to question why you weren't partaking in the feast. But before you could respond, the Sheriff intercepted with a mocking jest, his words dripping with contempt as he belittled your appearance.

"No, no," he chortled, a cruel smirk twisting his lips, "I assure you, my dear lord, no one would wish to gaze upon such a sight. Trust me, it's a horror beyond imagination."

The woman perched on your husband's lap laughed lightly at his jest, her hands caressing his chest as she showered him with affection. You forced a smile, burying your pain deep within as you remained silent, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing your tears.

As the festivities continued, your attention was drawn to Emily, the sweet child you had befriended. You watched with concern as she struggled to serve the lords, the weight of the wine jug proving too much for her fragile frame.

When one of the lords raised his hand to strike her for a minor spill, you could no longer stand idly by. Rising from your seat with determination, you intervened, placing yourself between Emily and her assailant.

"No!" you exclaimed, your voice firm and commanding as you shielded Emily from harm, "You will not lay a hand on her."

The furious lord stood up and shouted at you, his face contorted with rage. The sheriff's brow furrowed in annoyance at the commotion. Ignoring the woman on his lap who was still showering him with kisses, he focused his attention on the unfolding scene before him.

"Enough!" he barked, his voice cutting through the air like a whip as he rose from his seat, his dark mood surfacing with palpable intensity. "What is the meaning of this disturbance?"

The lord turned to the Sheriff, his anger unabated as he pointed an accusing finger in your direction. "Sheriff, this woman dares to defy me, to interfere with my rightful authority over the servants. She must be punished!"

The Sheriff's eyes narrowed, his gaze flickering briefly to you before returning to the lord. "Is that so?" he replied, his tone laced with cold authority, "And what offense has my wife committed to warrant your ire?"

The lord sputtered in outrage, struggling to find words as he floundered under the Sheriff's piercing stare. But before he could respond, the Sheriff intervened once more, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

"Leave her be," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument as he fixed the lord with a steely gaze, "I will not tolerate such petty displays of power in my presence. Return to your seat, and let this matter be forgotten."

The lord hesitated for a moment, his pride wounded by the Sheriff's rebuke, but ultimately, he relented, shooting you a venomous glare before retreating to his place at the table.

As the room fell silent once more, the Sheriff turned his attention to you, his expression unreadable as he regarded you with a mix of curiosity and intrigue. And in that moment, you saw something in his eyes that gave you pause, a glimmer of something unexpected beneath the veneer of his usual indifference.

Feeling a sense of gratitude wash over you at your husband's intervention, you seized the opportunity to act. Without another word, you quickly made your way to Emily's side, offering her a reassuring smile as you guided her out of the room, grateful for the chance to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the banquet hall.

Later, as you reflected on the events of the evening in the quiet solitude of your chambers, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of gratitude towards the Sheriff for coming to your aid. Despite the complexities of your relationship, his actions had shown a rare glimpse of compassion, one that you couldn't ignore.

Perhaps, you thought to yourself, there was more to your husband than met the eye. And as you contemplated the possibility of thanking him later, you couldn't help but wonder if there was still hope for understanding and connection amidst the shadows of Nottingham Castle.

A soft creak echoed from his bedroom, followed by the gentle click of the door closing. Hope flickered within you, prompting you to hasten to the side door that led to her husband's bedroom, eager to convey your appreciation.

But before you could reach for the handle, the muffled laughter of women emanating from inside halted you in your tracks. A sinking feeling settled in the pit of your stomach as the reality of your husband's actions washed over you once again.

Your footsteps faltered, and you withdrew from the door, the weight of disappointment pressing down on you like a heavy burden. With a heavy heart, you turned away, retreating to the solitude of your bed as you sought to drown out the sounds of your husband's revelry with other women.

As the laughter grew louder, echoing through the walls of the castle, you buried your face in your hands, tears stinging your eyes as you grappled with the pain of betrayal. Once again, the cruel reminder of your husband's infidelity shattered whatever fragile hope had begun to take root in your heart.

Feeling a wave of sadness wash over you, you closed your eyes and tried to shut out the world, seeking solace in the darkness of your own thoughts. But no matter how hard you tried to block out the sounds, they persisted, a constant reminder of the loneliness and despair that plagued your existence within the castle walls.

With a heavy sigh, you resigned yourself to another night of solitude, the echoes of your husband's laughter mingling with the distant sound of your own muffled sobs. In the silence of your chambers, you clung to the fleeting hope that someday, somehow, you might find a way to break free from the chains that bound you to this life of misery and betrayal.

And then, unexpectedly as the days passed, the atmosphere within Nottingham Castle grew increasingly tense. The Sheriff’s mysterious illness had left him bedridden and delirious with fever. His aggressive outbursts terrified the maids who attempted to tend to him.

You remained isolated in your chambers, indifferent to the Sheriff's plight, convincing yourself that he didn't deserve your care or concern. But deep down, a part of you still couldn't shake the lingering sense of worry and compassion for the man who was your husband, despite everything.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the castle grounds, a frantic knocking at your door shattered the silence of your solitude. Startled, you rose from your seat by the fire, your heart pounding in your chest as you made your way to answer the summons.

Opening the door, you were greeted by the sight of one of the maids, her face pale and her eyes wide with fear. "Lady [Your Name]," she gasped, her voice trembling with urgency, "the Sheriff... he's taken a turn for the worse. We can't... we don't know what to do..."

Without waiting for her to finish, you pushed past her, a sense of dread settling in the pit of your stomach as you hurried towards the Sheriff's chambers. As you entered the dimly lit room, the sight that greeted you made your blood run cold.

The Sheriff lay sprawled across the bed, his long black hair matted with sweat and his brow furrowed in pain. His eyes, normally sharp and piercing, were clouded with fever-induced delirium, and his once-strong frame seemed frail and vulnerable beneath the layers of blankets.

"Get away from me, you wretched wench!" he snarled, his voice hoarse and guttural as he thrashed about in a fever-induced frenzy, "I'll have your head for this!"

The maids cowered in fear at his aggressive outburst, shrinking back against the walls as they attempted to evade his flailing limbs. But you remained undeterred, steeling yourself against the Sheriff's aggression as you approached the bed with determined resolve.

"Enough," you commanded, your voice firm and unwavering as you reached out to restrain him, "You will not harm these women. They are here to help you, whether you like it or not."

The Sheriff's eyes widened in momentary surprise at your defiance, his struggles faltering as he regarded you with a mix of confusion and disbelief. But before he could respond, a violent fit of coughing wracked his body, leaving him gasping for breath and weak with exhaustion.

As the maids rushed to his side with water and herbs, you took charge of the situation, issuing orders and directing their efforts with calm authority. Despite your reservations and the lingering resentment you harbored towards the Sheriff, you couldn't stand by and watch him suffer without trying to help.

Day by day, you faithfully stood by the Sheriff's side, attending to his needs and diligently observing his condition. Despite his initial resistance and aggression, he gradually grew more accepting of your presence, his fever-induced delirium giving way to moments of clarity and lucidity.

