#and all four of them lost so much time together

[holmesianlove]

Chapter 25 -  Christmas Tree

When John came down the stairs, ready for a morning cup of tea, he was shocked to find the lounge in quite the mess. Strewn across the ground were boxes and an array of Christmas decorations. And Sherlock sitting in amongst a mess of tree parts.

“Sherlock—“

“So… this sort of happened…” Sherlock said, looking at John sheepishly.

“What have you done, Sherlock?”

“I thought I'd put the tree together. You know, since you did the Christmas baking and—“

“The tree? We’ve never had a tree before.”John looked at the state of the lounge in shock. “It’s seven o'clock in the morning! How long have you been up?”

“Well, I had to haul the stuff out of the flat downstairs and unpack it all…”

“Well, I see you've done that much,” John scoffed.

“Yes, but it seems I hit a little snag. It doesn't have instructions, John,” he sulked in reply.

“It's a tree, Sherlock. A plastic tree.” 

“I know but it should have some kind of assembly instructions, surely.” Sherlock looked so lost and confused surrounded by tree parts. It was somewhat tragic. And adorable.

“How are you such a genius but you can't figure out how to put a tree together?” John teased.

“I don't know. I thought I had it, but it's not making any sense to me. I was going to surprise you. For when you woke up, but now… I clearly need my blogger to solve this.”

John sighed and shook his head, although, in fairness, he felt nothing but affection for this idiot. It would have been a lovely surprise if he had achieved his goal though.

“Okay then, let’s see what we can do about this…” He walked over and assessed the fake fir tree pieces.

“Well, look there, if you turn them over, they've got little letters on them. See this one?” he said, grabbing the nearest piece, with a sticker that had a letter B on it. 

“Yes…” Sherlock said, listening intently. 

“And then… look on the tree stem and there should be letters that match?” John suggested.

Sherlock reached around and grabbed the stand. “It can't be that simple!” he cried.

“It really is,” John sighed, and handed the piece of tree over. Sherlock looked at them a little unsure, so John came closer and grabbed Sherlock’s hand with the tree piece in it, moved it to the tree stand and placing it in the slot. It took him a moment to register that he was essentially holding Sherlock’s hand but the minute it snapped into place he let go. “There you go. See? Simple,” he said, as he stepped away. 

Sherlock looked up at him in silence for a moment, apparently dazzled by his wisdom.

“Now there should be another one somewhere in this mess. There will be three or four of that same letter and we're gonna join them all together, okay? And you keep going until all the pieces are locked into the stand.”

“It doesn't look like a tree yet,” Sherlock announced. 

“Just click them all on first, Sherlock. That's just step one.” John chuckled to himself. So impatient.

Sherlock looked up at John. “How do you know this?”

“It's not my first Christmas, Sherlock. How do you not know this? Need I remind you, you brought the tree here.” 

“Well, I usually go home for Christmas and the tree's already assembled. That is to say, we always get a fresh fir from the forest.”

“Of course you do,” John scoffed, with an eye roll. “Of course you bloody do.”

“Or if I stay home, I just… don’t put up a tree, I suppose. Christmas is sometimes just a regular day that passes without event for me. But it feels different this year. I wanted to do this.”

“How long have you had this tree, then?” John asked. 

“Mrs Hudson was going to throw it out and I thought it might be nice for us to have a tree,” Sherlock said absently, as he returned to his job of assembling the branches.

“Is this your first time putting a fake tree together?” John said with absolute disbelief. “Oh my goodness this is adorable. I feel like I need to grab my phone and get a photo of this moment! Sherlock Holmes learning the ways of the little people.” 

“Shut up,” Sherlock sulked, carrying on. 

“No, it's good. It's really good. You're doing a great job,” John said, still laughing. “Sorry, I didn't realise you'd never done this before. And I just had not expected to wake up and find a Christmas tree in the lounge. Or a disassembled one, at least.” 

Sherlock nodded and carried on, putting the pieces together. John grabbed a couple when he looked lost, but mostly stood back and observed his friend, experiencing the joy of the task - or the frustration. Sherlock mumbled quietly to himself as he tried to work through the problem, and John just stood and smiled at him adoringly. His chest felt full of joy, to be part of this. To see Sherlock bring Christmas into their flat. Finally all the pieces were in place.

“So then what?” he asked. “This looks wholly unimpressive.”

“So then, we fluff it up,” John explained, walking over to lean across Sherlock and show him what to do with one of the branches. Sherlock looked fascinated and set about that next part of the challenge. He relaxed into it and even started humming some Christmas songs as he went.

John disappeared into the kitchen to make tea for them both, and when he returned, Sherlock had already sorted the branches and started with the decorating. He put their teas down and grabbed some decorations to help. At one point, Sherlock accidentally got tangled around John, when he attempted to put the lights on the tree, and the two of them had to stop, laughing first before finally twirling their way out of the mess.

Finally, the tree was complete, and the lights were on and they stood back, smiling and enjoying their handiwork together. The lights twinkled and the little decorations looked so much prettier with the light around them.

“I made us tea,” John sighed, shaking his head in disbelief that he’d just taught his genius friend how to do something new, apparently. They sat on the sofa together admiring it as they sipped at their tea.

“I really love a decorated tree,” John sighed, looking all dreamy eyed.

“Yes but why are they so complicated to assemble? Do people really put them up every year?” Sherlock huffed. 

“Oh yeah, and then we have to pull it apart again.”

“Seems crazy to do this now and only pull it down again in a few days, and I’m not even going to be here to enjoy it.”

“It’s okay. I will enjoy it. The place will feel Christmassy for me,” John said with a sad smile. “I love the coloured lights.”

Sherlock turned to look at John, watching the tree all starry eyed.

“Are you sure you don’t mind me going home for Christmas, John?”

“Sherlock, it’s fine. It’s your family. I’ll keep Mrs Hudson company. It will be quiet and it will be lovely,” John said. “And you’ve given me a tree now.” He grinned.

“They did invite you too,” Sherlock reminded him, a little hopeful.

John sighed. The offer had been lovely. And he had gone last year. But it was too much for him, when he was feeling the way he did, to sit around being all full of Christmas cheer and heart eyes for Sherlock, and hanging around with his family, as if he was really a part of it, like a partner, when he knew nothing was further from the truth. No, a Christmas alone would suit much better. Get his head straight. Besides, Mycroft would take one look at his face and announce how he felt to Sherlock directly. And that would not do at all.

“I know. It’s a lovely offer, but I think a quiet one at home is what I’d prefer,” he said gently. “Thank you, though.” They sat in silence for a while, finishing their tea. John could occasionally feel Sherlock watching him, but he didn’t turn his head. “You know, all it’s missing is presents underneath. And actually, I wanted to give you your present. I know it’s early but why not. It might be useful for your trip.” John ran off to his room and brought back a wrapped present, to find Sherlock standing in the middle of the room, holding one as well.

“Oh,” he laughed. “Great. Let’s do these now then.”

“We could leave them under the pretty tree and just open them at Christmas?” Sherlock suggested, sounding a bit uncertain. “I can take mine with me?”

“No, I think I need to see your face for this one,” John said, suddenly feeling nervous. “The next couple of days are a bit busy and then you’ll be gone. I don’t mind if you don’t?”

They both sat on the sofa beside each other and Sherlock shoved his at John. “You first,” he said.

John laughed and passed his to Sherlock to hold onto while he unwrapped his gift first. It was a soft and squishy package, and when he opened it he smiled. Sherlock had bought him gloves and a scarf, in a beautiful soft cashmere wool. “Oh wow,” he sighed. “Sherlock, these are too much. They would have cost a packet.” He looked up at Sherlock, feeling embarrassed that his present would not stack up now. “Honestly, you shouldn’t have…”

“John, you do so much for me,” Sherlock said, with a gentle smile before his brow furrowed. “And it irritates me endlessly that you are always cold and you refuse to wear such things, so now you will feel obligated and I will worry less,” he said, his nose tilting up in defiance.

John chuckled gently. “They’re lovely.” He sighed, stroking at the soft fabric. “Really I don’t know what to say.”

“The same blue as your eyes, I thought,” he said, almost in a whisper and John looked over at him. Their eyes held each other for a moment in silence. John tried so desperately to read what was in that expression on Sherlock’s face.

“Yes.” Sherlock nodded. “Definitely the right blue,” he confirmed, and then broke the moment to focus on the present in his lap.

“Okay, now mine is going to seem… a bit… less…” John fumbled, suddenly embarrassed.

“Is this… from the bookstore? In Brussels,” he asked as he unwrapped excitedly.

“Yes… but it’s silly… I just thought… how you like the treasure hunts your brother did and I took a punt… I don’t… it’s not nearly as fancy as your—“

Sherlock held up a hand to stop him talking as he pulled the book from its wrapping. His face had paled.

John’s brow furrowed as he tried to understand what was happening. Sherlock’s reaction was not what he expected at all. They were supposed to laugh about it and John would tell him to put it on the shelf with his travel collection and be done with it.

“I thought it might be useful on the train home…”

“Treasure Island,” Sherlock sighed dreamily, as he brought his hand down and stroked the cover.

“I know it’s really a children’s book but it just was meant to be funny, something silly… from our trip… after the story you told… I imagined you… like a pirate.”

“I always wanted to be a pirate,” Sherlock said, nodding slowly as he stroked the book lovingly. He closed his eyes for a moment as if he was saying a prayer, and slowly opened the cover.

John did not understand his reaction to the book at all. He was already feeling stupid for buying it, even though Sherlock seemed… pleased? Although it was hard to tell.

Sherlock slowly peeled back the first page to reveal the title page of the book. Treasure Island scrawled in the same dramatic font as the dust cover, and then he sucked in a gasp of a breath.

“What… What is it?” John asked, still confused.

Sherlock’s eyes flicked up to John’s and they were filled with tears. 

“What?!” John asked again, not understanding.

He looked down at the book and back at Sherlock’s teary eyes. On the page there was a dedication scrawled from a previous owner that John hadn’t even seen. He had only flicked through it briefly in the shop without paying it any mind as he decided whether or not to buy it. There had been some pages with colour illustrations at various points in the book which he thought was charming, and he had made the impulsive decision to grab it while Sherlock was elsewhere in the store. 

“You did it,” Sherlock sighed.

“Did what? Sherlock, what are you—?”

Sherlock passed him the book, so he could read the artistic scrawl in blue ink on the page, apparently unable to speak.

To Captain Will Holmes, my little adventurer.

John looked up at Sherlock. “Oh, Ha! Holmes. What a lovely coincidence.” He smiled and looked at Sherlock who had a bloody tear rolling down his cheek now. “Wait. I’ve missed something, haven’t I?”

