#i wrote it in the middle of march

[starpens]

CRASH COURSE ﾉ xia caleb x female reader ៹ explicit content, unprotected sex, virginity loss, mentions of cheating (none actually happens), pet names (pipsqueak (sorry but i have to be accurate) gege, good girl), instructional sex, blowjobs, creampie, idk what this is i wrote it in 5 seconds i just needed an excuse to write caleb, not proofread :( ˓˓ WORD COUNT ᨀ 4.9k !

asking the boy you’ve known nearly your entire life to teach you how to have sex isn’t weird, right...? right?

caleb has taught you a lot of things over the years.

he taught you how to drive a car in the shopping mall’s parking lot, how to cheat at card games, how to avoid burning the house down by letting him cook for you instead, how to sneak underneath the turnstiles on the subway to avoid fees.

he’s reliable and sturdy and a little reckless, but also patient and nonjudgmental— creating the idea in your idea that he’s kind of all-knowing, that whenever you don’t know something caleb does, that whenever you need help, you turn to no one else but him. which is precisely why you’re standing outside the door of his bedroom right now, hand lifted to knock on it.

because surely, asking caleb to teach you how to give a blowjob falls somewhere underneath that category too, right?

it’s one of those rare moments when the two of you are off work at the same time. caleb, on annual leave for the next two weeks and you, taking out a handful of unused vacation days to spend time with your favorite person in the world. it’s like old times again, when you can simply walk down the hall and hear his laugh drifting from underneath the door as he plays some stupid video game with college buddies.

thinking of the old days is exactly why you’re hesitating at the door. there’s too much shared history between the two of you, too much to lose if this goes badly, if you’ve been reading him wrong all along and he doesn’t want the same thing. there’s no way you can march in there and ask the boy you were raised with teach you how to—

“door’s open, pipsqueak,” caleb calls, somehow knowing you’re there because of course he does. you used to complain that he must’ve secretly implanted a tracker in your arm because he always knows your whereabouts, which made games like hide and seek with him impossible.

knowing it’s too late to play it off, you walk inside his room, greeted by his devastatingly gorgeous grin. “hey, you. lemme guess— the fridge is empty? no? lightbulb in your room need changing again? huh… or did you just miss me?”

“uh,” you mumble, shifting your toes in the soft carpet of the rug in the middle of his room. “not exactly. i was just wondering if you had time to talk and— … you’re not wearing a shirt.”

you realize how dumb you sound as you point it out, it’s just that your brain short-circuits, turning into a syrupy mess at the sight of caleb without a shirt on, his dog tags resting against bare skin. you’ve seen him like this before, of course— but not since he up and left, gallivanting off into the world to become a hotshot military pilot.

he’s always been nice to look at when you think he isn’t paying attention, but god he’s pretty. your eyes blink almost in disbelief as you take in his broad, muscular form that did not exist while he was a cadet in basic training. your gaze can’t help but snag on the ripple of his abs, or the thatch of brown hair trailing from his navel to disappear beneath his gray sweats. he swivels in his stupid gaming chair, smiling at you with his stupid face—

“uh, yeah?” caleb laughs, forehead creasing in confusion like you shouldn’t be surprised and really, you shouldn’t. caleb is like a furnace, blood running hot even in the middle of winter. “gran’s got the heat turned up to max again. it’s like she wants to kill me.”

“yeah, right,” you shake your head, laughing skittishly. “sorry. i’ve got a fan you can borrow, if you want.”

“thanks,” he says, magenta eyes dragging over your form suspiciously, taking in the way you’re standing in the middle of his room fidgeting like a leaf in the wind, hands white-knuckling the hem of the oversized shirt you’re wearing, knees knocking together all nervous and cute. he frowns, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees to give you his full attention in that heart-stuttering way he often does.

“what’s with you? not that i’m not glad to see you, but… did something happen? did someone do something to you?”

“no, no— nothing like that,” you hurry to reassure, voice cracking on the last word as your cheeks begin to burn in embarrassment, trying to find the words to say what you need to without crashing and burning. swallowing around a lump in your throat, you glance at the paused screen of caleb’s game before blurting out—

“can you teach me how to give a blowjob?”

caleb immediately chokes.

a lesson on what not to do.

the overclocked fans on caleb’s gaming rig whirs in a soft hum, the neon lights in his room flickering crimson streaks over his handsome face in the dark. he wonders if it’s post traumatic stress or prolonged exposure to cosmic radiation in the sky forcing him to hallucinate. obviously, he’s got too many marbles in one jar and not enough in the other because there is no way he’s heard you correctly.

slowly, he removes his headset. “come again?”

“i’m awful at it, ge,” you exclaim, throwing your hands up in exasperation. in fact, you don’t know if you’re awful at it or not because you’ve never tried. you’ve been too busy waiting on the man in front of you to stop torturing you both, but caleb doesn’t need to know that. “you see, i’m dating this guy, right? and we’ve been hitting it off well. i can tell he wants to take it to the next level, but i’ve never… and you— you’re good at everything, so i just thought…”

“thought i would give you lessons,” he finishes for you, his voice deepening to a rougher edge that makes you shiver. “so you can suck your boyfriend better. do i have it right?”

“y-yeah…”

“since when do you even have a boyfriend? you didn’t tell me anything,” he says, doing nothing to mask the disappointment in his voice.

“uh, we’ve… been seeing each other for a couple of weeks?” you fumble, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably. “i didn’t want to say anything yet. in case it didn’t work out.”