As you sat next to the Sheriff's bed, your fingers moved deftly over the knitting needles, the soft click-click of the yarn providing a comforting rhythm in the dimly lit chamber. The Sheriff lay still, his brow furrowed in discomfort despite the damp cloth you had placed on his forehead to soothe his fever.

"What are you doing?" His voice, rough and hoarse, cut through the silence, breaking your concentration.

You glanced up from your knitting, meeting the Sheriff's brown eyes with a mixture of concern and determination. "I'm knitting," you replied simply, your tone absentminded as you focused on your task, "a blanket, for you."

The Sheriff's gaze lingered on you, his expression unreadable as he processed your words. "A blanket?" he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper as he struggled to find his voice amidst the fog of illness.

You nodded, your fingers never pausing in their work as you explained, "Yes, you said you felt very cold. I thought... I thought a warmer blanket might help."

For a moment, there was silence between you, the only sound the steady rhythm of your knitting needles. Then, the Sheriff spoke again, his voice low and hesitant, "Why... why are you still wearing that veil?"

Before you could respond, the Sheriff continued, his tone softer this time, almost gentle in its insistence. "We're alone, [Your Name]," he murmured, his brown eyes meeting yours with a mixture of sympathy and understanding, "You don't need to wear the veil while it's just the two of us."

His words struck a chord within you, stirring a sense of vulnerability that you had long buried beneath layers of self-preservation. With trembling fingers, you reached up to loosen the veil that concealed your scar, setting it aside with a mixture of reluctance and resignation.

As you hesitantly met the Sheriff's gaze, you saw something flicker behind his eyes, a fleeting moment of vulnerability that mirrored your own. But before you could dwell too long on the significance of the moment, he looked away, his attention drifting to the flickering flames of the hearth.

You felt your heart sink at his dismissal, the weight of disappointment settling heavily in your chest. But you refused to cry, refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing your pain. Instead, you turned away, retreating into the familiar comfort of your knitting, the rhythmic click-click of the needles a soothing balm for your wounded soul.

In the silence that followed, you couldn't help but wonder what lay beneath the Sheriff's stoic facade. You knew that he carried his own burdens, his own secrets and regrets hidden behind the mask of authority and power. And as you sat with your back to him, lost in your thoughts, you couldn't help but wonder if there was more to him than met the eye.

Meanwhile, the Sheriff's mind drifted back to memories of his mother, a distant figure from his childhood who had been both loving and strict in equal measure. He remembered the way she used to knit by the fire, her hands moving deftly over the needles as she crafted blankets and scarves with care and precision.

The memory of her gentle touch and comforting presence brought a pang of longing to his heart, a reminder of the love he had lost long ago. And as he watched you sitting by the fire, lost in your own world of needles and yarn, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of something unfamiliar stirring within him.

For the first time in years, the Sheriff found himself questioning the walls he had built around his heart, wondering if perhaps there was still room for warmth and compassion amidst the cold, unforgiving halls of Nottingham Castle. And as he watched you knit, a sense of hope blossomed within him, a flickering flame of possibility amidst the shadows of his past.

Later that night, as the flickering flames of the hearth cast dancing shadows across the chamber, the Sheriff's fevered dreams transported him back to his childhood home. In his delirium, he called out for his mother, his voice raw with desperation as he reached out into the darkness, seeking the comforting embrace of her presence.

You stirred from your sleep at the sound of his anguished cries, your heart twisting with sympathy as you watched him twitch and thrash in his fevered state. With gentle hands, you reached out to shake him awake, whispering soothing words of reassurance as you tried to calm his restless slumber.

"Shh, it's alright," you murmured, your voice soft and gentle as you brushed a lock of his unruly black hair away from his fever-flushed face, "You're safe here, Sheriff. It's just a dream."

But the Sheriff's delirium persisted, his cries growing louder as he begged for his mother's presence, his brown eyes wide with fear and confusion. In his fevered state, he mistook you for her, reaching out to grasp your hand with a desperate urgency that tore at your heartstrings.

"Mother, don't leave me," he pleaded, his voice thick with emotion as he clung to you with a desperation that spoke of long-buried pain and longing, "Please, I need you."

Your heart ached at his distress, the weight of his suffering pressing down on you like a heavy burden. But you refused to let him succumb to his nightmares, determined to bring him back to reality with whatever means necessary.

With a sense of resolve, you assumed the role of his mother, your voice taking on a gentle lilt as you spoke to him with soothing words of comfort and reassurance. "There, there, Sheriff," you murmured, your tone soft and maternal as you stroked his fevered brow, "Everything will be alright. Mother's here, just like always."

But the Sheriff's fevered mind refused to accept your presence, his delusions clouding his perception as he continued to beg for his mother's return. "Mother, please," he pleaded, his voice breaking with despair as he clung to you with trembling hands, "Don't leave me alone. Not again."

You felt a pang of sadness at his words, a glimpse into the depths of his pain and loneliness that he had kept hidden from the world. But you refused to let him drown in despair, refusing to let him suffer alone in the darkness of his past.

"Shh, George," you whispered, your voice gentle but firm as you looked into his eyes with unwavering determination, "It's alright. I'm here with you, just like I promised. You're not alone, Sheriff. You never will be."

For a moment, there was silence between you, the only sound the soft rustle of blankets as the Sheriff's breathing gradually steadied. And as he looked up at you with tear-filled eyes, a flicker of recognition sparked behind the haze of his delirium.

"Mother?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he reached out to touch your face with trembling fingers, "Is it... is it really you?"

You nodded, your own eyes brimming with tears as you gazed into his, "Yes, George," you replied, your voice tender and full of compassion, "It's me. I'm here for you, just like always."

But the Sheriff shook his head, his brow furrowed in confusion as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings. "No," he protested, his voice growing more insistent with each passing moment, "You're not... you can't be... my mother. My mother is..."

His voice trailed off, his gaze distant as memories from his past flooded his mind with overwhelming intensity. And as he looked at you with a mixture of longing and despair, you realized the depth of his pain, the wounds of his childhood still raw and unhealed after all these years.

With a heavy heart, you reached out to him, your hand trembling slightly as you brushed his fevered brow with gentle fingers. "You're right, George," you whispered, your voice barely above a murmur, "I'm not your mother. But I am your wife, and I'll take care of you."

The Sheriff's brown eyes flickered with recognition as he gazed up at you, his expression softening with a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability. And in that moment, you saw something shift within him, a glimmer of understanding and acceptance that transcended the barriers of his fevered delusions.

But as you leaned in closer, your heart pounding in your chest, the Sheriff's gaze suddenly shifted to your face, his eyes lingering on the scar that marred your features. And before you could brace yourself for his reaction, he spoke, his voice hoarse and raw with emotion.

"You're ugly," he whispered, his words like a dagger to your heart as you recoiled from his cruel assessment. The pain of his rejection cut deep, reopening old wounds that had never fully healed, and you felt the sting of tears welling up in your eyes.

Without a word, you turned away, your shoulders trembling with the weight of his harsh words. The veil of self-preservation that you had carefully constructed around your heart threatened to crumble, leaving you exposed and vulnerable in the wake of his callous dismissal.