“It’s the book, John. It’s… my book. That I lost.”

“No.” John looked horrified. How had he… God, that wasn’t the purpose of the gift and now it suddenly had more meaning than he intended and he was rapidly regretting it. He didn’t want Sherlock to think… to know… “It can’t be!” 

“It is. That’s my father’s handwriting. Captain Holmes. That’s me.”

John hadn’t even made the connection. Of course. William Sherlock Scott Holmes. His first name wasn’t actually Sherlock. John frowned. That had not been the intention of the present at all. But even if he had seen the dedication he wouldn’t have put two and two together. “So… so… it’s… really your…” 

Before he could process any more, Sherlock had attacked him with a hug, knocking the air out of him. They fell back against the sofa as Sherlock just squeezed him tight. John was confused by the whole thing but finally wrapped his own arms round his friend, reciprocating the hug which felt… so very right. After an awkwardly long silence and hug John trie to speak.

“Gosh, Sherlock. I didn’t know. I just… grabbed it and—” 

“Shhhh!” Sherlock hissed, and just hugged onto him tighter.

John felt a nervous giggle which bubbled up but settled just as quickly. He had Sherlock wrapped around him, in an emotional mess too, it seemed. The hug lasted for much longer than it should have, but John didn’t mind, and Sherlock didn’t seem to either, which John found confusing.

Then as quickly as it had begun, Sherlock let go and sat up, wiping at his eyes, giving a loud sniff and grabbing the book off the floor to look at it again. “Thank you, John. Thank you. Really.”

“Well, I’m happy to take credit for more than I planned. But, honestly, it was just a silly book to add to your commemorative trip collection really.”

“Well, now, it’s so much more,” he sighed, gazing at John with a whole new expression. “I need to ring my father,” he said, leaping up from the couch to go and find his phone. “He will never believe this,” he added, as he laughed heartily and disappeared down the corridor.

John sat alone on the sofa, a little shocked, the smell of Sherlock still lingering around him. The intensity of the moment still lingering there too, leaving him conflicted. He let out a sigh and a smile, and went back to drinking his slightly cold tea and went back to enjoying the glow of the lights on the tree.

@lisbeth-kk @helloliriels @totallysilvergirl @221beloved @safedistancefrombeingsmart

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[margeoww]

Let me be honest here, ‘After All This Time’ should be a series or at least mini series and I’m ready to drop a kidney for it.

PLEASE MAKE IT A SERIES! 😭 Also, love your writing! 🫶🏽

After All This Time

back to my main masterlist.

toto wolff masterlist

Chapter 2

pairing: toto wolff x exwife!reader

summary: Toto reflects on the highs and lows of his 20-year marriage after seeing his ex-wife for the first time in four years. Memories of love, loss, and mistakes resurface, leaving him questioning if reconciliation is still possible.

warnings: themes of emotional conflict, mentions of divorce and strained relationships.

The echoes of their reunion at the gala lingered in Toto’s mind. Sleep had evaded him as the brief conversation played on repeat, unearthing emotions he thought were buried. Seated alone in his office, surrounded by the glow of the city lights, memories flooded back, raw and unrelenting.

The First Meeting

Their story began at a charity event in Vienna. Toto was a young, ambitious entrepreneur, accustomed to being the center of attention. She, on the other hand, was an anomaly in a room of predictable faces. Her laughter, genuine and unguarded, drew him in.

—Do you always observe people as if you’re calculating your next move in chess? —she asked, her smile disarming his ego. Toto was speechless, a rare occurrence.

—Only when someone interesting appears —he replied eventually, and that was the start of everything.

The Early Years

The early days were an adventure. She celebrated his ambition, becoming his anchor amidst the chaos. She was his biggest supporter and his sharpest critic, keeping him grounded while pushing him forward.

They spent evenings walking through Vienna, laughing as though they were the only ones in the world. Their life together was filled with simple yet unforgettable moments—cooking together, debating over who cut vegetables better, or mornings when Toto lingered in bed just to hear her hum while making coffee.

But success came at a price. Formula 1 consumed Toto, demanding every ounce of his time and energy. Promises of quality time were replaced by meetings, races, and endless travel.

—It’s not just that you work too much —she said one night after yet another canceled dinner. —It’s that I don’t know where I stand in your life anymore.

That conversation marked the beginning of the end.

The Anniversary That Changed Everything

The most painful memory was their 20th anniversary. Toto arranged an extravagant dinner, hoping to rekindle what had been lost. But the tension between them was undeniable.

—Do you really think a dinner can fix years of distance? —she asked, her voice heavy with sadness.

That night ended in silence, and Toto realized it wasn’t just about time or work. It was about connection—a connection that had slowly eroded despite the love that still existed.

The Divorce

The separation was agonizing but inevitable. Though neither said it aloud, they both knew the love remained. But sometimes, love alone isn’t enough.

Their last meeting was in the lawyer’s office, signing the divorce papers. —Take care of yourself, Toto —she said before walking out. Those words, filled with affection and finality, haunted him for years.

Back to the Present

Toto exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair. Four years had passed since that day, years spent burying himself in work and pretending he was fine.

But now, after seeing her at the gala, the past felt alive again. The way she looked at him—with surprise, nostalgia, and something he couldn’t quite decipher—left him restless.

Could he fix what had been broken? Or was it far too late?

As rain pattered against the window, Toto allowed himself a thought he had avoided for years: hope.

Okey okey, this is my first mini series, and Im so happy for all the support that you guys are giving to me. Thank you thank you. Hope u like it. ❤️‼️

[aqua-the-smiter]

Ferrus is feeling a bit cranky over Candlemass, so Sanguinius takes it upon himself to cheer his brother up.

Just some wholesome Christmas writing Divider by @squishyowl

“Hurry Ferrus, hurry!” Sanguinius called cheerfully to his brother,  laughing as he dragged him by the wrist through the streets of Macragge.

“Four bloody hells where are we hurrying?” He snapped testily half running and half sliding. “Why are we hurrying, we’re ghosts, why are we running at all?”

“Sorry! Still haven’t figured out the whole ‘manifest in the Materium thing’ yet. But we are not missing this! Especially not you. C’mon, you have got three feet over me. Use those long legs of yours and move!” He replied, his wings flaring as he leapt to avoid a knot of Ultramarine neophytes.

Technically with them both being dead obstacles weren’t a problem, a fact the duo proved later by blowing through an intersection and phasing through the vehicles as if they weren’t there at all, briefly leaving the occupants with either a very warm feeling or a very grouchy one.

Although even in his fugue state Ferrus had to admit that winter on Macragge was something to behold. The sky was overcast and mottled with clouds. Huge, fluffy snowflakes whirled through the air on the icy wind, blanketing the city of Macragge Civitas in a pure shroud of white (except on the roads where salt and slush turned it a dirty gray). She looked regal, in her pale veil. Elegant. As the evening had crept in the streetlamps flickered to life, bathing everything in a festive golden-amber glow. The citizens were all bundled up warmly in coats and cold weather gear, walking and laughing together or celebrating in the streets and squares with family and friends. Even a few of the Ultramarines themselves were out enjoying themselves, battle brothers rubbing shoulders with everyone from senators to starport workers. It was here he found himself being ferried along by his much more enthusiastic sibling, who ran with the grace of a deer to get to…somewhere. He hadn’t elaborated beyond ‘we’re going to cheer you up’. 

He ran with much less grace but no less speed. Not really a deer. A draft horse maybe, one of those big ancient Terran breeds with hooves the size of dinner plates. 

A candle glowed in nearly every window (no matter how many windows that building had). It was Candlemass, you see. Humanity had never lost its love for celebrating the end of the year, bringing festivities and good cheer to the darkest, coldest months. Saturnalia, Christmas, Yule, and now in the 42nd millenia, Candlemass.  It was, by and large, a joyous time, but Ferrus Manus was feeling far from festive.

For you see, while Candlemass is a time of celebration, it is also a time of remembrance. Honoring those lost in the last year and beyond, remembering the good times and the sacrifices made for loved ones. The Imperial Guard, the Astartes, the Sororitas. A few candles were even lit for the men of the Custodes and the women of the Sisters of Silence. Even Primarchs were remembered this time of year.

Or, most of them, anyway.

Ferrus never wanted to be worshipped like a god. As Roboute and now Lion did, he found the whole idea unpleasant. But while he didn’t want worship, he did want to be remembered, and therein lay the problem. He usually never was. His idiot gene sons were decrying him left and right. Of all his loyalist brothers, he had the least amount of shrines, icons, windows, etc.  Most of them were on Medusa, his homeworld anyway, which hardly counted. The ones that weren’t were all included in a group of shrines. It stung, and he was man enough to admit it. Being forgotten about when he had died in the manner he did. A few hymns and a little thanks wouldn’t be too disagreeable. 

He felt a fresh surge of hatred for Fulgrim, making the fiery halo above his head flare white with hot rage. 

At least his men and women in the Legion of the Damned remembered him. Contrary to popular myth, the legion didn’t just have space marine. Guard, Custodians, Sisters of Battle. If you were a soldier of the Imperium in any capacity, you came to him. He cared for them, truly, and he could see that reciprocated in admiration. And it was nice to have them around to keep him company on the other side. He enjoyed the stories he got from the guardsmen, the technical chatter with the Skitarii, even the theological debates with some of the more fanatic branches of Imperial military strength. 

But still. Some kudos from the land of the living would be appreciated.

Sanguinius of course had no such problems. He was beloved by all in the Imperium great and small. He even had his own holiday, Sanguinala. Even on Candlemass though, the good folk of the Imperium took time to light a candle for the Angel. He always loved this time of year, unlike his dour black armored counterpart. Thus, when he’d noticed Ferrus’s equally dark mood, he had taken it upon himself to lift his spirits in the name of Candlemass cheer. And he seemingly had the perfect way to do it.

The two were pounding up the stairs of the Fortress of Hera now. Through doors, through the corridors and courtyards to a grand cathedral near the center of the Fortress Monastery. 

“Here we are!” Sanguinius said with a broad grin. “Let’s go.”

Before Ferrus could get a word in he was dragged through the ornate double doors.

Inside was lit with thousands upon thousands of candles. It was beautiful, ornate but tastefully so. The light inside was a mix of warm amber from the flame and blue from the stained glass windows. Between all the Ultramarine iconography were the chapter banners of the loyalist legions. Astartes and baseliners alike sat in pews, and the music of a pipe organ soaked into the atmosphere. 

“I thought Roboute hated the Imperial Cult.” Ferrus said.

Sanguinius nodded. “Oh he does. But this is not a Father-bothering service in the least.” He replied, finally letting go of Ferrus’s wrist. The two stood in the aisle, watching as said service unfolded. “Watch.”