“so you want to learn how to suck dick for a guy you’ve known for a couple of weeks?” he counters, a muscle in his jaw twitching. he’s got no right to feel jealousy, not when he’s wasted so much time attempting to be one thing in your life when you clearly wanted something else. he’s got no right, but the thought of you on your knees for someone else, someone that isn’t him, makes his blood boil enough that he already knows what his answer will be.

however, you’re already backing up towards the door, about to make a quick retreat. your plan was horrible, shame burning your skin like a brand. “what am i saying? oh my god, you’re right it’s stupid and wrong and gross. can we please just forget i even came in here—”

he lets you ramble for an excruciatingly long time, then he pushes out of his gaming chair and grins down at you like you just asked him to make a quick run to the convenience store. he stretches his arms above his head. “let’s do it.”

“w-what?”

you didn’t expect to get this far, honestly. you expected caleb to laugh at you, ruffle your hair, and call you ridiculous. but instead, he’s already striding to his door, thumb flicking the lock with a decisive click. when he turns, his expression makes your breath hitch— those unusual purple eyes molten, staring straight through you.

“first thing’s first, we need to lay down some ground rules, soldier,” caleb tells you playfully, stepping closer until your breasts brush against his midsection. his hand lifts, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “if you need to back out at any moment, you say so. no guy’s pleasure is worth your discomfort. and if i hear his name, whatever it is…” he pauses, eyes narrowing. “this stops. understood?”

you nod eagerly, fighting your smile as his scent envelopes you. he smells like spearmint gum, your shampoo that he’s been stealing since the two of you have been back at the house, and a hint of sweat from the stifling air in the room.

“use your words, pipsqueak.”

“y-yeah, i get it.”

his smirk is all teeth. “good girl.”

caleb guides you over to his bed, sitting down on the edge. his big hands reach for you, circling your hips and pulling you towards him until you’re standing in between his spread thighs.

“alright, my little student,” he jokes. “you wanna get him all riled up before the main event so start with something small like… a kiss,” he murmurs, eyes lifting to glance at your mouth as his finger traces the hinge of your jaw. “you do know how to kiss, don’t you?”

“of course i know how to kiss,” you grumble.

caleb nods and then curls his hand around the nape of your neck, pulling you down to his level. you lean with the pressure, slotting your hands in the junction between his neck and shoulder, sliding them up until you cup the underside of his jaw. then, you’re kissing him— kissing caleb, the boy who used to patch up your scraped knees with cute band-aids, who let you crawl into his bed after nightmares, who pretends he hasn’t thought about kissing you, about making you his, for years.

the kiss is messy, desperate and hungry, decades of pent up feelings behind it. a string of saliva keeps your mouths linked together whenever you pull back for air and when caleb’s tongue swipes across your bottom lip, you whimper and part your lips to let him in, body melting against his front until your weight’s toppling him back onto his elbows, hitching your leg over his waist to crawl on top of him.

his grip on your waist tightens, gently pushing you to stand once more. “this is feeling less like a lesson, and more like you just wanting to do this with me,” he teases, making heat flare across your cheeks.

caleb guides your hand to the waistband of his sweatpants, the heat radiating through the fabric searing your palm. breath hitching, you begin to sink to the floor in front of him but his hand shoots out to stop your descent with a breathy laugh. “no no no, c’mere. you’re gonna hurt your knees down there.”

backing up, he moves until he’s lounging against the headboard, impossibly long legs stretched out on either side of your sweet figure.

“still wanna do this?” he asks, lifting a brow. when you nod, he continues to speak, voice gravelly, “take it out then.”

your fingers fumble with the drawstring a bit, struggling to undo the military knot caleb’s tied there, but you manage eventually. peeling back the waistband of his sweatpants to free his cock.

you should’ve known it would be just as pretty as the rest of him— it’s the biggest one (the only one) you’ve seen in person. he’s thicker than he is long, flushed dusky pink with veins that make your cunt clench with the desperate need to feel them dragging along your inner walls. his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, watching you reach for it, nearly sobbing when your hand wraps around him.

“fuck—!” his hips jerk and stutter in shock, hand shoving yours away with a quickness. you frown and bite your lip, retracting your grip as if you’ve been burned.

“oh no,” you rush out, moving back to sit on top of your hands like a scolded kindergartener. “did i do something bad? did i hurt you, cal?”

caleb’s chest heaves, breath punching out of his lungs rapidly, eyes squeezed shut as he tries to slow the speed of his heart down. he’s dreamt about you touching him like this for ages, and the image of your dainty hand nervously wrapping around his cock will be seared into his brain for the rest of his life. you crawl back towards him slowly, seriously worried. “caleb?”

“i’m fine, pip,” he sucks in another breath, then opens his eyes to look at you. “didn’t mean to scare you. you didn’t do anything bad, you just surprised me. go ahead, touch me again.”

“if you’re sure,” you mumble, then hesitantly circle your fingers around caleb’s shaft again. he’s ready for it this time, hot against your palm when you give him an experimental squeeze, making caleb hiss through clenched teeth. “how’s that?”

“a bit tighter,” he instructs, palm closing over yours to adjust your grip. you squeeze him tight, and the hitch of his breath makes you squirm, stickiness gathering between your thighs at the sound. “don’t just squeeze, guys like it when you stroke. base to tip— no, don’t yank it like a fucking joystick, pip. god.”

his protest makes you burst out in giggles before caleb is shushing you with a severe look, his purple eyes narrowed. sucking your plump lower lip in between your teeth to keep from smiling, you nod at him with an exaggeratedly focused look.