But before you could retreat further into the shadows of your despair, the Sheriff reached out, his hand wrapping around your wrist with unexpected tenderness. "Wait," he implored, his voice soft but determined as he pulled you back towards him, "Don't go. I... I don't want to be alone."

You hesitated, torn between the instinct to protect yourself and the overwhelming urge to comfort him in his time of need. And as you looked into his brown eyes, searching for a glimmer of sincerity amidst the darkness of his words, you saw something shift within him, a flicker of remorse and regret that mirrored your own.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the crackling of the fire, "I didn't mean... I didn't mean to hurt you. Please, stay. I need you."

His words touched something deep within you, stirring a sense of compassion and empathy that you hadn't felt in a long time. And as you gazed into his eyes, seeing the pain and vulnerability hidden beneath the mask of authority and power, you knew that you couldn't turn your back on him, not now, not when he needed you the most.

With a heavy sigh, you relented, nodding your head in silent agreement as you wiped away the tears that stained your cheeks. "I'll stay," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper, "I'll take care of you, George. You're not alone."

And as you reached for your veil, the familiar weight of its fabric settling against your skin, you felt a sense of resignation wash over you. You would hide your scar, bury them beneath layers of silk and lace, to spare him from the ugliness of your past.

But as you adjusted the veil over your face, obscuring your scar from his view, you couldn't help but wonder if there was still hope for understanding and acceptance amidst the shadows of Nottingham Castle. And as you settled back into your seat by the fire, knitting needles in hand, you knew that whatever the future held, you would face it together, scar and all.

Days later, as the sun cast its golden rays across the stone walls of Nottingham Castle, the Sheriff finally showed signs of recovery from his illness. Though his body remained weak, the fever that had plagued him for days had finally broken, leaving him with a newfound sense of clarity and strength.

You stood by his bedside, helping him dress and offering words of encouragement as he struggled to regain his strength. Despite the lingering traces of exhaustion that still clung to him, there was a glimmer of determination in his eyes, a silent resolve to overcome the ordeal that had nearly claimed his life.

As you adjusted his garments, there came a sharp rap at the bedroom door, the sound echoing through the chamber like a gunshot. The Sheriff's brow furrowed in annoyance at the interruption, but he waved you aside with a dismissive gesture, granting permission for the visitor to enter.

The door swung open, revealing the imposing figure of Sir Guy of Gisbourne, his tall frame silhouetted against the light streaming in from the corridor. His sharp features were set in a mask of concern, his piercing gaze fixed on the Sheriff as he stepped into the room with purposeful strides.

"Sheriff," Sir Guy began, his voice a deep rumble that filled the chamber with authority, "I've come to check on your condition. I trust that you're feeling better?"

The Sheriff nodded curtly, his gaze steady as he regarded his loyal lieutenant with a mixture of gratitude and suspicion. "Yes, Sir Guy," he replied, his voice raspy but resolute, "I'm on the mend, thanks to Lady [Your Name]'s care."

At the mention of your name, Sir Guy's eyes flickered briefly in your direction, his expression unreadable as he took in the sight of you assisting the Sheriff. And then, as if noticing something for the first time, his gaze lingered on your face, his brow furrowing in confusion.

You felt a surge of apprehension as Sir Guy's eyes roved over your features, the scar on your face laid bare for all to see. The silence stretched between you, thick with tension and unspoken judgment, until finally, Sir Guy broke the uneasy stillness with a low chuckle.

"Well, well," he remarked, his tone laced with amusement, "So this is why you wear that veil. I must say, Sheriff, I've never seen anything quite so... striking."

Sheriff narrowed his eyes at Sir Guy of Gisbourne, his brow furrowing in confusion and irritation at the man's cryptic remark. "What do you mean?" he demanded, his voice low and tense with suspicion.

Sir Guy of Gisbourne smiled, a cold smirk twisting his lips as he met the Sheriff's gaze with icy indifference. "I mean exactly what I said, Sheriff," he replied, his tone dripping with disdain, "I've never seen anything quite so ugly in all my life."

The Sheriff's eyes widened in shock at Sir Guy's brutal assessment, his stomach churning with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "What are you talking about?" he growled, his voice rough with suppressed rage.

Sir Guy's smile widened, a cruel glint in his eyes as he stepped closer to the Sheriff, his voice laced with mockery. "Oh, come now, Sheriff," he taunted, "Surely even you can't deny the truth. I've heard the rumors, seen the way you've kept her hidden away like a shameful secret. And now that I've seen her face for myself, I understand why."

The Sheriff saw red, his vision clouded with a haze of rage as he took a step towards Sir Guy, his fists clenched in readiness for a fight. He didn't know where he found the strength, the courage to defy his loyal lieutenant, but in that moment, all he could see was red, all he could feel was the burning need to defend his honor, his wife's honor, against Sir Guy's cruel words.

With a primal roar of rage, the Sheriff launched himself at Sir Guy, his fists flying in a flurry of punches aimed at the other man's face. He saw the shock in Sir Guy's eyes, the moment of realization that he had pushed the Sheriff too far, but it was too late for apologies, too late for remorse.

As the Sheriff rained blow after blow upon Sir Guy's face, his mind filled with a white-hot fury that consumed him from within. He didn't care about the consequences, didn't care about the pain he inflicted, all he cared about was the burning need to defend his wife's honor, to silence the mockery and scorn that had plagued her for far too long.

But as he struck Sir Guy again and again, his rage slowly gave way to exhaustion, his strength waning with each passing moment. And it was only when he heard your voice, your shocked and horrified cries echoing through the chamber, that he finally came to his senses, the haze of anger dissipating like fog in the morning sun.

And as Sir Guy of Gisbourne fled the room, nursing his bruised face, you turned your attention to the Sheriff, who stood before you with a mixture of anger and confusion etched across his features. His brown eyes blazed with intensity, his long unruly black hair framing his face as he glared at you with barely restrained fury.

"Why did you stop me?" he demanded, his voice a low, rumbling baritone that filled the chamber with authority. "I was defending your honor, [Your Name]."

You recoiled at his words, disbelief washing over you like a tidal wave. "Defending my honor?" you repeated incredulously, your voice tinged with anger. "You were defending my honor?"

You took a step closer to him, your gaze locked with his as you struggled to contain the torrent of emotions raging within you. "You're the first to make fun of me, to call me ugly, to mock my scar," you spat, the bitterness of years of hurt and resentment boiling to the surface. "Did you really think I didn't know why you only fuck me from behind? You're disgusted to look at my face, so what does it matter if more people call me ugly?"

The Sheriff's expression faltered, his anger giving way to a stunned silence as he grappled with your accusations. He opened and closed his mouth wordlessly, unable to find the right words to defend himself against your searing indictment.

Finally, he shook his head, his gaze falling to the floor as shame washed over him like a tidal wave. "I... I don't know what to say," he murmured, his voice barely audible above a whisper. "I didn't realize... I didn't mean to..."