Ferrus looked around, noticing that the candles were all being put out. As the music faded, the sanctuary went dark. The only light coming from augmetic eyes and the duos’ halos which nobody could see anyway. 

“What’s going on? Come on Sanguinius, why did you drag me all the way here?”

“Shh.” He pointed. “Shoosh. Just watch.”

As he said it a light flared to life at the sanctuary. Roboute stood there, not resplendent in his armor but dressed in a simple white toga and a blue cloak, the Emperor’s sword belted at his hip.. Ferrus had to bite back a gasp of shock.

He looked so tired and haggard. His hair was longer and thinner. His eyes were sunken and had dark circles under them. His face was lined. But for all that he seemed to be in a good mood, and it was clear why. Next to him, also holding a candle lighter was none other than the Lion, dressed in a forest green doublet and a black sable cloak. His shield was slung over his back. He looked older too, his hair much paled in color and longer, his beard fuller. 

“As we bid this year farewell in its final few weeks and prepare to greet the new one, whatever trials and triumphs it may bring, I would like to take one last moment of your time this evening to remember those that are no longer with us. Ceremony such as this ensures those we have lost are always honored and never forgotten, even if their names have been lost.”

He walked to the side of the sanctuary and lit several candles as he spoke. “For the Imperial Guard, the brave men and women of the Navy and the Aeronautica. We are all grateful for your continued bravery and courage in the face of horrors. You are the strongest of us all.”

There was a round of applause then. Several members of the congregation stood, and were seated again when it died down.

Next Lion walked to the other side and copied Roboute’s actions. “For the Adeptus Astartes. My sons and my brother’s sons. All our nephews without their gene-sires to guide their blades and guns. We thank you for your unwavering spirits and loyalty in the face of hellish odds. I am proud to call you my kin.”

More ovations, and this time the space marines in the crowd stood up. Ultramarines, Dark Angels, and a few scattered successors of each. But the middle was still dark. Roboute moved inward a bit, and then Ferrus saw it.

Shrines. There were shrines. One for each of the loyalists. A beautiful crafted statue of each rested on a small altar, surrounded by candles, although the features were obscured in the dark. Roboute began lighting them once again. These were colored either a dark forest green or an antique gold. The Primarch himself had taken his seat, leaving Guilliman alone up front.

“For my brother Lion. You are a pompous, stuck up, trigger happy, smug bastard, and I missed you more than I can say. I am glad to have you back. You wear your age gracefully, which is more than I can say for your armor.” 

The Lion laughed aloud at that, grinning, and after a moment the Dark Angels decided it was ok to find it funny as well. Guilliman moved on to the next altar. The candles were white and red.

“For my brother Jaghatai. Your speed and skill are sorely missed, as is your dry wit. Dustier than the deserts of Tallarn, and as sharp as any power sword. May your battles in the Warp be victorious and your return home as swift as the hawks and horses of Chogoris.”

And the next. The candles here were storm gray and yellow. 

“For my brother Leman. As loyal a brother and faithful a friend as anyone could ask for. I miss your ferocity, your brooding, and your joviality alike. You were one of my Dauntless Few, and I feel your absence sorely and sharply. You who so masterfully pretended to be a beast to disguise the razor blade of a mind underneath the wolf’s pelt. One day I pray we may drink and share stories again, and that I may hear of your great victories and tall tales. Come home soon, and come home safe.”

The next candles were yellow and black. “For my brother Rogal. Stalwart, unbending, unbreakable. You couldn’t understand a joke if it wrote an after-action report to explain itself to you, and you were as blunt as an old knife. But you were my good brother. You were my friend, a man of my Dauntless Few, and we are lesser without you. May you rest peacefully, and know that the Imperial Palace still stands. Know that nobody has forgotten your immoveable soul or your determination. Rest knowing you did your duty to the utmost and that we are all grateful.”

He paused as he reached the next shrine. These candles were crimson and gold. When he spoke again there was a barely perceptible quiver in his voice.

“For my brother Sanguinius. Everyone knew you as the Great Angel. Refined, graceful, powerful. One of my Dauntless Few. I knew you as that and as a mischievous jerk more often than not. You are missed and beloved by all. I miss your kindness and good counsel. May you also rest in peace, and know that you are regarded as a hero, and rightfully so.

There was more laughter at that. Guilliman wiped his eyes and moved onto the next one. The candles were gold and emerald green here instead of forest.

“For my brother Vulkan. You were a much needed voice of kindness among my brothers. You who always remembered baseline humanity and encouraged us to do the same. Your hands made us all many wonders in your forge, and your sons carry that flame with them. May you return safely and swiftly to them and to us, and rekindle your forgefire once more.”

“A kind gesture, if nothing else.” Ferrus said dismissively.

Sanguinius raised an eyebrow. “What, are you jealous? Do you really think Roboute would forget you?”

“Everybody else has forgotten me except you.” His tone was bitter now. “Maybe because I died so ingloriously. Why wouldn’t he?”

“I know you’re jaded, and trust me I understand. But just keep watching.”

The shrine in the middle was still unlit.

Black and white candles flared to life. “For my brother Corvus. A liberator. May that spirit live on, because there are so many worlds that need liberation. May you return home and take up your mantle of freedom-fighter once more, because so many worlds need freedom. And may you have good luck in your hunt. When you come home, I hope your bring Lorgar’s head as a trophy. Throne knows it couldn’t happen to someone more deserving.”

A few hoots and shouts of agreement. 

Finally, Roboute made his way to the last shrine. He lit the candles here slowly, taking his time for each. They were a dark, inky black and a metallic, shimmering silver that glittered beautifully under the candlelight.

And it was then that Ferrus noticed that the middle shrine had the most candles out of all of them.

“And finally. Last but far from the least. To my brother Ferrus Manus, Lord of the Iron Tenth. You were one of the greatest among us. Not because of your metal hands but in spite of them. The greatest of my Dauntless Few. We remember your death not because it was dishonorable or tragic but because you were courageous and defiant to your dying breath. Your soul burned bright and beautiful and it does so even now as you shepherd the Imperium's loyal soldiers. We remember your skill in the forge and the might you granted the rest of us. We remember your strength and power in combat, your iron will and steel tenacity. We are lesser without you, my brother Ferrus. Know that I have not forgotten you. We have not forgotten you, and we never will. Not as long as I still draw breath. I remember you often liked to say that nobody knew you, and I believe that to be true. Nobody really did know you, and I regret not remedying that when I had the chance. Of all of us, I should have known you. May you find peace, and know that as with all my brothers, I love you.”

Ferrus felt a lump in his throat that he couldn’t swallow down no matter how hard he tried and his eyes prickled. He noticed a few wet trails on Guilliman's face as well, shining in the firelight before he scrubbed his face with an arm.

The rest of the service passed in a blur for him. Many of the baseliners and Astartes went up to light a candle themselves. Many more tiny lights flared to life by his shrine. But eventually the room emptied, and the four brothers were alone with each other.

Roboute turned to the two of them at the end of the aisle with a small smile. “Are the two of you planning on saying hello, or just lurking?”

The two finally faded fully into the Materium.

"You could see us the whole time?" Ferrus asked, incredulous.

"Not really see you per say." Lion said, coming to stand with Roboute. He'd been helping his brother extinguish the remaining candles. "But we felt the two of you there. I figured you didn't want to cause a scene. It…it's good to see you again. Both of you."

"Yes, it is." Roboute echoed. "Unexpected but it's wonderful to see the both of you."

Ferrus opened his mouth but found himself choked up. Sanguinius stepped forward, wrapping his arms and wings around his brothers wordlessly.

When they pulled apart, Lion had misty eyes, Roboute was openly weeping again and Sanguinius was beaming at them both like the sun. He grabbed Ferrus and yanked him forward.

“I came for this grump.” He explained. “He was in such a bad mood because he thought everyone had forgotten about him. Maybe he’s not as well loved as he deserves, but you two wouldn’t forget. I knew you wouldn’t. Your speech was lovely by the way. You always had an ability to talk perfectly. Not too simple, not too eloquent, always genuine.”

It was more than that. It had taken all of Ferrus’s considerable willpower not to cry like a child. He was touched. And a little ashamed of his earlier dismissiveness. Maybe not many still cared, but the ones who mattered did. His family remembered him.

“It’s not that big of a deal.” Ferrus huffed, but before he could continue Roboute had wrapped him in a rib-crushing hug. He stiffened, but after a moment returned it.

“Throne but it’s good to see you again, Ferrus.” And damn him if it didn’t sound genuine. 

He blinked hard, trying to contain his own tears to no avail. “It’s good to see you as well, Roboute. I’m glad Fulgrim couldn’t take you down too. The bastard.”

“He nearly did. I got lucky.”

When they pulled apart Lion surprised all three of them by wrapping Ferrus in an equally strong embrace.

“You idiot. You bloody idiot. You really thought we’d forget about you? Give us some credit, Manus. Maybe we could have done a better job of showing it but your absence was sorely felt. I wish I had noticed something. Gotten the Laer Blade away from Fulgrim, I don’t know. I’m sorry Ferrus.”

“Don’t-” he swallowed. “There’s nothing you could have done, in the end. I made my own choices, foolish as they were.”

“He made worse ones.” El’Jonson said fiercely. “You are deeply missed.”

“More than you realize, you big lump.” Sanguinius smacked his shoulder with a wing. “See? What did I tell you? Cheer up, it’s Candlemass.” 

“I wonder if your xenos…friend could help…?”

Roboute shook his head. “With the state he’s in? I don’t know. I was a different case.”

“I appreciate the thought, but it could be much worse. And someone needs to look after the Legion of the Damned. Aeonid Thiel says hello, by the way.”

“I-well. It’s good to hear from him too.”  He paused. “I must ask, how are the two of you here? This isn’t something you can do regularly, is it?”

Sanginius shook his head. “I wish. I would have come far more often, but it’s really only doable, even for powerful ghosts like us, during certain times. Or when the energy is right and the veil is thin.”

“Trust me, if we could do this regularly my idiot gene sons would have already gotten an earful they wouldn’t soon forget.”

“How much time do you have left?” Lion asked. 

“More than enough.” Sanguinius flashed another one of his brilliant smiles. “That's the thing about ceremonies like this. Remembrance. It helps to thin the veil, draw power. All that raw emotion. It’ll linger for a while. We can stay and talk.”

“I like the sound of that. We have much to catch up on, don’t we?”

Lion nodded. “ We do. And I’m sure you’ve got a bottle of Macraggian red you can dig up from somewhere.”

“And there’s his real motivation.”

“Hardly. It’s tradition to have long talks over alcohol, you know that.”