“wet your palm,” he tells you, rolling his eyes at your wrinkled nose. “getting a handjob from a dry hand hurts, it’s like sandpaper.”

“are you saying i have dry hands, caleb? i moisturize daily, unlike you,” you whine out, but you listen to him anyway— you’re a good student, after all, and you don’t want to do anything that’ll make caleb want to stop. you lick your palm a few times, eyes on caleb the entire time.

the next time you touch him is with a spit-slicked grip, dragging your hand up and down his cock in an inexperienced, sloppy rub that should feel uncomfortable, but caleb eats it up— hips jerking involuntarily, pearls of watery precum already beginning to leak from the slit of his cock. your gaze is transfixed on it, a little greedy too, watching it stain your knuckles with each stroke.

it’s that same greediness that makes you lean down and brush your lips against the head of his cock, cherry tongue lolling out to tentatively taste the salt-bitter precum beading there. caleb’s hips immediately kick upward in a desperate twitch, but he forces them still, knuckles ashen where they reach down to grip the sheets.

“easy,” he rasps, voice fraying at the edges. his thumb strokes your cheek briefly. “just the tip first, okay? don’t go trying to swallow me down or anything.”

you do what he’s taught you so far; flatten your tongue, swirl it around the head— like that, fuck— press it hard against the thick, sensitive vein running along caleb’s underside, then repeat. every time, you’re rewarded with caleb brushing your hair back, murmuring soft praises, or your personal favorite— his deep, almost nasal groan, the hard planes of his abdomen flexing underneath the heady heat of your tongue.

it’s intoxicating, watching him fall apart like this— exactly what you wanted when you walked into his room. you want to pass his class with honors, please him even more, so you drop your mouth open a little more and suck him in deeper.

too deep.

the thick ridge of his head nudges against your uvula, tears springing to your eyes almost immediately. little startled chokes cough from your throat as you pull off caleb’s cock, bands of saliva stringing from his tip to your mouth in a way that should be gross, but you don’t care one bit, too busy trying to catch your breath.

“shh, shh— breathe,” caleb soothes, eyes darkening with something perilously close to reverence and pride. “through your nose, slowly. you can’t force it, that’s why you keep choking. when you’re ready, try again.”

you let caleb thumb away your tears like he’s done countless times before and when you’re ready, when you’ve had enough air to breathe, you let him guide you back onto his damp cock. eager, swollen lips bringing him in against your cheeks in a hot, branding suction that twists his insides up.

he’s supposed to be teaching you, showing you the ropes so you can please your stupid boyfriend, but you barely even need it— god, you’re so good at this without even trying. how can he focus on teaching when he’s got all of his focus pointed towards trying not to shoot his load down the back of your throat like some inconsiderate asshole?

he can barely look down at you because every time he does, your teary eyes glance up at him through thick lashes with an expression that begs for praise. he knows if you didn’t have a mouth stuffed full of his cock, you’d be asking him am i doing it right, ge?

his thighs tremble, eyes lidded as you finally find a steady pace— mouth bobbing up and down, spit bubbling at the base of his cock where you’re starting to make a mess on him.

and when your hands dip down into his sweatpants, cupping his balls in your soft hand, caleb’s vision whites out, his climax rushing to the front at a rapid pace. before he can cum, though, he takes two fingers and pushes at your forehead, hauling you off his cock with a wet slurp. his chest heaves, dripping beads of sweat that glow in the haze of the neon lighting in his room.

he looks wrecked, and you fight your triumphant smile, schooling it into something unsure and pliant, batting your eyelashes. “did i… did i do it wrong?”

“fuck, no,” his chuckle is hoarse and ruined, calloused thumbs swiping spit from your chin as he gazes up at you meaningfully with those hooded eyes. “just don’t wanna cum down your throat.”

“o-oh.”

the implication makes arousal bubble low in your belly, thighs squeezing together in need. caleb tracks the movement, nostrils flaring as he grins knowingly. “yeah, you don’t want that either, do you, pipsqueak?”

for a while, the two of you just stare at each other in disbelief. you don’t know how to tell caleb that you’d take him in any form he’s offering himself in, pining after him long enough that it’s painful. nothing you ever did got his attention, not in the way you truly wanted. he’s protective and possessive in all the right ways, but he’d never make the first move.

he’ll never come out and admit that he wants to spread you out on his bed and fuck you dumb, mark you as his so nobody else can have you. it took you coming to him to even get this far, so you might as well take matters into your own hands once more.

“teach me the rest, ge?”

the rest.

caleb releases a pained groan at your words and you think he’s going to refuse you, but then he’s flipping your positions, pushing you down onto the mattress with ease. he makes quick work of his sweatpants, shoving them down the rest of the way. then, he wrestles your panties off your hips and tosses them somewhere across the room.

“look at you,” he whispers, pushing your shirt up— his cock leaking a bead of precum at the sight of your pretty tits. he reaches forward, toying with your puffy nipples, grinning at the sound of your soft whimper.

“c-caleb.”