But you cut him off with a sharp gesture, your patience wearing thin in the face of his hypocrisy. "Save it," you snapped, your voice dripping with contempt. "I don't want to hear your excuses."

It was too late for apologies, too late for redemption.

"Leave," he ordered, his voice raw with emotion as he struggled to hold back the flood of regret threatening to consume him. "Just... leave."

And with one final glance over your shoulder, you obeyed, disappearing through the side door that led to your bedroom, leaving the Sheriff alone with his thoughts and the weight of his mistakes. As you slammed the door behind you, the sound reverberated through the chamber like a final, damning verdict, sealing the fate of your fractured relationship with the Sheriff of Nottingham.

As the days passed, you and the Sheriff remained distant, avoiding each other's presence whenever possible. Meals were taken separately, with you retreating to the privacy of your bedroom to eat alone, concealing your face from prying eyes. Meanwhile, the Sheriff sat alone at the table, his appetite waning as he watched the servants tend to his needs, a pang of loneliness gnawing at his heart.

For the first time since your marriage, the Sheriff realized the emptiness of his solitary meals. He had never shared a meal with you, never sat across from you and shared in the simple pleasures of conversation and companionship. But he had never cared before, content to keep you at arm's length, to avoid the sight of your scarred face.

As he chewed his food in silence, the Sheriff made a decision. It was time to bridge the gap between you, to make amends for his past mistakes and reach out to you in a way he had never dared before.

That night, he came to your bedroom, his footsteps hesitant as he approached the door. You didn't look at him as he entered, your gaze fixed on the wall as you questioned his presence.

"It's time," he said simply, his voice tinged with a mixture of determination and uncertainty. "Time to try again."

You sighed, a mix of resignation and annoyance coloring your response. But you nodded, understanding his meaning as you began to undress and prepare for what you knew would come next.

To your surprise, the Sheriff stopped you, his hand gentle as he reached out to touch your face. "No," he said softly, his brown eyes meeting yours with a newfound sense of vulnerability, "I want to see your face this time."

Anger flared within you at his request, the injustice of it burning hot in your chest. Did he think that seeing your face would somehow absolve him of his past cruelty, that he could use you to prove something to himself?

But as you met his gaze, you saw something in his eyes that gave you pause, a glimmer of genuine remorse and longing that tugged at your heartstrings. Maybe, just maybe, he was trying to make amends in his own flawed way.

With a heavy sigh, you relented, allowing him to see you as you truly were, scar and all. And as the Sheriff climbed between your legs, you couldn't help but feel a surge of discomfort mixed with resentment. You lay on your back, staring up at the ceiling, your mind swirling with conflicting emotions. His touch felt foreign and unwelcome, a stark reminder of the distance that had grown between you in the wake of his hurtful words.

You winced as he slowly penetrated you, the dryness causing a sharp pang of pain to shoot through your body. Unlike the prostitutes he was accustomed to, you were not prepared, not eager to please him in this moment. But he pressed on, seemingly oblivious to your discomfort as he sought his own pleasure.

As he moved within you, you gritted your teeth against the pain, the grimace on your face not lost on the Sheriff. He watched you intently, his brow furrowing with concern as he realized the extent of your discomfort.

Deciding to try and please you in some way, he tentatively pressed his thumb against your clit, eliciting a surprised gasp from your lips. You looked at him with a mix of embarrassment and confusion, questioning his unexpected action.

He met your gaze with a slight tilt of his head, a hint of amusement dancing in his brown eyes. "Have you never touched yourself?" he asked, his voice low and gentle, the baritone rumble sending shivers down your spine.

Blushing furiously, you shook your head, denying his assumption. "No," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the sound of your own heartbeat. "I was taught... my body belongs to my husband. I was never... encouraged to... explore such things."

The Sheriff's expression softened, a pang of guilt tugging at his heart as he realized the extent of your innocence and naivety. He had never considered the possibility that you had never experienced pleasure in such a basic way, that you had been denied the simple joys of self-discovery and exploration.

He decided to change that today. The Sheriff's touch grew more confident and purposeful as he explored your body, his fingers dancing over your sensitive skin with practiced ease. With each caress, you felt a wave of pleasure wash over you, your body responding eagerly to his ministrations.

As he teased your clit, you couldn't help but squirm beneath him, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he brought you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. Your eyes remained closed, lost in the sensation of his touch, soft moans escaping your lips as you gave in to the pleasure that coursed through your veins.

For the first time, the Sheriff found himself captivated by your beauty, the scar on your face fading into insignificance as he watched your expression contort with pleasure. In that moment, he realized that your scar didn't define you; they only added to your allure, making you all the more irresistible in his eyes.

With a newfound sense of reverence, the Sheriff leaned in to worship you, his lips trailing kisses along your jawline and down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You cried out in pleasure as he took one of your breasts into his mouth, the sensation sending sparks of electricity coursing through your body.

As he played with you, his fingers exploring every inch of your skin, he could feel how wet you were, your arousal evident in the way you clenched around him. With a sense of satisfaction, he realized that he was the one bringing you this pleasure, the one who could make you scream his name in ecstasy.

"Open your eyes," he commanded, his voice low and husky as he gazed into your eyes, searching for a sign of approval. And when you complied, meeting his gaze with a mixture of desire and uncertainty, he smiled, a sense of triumph coursing through him.

"It's good, isn't it?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty as he awaited your response.

You nodded, unable to find the words to express the overwhelming pleasure that consumed you. But your actions spoke volumes as you arched against him, your body craving more of his touch, more of his love.

Encouraged by your response, the Sheriff leaned in to capture your lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue darting out to explore the depths of your mouth with a hunger that took your breath away. It was unlike any kiss you had ever experienced, wild and uninhibited, as if he wanted to consume you whole.

You moaned into his mouth, the sound muffled by the intensity of his kiss, your hands reaching up to tangle in his long, unruly hair. And as you kissed him back with equal fervor, you felt a sense of connection, a bond forged in the heat of passion and desire.

As the Sheriff's lips met yours in a fervent kiss, something shifted within him, a realization dawning with startling clarity. In that moment, amidst the heat of passion and the tangled embrace of your bodies, he understood.

He wanted you.

Not just in a physical sense, though the desire burned within him with an intensity he had never known. No, it was more than that. He wanted all of you – your strength, your resilience, your unwavering compassion in the face of his own shortcomings.

He loved you.

The realization hit him like a thunderbolt, fierce and indomitable, shaking him to his core. He loved you, scars and all, with a love that was raw and unrefined, untamed like the wild forests that surrounded Nottingham Castle.

He remembered the days when you had tended to him with unwavering dedication, the gentleness of your touch a balm for his fevered soul. He remembered the moments of vulnerability you had shared, the way you had looked at him with eyes full of compassion, as if seeing beyond the mask of authority to the wounded heart beneath.

And he remembered the night when he had lashed out at you with cruel words, the pain and betrayal etched in your tear-stained face. He had seen the hurt he had caused reflected in your eyes, a stark reminder of the damage he had wrought with his thoughtless actions.

But despite it all, you had stayed by his side, offering forgiveness where others would have turned away in disgust. You had shown him a kindness he didn't deserve, a love he hadn't known he craved until now.