“Cheers, I’ll drink to that. What about you, Ferrus?”

He shrugged. “I have nothing pressing at the moment. I’m sure my men and women can go a night without me around.” 

And he smiled in spite of himself. It was nice to be remembered.

[megamindsupremacy]

Drifting Stars headcanon where Mabel and Ford use the "we're father/daughter" story so often to avoid suspicion that Mabel calls him "Dad" instead of "Grunkle Ford" now.

Ford has a reasonable amount of emotions about this and does not nearly cry the first time Mabel calls him "Dad" outside of lying to people.

[sokkas-therapist]

Started Killing Eve last Monday, finished it at 3:00am last night, devastated. changed forever. will never be the same.

[apocalypticdemon]

hhhhhhhhhh being annoyed with someone and knowing you're in the wrong about it is the fucking worst

[arolesbianism]

See my vision

[muirmarie]

hey quick question why do I keep ending up with plot. where is all this plot coming from. I do not Want this plot. I specifically requested a no plot story next. someone please come take this plot away from me.

[sylhea-raemi]

fucking sobbing at nero's words towards makia about gt9 they're so precious to him all the silly memories they've done i'm gonna cry

[prisonhannibal]

!! DONT SKIP !! donations urgently needed They are only at €5,561 out of €50,000 goal

I was contacted by Nader to draw pictures for and help spread his brother Abdulsalam Al-Anqar’s fundraiser to save their family. Nader is a 17 year old boy who lives in Gaza with his family: parents Ahmed (54) and mother Iman (49), brothers Abdulsalam (26), Mohammed (14), and Omar (21) and Abdulsalam’s wife and their one year old daughter Iman. Imagine it was your sibling, your friend, your son, who should be in school or with his friends, who instead has to hide from bombs and ask for help online to save his family. His family have suffered through one year of genocide. All of you are their hope to get to safety.

This fundraiser is vetted by @gazavetters, number four on the spreadsheet here

Abdulsalams daughter Iman is only one year old and has lived most her life in a war zone. She is suffering from malnutrition. It’s every fathers worst nightmare to see their child starve and not be able to feed her. Please help him feed his daughter and get her to safety. No child should grow up hearing the sound of bombs. Every child has the right to food and safety. You can help give Iman the childhood she should have, where she can sleep in a safe bed at night with a full stomach.

Their father Ahmed has cancer and needs surgery and medication. It is not possible to get the treatment he needs in Gaza. every day his illness is left untreated, the cancer will continue to spread through his body, so he very urgently needs money for treatment and travel. If you help them get to their goal, you are saving their fathers life. Don’t let this family who have already lost so much lose their father, husband, and grandfather

Nader has showed me pictures of this explosion close to them, thankfully they were able to get away. Every day they stay in Gaza their lives are at risk from israeli bombs. Every day and hour counts. I know there are compassionate and kind people who are willing to help. every euro helps, YOUR donation will bring them one moment closer to safety. With love and hope I’m asking you to give what you can, I believe in the kind people of the world and I beg you to not let them die. If you can’t donate, please share so it may reach people who can.

Never forget that palestinians are not numbers on a list of deaths. Please think of each of them, think of their names and faces and know that you can help them. I think of them every day. I think of the hopes and dreams they should achieve, I think of their education, their future, and the love they show when they work hard every day to get help. You may feel powerless to stop this genocide, but you have the power to save Abdulsalam and his family. I dream that the day will come soon where they may use their days to rest and recover from what they’ve been through, where they can share a meal and laugh and the children will play, instead of having to use their time to beg the world to listen and help them. We can make this possible.

50 000 euros is a lot of money for one person to give, but for all of us together, it can be done. Please don’t look away.

(drawing above by @neechees)

Thank you for reading their story. Please don’t keep scrolling without sharing

here is the link again to their fundraiser

tagging for reach:

@90-ghost @heritageposts @gazavetters @neechees @butchniqabi @fluoresensitive @khanger @autisticmudkip @beserkerjewel @furiousfinnstan @xinakwans @batekush @appsa @nerdyqueerr @butchsunsetshimmer @biconicfinn @stopmotionguy @willgrahamscock @strangeauthor @bryoria @shesnake @legallybrunettedotcom @lautakwah @sovietunion @evillesbianvillain @antibioware @akajustmerry @dizzymoods @ree-duh @neptunerings @explosionshark @dlxxv-vetted-donations @vague-humanoid @buttercuparry @sayruq @malcriada @sar-soor @northgazaupdates2 @feluka @dirhwangdaseul @jdon @ibtisams @sawasawako @memingursa @schoolhater @toesuckingoctober @waskuyecaozu

[pop-punklouis]

they were all brothers. they are all brothers.

no one, and i mean no one, will ever be able to understand those years and growing into adults in the bubble they were the way those five will. for five years, they saw each other more than they saw their own families. they became family. they share something so special that people nor circumstances will ever break— they shared their youth. they shared a flash of time together that shaped them from boys into men. and as much as we’ve talked about how integral liam was to our childhoods and growth through this band, a piece of the other four boys’ childhoods and youth also died yesterday. a piece of their history died yesterday. a face to their personal memories died yesterday. and it’s devastating.

they found a home in each other when they were so far away from home, and i cannot even begin to imagine the grief they are feeling and will continue to feel.

walking in the wind has the perfect line like “if you’re lost, just look for me. you’ll find me in the region of the summer stars” and i know for a lifetime to come those four guys will be living that out as the years go on.

my entire chest aches for them. they deserve all the space and grace during this delicate time.

[whytheylosttheirminds]

Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 8 (part two)

(Rafe Cameron x Reader series, 6.2k words)

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

series content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues

⇢ series masterlist

A blood curdling shriek rang through the house, jolting Carter from her restless dreams.

She sat straight up in bed, heart racing as she looked around the dark room, head so heavy she could barely remember where she was or how she got there.

In her hungover mental fog, she pieced it together slowly. She was at the beach house, in her room, it was early, she drank so much last night and Topper said -

“OH MY GOD!” 

Another sharp scream came from downstairs, and her heart rate spiked all over again. She pulled the fluffy comforter around her shoulders and hurried out of the room, quiet on the stairs as she nervously approached the source of all the commotion.

When she saw what was inducing Sabrina’s shock, she doubled back, hiding around the corner so they couldn’t see her. Her stomach churned with bitter loathing, and something else even more nauseating…

She dropped the blanket and rushed to the half-bath off the house’s entryway, doubled over the toilet bowl as last night’s poor choices continued to haunt her.

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Rafe drove faster than he had before your interrupted rendezvous, seeming not to want to drag this adventure out anymore. You eyed him nervously from the passenger seat, searching for words that weren’t coming to you. 

Tongue tied and exhausted was not how you wanted to begin this…whatever this was between you. Rafe had given you words, so many of them, back on the beach and all he asked in return was a simple yes or no.

Are you my girl?

No four words had ever felt so heavy. The shitty part was, you wanted to say yes. At the sound of his breathless question every cell in your body was screaming yes! I’m your girl! I’ve always been your girl! 

But then there was that pesky piece of self preservation that cemented itself in your heart all those years ago and didn’t plan to give up any time soon. 

He looked so disappointed when you couldn’t give him a quick and easy answer, his chest now deflated and shoulders sunken as he drove the rest of the route home. Despite your lingering hesitation, you felt like you needed to give him something, needed to lift the frown that was settled on the lips you had tasted so many times this morning.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

“For what?” He asked.

“I’m…slow,” you began, “it takes me a while, y’know? To find the words. I’m not like you, I don’t know how you came up with that speech in less than a minute.”

Rafe laughed, confusing you.

“What?”

“You think I came up with that speech in a minute?” He chuckled, “I’ve been practicing it every day since senior year of high school.”

Your heart clenched at the endearing thought of him in front of the mirror, driving to class, taking a shower all while rehearsing what he’d say if you ever gave him the chance.

“Oh,” you tucked your hair behind your ear.

It was infuriating, your complete inability to get a grip on your own thoughts and feelings around him. It had always been this way. You were well-spoken and sound-minded, until this one person was in your atmosphere, his presence your own personal kryptonite.

To be fair to yourself, it wasn’t just your own weakness for him that had caused you to build such high walls. When you were kids, he sometimes made you feel this way on purpose. He used to have fun watching you get flustered, just the right amount of flirting to send you into a tizzy, only to leave you spinning like a top with no one to stop you.

You truly tried to leave the past behind, burying it somewhere back in the sand on the beach. You reminded yourself that the Rafe of your memories was not the one sitting next to you right now. But that might just be the problem, because at least you knew that Rafe, you knew exactly what he would do next.

If he grabbed your hand, you knew he was about to drop it. If he said something sweet, you knew he was about to say something passive aggressive. If he acted like he loved you, you knew he was about to act like he’d never met you a day in his life.

But this Rafe, this new one, was completely unpredictable. Wild and dangerous in his apparent affection for you. How were you supposed to know what he did next wasn’t going to hurt? He was right about what he said on the jet ski - you won’t know until you give him the chance. Easier said than done.

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” he offered after you’d been quiet for a long time.

“This week has just been…” trying to come up with one word to describe it felt like a futile task.

“Overwhelming?” Rafe tried to help.

“Surprising,” you countered. “I’ve never been good with surprises.”

“You like to know what’s coming next,” he nodded, once again displaying a deep knowledge of you that you never knew he possessed.

Like he could read your mind, his arm stretched across the small divide and his palm, warm and soft, settled on your thigh, a single soothing stroke to let you know he’s still here, he’s still yours. The feeling of his skin touching yours was like aloe vera directly on the burn.

With a grateful smile, you leaned back in the seat and took a deep breath as he steered you home.

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Carter padded down the hall, stopping three separate times, trying to decide if she should just go back to her own room. But the sight of her frantic texts to you still saying “delivered” and not “read” was too concerning to ignore.

She opened Topper’s door without knocking.

He was sitting up against his headboard, typing feverishly on his phone. At the sight of her, he clutched his duvet cover, pulling it up higher over his nearly naked body.

“Have you ever heard of knocking?” 

“Please, like I haven’t seen it all before. Like I didn’t see it yesterday,” she rolled her eyes.

“Oh okay, so you do remember. Based on the way you were acting last night I thought maybe you’d forgotten we’d ever been together,” he snipped at her.

“I don’t want to talk about last night,” she waved him off, dismissing his complaints flippantly, “are you aware of what’s happening downstairs right now? Of who is happening downstairs right now?”

“Yes, I saw her pull up,” he returned his attention to his phone and his frenzied typing.

Outside his cracked open door, Carter heard Kelce, Tom, and a few others come barreling up the stairs, chatting about the recent arrival.