“you drive me fuckin’ crazy, you get that?” the confession comes out sounding suspiciously like a whine. he gazes down at you like you’re water and he’s a man lost deep in the desert, dying of thirst. “you’re the prettiest girl in the whole wide world. look at these cute tits, just begging for me to touch them. and—”

his big hands sink into the fleshy part of your upper thighs, opening them to get his first exclusive look at your pussy. his thumb parts your folds, spreading one side apart to watch the way your entrance twitches. caleb dips one finger into your cunt and could fucking cry at how warm and tight you feel. “fuck, you’re so wet. is this all ’cause of me?”

“d-don’t look at it so shamelessly, you pervert,” you scold him, squirming back and forth in his hold as you try to snap your thighs shut. “stop teasing me or i’ll hit you. this is embarrassing!”

“why not?” he tilts his head, giving you that boyish grin that makes your heart stop. “after i’m done with you, it’ll be mine anyway. my pretty pussy. my girl.”

you huff and drive your fist into his shoulder before folding your arms over your breasts, lower lip stuck out in an unhappy pout. caleb winces, though mirth still shines amongst the nebulas in his eyes. he leans down to kiss your pout away, chuckling in amusement. “okay, okay, don’t hurt me. i’ll give you what you want.”

and then, he’s wrapping a hand around the base of himself, kissing your clit with the leaking tip of his cock before rubbing it up and down your slit. he coats himself in your wetness before he finally notches against your entrance and slowly pushes.

the pressure makes air stutter out of your chest, blunt and unyielding. he immediately notices your struggle and drops forward on his elbows, caging you safely in his embrace. he kisses the corners of your eyelids, licking away stray tears.

“i hate hurting you like this,” he whispers in your ear, hips drawing back and crawling forward again. you gasp, eyes falling shut, and he shushes you once more. slides a hand down to play with your clit to distract you, which only makes you clench up around him. his jaw is clenched tight enough to shatter the bone, hand fisted in the sheets next to your head. “shh— relax and let me in. it’ll feel good in a second.”

“i-i don’t know if i can,” you say, trying to force your body to accept him, but when he sinks in those first few inches, you whimper and dig your nails into his biceps. “y-you’re so big, gege.”

“f-fuck, don’t—” caleb grunts and his fingers grip the soft sides of your belly, holding your body to his like a lifeline. “don’t call me that right now. i might cum. i’m gonna put the rest in, okay? be a good girl for me and take it. i-i can’t wait any longer.”

he draws out and presses forward all the way in, burying himself to the hilt inside your sweet pussy. his gaze drops to where you’re split obscenely around him, cunt fluttering in protest at the stretch and a ragged groan tears from his throat. it takes every ounce of willpower the military beat into him not to cream himself right then and there.

“c-caleb!”

you whine as caleb retreats slightly, only to surge back in, fucking a little deeper this time. the weight of his cock stretching you out borders on cruel, but you would die before you ask him to stop, your walls squeezing him in a vice grip. it takes a few trials and errors (“keep your hips down, pipsqueak” and “i don't know, maybe a little to the l— fuck, right there oh my god”) but eventually, caleb builds up a good rhythm, the cool metal of his dog tags pooling in the valley of your breasts as he fucks you with deep, steady strokes; bottoming out each time with a guttural groan.

“fuck— stop clenching so much i’m gonna lose my mind,” his breath scalds your neck, teeth grazing your pulse as he fucks a little faster. “so fucking good. that’s it, baby. you’re doing so good. taking every inch of me like this.”

he’s right, it is so fucking good— no, it’s better. your nails scrape against caleb’s back. shivering at the hot pleasure singeing your nerve endings each time he fucks into you. it doesn’t take long for pressure to gather in your lower belly, a band waiting to snap.

you can’t help but wriggle a hand between the two of your bodies and circle a trembling middle finger around your swollen clit. “nngh, you feel so fucking good, cal.”

“a-are you- god, that’s so hot,” he grunts, glancing down at the way you’re toying with your clit and it turns him on so much he’s speeding up, cock pistoning in and out of you, his thrusts deepening until he’s nearly kissing your cervix, he’s in so deep, your thighs slamming against his hips as you try to close your legs when the head of his cock brushes right up against your sweet spot, creating starbursts behind your eyelids.

“oh god, cal— i-i can’t!”

caleb’s grin is feral, grinding deep to press into that swollen spot inside you relentlessly. “knew i’d find it,” then his fingers joining yours and it’s so much better than your own, two digits rubbing quick circles into your sensitive clit. you’re a babbling mess at this point, the pleasure too much to keep up with. “can you cum for me? can you let me feel it? please? i’ll never ask you for another thing if you give me one right here, right now.”

what are you supposed to do, deny him? you couldn’t even if you tried, not with the heat in your belly full to bursting, needing an escape.

“’m gonna c-cum for you, ge, just for you,” you sob.

caleb has seen many versions of you over the years— grumpy and pillow-marked in the morning with syrup stains on your shirt at the breakfast table, covered in sand and sun-kissed at the beach, screaming at him to do something about the jellyfish sting on your leg, in sleek black dresses at the military balls you attended as his plus one that made all his comrades stop and stare. but you’ve never looked prettier than you do right now. his dog tags between your breasts, your creamy pussy fluttering around his cock, and your pretty face twisted in pleasure as you’re about to cum for him.

he hopes that when he dies, he’ll go out with this image in his brain.

those big doe eyes of yours roll back into your head, hands frantically pushing at his abdomen as if he’s trying to escape the overwhelming friction of his cock. you cum hard, thighs trembling, vision winking out. wet droplets of tears stream down your cheeks as white heat washes over your body, the pleasure bleeding through your limbs like wildfire.

seeing you like this, what is caleb supposed to do? not follow you? he’s been holding his own orgasm back since you barged into his room in one of his shirts, begging to be taught how to suck a cock. there’s no way he can last through seeing— through feeling— you cum around him. his rhythm fractures almost immediately and he knows he’s on thin ice, fraying at the edges.