As he kissed you with a hunger born of newfound understanding, the Sheriff vowed to make amends, to prove himself worthy of the love you had so freely given. He would show you that his love was not a fleeting fancy, but a force to be reckoned with, a flame that burned bright amidst the darkness of their fractured relationship.

And as he held you close, his heart racing with the intensity of his emotions, he knew that he would do whatever it took to win back your trust, to earn the right to call you his own.

For in that moment, amidst the tangled sheets and the tangled mess of their past, the Sheriff of Nottingham realized that he was in love with you, scars and all. And he would stop at nothing to prove it to you, to show you that his love was as fierce and untamed as the forests that surrounded their home.

As the passion between you and the Sheriff intensified, the air in the room crackled with electricity, charged with the raw desire that pulsed between you. His hands roamed over your body with a newfound confidence, his touch igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you whole.

With each kiss, each caress, the Sheriff explored you as if he were uncovering a hidden treasure, his fingers tracing the contours of your body with reverence and hunger. And as he pressed his lips against your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, you gasped in pleasure, your body arching against him in silent invitation.

"Gods, you're beautiful," he murmured against your neck, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "I've been blind to your beauty for far too long."

His words washed over you like a soothing balm, banishing the lingering doubts and insecurities that had plagued you for years. In that moment, all that mattered was the intense connection between you, the overwhelming desire that threatened to consume you both.

With a sense of urgency, the Sheriff lowered himself between your legs, his mouth trailing hot kisses along your thighs as he teased you with his tongue. You gasped as he delved deeper, his skilled ministrations sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

"Please," you begged, your voice a breathless whisper as you pleaded for more, "Don't stop."

But the Sheriff had no intention of stopping, not when he was so close to unlocking the secrets of your pleasure. With a wicked grin, he intensified his efforts, his tongue flicking against your clit with increasing fervor as he brought you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy.

You cried out his name as the first waves of pleasure crashed over you, your body convulsing in ecstasy as he continued to pleasure you with single-minded determination. And as you reached your peak, the Sheriff's name fell from your lips like a prayer, a testament to the depth of your desire for him.

But he wasn't satisfied yet, not when there was still so much more pleasure to be had. With a growl of hunger, he rose above you, his eyes dark with desire as he claimed your lips in a searing kiss.

"I need you," he whispered against your lips, his voice husky with desire as he positioned himself at your entrance. "I need to be inside you, to feel you around me."

You nodded eagerly, your own need driving you to desperation as you wrapped your legs around him, urging him to take you. And as he entered you with a single, powerful thrust, you cried out in ecstasy, the sensation of him filling you completely overwhelming your senses.

The Sheriff's movements were slow and deliberate at first, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. But as the intensity of your passion grew, so too did the pace of his movements, his hips driving against yours with increasing urgency as he sought his own release.

You matched him thrust for thrust, meeting his every movement with equal fervor as you lost yourselves in the heat of passion. And as the tension between you reached its breaking point, you cried out in unison, your bodies shuddering with the force of your shared release.

For a moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breaths mingling with the echoes of your pleasure, the world around you fading into insignificance as you lay entwined in each other's arms.

And as you basked in the afterglow of your lovemaking, you knew that things would never be the same between you and the Sheriff of Nottingham. But somehow, that thought didn't scare you. In fact, it filled you with a sense of hope, a belief that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for redemption amidst the darkness of Nottingham Castle.

[ideas-scattered-dreams]

/ / Love at first Blade

Fandoms: Twisted wonderland AU: General Lilia + Rival Royal reader Character: lilia vanrouge

Imagine that... the war was sickening and unbearable to watch, children cried, adults screamed and yells of sorrow and apologies filled the air of the destroying kingdom. war happened because of one mistake, one mistake from the Ruler of this very kingdom. the mistake because of love.

You loved the General of the enemy troops. he was everything you could have imagined and many more.. he was sweet, he was kind, he was... perfect for you. you knew this was wrong to love the enemy like this. but u didn't care. your love for him beats everything that u have, even your kingdoms safety..

You both met in the battlefield once. in the intention of killing the other. but to fall inlove at first sight was never part of the plan of this intention. that is where u both started to meet frequently to chat and.. spent time with each other. even let your guard down with him. and spilled everything to the bottom of the grounds and wall u built around you. pathetic.

The day when the enemy attacked you knew how they went through the borders so easily, how they are now slaughtering the people and your troops so easily like butter on an knife. but you didn't do anything. you just sat on your throne while your kingdom is turning into a massacre.

The doors of the throne room opened and a single silhouette appeared. a silhouette u grew to remember and cherished.. Lilia vanrouge stood Infront of you a bloody sword in hand while his face was cold. you looked at him, your eyes showed love and adoration towards him. oh how you loved how he looks right now.

You stood up and smiled while descending down from the stairs of your throne. oh how u want to embrace him. you got close to him and hugged him tight, though he didn't do anything and merely stared at your figure. ha.. stab.

His sword pierced your stomach. blood dripped on the marble floor as u remained hugging him.

"i have always known u were using my love for you as an advantage. i knew all those yet.. never did anything. because I truly love you vanrouge. please tell me. tell me the truth and say u did love me back. even just a little bit." you shed a tear while the blood was dripping from your mouth. drip. drip.

You looked at up and saw he was crying. you weakly smile and reached out to hold his cheek, "my dear lilia"

lilia held you tight as your body began to grow cold, he cradled you in his arms while he shaked and wept. "I'm sorry (name), I'm so sorry... i truly did love you.." that was all you needed to know. that was all.

"in another era. in another life where we don't need to fight anymore, we don't need to taint hands, i wish. i promise. to marry you." you say so slowly as your heartbeat began to weaken and weaken.. and weaken.. until you went completely limp in his arms.

"of course.. i will definitely marry you (name). in another life time.." lilia continued to sob onto your chest as his cries echoed from the palace walls..

🌙━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━⭐

chatter among students in the mirror room were loud and bustling. some wanted to know what kind of dorm they will be assigned, some wanting to just go home, some just wants to end this quickly.

a small figure was on the sidelines, lilia vanrouge. smiling and chatting with a tall silver person. "I'm sure you'll be in diasomnia silver. your old man is there anyways fufufu" the silver head nodded, as a crow figure came Infront of the crowd and announced the ceremony to begin.

students began to be assigned a dorm, each and every one until one person was finally left. the figure walked infront of the mirror and stated their name. "( name ) (l/n)"..

silence. a drop of silence overcame lilia when he heard that name. has his hearing fallen weak? his ears must be playing tricks on him. it must be, or its just someone else that has the similar name AND last name as them. it has to be..

"DIASOMNIA!" Lilia snapped out of his trance as the mirror announced the last students dorm. the headmage announced to to the dorm leaders or vice to escort the new students to their designated dorms.

Lilia composed themselves and led the new students to the diasomnia dormitory. as he walked with the silver head student a blob of (h/c) walked pass them. the sudden burst of wind passed through infront of them as the hood of the (h/c) fell off revealing a familiar face.. a face that lilia wished to finally see and alive again.