“Be so fucking for real, did you invite her?” Carter said, attempting to lower her voice.

“I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this but you do this thing where you think you’re whispering and you’re actually not,” Topper informed her.

“Topper…”

“No, I didn’t invite her.,” he answered. “Actually I was about to ask if you did.”

“Why the fuck would I do that? I hate her.”

“Wow alright, hate's a strong word, Carter, maybe calm down a little.”

Ever since their knock-down-drag-out at the club last night, the arguing that was usually playful and lighthearted had an edge of actual bitterness to it.

“First of all, if you ever tell me to ‘calm down’ again, I’m going full Lorena Bobbitt on your ass. Second of all, you need to go down there and tell her to leave,” she flicked her hair behind her shoulder and held her chin up as she bossed him around. He hated that despite how mad at her he was, he fucking loved it.

“How does that job possibly fall on me?” He scoffed.

“Aren’t you Mr. Team Rafe-and-my-sister? Don’t you want to get rid of the reason they stopped talking in the first place?” She reasoned.

“I’m not gonna tell her she can’t be here,” he shut her down. “It’s not my house, and it’s really none of my business. Or yours.”

Her eyes narrowed at him, “oh yeah? Then who are you texting so much over there?”

“I’m just giving him a head’s up,” he shrugged. “She should probably know too.”

“And you’re just assuming they’re together?” She snarled.

“Puh-lease,” he rolled his eyes, “did you see them at the club last night? There’s no way they didn’t hook up.”

She wouldn’t accept it, couldn’t, even though she knew somewhere deep in her gut that he was probably right. 

When Rafe still didn’t answer any of his texts, Topper sighed heavily, “fuck it, I don’t care if I’m cockblocking, I’m calling him.”

Before he could dial, the house shook with the slam of the front door. Carter and Topper hurried out to the hall and hesitated at the top of the steps. Your lone voice carried up to them, talking to no one in particular as you muttered, “un-fucking-belivable.”

Carter actually did whisper this time, “I think it might be too late for that…”

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The feeling of Rafe’s hand, warm and steady on your thigh, as he drove the rest of the route home was so nice and comforting, you let yourself slip into the possibility that this could actually be it. Maybe you really could just leave the past behind you, maybe you really had finally found each other and it could just be simple like this.

But your fantasy didn’t last long.

Rafe parked in the spot across the street that you had taken Carter’s car from a few hours ago. Even when he turned the key and cut the engine, he didn’t remove his hand from your leg. 

“You ready?” He sighed.

“For what?” You questioned, eyeing him curiously, his face serious as he looked down at the site of his hand on your skin.

He shook his head like he didn’t know the answer himself, “reality, I guess.”

You placed your hand over his, smirking at the sight of your fingers encompassing each other’s, wanting so much more from these hands and truly believing you’d have all the time in the world to enjoy them. 

“Bring it on,” you gave him a small smile.

“He leaned across the center console and dropped a deep kiss to your lips, causing you to sigh into his mouth. All the times you imagined kissing him, you never thought such a rough-around-the-edges guy would have such soft lips. You felt like you might be able to spend forever with them on your skin.

When he finally pulled away, you reached for the handle of your door, beginning to open it, but Rafe reached across your body and pulled it shut again.

“What are you doing?” You asked in surprise.

He smiled that perfect, dimpled grin of his, “extra credit.”

You giggled as he hurried to climb out of the driver’s side, hurrying around to your door and opening it with a chivalrous flair.

“Wow,” you beamed, accepting his hand as he helped you down from the tall vehicle. “You weren’t kidding about trying to be a gentleman.”

“For you, I’ll be anything,” he flirted.

Despite your best efforts not to, you blushed, the red hue on your cheeks deepening when Rafe kept your hand in his, intertwining his fingers with yours as you walked back to the house. It was the first time he’d held your hand out in the open like this, where anyone could look out from the windows of the beach house and see the two of you together. It was foreign to you, his public display of affection, and yet it felt so right. You couldn’t help but wish it hadn’t taken this long.

“Can I ask you something?” You said quietly.

“Anything,” he squeezed your hand assuringly. 

“Why didn’t we do this a long time ago?” 

Rafe’s face fell slightly, watching his feet as they made less and less forward progress on the sidewalk, until he came to a full stop. The question was mostly meant to be lighthearted, a tease really, but his solemn reaction made your stomach twist with concern.

“I…” he started, voice unsteady, not meeting your eyeline, “I don’t know if I should tell you this but -”

You never knew what he wasn’t supposed to tell you, because before he could, a sickeningly familiar voice called out from the front porch.

“Hey guys!”

Head snapping toward the sound, you looked up, and there she was, as stunning as ever in that same signature everything-you’re-not-ness. 

Cassie Bryant.

Her face was adorned with a glistening smile, yours was noticeably not. Everything in you sunk, including the corners of your lips, completely unable to hide the way your heart dropped six feet under the ground at the sight of her.

She was somehow even more golden and glowing now than she was back then. Glossy blonde hair flowing down her back like a waterfall of silk. Her perfect, blemish free skin glowed in the early morning light. Her big, round Disney Princess eyes quickly found Rafe and flicked over your joined hands, clocking the way they were folded together in unmistakable intimacy.

It happened so quickly, and yet it felt like years worth of hurt and heartache compacted into one small moment. 

At the sight of Cassie on the porch, Rafe dropped your hand.

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Surely, any minute now, a camera crew would pop out from the bushes and announce that you were being Punk’d.

Or maybe it’d be the Mythbusters:

The myth? That you can actually heal from your childhood trauma with just four years of painstaking hard work. Well, we’re about to prove that all of that can be unraveled in the span of 72 hours! Also, we will be using your heart as our crash test dummy. Myth busted!

You didn’t look over at Rafe, couldn’t bear to watch the way he pulled his body away from yours, ever-so-slightly, almost imperceptibly. But you could feel it all the same, and you were sure she could too. 

Before Cassie could say anything else, the front door opened behind her, Sabrina stepping out of the house and taking in the unfolding scene on the lawn.

“Oh shit,” she laughed, “this is awkward!”

It’s like her main goal in life was to find new and creative ways to make your bad moments worse.

“Is it?” Cassie asked, seemingly unaware of the cause of Sabrina’s laughter. “We were just saying hi.”

She caught your eye as she said it, a polite but knowing smile on her lips. You realized with shock that she absolutely knew what was happening and was trying to make you feel better about it. You should just be grateful for the unexpected kindness, but something in you was suspicious. The Cassie you knew would’ve jumped at the chance to embarrass you, and she would’ve loved the way Rafe was treating you like you had the plague.

Plus, her taking pity on you, acknowledging the way Rafe had just hurt you, was somehow worse than her just being mean to you. You’d rather she go back to that.

“Y’all having a good trip?” She asked you and Rafe when the silence had lasted just a little too long.

You looked to Rafe, waiting for him to answer, begging him silently to say something that indicated that you were in fact having a good trip…together.

But he just said, “it’s been cool. Weather’s shit, though.”

“Yeah that’s what Sab told me, but I got a few days off my internship so I thought I’d come hang with y’all,” she said, eyes on you as she spoke, like she owed you an explanation.

“Well, welcome, then,” you smiled a polite smile that didn’t meet your eyes.

“You ready?” Sabrina asked, linking arms with Cassie, thick as thieves. 

“We’re going into town for some brunch if you guys want to join,” Cassie offered.

“That’s okay, I need to check on Carter,” you declined, all eyes turning to Rafe for his response.

“Uh yeah, I’m good here, th-thanks,” he stuttered, so awkward and shaky, a completely different person from the guy who was delivering monologues and sweeping you off your feet just a few hours ago.

Cassie just smiled politely once more as Sabrina pulled her into the car. As they drove off, you stood wordlessly with Rafe on the front walk, your chest completely hollow. You mustered some nerve and finally looked at him, head tilted, a completely unamused smile tugging your lips.

“Weather’s shit?” You repeated his words back to him.

“Look…” he began but didn’t finish the thought.

You just laughed humorlessly, shaking your head at him as you stormed off toward the house. Rafe stood frozen for a moment, kicking himself mentally and begging his brain to catch up with the moment, finally rushing off after you, but not able to before you slammed the door in his face.

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Carter and Topper exchanged nervous glances at the sound of you stomping into the house. 

They slowly and quietly settled on the top step, sitting forward to listen in as the front door opened and closed again, Rafe’s voice echoing through the house.

“Wait…” he said, following after you as you marched further into the house toward the kitchen.

You didn’t stop, “No, go ahead, you should go to brunch with her. Don’t let me keep you from a good time.”

“Wait, let’s just talk,” he pleaded.

“I’m too tired, Rafe,” you rejected him. “I can’t do this right now.”

“So you’re not even gonna let me explain?”

At the top of the steps, Carter and Topper simultaneously held their breath as they listened, both jumping as Kelce’s voice startled them, “what are we listening to?”

“Shhh,” Carter waved her hand at him, motioning for him to shut up.

Kelce plopped himself between them on the top step, shuffling a bit so they’d make room for him. He listened in, picking up your and Rafe’s raised voices quickly.

“Oh shit,” he barely whispered, “trouble in paradise already?”

“Dude shut up,” Topper cut him off.

Soon, Maddie, Tom and Jack joined the little huddle on the top step, each cluing in on the source of the entertainment in their own disruptive way before being shushed by the group and eventually sitting. You continued your argument with Rafe, completely unaware you were performing in front of a live studio audience.

“You don’t need to explain,” you told him, trudging down the front hall toward the kitchen. “I know exactly what just happened because it’s happened a thousand times before. What I don’t know is why I’m even surprised.”

“Come on,” he caught up to you, stopping you in your tracks as his large frame rounded you. “It is not the same as it used to be.”

“It’s exactly the same,” you side-stepped him, walking into the kitchen and dropping Carter’s keys on the counter. “I mean jesus Rafe, it’s the same fucking person! I can’t believe I’m here again, it’s like I’m having a nightmare where I’m back in high school. Next thing you know I’m gonna walk into homeroom and I realize I’m completely naked.”

“Sounds more like a dream to me,” he smirked, trying to flirt.

You just blinked back at him, your sharp eyes cutting straight through his head.

“Do you think this is funny?”

His smirk dropped, snatched right off his lips by your ice cold tone. Good. You’d been waiting years to wipe that shit eating grin off his face. 

Something new was rising in your chest, knocking out the embarrassment and sadness with a closed fist, a fury long buried coming back with a vengeance.

“I thought all that shit was behind us, over and done.” Rafe reached out towards you but you stopped him with your own rough grip, lowering his hand away from you and dropping it like he’d dropped yours.

“Oh, it’s fucking done alright, so fucking done,” you spat.