“gonna cum,” he grits out, voice mangled. “fuck, i’m gonna cum. where do you want it?”

you don’t waste a second, babbling out the answer desperately, “i-inside, ge, cum inside me. give it to me please i want it so bad i’ll do anything!”

that’s all it takes.

one more sloppy thrust and he cums right after you, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you still. he breathes choppy, ruined moans into your neck as he pumps his release deep inside your cunt before he collapses against you, damp chest heaving against yours, giving a few more weak thrusts of his hips as his climax ebbs.

you don’t know how long the two of you lay there, struggling to catch your breaths. you’re satisfied and pliant as putty underneath caleb, unable to move from his heavy embrace. he’s a wall of solid muscle, one that is pressing you into the mattress. “caleb, you’re heavy.”

“gimme a minute here, pipsqueak,” caleb chuckles breathlessly against your sweaty skin, pressing a wet kiss to your neck. “i just had the best sex of my life and can’t catch my breath.”

you begin to smile in pride, but then your eyes narrow as his words register through the fucked out haze clouding your brain. “wait, you were having sex before this?” you ask, jealousy bubbling up in your chest. “was it that one sergeant? the one who kept giving you lovey dovey eyes at the DAA gala?”

“mmm, nope,” he answers almost immediately, kissing your lips quickly to placate you, making your heart swell big and bright for the boy on top of you. “chill. saved myself all this time for you.”

your heart begins racing stupidly fast at that. “sap,” you tease, before an idea pops in your head and you reach for your phone tossed haphazardly on caleb’s bedside table.

caleb’s grip on you tightens as he notices you reach for it, a dark cloud shuttering his loving expression. “what are you doing?” he demands, the venom in his tone startling you a bit. “texting him already? that eager to try out what i just taught you?”

you frown in confusion until you remember the excuse you used upon coming into caleb’s room. wow, the boy you’re in love with is an idiot. giggling, you lean up and press a sweet kiss to his cheek before opening the camera on your phone and snapping a quick selfie of the two of you.

“no, you big dummy, i’m taking a pic of us losing our virginities together so i can add it to our photo album,” you explain simply, grinning. “and there was never any boyfriend, i made him up.”

[beggars-opera]

On the road leading into the center of Concord, Massachusetts, there sits a house.

It is a plain, colonial-style house, of which there are many along this road. It has sea green and buff paint, a historical plaque, and one of the most multi-layered stories I have ever encountered to showcase that history is continuous, complicated, and most importantly, fragmentary, unless you know where to look.

So, where to start? The plaque.

There's some usual information here: Benjamin Barron built the house in 1716, and years later it was a "witness house" to the start of the American Revolution. And then, something unusual: a note about an enslaved man named John Jack whose epitaph is "world famous."

Where is this epitaph? Right around the corner in the town center.

It reads:

God wills us free; man wills us slaves. I will as God wills; God’s will be done. Here lies the body of JOHN JACK a native of Africa who died March 1773 aged about 60 years Tho’ born in a land of slavery, He was born free. Tho’ he lived in a land of liberty, He lived a slave. Till by his honest, tho’ stolen labors, He acquired the source of slavery, Which gave him his freedom; Tho’ not long before Death, the grand tyrant Gave him his final emancipation, And set him on a footing with kings. Tho’ a slave to vice, He practised those virtues Without which kings are but slaves.

We don't know precisely when the man first known only as Jack was purchased by Benjamin Barron. We do know that he, along with an enslaved woman named Violet, were listed in Barron's estate upon his death in 1754. Assuming his gravestone is accurate, at that time Jack would have been about 40 and had apparently learned the shoemaking trade from his enslaver. With his "honest, though stolen labors" he was then able to earn enough money to eventually purchase his freedom from the remaining Barron family and change his name to John, keeping Jack as a last name rather than using his enslaver's.

John Jack died, poor but free, in 1773, just two years before the Revolutionary War started. Presumably as part of setting up his own estate, he became a client of local lawyer Daniel Bliss, brother-in-law to the minister, William Emerson. Bliss and Emerson were in a massive family feud that spilled into the rest of the town, as Bliss was notoriously loyal to the crown, eventually letting British soldiers stay in his home and giving them information about Patriot activities.

Daniel Bliss also had abolitionist leanings. And after hearing John's story, he was angry.

Here was a man who had been kidnapped from his home country, dragged across the ocean, and treated as an animal for decades. Countless others were being brutalized in the same way, in the same town that claimed to love liberty and freedom. Reverend Emerson railed against the British government from the pulpit, and he himself was an enslaver.

It wouldn't do. John Jack deserved so much more. So, when he died, Bliss personally paid for a large gravestone and wrote its epitaph to blast the town's hypocrisy from the top of Burial Hill. When the British soldiers trudged through the cemetery on April 19th, 1775, they were so struck that they wrote the words down and published them in the British newspapers, and that hypocrisy passed around Europe as well. And the stone is still there today.

You know whose stone doesn't survive in the burial ground?