"(name).." a voice so silent but hearable to the one calling out.

you turned to him with an expressionless face. "huh?"

lilia thought he was dreaming with this very moment. was this a dream..? or finally the moment he was waiting for.

[oldfashionedbooklove]

tell me about your favorite lm montgomery novel please <3

Okay this is SO hard because her books are amazing but I just have to admit Rilla of Ingleside is my favourite, which is saying a lot because I LOVE HER BOOKS, okay! I adore the Story Girl duology and I absolutely love the Anne series and Jane of Lantern Hill.

But Rilla. This book is a heartbreaker. And it’s so beautiful.

I don’t know if I can fully express how much is to be found in this book. I have been reading it yearly for many years, and always come away with new thoughts. As I grow older, and see more of the world, I relate and understand more, and another level of the book is discovered.

The setting—a small P.E.I. town carrying on through WWI. I’m pretty tough when it comes to war books, but I have to take breaks from this one because it is so raw and real. The agony is intense. I cannot even cry over it—my heart hurts too much for tears. This shows exactly what the Great War was for people. You sway back and forth, feeling the dread and terror. You know how it ends but you are broken anyhow. And when the end comes, you too can only rejoice softly. You feel as if you have paid part of the price yourself.

“‘We’re in a new world,’ Jem says, ‘and we’ve got to make it a better one than the old. That isn’t done yet, though some folks seem to think it ought to be. The job isn’t finished—it isn’t really begun. The old world is destroyed and we must build up the new one. It will be the task of years. I’ve seen enough of war to realize that we’ve got to make a world where wars can’t happen. We’ve given Prussianism its mortal wound but it isn’t dead yet and it isn’t confined to Germany either. It isn’t enough to drive out the old spirit—we’ve got to bring in the new.’”

The characters in this book—they are alive. Splendid Jem, brave and merry and true; Jerry, steady and dutiful; Walter, sensitive and courageous; Carl, cheerful and fearless; Shirley, honest and reliable; Nan and Di and Anne, all heart-wrung and smiling; Gertrude, tragic and grasping for hope; the Doctor, determined and self-sacrificing; Susan, simple and true—and Rilla, who starts out a silly, frivolous girl and ends a strong, mature woman. Then there are all the minor and side characters—the Merediths, Cousin Sophia, Jimsy, Ken, Irene, Whiskers-on-the-Moon & his family, Mary and the Elliotts, Norman + Ellen, and everyone else. They’re all so alive, so real, so funny and terrible and beautiful—I swear Glen St. Mary exists and all the inhabitants thereof.

The story follows the Great War, from the first days in August 1914 to the bitter Summer of 1919, where peace has come but normal will never return. As a child, this story was simply World War One—a faraway, long-ago grief and horror and agony. Now, in 2024, as a woman, I have experienced a slight taste of what the people of 1914 felt, and it has humanized the story of the War. This, more than any other book I have read, brings the War and the world of 1914-1918 to life, showing how they were people just like us. The heart is wrung by their suffering, and there is no escape, for the war must drag on for long bitter years. And the price! Walter has become the face of unknown, forgotten heroes, and Jem has become that of the scarred heroes who returned. Every November we grieve the young men who never came home, and for the ones who came home missing a part of themselves, physical or otherwise. I have wept thinking of the children of Rilla, Ken, Faith, Jem, and the others—children who fought in WWII and whose parents were forced to relive the horrible conflict of mankind.

“It has been such a dreadful week,” she wrote, “and even though it is over and we know that it was all a mistake that does not seem to do away with the bruises left by it. And yet it has in some ways been a very wonderful week and I have had some glimpses of things I never realized before—of how fine and brave people can be even in the midst of horrible suffering.”

And yet the book overflows with humour—real laugh-out-loud scenes and witty, clever banter on princes and politics. It is another aspect of the humanity—the part that cannot fully let go of laughing despite the drain. Another angle is the shrewd commentary on principalities and powers, nations and cultures, is thought-provoking, as is the remarks that show us how the war truly changed the world.

“There was a time,” she said sorrowfully, “when I did not care what happened outside of P.E. Island, and now a king cannot have a toothache in Russia or China but it worries me. It may be broadening to the mind, as the doctor said, but it is very painful to the feelings.”

But the biggest things to me is the SPIRIT of this book. The spirit of perseverance, endurance, courage, and love. Of course, man is man, and there is suspicion, contempt, and a feeling of superiority—but this is not exclusive only to Anglo-Saxons. As someone who isn’t Anglo-Saxon myself, and actually of mixed cultures, I can attest every nation is guilty of such. World War One was a battle of good vs. evil—not of man vs. man, but Idea against Idea—the idea of civilization against militarism. Perhaps not on the part of the leaders—but when one studies the writings, letters, poems, and speeches of the everyday folks caught up in the war, one sees this distinction plainly. It was not a war of European against European, Anglo-Saxon against German—it was a war between an old, terrible Idea of Prussianism (Frederick the Great, anyone?) and the Idea of Respect and Peace.

“And you will tell your children of the Idea we fought and died for—teach them it must be lived for as well as died for, else the price paid for it will have been given for nought.”

May we never forget.

A REMARK: I discovered that Rilla of Ingleside was abridged by about 4,300 words (~14 pages), so I searched for an unabridged copy. I definitely encourage you to take the extra trouble to find an *unabridged* copy. It is SO worth it! I’ve read both versions and the unabridged is so much fuller, with a great deal more humour and fun.

I just have to pick out my favourite quotes, too…

“We all come back to God in these days of soul-sifting,” said Gertrude to John Meredith. “There have been many days in the past when I didn't believe in God—not as God—only as the impersonal Great First Cause of the scientists. I believe in Him now—I have to—there's nothing else to fall back on but God—humbly, starkly, unconditionally.”

“‘Our help in ages past’—‘the same yesterday, to-day and for ever,’ said the minister gently. ‘When we forget God—He remembers us.’”

Below her [window] was a big apple-tree, a great swelling cone of rosy blossom.... Beyond Rainbow Valley there was a cloudy shore of morning with little ripples of sunrise breaking over it. The far, cold beauty of a lingering star shone above it. Why, in this world of springtime loveliness, must hearts break?

And I can’t leave without some humour:

“‘The Germans have recaptured Premysl,’ said Susan despairingly… ‘and now I suppose we will have to begin calling it by that uncivilized name again. Cousin Sophia was in when the mail came and when she heard the news she hove a sigh up from the depths of her stomach, Mrs. Dr. dear, and said, ‘Ah yes, and they will get Petrograd next I have no doubt.’ I said to her, ‘My knowledge of geography is not so profound as I wish it was but I have an idea that it is quite a walk from Premysl to Petrograd.’ Cousin Sophia sighed again and said, ‘The Grand Duke Nicholas is not the man I took him to be.’ ‘Do not let him know that,’ said I. ‘It might hurt his feelings and he has likely enough to worry him as it is.’ But you cannot cheer Cousin Sophia up, no matter how sarcastic you are, Mrs. Dr. dear. She sighed for the third time and groaned out, ‘But the Russians are retreating fast,’ and I said, ‘Well, what of it? They have plenty of room for retreating, have they not?’ But all the same, Mrs. Dr. dear, though I would never admit it to Cousin Sophia, I do not like the situation on the eastern front. [But] Grand Duke Nicholas, though he may have been a disappointment to us in some respects, knows how to run away decently and in order, and that is a very useful knowledge when Germans are chasing you. Norman Douglas declares he is just luring them on and killing ten of them to one he loses. But I am of the opinion he cannot help himself and is just doing the best he can under the circumstances, the same as the rest of us.’”