 “You’re really gonna let ten stupid seconds ruin everything that’s happened between us? You’re not even gonna give me the benefit of the doubt. You really think that little of me?”

“It’s literally only been two hours, and you’ve already lied to me once and pushed me away the second someone saw us. And you wonder why I'm having a hard time saying yes to being with you? It’s because I fucking can’t trust you, Rafe!”

“I don’t know what else I can do to show you I’m different,” he threw his hands up in exasperation. “This is so fucking unfair.”

“Are you being fucking serious right now?” You stepped towards him as you snapped at him. “You’re actually pissed at me?”

“Yeah, I am!” 

“Why?”

“Because I lost my best friend!”

Everyone on the top of the stairs winced, air sucked from the room when Rafe raised his voice at you. For all his flaws and mistreatment, he had never raised his voice at you before.

“Oh shit,” Kelce whispered.

“Shhh!” Carter and Maddie hushed him in unison, everyone leaning in a little closer to hear how you’d react. But you said nothing. They couldn’t see the widening of your eyes, jaw locked tight as you gave him space to follow up on his outburst.

“Do you really think it didn’t hurt me when you just up and stopped talking to me back then?” He took the space you gave him and slowly unpacked the hurt feelings he’d buried for years. “I know I was a dick, I shouldn’t have taken advantage of how you felt about me, I shouldn’t have strung you along. But when that shit went down senior year and you just ghosted me, I wanted to talk to you and make it right. I tried, but you blocked me out, you went from talking to me every day to radio silence without giving me a single explanation. That fucking hurt. And you’re doing the exact same thing now, not even giving me a chance to explain things. So yeah, I am a little pissed. I’m pissed that you’re just gonna throw it all away again over nothing.”

He waited for your response with baited breath, prepared for you to yell, or cry, or do something. But you gave him nothing, mouth closed in a tight line as you turned on your heel and walked further into the kitchen, lifting the coffee pot from its home and filling it in the sink.

He watched your back as you scooped the grounds into the filter and turned on the machine. Minutes passed and you remained silent, hands on the counter, looking out the big window towards the ocean while the coffee brewed one drop at a time.

Finally, after eight cups had dripped into the pot, you spoke.

“How was prom, by the way?” You turned to face him, the edge of the marble countertop digging into your waist as you leaned back against it, hands crossed in hostility over your chest. “I never asked.”

Rafe’s gaze fell from you almost instantly. He didn’t have to ask why you were bringing this up, the ‘hell hath no fury’ look on your face dragging the memory forth from its carefully hidden spot in the back of his brain. Nothing made him feel like a jackass quite like that memory, and based on the mocking curve at the corner of your lips, you knew it.

The memory used to keep you up at night. 

For a full year after it happened, it was like a fire poker bent into the shape of regret and shame was branding your heart over and over. 

Now, the burn was healed over, still calloused and red at the edges, but you’d done your best to cover the scar tissue in the healing balms of self-love and lots and lots of therapy. Still, it was the moment in your life you were the least proud of.

You’d thought it was gonna be you. Really, earnestly, completely delusionally, you believed when he asked for your help with his grand prom-posal that it was all a playful ruse to ask you to be his date. You stayed up all night, decorating three different poster boards with glitter glue so he could pick the one he liked best. You bought out all the battery-powered candles at Michael’s - he said he’d pay you back, he never did. You waited with him in the park until the sun set, giddy with the hope that he’d drop the ruse and pop the question any minute.

“What will you do if ‘she’ says no?” You attempted to flirt.

“I guess I’d just have to take you.”

Every muscle in his body flinched at the memory and the white hot regret he felt every time it replayed in his head.

The kid who said those words was such an asshole. Standing here in the kitchen, looking down at you, the love of his goddamn life, and facing the possibility that he might lose you for good, he wanted to ring the idiot’s neck.

Because he hadn’t asked you. He made you watch while he asked her. And he didn’t even give you a ride home from the park.

Fuck, he wouldn’t forgive himself if he was you, either.

Rafe felt about two feet tall, looking back at you with absolutely nothing to say. He was relieved for a second when you opened your mouth to speak first, until he heard the words.

“You don’t understand. The voice in the back of my head, the one I’ve spent years trying to silence, the one that tells me I’m not enough, that I’ll never be enough…it’s your voice, Rafe.”

He grasped desperately for a reply, but there were no words in the English language that made that statement any less devastating.

“Maybe that’s not fair,” you continued before he could come up with anything, “but I don’t think I have control over that. I don’t know how to undo it, if it can be undone. So those ten seconds that just happened out there? They’re  not nothing to me. When you dropped my hand at the sight of her, I felt like I was that stupid teenage girl again, giving my whole heart to the one person who knows how to break it. Blind and foolish and desperate for you to notice her. I don’t like that girl.”

You made it through the whole speech with a steady voice, up until the last sentence. Your voice cracked on those words, your heart doing the same as you pictured your younger self. The one who would sit on her bed for hours, rereading the texts she sent him and praying he’d reply.

Thinking about that version of yourself, you weren’t sure if you wanted to hug her or slap her. Surely, she’d hit you right back if she saw what you were doing now, potentially pushing away the boy she loved more than anything, finally having him within your grasp and letting him slip right through.

At the top of the stairs, unbeknownst to you, Carter was picturing that girl, too. She would roll her eyes at you back then, using sarcastic comments like “are you sure Rafe even knows how to read?” to mask her truer concern; that he could but he wouldn’t, and the heart you wore on your sleeve would end up crushed again. Even now, she couldn’t protect it, couldn’t save it from reaching out to this boy who did nothing but break it.

Frustration welled inside her, the absolute powerlessness to put an end to this cycle that hurts you feeling like a dark cloud over her head. The anger manifested into hot, watery tears gathering on her lash line. Without permission, one slipped through, rolling down her cheek slowly.

Topper caught the whole thing, and despite their fight and his resolve to freeze her out until she apologized, he couldn’t stop his hand from reaching out and stroking her cheek softly, wiping the tear away with a gentle swipe of his thumb.

They shared a look so full of unspoken words and tender emotions that they almost forgot about the conversation in the kitchen, until Rafe’s voice cut through the moment and pulled them from their silent reconciliation.

“Are you okay?” He asked you after you’d been silent for nearly a minute, trying desperately to compose yourself.

“Yes, that's all just a lot. I’m processing,” you sniffled.

“Take your time,” he said, pulling out one of the high back stools from the counter and motioning for you to sit in it.

Your body was so exhausted, even your stubborn anger at him couldn’t stop you from accepting the offer. You slumped on the plush stool, folding your arms on the counter and resting your chin on them.

“How do you like your eggs?” Rafe asked.

“Is that a pick-up line?” 

“Nope, just a question,” he said as he opened the high cupboard and pulled out a frying pan.

You tried to remind yourself you should reject his offer to feed you, you should storm out, you should tell him where he can put his frying pan…but you were hungry. And so tired.

“Sunny side up,” you answered.

He nodded and got to work cooking you breakfast, eggs and bacon sizzling on the stove, Rafe close by with a spatula in hand, silent as he stirred and flipped. You rested your head on your folded arms, eyes half-closed and brain sleepy, watching him. 

If you blocked out the last twenty minutes, you could pretend this morning was your real life, could let yourself imagine it really was all this simple and pleasant and sweet; he’d cook you breakfast, you’d make him coffee, and you’d kiss until the sun rose.

At the top of the stairs, Kelce stood and started descending, before Carter reached up and grabbed his arm.

“What are you doing?” She whispered.

“I’m hungry!” He whined.

“You can’t go down there,” Maddie scolded him, “give them some space.”

“Are we just gonna stay up here all day?” Tom complained as he and Jack stood to join Kelce’s crusade into the kitchen.

“Everybody sit down!” Topper whisper-yelled. “Give them five fucking minutes, you’ll all survive. You can fuck off back to your rooms if you want but no one’s going down there.”

Carter couldn’t help the heart eyes she made at him, surprised and delighted by his show of aggression in your defense.

Kelce groaned as he backed back down, Tom rolling his eyes and throwing his hands up as he trudged down the hall back to his room, Jack following with a huff.

“Kelce, I have a granola bar in my purse, c’mon,” Maddie offered, leading him towards her own door.

Alone again, Topper and Carter looked at each other for a long, quiet moment.

“I’m sorry,” she mouthed.

“I know,” he mouthed back.

She scooted towards him, nuzzling into his side as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, kissing her temple.

Downstairs, Rafe was done with your meal, scooping it onto a plate and sliding it to you across the counter.

“Thank you,” you sat up and began nibbling at a slice of bacon.

Rafe took the stool next to you with his own plate of food. You sat in silence for a while, only the sound of forks scraping against porcelain and the occasional “can you pass the salt?” between you.

Between bites, you rested your head on your arm again, nearly falling asleep.

“I’m so tired,” you mumbled sleepily.

“It’s been a long twenty-four hours,” Rafe agreed, taking a sip of his coffee.

“That’s an understatement,” you snorted, sitting up again and finishing the last bite of your eggs.

“What about…the next twenty-four hours?” He asked quietly.

You took a deep breath, the smile falling from your face as you considered the question underneath his question. You didn’t answer him right away, hopping down from the stool and collecting your plate and his, carrying them to the sink. Rafe was quick behind you, arm reaching around and pulling the dishes from your hands to lay them in the sink. His hand rested on your waist, turning you to face him, pulling you in. Reluctantly, and without returned tenderness, you let him.

“Rafe, I can’t…” you said sadly.

“Please just talk to me,” he pleaded, hands running up your arms and resting on your shoulders. You shook your head, blinking away fresh tears as you pulled away from him.

“It hurts too much, Rafe,” your voice cracked. “As great as the last few days have been, you can’t see that being close to you hurts me. I worked so hard to get over you. So this isn’t me throwing it all away, this is me protecting myself. Protecting what I’ve spent years rebuilding.”

“So what, that's it then? You’re just gonna go back to school and pretend this never happened?” The pain in his voice was palpable, and you cursed the part of you that wanted to reach out and make him feel better.

“I don’t know, Rafe,” a small tear slipped through, gliding slowly down your cheek.

“You’re just gonna stop talking to me, stop thinking about me?” He continued desperately.

You looked up at him finally, searching his face, nodding sadly.

“I’ve done it before.”

Hurt flashed in his crystal blue eyes, flinching like your words had burned him. “You didn’t…you don’t…think about me?”

“No,” you told him honestly, another tear joining the one before it. “Never. Because if I let myself think about you, I would’ve fallen apart. I’m not strong enough, I would’ve run to you, and every time I did that before, you’d let me down.”