Benjamin Barron's.

Or any of his family that I know of. Which is absolutely astonishing, because this story is about to get even more complicated.

Benjamin Barron was a middle-class shoemaker in a suburb that wouldn't become famous until decades after his death. He lived a simple life only made possible by chattel slavery, and he will never show up in a U.S. history textbook.

But he had a wife, and a family. His widow, Betty Barron, from whom John purchased his freedom, whose name does not appear on her home's plaque or anywhere else in town, does appear either by name or in passing in every single one of those textbooks.

Terrible colonial spelling of all names in their marriage record aside, you may have heard her maiden name before:

Betty Parris was born into a slaveholding family in 1683, in a time when it was fairly common for not only Black, but also Indigenous people to be enslaved. It was also a time of war, religious extremism, and severe paranoia in a pre-scientific frontier. And so it was that at the age of nine, Betty pointed a finger at the Arawak woman enslaved in her Salem home, named Titibe, and accused her of witchcraft.

Yes, that Betty Parris.

Her accusations may have started the Salem Witch trials, but unlike her peers, she did not stay in the action for long. As a minor, she was not allowed to testify at court, and as the minister's daughter, she was too high-profile to be allowed near the courtroom circus. Betty's parents sent her to live with relatives during the proceedings, at which point her "bewitchment" was cured, though we're still unsure if she had psychosomatic problems solved by being away from stress, if she stopped because the public stopped listening, or if she stopped because she no longer had adults prompting her.

Following the witch hysteria, the Parrises moved several times as her infamous father struggled to hold down a job and deal with his family's reputation. Eventually they landed in Concord, where Betty met Benjamin and married him at the age of 26, presumably having had no more encounters with Satan in the preceding seventeen years. She lived an undocumented life and died, obscure and forgotten, in 1760, just five years before the Stamp Act crisis plunged America into a revolution, a living bridge between the old world and the new.

I often wonder how much Betty's story followed her throughout her life. People must have talked. Did they whisper in the town square, "Do you know what she did when she was a girl?" Did John Jack hear the stories of how she had previously treated the enslaved people in her life? Did that hasten his desperation to get out? And what of Daniel Bliss; did he know this history as well, seeing the double indignity of it all? Did he stop and think about how much in the world had changed in less than a century since his neighbor was born?

We'll never know.

All that's left is a gravestone, and a house with an insufficient plaque.

[clovermoters]

flights and family - lando norris x wife!reader

summary - after an eventful first half of the season, a trip home is just what you and your family need to reset

warnings - nothing! some mentions of lando being overwhelmed due to the 2024 season, but other than that just fluff & kisses

authors note - haiii heres a josie fic i wrote while i was on a plane a couple months ago, i hope u enjoy <33 im trying to get back into the swing of writing so gimme reqs and ill try and get to them as quick as possible!! lots of love, clove!

apart of the josephine elliot norris chronicals

“babe wake up..” kisses flutter across your face, pulling you out of your peaceful sleep. you open your eyes to see your husband's emerald eyes overtop of you. 

“we gots’ to go! its airport time in t-minus 1 hour“ he whispers, lightly pinching your bicep to spark your body awake. 

“uuuggh what time is it?” you groan, rolling over to grab your phone, 3:46am. your flight boards at 6. You fall back into the duvet, eyes slowly closing as sleep reaches out to pull you under again.

“baby! up! i’ll get josie”  he shouts through whisper, marching around your bedroom in his baby blue sweatpants and matching hoodie. You giggle, throwing the covers over, finally getting out of bed. 

lando speeds down the hall towards your daughter's room, he creaks the door open into the room. dimly lit from the flower nightlight hung on the wall next to the pretty pink letters spelling josephine above the small pink race car bed. his daughter, a recent graduate to the race car bed, was curled up under her blankets sleeping softly. 

lando lifts his daughter into his arms, the 3 year old stirring slightly, whining at the disturbance of her slumber. 

“it’s just daddy,” he shushes, pushing the curls out of her face so he can see his own eyes looking back at him “you ready for the plane baby?” rolling the bright pink suitcase down to the front door where yours and his await along with your carry ons. The quiet babbles of your daughter chatting with him about her dream fill the quiet of the early morning. 

monaco was rarely quiet, the city almost never sleeps. the peaceful blanket of calm reassurance, lando was sure today would go smoothly. 

you just needed to be ready on time. 

he loved you, his wife, the love of his life, mother of his child, number one supporter. 

but my god your punctuality needed some work. 

Just as if you heard his thoughts, you came bustling down the stairs with your bag in hand, sporting your light grey aritzia sweatsuit that Lando bought you as an early anniversary present. 

“okay, i’m ready” you huff, blowing your hair that fell in front of your eyes. lando chuckles at your disheveled-ness while your daughter rests her head on his shoulder, quickly falling back to sleep. 

you melt at the sight, smiling softly “she’ll be okay right?” you ask, it was josie’s first time flying, your husband rubbing her back before nodding 

“Of course she well, she's so zonked she won't even realize we're in the air-” you chuckle “and I booked a jet. we couldn’t be more safe.” he assures you while handing you some suitcases to take to the uber that’s arriving downstairs. 

“as long as we get to the airport on time” he jokes, giving your bum a light pat while you lock the door. You scoff at him playfully, even after being married for four years and having a child, Lando still has his ways to make you giggle like a teenager.  