[aventurine83]

Lilia Vanrouge X Reader

✿Briar's Secret [Part 8]✿

Note: THIS IS THE FINAL PART! Angst, fluff, love reunion stuff, cute kissing scene alert, cute banter scene alert, Meleanor's little sister!au, present twst era.

Mentions of my twst OC Midnight.

"You broke up with Riddle? Why?" Lilia questioned as [Y/N] sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder. Lilia's heart clenched in both joy and sorrow. 

"I have been having these strange dreams. I keep on meeting this person- He always pulls me towards the sunset sky and gazes at it with me till it becomes exactly midnight. And every time, the dream ends when it turns midnight. When he's about to tell me something. Its been happening for  a month. And then Riddle got angry when I couldn't do some stuff for him because the dreams have been weirding and stressing me out, so we got into a pretty nasty argument where he broke up with me." [Y/N] sighed yet again, nuzzling Lilia's shoulder. 

Lilia almost felt his heart do flips at the news. She was remembering. There was no mistake. A person leaving exactly at midnight. It had to be Midnight. It frustrated him to think she'd dreamed of Midnight instead of Lilia but it was a start. He should feel bad for Riddle, but he couldn't help the seams of happiness bursting in his essence. 

"What does he look like?" Lilia asked patiently, though in truth, he was far from patient. He tapped the bench they were sitting on impatiently, hoping she wouldn't notice his quiet fidgeting. 

"There's actually two people. They sound only slightly different and look a bit different. The one who appears at dusk has a soft voice and short hair. The one who appears at midnight at the end of the dream has long black hair. Thats all I remember." She pressed a hand to her forehead. 

Ah. So thats how it was. Inside her, [Y/N] had always seen Lilia and Midnight as important people. She'd associated them as friends. Lilia wondered, would she hate him once she knew what he'd done to Midnight? Once she knew of how he never apologized to Midnight till after his death?

"I am sure its not much. But sometimes, dreams may bring about to your notice a gleam familiar as if you may have seen it once before. It is good to keep in mind that dreams sometimes encapsulate memories. Khehehe." Lilia chuckled. [Y/N] only snuggled into him further, seeking his comfort. Something he was more than happy to give. 

※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※

It was after Malleus' overblot when [Y/N] tried to leave Twisted Wonderland that she finally remembered of her past self. Of Princess [Y/N] Draconia. She rushed as fast as her legs could carry her, to the giant double doors beyond which lay the lounge of Diasomnia dorm. Rushing in, she hurried up the flight of stairs, ignoring the students' stares as she knocked fervently on Lilia's door. 

He opened the door, clearly stressed and dishevelled, his complexion pale as if he had not eaten for quite a while. His beautiful crimson eyes widened on seeing her, as he tilted his head questioningly. Without warning, she wrapped her arms around him, her hand gently stroking his soft, smooth hair as she held him gently. 

"I remember." were all the words needed to get Lilia's grip to tighten around her figure. [Y/N] felt her shoulder turn damp as her beloved fae General wept on her soundlessly, his shoulders trembling from having carried burdens heavier than he could handle for centuries, all alone. 

"I'm home, Lilia." [Y/N] squeezed him. "My cute little flower." she used the silly nickname she'd come up with for him as a child, since his name referred to a flower. 

"Welcome home, princess." Lilia wiped away his tears, getting down on one knee as he kissed the back of her soft, delicate hand. A faint blush covered the fae's cheeks as his lips touched her skin.

[Y/N] pulled him up forcefully, grabbing his chin as she did in the past, making him look her in the eye. "Oh look at you. So adorable when you're blushing."

"Khehe. Perhaps I could show you more." Lilia leant in to her lips. His gaze was fixated on her lips, on how they would taste. He wondered if a monster, a sinner like him even deserved this. But for now, he wished he could do as his heart wanted. He couldn't hold himself back anymore. He needed her. 

"When did you learn to talk back?" [Y/N] chuckled as she caressed his cheek. "You were as meek as a village girl before. And had the temper to match your short height."  She brought him in closer to her lips.

"Oh please." Lilia snickered, his warm breath fanning her lips. "Thankfully I have an advantage over you now." 

"Hmm, jerk." she chuckled. 

"I love you as well." Lilia grinned, his fang poking out. 

"Oh, you cheeky little thing." [Y/N] grinned as her lips brushed his. "I love you." 

"As do I, my dear princess." Lilia's lips met hers in a passionate kiss, his arms encircling her waist as he pulled her impossibly closer, loving her, loving her, and loving her as he'd always wanted to. He would protect her this time, with his life, he swore. 

His treasure. 

His perfect half. 

His deepest, loveliest secret. 

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

[ＦＩＮ]

NOTE: PLEASE DO NOT REPOST OR PLAGIARIZE MY WORK!

A.N.: Hope everyone enjoyed, hehe.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Hi! Longtime lurker here, I adore your writing and all the oneshots you publish. Do you have any cute headcanons about Optimus and Elita’s relationship (for instance, how they met, deciding to become Conjuxed, and other miscellaneous stuff)?

That I do! I love them very much your honor, so let me specify based on continuity. For now, lets stick to G1. I've had longer to think about them.

G1

Orion and Ariel met in a barfight. Orion decked someone for making nasty comments about Ariel and she in turn decked Orion thinking he was the one being gross.

They made up afterwards with a drink and proceeded to dance the night away, promptly exchanging communication lines.

Once Orion figured out where Ariel worked and after they had been talking for a while, he marched across Iacon in order to sign on at her depot.

Dion thought he was nuts but came along because he enjoyed the drama.

Orion made it a point to be a gentlemech even while working at the docks. He would carry anything heavier than a cat for Ariel's and would go out of his way to get her energon for her so she didn't have to stand in line for rations.

They began courting after Orion got into yet another fist fight in Ariel's defense. He got his face busted in, and while Ariel helped him get patched up, Orion blurted out that he couldn't just let other mechs touch her.

Ariel took that personally and proceeded to become just as devoted as Orion. This earned the duo many gags and amusing reactions from their fellows who referred to them as the "lovebirds".

Ariel and Orion never actually managed to be Conjunxed as dock workers. That came later when they met under the light of Luna 1 before the Exodus late into the war. Optimus brought Elita-One the last crystal rose he could find and asked her to be his Conjunx right there.

She agreed and they spent a mere three cycles together before having to go their separate ways. But Elita wore a simple pendant with contained a petal of that single rose. Optimus for his part carried the piece of Elita's antennae that had been torn off in combat.