“What about yesterday? What about this morning? Just think about the beach, everything was so good, it can be that way now…”

He reached out and cupped the side of your face, thumb brushing over the tears as he pulled you in toward him, kissing you out of sheer desperation. Like maybe if you tasted his lips, it’d transport you both back in time, back to the beach, back when he’d done and said everything right. 

You allowed him to take you there for just a second, before the incident on the front walk flashed in your mind again, the pain of rejection like a knife to your gut. You pulled away from him quickly, side stepping him and moving to the other side of the kitchen, creating as much distance between you as possible.

“No, no, you can’t just kiss me and act like what just happened with Cassie didn’t happen,” you shook your head rapidly, wiping your tear stained streaks with the backs of your hands. “I can’t do this right now, I need some time to think.”

It required fighting every impulse he had, but he didn’t push, didn’t close the space between you, didn’t try to regain the control he was so used to having. He just sighed deeply and nodded, eyes low.

“Okay, well let me know when you’re done…thinking.”

With one last longing look at you, he stepped away to the basement steps, stopping at the top and turning halfway toward you.

“Oh and that girl? The one who gave me her heart? For what it’s worth, I like her. Always have.”

With that, he was gone, the door clicking softly behind him.

Carter and Topper could hear you approach the bottom of the steps. Carter stood first, fully ready to greet you and grill you on everything that had happened since you last spoke. Topper could see all her questions and comments written on her face. He grabbed her hand and squeezed gently, stopping her before she marched down the stairs towards you. She looked at him in surprise but understood quickly as he gave her a slight shake of his head, whispering, “give her some space.”

Reluctantly, she nodded, allowing him to lead her quietly down the hall and into his room.

Your footsteps were heavy on the stairs, body aching. Your brain was so fried you couldn’t even pick one thing from the morning to focus on, like the part of your brain that processes events was temporarily out of order. So you stopped trying to think and just let your feet carry you to your bed, crawling under the covers in your clothes, falling quickly into a restless slumber.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄

In your dreams, you were back in the kitchen with him, shoulder to shoulder in comfortable silence as you did the dishes together. Rafe washed and you dried. 

Only, it wasn’t the beach house kitchen, it was one you’d never been in before. And in that dream-state way of knowing something you don’t actually know, you were sure it was a kitchen the two of you shared, sometime in the distant, unwritten future.

(chapter 9: part one)

a/n: I'm so sorry, I had to do it.......also the prom thing may or may not be based on a true story and I may or may not have cried writing it....

also I’m sick and tired so I didn’t edit much sorry for typos!

please note: the taglist for this series is closed. For updates when I post, follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs <3

friendly reminder that writers live off of reblogs, don’t forget to feed your faves! 💘

[innerfare]

Playing With Your Nipples 

Summary: how they play with your nipples

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid

Genre: pure smut

CW: NSFW // nothing too explicit, Sanji is sweet, Kid is merciless

——— 

Luffy:

This is an act in and of itself. He can be pretty insular in that he only does one thing at a time because he gets so lost in it, and playing with your nipples is no exception. That being said, he can’t actually hold back, usually tweaking them slowly for what feels like ages but is really only a few seconds before finally going in with his watering mouth. Has a habit of talking with his mouth full, muttering things against your tits like, “could do this for hours.” When he does eventually move further down your body, he’ll keep his fingers on your nipples.

Zoro:

Very casual in the way he goes about it. Often lets his intrusive thoughts win when it comes to your tits. If you’re wearing a low-cut shirt or he can see your nipples through the sports bra you’re wearing while the two of you work out together, he’ll reach down your shirt or pull down your bra and play with your nipples. If he sees you in the shower, he will be reaching in to squeeze your tits and pinch your nipples a few times. But he doesn’t often escalate in these scenarios; that’s on you. Really likes having you on top during sex so he can reach up and lazily play with your nipples. 

Sanji:

So sweet, so gentle, takes the privilege of seeing you topless very seriously. Never misses an opportunity to bury his face between your breasts, which inevitably leads to him tugging your top down and placing sweet kisses on your nipples, keeping his eyes open because he wants to see them grow erect. When he eventually starts sucking on them, he’s moaning and taking breaks to tell you how perfect you are. He treats your nipples like they’re delicate, too, like they’ll break if he goes too hard on them. If you want teeth, you’re going to have to ask. 

Ace:

The king of feeling you up. Has literally never gotten into bed beside you without sliding his hands beneath your shirt. This inevitably leads to him thumbing your nipples, his fingers making slow circles around the sensitive nubs before he starts pinching and pulling, eventually going in with his mouth. If he catches you in a hallway or empty room and wraps his arms around you from behind, this also typically escalates to him reaching beneath your shirt to play with your nipples. But it’s never so casual that it doesn’t escalate. If he gets his hands beneath your shirt, he’ll be fucking you, and he’ll be pinching your nipples the entire time. 

Sabo:

The sight of your naked tits is almost bewitching. His eyes zero in on your nipples and his lips part. He goes in tongue first, licking them in much the same way he licks your clit, all thoughts leaving his head as you tangle your fingers in his hair. When he takes breaks, it’s to pinch your nipples while he leaves hickeys all over your tits; no sooner do the marks fade than is he back at it again. Probably his favorite thing is when you give him a blowjob in a position that allows him to play with your nipples while you work; he pinches them very hard when you make him cum. Has definitely tied you up and tortured you with a feather before. 

Law:

When he starts palming your tits, he takes so long to get to your nipples you think you’re going to die. He can be a bit rough with your tits, but never with your nipples, hardly ever biting or pinching, just thumbing and kissing. Probably one of his favorite naughty activities is stripping you down in front of a mirror and kneading your tits, eyes pinned to your nipples. If not that, then he likes holding you in his lap while he works, one hand beneath your shirt. He’s really into spanking, too, and that includes your tits. He’ll smack them while he fucks you, leaning down to kiss your nipples after every three or four times. 

Kid:

Feral in general, but especially when it comes to your nipples. He’ll chew them raw if you let him, saliva running down your tits and abdomen because he’s so ridiculously messy about it. And when he’s done a number on your nipples with his teeth, he insists you allow him to suck on them to make them feel better (don’t let him, it won’t work). Has pierced them and takes it upon himself to decide which barbells you wear. Will definitely magnetize the barbells to pull you into his lap. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[afterglowsainz]

positions | max verstappen

pairing: actress!reader x max verstappen

summary: your situationship from high school becomes a four time world champion and you send him a text congratulating him, opening the door to see him again

fc: zendaya

warnings: weird timeline, don’t pay attention to it

a/n: i’m finally back home so i can now post the celebration for max’s fourth championship (insane) (he deserves it so much) (i actually haven’t moved on from brazil)

—

liked by yourusername, maxverstappen1 and others

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liked by maxverstappen1, rachelzegler and others

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[caption 1: 📍monaco] [caption 2: ❤️]

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, maxverstappen1 and others

yourusername last few days 🍇

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maxverstappen1 los angeles is actually not that bad

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username “not that bad” 😭😭 be serious for a second

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f1gossip max verstappen and actress y/n y/l/n were seen together in los angeles together on a date

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liked by maxverstappen1, lewishamilton and others

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username just fell to my knees

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[entitled-fangirl]

The next one.

Cregan Stark x wife!reader

Summary: Cregan returns home after months away, reuniting with his wife and children.

Warnings: innuendos and sexual comments between a husband and wife.

Masterlist

............................................

"My lady, Lord Stark has returned. He is leading the men through the gates now."

She nearly dropped everything in her hand. 

Cregan had been gone for far too long it seemed, and finally the North was getting their Warden back. 

More importantly, she was getting her husband back.

She ran past the servant, practically sprinting through to the main doors. 

When she saw Cregan proudly leading his men, she didn't stop to let him come to her. 

Cregan's face lit up in joy at the sight of his wife running to him. Before she even neared, he was throwing his leg over his horse to dismount. 

He braced himself and caught her, the feeling of her against him relighting the spark that had begun to fade in his heart from such a long time away from home. The smell of her hair calmed him. 

The men that chuckled were few, understanding the feeling of returning to a wife. 

Cregan had to practically pry her away to even get to look her in the eye. "How I've longed for you, woman."

She all but melted in his hold, her face held between his two large hands. "Cregan, you must know-"

"-Whatever it is, it can wait," he smiled. "For now, I reunite with my one." He looked over his shoulder to his men. "The war is won. Now reclaim your homes and your wives!"

There was a loud cheer that washed over the men like waves. They all slowly dissipated, each going to their respected homes.

Her fingers brushed up and down Cregan's wrist, awaiting his next words as if he commanded her to breathe. 

"Tell me, pretty girl. Did you miss your lord?"

"Dreadfully," she admitted with a pitiful whine.

"Aye. Thought so." He spun her, her back now pressed firmly against his chest. He let his hands explore her as he spoke in her ear. "Tell me how dreadfully my beautiful girl missed me. Tell me how you managed along without me. How much this cunt missed me. My mere touch runs your breath ragged." His hand grazed over her most intimate parts through her skirt, causing a red to come over her face. "And my children, how you've raised them s-"

"PAPA!"

Cregan's hand fell to a more appropriate area on her waist, but his attention on his wife was lost once he recognized the voice.

His little Arya.

She ran with a wobble to her step still, only being four. But the brightness in her eyes at the sight of her father's return made his heart soar. 

How she had grown in his few months away. 

He scooped her up, tossing her into the air and catching her with ease. The two giggled together as they connected, a scratchy kiss placed on her cheek from the burly man. "My perfect girl! Have you been good for your mother?"

Her big bright eyes held the Stark mischief to them, and she shook her head with a knowing cheeky grin.

He feigned dropping her, catching her with ease with one hand and beginning to tickle her with the other. Loud shrieks of laughter came from the small girl.

Prompting Rickon to join them.

Rickon was older, going on five. Despite only being a year older, he held himself with high esteem, carrying the Stark name with the same pride as his father.

He faked the stern face, but all knew deep inside that he was just as excited to see Cregan. 

He came to Y/n's awaiting arms, leaning his head against her stomach as the two watched Cregan finish his reunion with Arya. He held her up with one hand and acknowledged his boy. "Rickon." The once joyous tone with Arya dissipated to a firm one. He bent down to Rickon's level, putting a heavy hand to his shoulders. "You have kept them safe. My little lord of Winterfell. Well done." His hand affectionately patted the boy's cheek.

Arya squirmed and pulled from Cregan's arms, now hiding in her mother's skirt.

Cregan stood with a small groan to his aching muscles. "But I have missed you most," he clarified to his wife, now giving his full attention back to her.

"More than Jonnel?" Arya asked with a peek around the skirt.

Cregan's brows came together, looking to his wife for clarification.

"Cregan, we must talk," Y/n tried again.