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

making it through the airport was quick, josie had fallen asleep on lando in the car. Making the check in easy when you didn’t have a 3 year old asking every question imaginable. you and lando loved her imagination and curiosity, taking it as a small parenting win when you had the time and energy to answer those questions. 

4:45am, however, is not the time to answer those questions 

security was quiet, perks of flying early and in the middle of the week. the attendants recognized your little family letting you through the fast lane just for some entertainment, in the mist of the night. 

the sun was just making its appearance over the horizon when you took off. Josie was curled up in landos lap, completely passed out. 

“I can't wait to be home in London,” you say softly as you rest your head on your husband's shoulder, your gaze fixed on your little bundle of love whos sleeping in his lap  

Lando hums, eyes fixed on his daughter who’s been subconsciously squeezing his fingers in her rem. 

“yeah, i can’t wait to see my parents” he adds “i made max pick us up so we can surprise them at breakfast” 

one week ago, you and your husband made an impromptu decision to drop everything and take a trip home. You both have been overly stressed and it was taking a toll on the two of you. Lando has been at the fighting front of the championship for months while you have been juggling being a first time mother and handling your own responsibilities at work. 

it all came to a breaking point when lando had broken down after coming home from a tough race weekend. frustrated with the results, the pressure and overall the backlash from outsiders, had him sobbing in your arms the minute he walked through the door. soon after you both came to the realization that you needed some well deserved rest and relaxation during the summer break.  

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“ahh they’re they are!” Max shouts from the car when he spots you two, earning a glare from you, pointing to the girl still sleeping soundly in landos arms. 

“Whoops, sorry!” He sucks in a breath through his teeth. helping you load the bags into the boot while Lando secures Josie in her car seat. You always thought fatherhood was so beautiful on him, you fall in love with him all over again seeing the way he was with josie. only proving to you that this was something he was meant to do. 

The London streets were still quiet, the faded radio music providing a background as you and Lando chatted with Max, catching up while he navigated through the city towards landos childhood home. 

When you arrived, you took Josie in your arms trying to wake her so she could greet her grandparents properly. 

the girl stirred in your arms, mumbling incoherent words into your neck and lando giggling from behind you, watching the girl wake. you always loved watching him with josie, the man adored his daughter. from the moment she was born she had him wrapping around her finger the very second he saw his own eyes staring back at him. 

“hi baby girl wanna go say hi to nana and pop?” he asked, that perked Josie up. The toddler always got excited at the mention of her grandparents. 

“ya i’m gonna giv’ them a biiig hug” she mumbled still half asleep, lifting her head from your shoulder while showing a toothy smile to her father. You and your husband break out into a fit of giggles.  

The sweet smell of eggs, bacon and delicious pastries engulfed the inside of the Norris family home. you and lando feel yourself physically relax at the thought of ciscas home cooked brunch. 

soft music came from the kitchen as the distant voices of landos family traveled throughout the home. Providing a lighthouse to the kitchen, the light at the end of a tunnel that you and lando so desperately were waiting for. 

you place josie down, allowing her to walk ahead of you and lando, the girl running into the kitchen, turning to see the girl, cisca halts her movements, gasping at her granddaughter, who she knew lived in monaco. 

“well what are you doing here missy?” the woman asks, alerting the rest of the Norris family of their unexpected guest. you and lando take that as the signal to turn the corner, smiling ear to ear with your hands interlocked, the shocked faces of the norris family say enough that your surprise was a success 

“surprise!”

The room erupted into cheers from the Norris family, moving to give you all hugs. Josie giggling as her grandma picks her up, attacking her cheeks with kisses. 

You greet landos sisters and parents, squeezing your sister in-laws while Lando hugs his brother and his wife. 

“what brings your three here?” landos father, adam asks while giving his son a hug, flo begins setting three extra place mats on the dining table for you as josie is in a very in depth conversation with her grandma. 

“monaco was getting too much so we wanted to spend some time home before the break ends..” lando explained, simply. pressing a kiss to your temple before moving to hug his mum, you watch as he melts slightly into the embrace, tucking his head inside her neck the same way he does with you. 

Cisca places a kiss on your check when she hugs you “you go settle in upstairs, breakfast will be ready soon, you must be exhausted” 

You both sink into the mattress, letting out a sigh of relief. 

“I am so happy we came,” Lando breathes, rolling over to look at you with that loving smile on his face that gives you butterflies, the morning sun hitting his face just perfectly, casting a gentle glow over his gorgeous features. You smile softly up at him reaching out gently to scratch the light stubble he's grown. 

“I'm so happy we came too my love” 

He lightly pecks your lips before the door bursts open, in walks Josie with Mila hot on her heels. The two cousins hopping on the bed before josie lightly jumps on her fathers stomach, causing lando to let out a quiet “oomf-”

“Nana told us to come get you because brekkie is ready!” Mila said before hopping off the bed and running out the room, Josie tries to wiggle out of landos arms but he squeezes her tighter, placing kisses all over her face. The girl giggling at her father 

“Oh no you don't missy!” he says

 “dada let me go!” she shouts through a string of giggles and squeals. 

You three make your way downstairs, joining your family at the table. The conversation flows effortlessly as you fill your tummy with ciscas delicious spread of food. You and Lando make eye contact from the opposite sides of josie who sat between you two, landos eyes were filled with nothing but love as you smiled softly back at the love of your life, a silent agreement that this trip was just what your family needed. 

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

all doneee thank u so much for reading!!