During the war, when they were able, Optimus and Elita would call each other by their old names and dance under the stars, singing wild songs from the docks while playing music that didn't match the mood in the slightest.

When the war ended, Elita wept for Optimus during his many moments of death. But after each miraculous return, they would always reaffirm their oaths to each other. Usually with a few soft touches.

Post war, Elita and Optimus are the most sappy couple to have ever become a thing. They are constantly calling each other nicknames like "honey", "Sweetspark", "pooch" (that one is elita's and only for when she's feeling mischievous), "My forever", and Optimus's favorite, "My rose." (For obvious reasons).

They openly wear very obvious marks of their conjunxing now that they aren't being attacked left, right, and center. Elita keeps her pendant but also loves to have a little engraving of Optimus's pet name for her on her neck guard. Slightly scandalous, but she enjoys it, especially because Optimus has "pooch" written on his inner thigh where only she and the very observant can see.

They are also very good at being quiet about their activities as a couple. But when they feel like shooing mecha away, they love to get sappy and gross everyone out of the room.

They are also notoriously dramatic when the situation isn't serious. Put them in a war room and neither will so much as smile. But give them a minor issue, and they can and will make fun of those who are enduring some slight embarrassment.

Whenever Optimus takes on a new apprentice (adopts a child-), Elita has been known to mother them relentlessly in her own way. Some get beat around in training, others get homemade goodies. Others still may end up getting actually adopted.

Rodimus still has no idea that technically he's Optimus and Elita's on paper. Only Kup and Ultra Magnus know. Both think its hilarious and have no intention of telling poor Rodimus anytime soon.

[love-byers]

as much as i love byler and the other stranger things ships, i think el and hopper are my favorite relationship, period. i love them so much. like it's so important that el has a real father after growing up with 'papa' who abused her and didn't treat her like a human being. she deserves a loving father so much, and hopper loves her unconditionally. and for hopper, she brought light back into his life. she made him feel again.

their reuniting scene in s4 just gets me every time man. its so important. the moments leading up to them reuniting are so IMPORTANTTTTT. el just lost, bad. of course she's struggling. we don't see her smile, she just keeps to herself and barely talks, not even to mike. she's in her room, the room in the cabin she lived in with her dead father, the room she had sleepovers in with her brain-dead best friend. she spins the bottle and thinks about the fact that she couldn't find max when she used her powers, and i feel like she hits a low, low point. the lowest we've ever seen her. she's alone and hurting. (her boyfriend also gave her a bogus love confession so that can't feel good either). i vividly remember thinking, "she needs her dad right now."

and then he comes in. he comes in and holds her and tells her everything is okay and he's here. he jokes with her, makes her smile and laugh. that is exactly what she needed in that moment. she needed her dad.

and the WAY THIS SCENE LOOKS AAAUUUUUGHHGHGHGH

the lighting here is just gorgeous. it feels like they're both finally breathing again. the way the light coming in from the window is directly on them. they are each other's light. the music playing being the same music they played at the end of s3 when we heard hop's letter. fuck.

and the fact that hopper holds in his tears because he's being strong for her, but breaks the moment she can't see his face. GOOOOOD. THAT IS A FATHER.

it's been 2 years and i cried watching the scene to get the screenshots. so just imagine how i SOBBED when i saw it for the first time. i mean i SOBBED i WEPT like a BABY.

i just adore them. i really adore them.

[cosmica-candy]

Hi I absolutely adore electrolyte I would die for him. He should be friends with my xylitol nova kid mayhaps

Oh oh oh you like Electrolyte cookie? Here he is! And below the cut? Fan fic draft + more art 💙

Deep space, sugar star belt, 12:38 am, Xylitol time.

Xylitol Nova cookie was stepping down the hallways, a small note pad in his hand,

repare ward, check

Ship docks, check

Housing wing, check

Lounge wing, check

He sighed flipping through his notes

Check, check, check, check, double check

Then his eyes caught it, an in checked line

Children's and Infant hospital wing he smiled keenly to himself tucking it away in his breast pocket

"How have I missed that?" He sighed no matter, he quickly turned heel making a quick pace for the hospital again...

His heels clicked on the floor as the fellow cookies at bots stepped out of there leaders way, giving a buzz, salute or bow to him.

Walking to the reception window, he looked at his influx of happy and healthy new parents and families, a strange pull in heart loomed... He never had parents. Just a lab grown body designed to lead. It was him. Always him. History has his eyes on him.

"Xylitol Nova! Sir! What an pleasant surprise!" Cooed the charge nurse Orbit, her white hair pulled into a messy bun, once being prim and proper... "What brings you to our side of the hospital?"

"Ah...Yes I wanted to say hello to the new little ones...I"

"Wanted something to do sir?"

He chuckled putting up his hands "guilty has charged"

The two walked through the hallways the Florencent lights shining through the sanitary halls, Orbit and Nova stopped at a large window looking at the nursery... Many freshly baked and bundled babies laied in an organized comb, all of them with charts lovingly written on by adoring parents, all...

But one.

Xylitols brow cocked "Who's that little one? third row fourth on the left"

Nurse Orbit sighed "That would be little Electrolyte...No known father... Mother ....Just passed on..."

Xylitols flinched “so that's who that ping was earlier....“ He thought... "An orphan? What's to happen to him?"

"well, if no one is to claim him... He will be enrolled in the ranger program and become an asset to the planet..." Nurse orbit stated "its the best place for an orphan seeing how tight knit the rangers are... A found family would adore a little bundle of joy..."

"...And no ones been interested in him..?"

"Unfortunately...with his hair color and his eyes, No..."

Nova placed a hand on the glass staring in... "....May I hold him?" His voice dripped with sorrow, all the nurses froze there heads whipping to gaze at there dear leader...

Nurse Orbit nodded adjusting her glasses... "o-of course sir..right this way..."

Leading into the warm, sterile nursery, Novas heart pounded stepping closer and closer to the infant... His eyes were closed, his deep black hair was streaked with strands and baby blue, his deep olive skin were painted by two rosy blushed cheeks.

He squirmed a bit being scooped up by orbit, before being gently placed into novas arms... He held a child before...but this...was different.

He felt time slow down, the warmth of the little bundle in his arms, all he could tell was this little life in his strong arms, completely helpless...yet. alone.

Tears trickled down thed leaders face as he held the child, gently falling into the boys cheek, he stirred awake cooing softly... His eyes fluttered open revealing pools of baby blue, untouched by the pain and grief of the cosmos

He sniffled ”Hello little one..." Nova cooed gently bouncing the bundle in his arms, Electrolyte smiled up at him his tiny arm reaching up to him, his tiny hands grabbing up twords him, Nova A big intrigued brought his free hand to him... Electrolyte cooed

Wrapping around Xylitols finger.

Xylitol gasped softly his eyes welling with more tears than he had wept in the past century. He cuddled the boy lifting him up to his chest cooing down at him...

Nurse Orbit was equally as tearful, she held unto her badge smiling at her leader

"I'll take him" Nova whimpered holding his new son close to his chest.