"Wh-" He felt a small anger in him rise.

"You left me all those moons ago with child!" She clarified. "A boy."

His face dropped and soon a disbelieving smile replaced it. "A-A boy? Another boy?"

She nodded. "He's perfect."

"You've given me another?" He still asked in shock.

"Now two moons old." A smile grin plastered to her face, "I don't think I've seen a more northern babe in all my days."

Cregan stared at his wife like she'd said the most profound thing that even the greatest philosophers could not think of. 

Then a large smile took over his features. "Let us see this babe!" He scooped up Arya and guided Rickon by his shoulder, Y/n following behind them.

As he walked through the Winterfell halls, she took notes of the small differences in him. His hair was now much longer than before, his beard grown in some- signs that he may have tried to keep it trimmed at the beginning of the journey then gave up. Most noticeable was his stance.

Cregan Stark had now seen war, and the very essence of him screamed it.

How tired he must be. And still, he finds the energy for his little family.

He almost busted down the door to the nursery, forgetting himself and frightening the maid within. She excused herself under her breath.

Y/n watched Cregan bring his children to the side of the small crib. His eyes practically glowed as he took in the sight of little babe.

"Jonnel," he whispered. "It suits him."

"I liked Torrhen," Y/n mentioned from behind him, now approaching and wrapping her arms around him. "But he's more of a Jonnel."

"There's always the next one," he chirped, smirking when he knew his wife turned a bright shade of red.

"Rickon, Arya, off you go," she waved them off, "Your papa will see you at dinner." When Arya opened her mouth to complain, a small look from her mother made her go.

"You didn't notice the changes in me?" Y/n finally asked as the two lovers stared over the child. "You always used to say you knew my body better than I."

"I noticed," he admitted. "The way your breasts have swollen in my absence, yes, I noticed." He reached down, brushing a finger over the child's cheek. "Though I did not know if it was from a child and I would not embarrass you in that way."

Warmth moved from her cheeks down to her stomach. Her husband's words had a deep effect on her. She stood on the tips of her toes, nipping at the northman's ear. "The next one, you said?"

A deep rumble of a chuckle came from him and he finally spun to look at her. "Aye." He brushed hair from her face. "I plan to fill you with children until you tell me to stop."

She giggled and feigned offense as Cregan kissed at her jaw. "Am I just a broodmare to you?"

He pulled away, grabbing her jaw and pulling her in. "You're my wife. I will love you until you tell me to stop. In all the ways a man loves a woman."

"And if I don't want you to stop?" She tested, a whisper across his lips.

His gaze flickered down to her lips and back. "Then I won't."

She looked down at the babe, "I don't feed him for another hour or so-"

She could barely finish her sentence before Cregan picked her up and took her to their chamber.

Cregan Stark had seen war, but he didn't let it seep into the walls of his home.

........................................

Taglist: @twinkletwinklenotastar@kidd3ath @yujyujj@misswynters@cosmosnkaz@sithapprentice@kaniromi@lovemesomevesey@its-jackie-bb@thorins-queen-of-erebor@kingdomzeldaquest@nyxbranwenn@callsignwidow@a1lexh-blog@alyssa-dayne @ethereal-athalia @ashovertheriver @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @dozcan123 @wangjiangelangel @kamitargaryen @aegonswife @lv7867@helpmedecideaname @cherryheairt @classicsimpforaaronwarner

[nanaslutt]

Milking Sukuna's cock

cont: fem reader, sex toys, m!masturbation, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, m!squirting, dirty talk, shibari, true form Sukuna, Sukuna and reader have some kind of special relationship, Sukuna doesn't know how to deal with love and aftercare, fluff

note: saw an ask for smthn along the lines of this, it’s not exactly what they asked for but it sparked smthn in me so :3 (this is the closest to sub!sukuna i will get, i can’t see him as a sub at all lol)

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

"F-fuck a-ah fuck-" Sukuna struggled against the Shibari that kept all four of his arms snugly against his back and out of your way as you sat between his thighs and jerked a pocket pussy mercilessly over his cock. His abs are clenching rapidly and his breaths are coming quicker and quicker as you keep going, ignoring his obvious overstimulation.

His legs are twitching and shaking violently, and still, you keep going. Sukuna's face keeps twitching at his own sensitivity, his nose scrunching as his eyebrows furrow, and his teeth clenched together in tandem, making the muscles in his jaw pop out from under the skin. His mouth stomach is biting his lip between his teeth as you touch him. He's so tense, you don't need to touch his body to tell that every single muscle is clenching and unclenching, not a single atom of his being is relaxed.

When Sukuna growled and tipped his head back against his throne, you knew he was about to cum again, for the fourth time. You were alternating between his cocks, meaning each time he came, one of them sprayed his cum all over his body, making him hiss in annoyance as his cum stuck uncomfortably to his skin, seeping into the shibari. His other cock, whichever was inside the toy, filled it to the brim, so much so it dripped out from the bottom from how much he came.

You had no idea how he still had so much cum left in him, it seemed like no matter many times you milked him, he always had more to give. His hands gripped the shibari behind him harshly as he came again, his thick cum filling up the fake pussy as his jaw went slack, long groans and moans leaving his lips while you jerked him faster and faster, making the cum covering his dick inside the pussy cream up, bubbling around the base of his cock.

"Does that feel good Sukuna? You're so wet down here." You teased, biting your own lip as your eyes raked over his impressive body, not wanting to miss a single reaction from the king. Sukuna groaned at your words, too focused on filling up the toy to shoot back any snarky response.

His eyes fluttered back in his head when you continued stroking him through the aftershocks of his orgasm, your eyes watching his face carefully as his face twisted in pleasure, clearly overstimulated since he had already cum, and yet, you were still going. "Fuck, w-wait woman," Sukuna growled, the muscles in his thighs flexing and shaking as he tried not to get lost in his own sensitivity.

You wondered if he knew how much he was really shaking. He was clearly trying to hold back, maybe to save some of his ego from this vulnerability he was allowing you to see, but he was doing an awful job at holding back. Sweat beaded along his hairline and dripped steadily down the sides of his face, mixing with the drops on his neck. He was panting heavily, and his face was incredibly flushed, it was quite a sight to witness.

"Hm?" You teased, leaning closer to him, placing your hand on his pecs as you got in his face, keeping the toy steadily jerking over his cock as you looked into his eyes challengingly. Your eyes darted from his swollen lips to his eyes, steadily rolling back in his head. "A- A break." He grit through his teeth, keeping his words short so he didn't let out any unwanted noises. "Huh?" you asked, feigning ignorance as you leaned forward, your lips grazing against his as you spoke.

Just when you were about to lean in and kiss him, his head started jerking from side to side away from you, his jaw falling open as he groaned loudly again, his breath coming out stuttered. He struggled harshly against the ropes, his body jolting and wiggling around as he tried to stop your hand as his orgasm rapidly approached again, and so soon after the other one.

You smiled agaisnt his lips, using the opportunity of his eyes being shut to do so. He would've ripped through the shibari in half a second if he saw you laughing at him like this. Right before he came, you pulled back from his body and sat back down on your heels. Quickly you grabbed his neglected cock and held it steady as you ripped the toy off of his cock, sliding the other one inside it.

Immediately a loud groan was ripped from Sukuna's lungs as he came the second his neglected cock felt the tight, wetness of the inside of the pocket pussy. You opened your jaw as you watched him fall over the edge before a warm feeling on your leg brought your attention to below his legs. Looking down you noticed a thinner stream of clear liquid squirting out of his cock, spraying over his and your thighs. "Oh shit, there's so much…" You mumbled under your breath.

Likewise, the cock inside the toy was spurting out the same wetness as it leaked around him. Sukuna's mouth was open in a silent scream as he squirted all over you. Behind his eyelids, he pretended he was filling up your pussy, and with how wet the toy was from his copious amounts of cum, he almost believed it. "E-enough-" Sukuna growled lowly, too quiet and timid for you to take him seriously.

You continued anyways, feeling hot all over, your body feeling reenergized as you just watched the king of curse squirt from getting his cocks milked. When you didn't stop, Sukuna winced hard and yanked hard on the ropes. A loud cracking sound echoed off the walls of the chamber as his arms shot out in front of him and immobilized you. Two grabbed your throat, and two grabbed your wrist ceasing all of your movements on him.

You gasped for breath as Sukuna stared at you, his cocks softening as he caught his breath, letting his head back as he tried to relax now that your assault on him was paused. Sukuna squeezed his hands harshly around your throat, making your mouth open in a silent gasp as air failed to fill your lungs. "When I say enough, you listen." He said, trying to sound stern but the shakiness in his voice was very much evident.

You nodded in his hold, gasping air into your lungs when he released you. He controlled your hands though, slowly sliding the toy off of his cock he winced in overstimulation, his legs twitching around you as he threw the silicone somewhere behind you. He kept his hands around your wrists, preventing you from touching him as he laid back against his throne, his body finally relaxing, save for the unintentional spasming and shaking of his overworked muscles.

Sukuna pouted as he looked at you, almost looking like an angry cat as his eyes never once left yours, but he stayed silent, letting his gaze do the talking. You pursed your lips together to force down your smile, not wanting him to think you were looking down on him. "Sukuna, are you mad at me?" You asked, tipping your head at him. Your arms throbbed from the exertion of jerking him off for so long, and his hands gripping your wrists harshly, preventing blood flow to the sore appendages, wasn't helping.

Sukuna stayed silent, as you already knew his answer. "I'm sorry Lord Sukuna." You said, speaking to him formally to gain his forgiveness despite the uniquely intimate relationship the two of you had. "Please forgive me, I got carried away. I just wanted to bring my master pleasure." You spoke dramatically, looking at him from under your lashes.

Sukuna started at you challengingly for a few more seconds before he decided to release your wrists. You smiled, rubbing the soreness away as he placed his large arms on the side of the throne, looking away from you. "Lord Sukuna, thank you for sparing me~" You cooed, leaning forward and wrapping your body around his, his cum and sweat rubbing against the thin robe clothes you wore.

Sukuna's nose scrunched at the contact, his body going rigid against yours. It wasn't like he hated this affectionate touch, he just never got used to it. Each time you clung to him like this after sex, it felt so foreign to him, and yet he never pushed you away. "I do hope you felt good though Sukuna, thank you for letting me do that." You whispered, nuzzling your cheek against his skin.

Sukuna cringed, he never knew how to respond when you said stuff like that. Instead, he placed a hand on your lower back softly, keeping you pressed against his body as he sighed. "Brat." He whispered, briefly looking down at your tiny body on top of him before he opted to stare at the walls around him, unable to tolerate the strange emotions he felt when he looked down at you clinging on to him.