[rafeysafterglow]

Best friend Rafe where you guys stay together every night innocently (or so you think) and then it turns into smut plzzzz

not so innocent sleepover with bsf!rafe

pairing: bestfriend!rafe x f!reader cw: cunnilingus, fingering, reader receiving oral, rafe being kinda rough, dirty talk, possessive & jealous rafe, every character here is of age, 18+ mdni a/n: my first ask ty (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) also my first time writing smut so i hope i did okay !! i wrote this while rewatching hunger games lol

rafe cameron has been your bestfriend ever since you two were in little diapers. growing up with somebody like him came with its perks, one of them being having a personal bodyguard 24/7. rafe loves to follow you around like a shadow so it wasn't a surprise to you when he offered to have a final sleepover together before you leave for college.

the night started off normal. you convinced him to watch a romcom before bed so now you two are cuddled up on the couch, with a bucket of popcorn in between. there are no boundaries or hidden secrets between you and rafe, so it’s not an unusual occurrence to act like a couple from time to time. the people who don’t know the two of you well already assume you’re a couple. even, new people you meet automatically label rafe as “your boyfriend”, given that you two are always attached by the hip.

these assumptions don’t bother you, most of the time. it only serves as a disadvantage when you try to date yourself. rafe always seems to scare off all your potential suitors. no matter how perfect each guy seemed, rafe always deemed them “not enough for you.”

this time, though, you managed to land yourself in a one-month situationship with a guy you really like, aaron. somehow, you managed to keep it a secret from rafe for this long.

the movie ends and rafe suggests to immediately go to bed. yes, you two share one bed. you were used to it. “i'm just gonna go change and do my skincare first,” you told rafe. “okay, sweet girl,” he nods as he makes his way and plops onto the bed.

minutes later, you walk out of the bathroom, refreshed. “okay i’m ready to-” you stop in the middle of your sentence when you see rafe sitting on the edge of your bed, his face clearly in distress. you approached him slowly. “rafe... what's wrong?”

“who's aaron?” he said, lowly. you pull back in shock. how did he know? he seemed to hear your silent question, “i saw the notif from your phone, ‘babe, what are you doing tonight?’ babe? the fuck?” you realized you left your phone on the bedside table.

the words couldn’t come out of your mouth. he stood and marched his way to you. “you think you can keep a secret from me? i’ve known you my whole life, sweet girl, and i’ve been patient for most of that time. i don’t think i can wait any longer.”

“wha-” before you could continue, rafe grabbed your face and smashed his lips onto yours. at first, you hesitated, but the way he was starving for your lips made you give in. you melted into him as he picked you up and threw you onto the bed. he didn’t take even a second before he forced your shorts down. he palmed your pussy through your panties as he sucked on your neck, marking you. you whined for him, desperately.

“use your words, sweet girl. tell me what you want,” he said. he stopped his movements to stare at you directly in the eye. “i want- i want your mouth on me, rafey,” you breathed out. rafe smirks, he knows you only use that nickname of his when you really want something. “good girl.”

he slowly goes down your body, worshipping it with his kisses. he threw your panties away and sucks in a breath. “pretty, and so wet for me.” he dived in without warning. he sucks your clit with such hunger and desperation. he enters a finger in which makes your hips lift and your whines louder.

he continues sucking, hard, and pumping his finger in and out. you jerk against him, but he manages to hold you down with his arm on your stomach. “ya think you can handle another finger, sweet girl?” before you can reply, he enters his middle finger along with his index. he massages the soft, sensitive part inside you which makes your eyes roll in pleasure. your hands grip onto the sheets so hard your knuckles ache.

“uh uh fuck fuck fuck i’m cominggg,” you come, hard, and rafe wastes no time swallowing every last drop. he lets you ride out your high for a minute before inserting a finger again, coaxing your cum out. you can feel the walls of your opening contracting as it pushes the cum out. he makes his way up to you, his mouth glistening.

“you’re mine now. block his number.”

[ayukas]

CREAM PUFFS AND OTHER CONFESSIONS

it starts with a cream puff, a hoodie that isn’t yours, and a silence that feels suspiciously like something unspoken. haechan does everything a boyfriend would do—except ask.

pairing lee haechan x fem!reader genre fluff, friends to lovers au but not really, comedy warnings one death joke, cute miscommunication word count 1.5k notes clearing out my draftsss i think i wrote this in... march? lolz happy reading! ૮ ᴖﻌᴖა

THERE ARE TWO KINDS OF SILENCES BETWEEN YOU AND HAECHAN.

the first kind is easy—almost like second nature. it slips in during walks home after class, when your bodies sway in quiet rhythm and your shoulders brush as if your bones remember each other.

that silence has a soundtrack, soft laughter, the scuff of your sneakers, the muffled hum of the shared earbud he always gives you the left side of. you never have to ask. he just hands it to you like it belongs to you more than it does to him.

the second kind of silence is this one. the kind you’re in now.

it crept in sometime between the walk from your last class and the stoplight near your dorm building. it’s not loud, but it’s sharp. you hear it in the way he talks to you—still sweet, still teasing—but you can’t unhear the question blooming underneath your ribs. you can’t ignore the ache that’s been growing roots inside you for weeks.

you’ve run out of excuses to try and keep it in.

he’s walking beside you, holding a box of cream puffs he insisted on buying, even though he didn’t have enough hands to carry everything else. he gave you his sweater to wear—again—and wordlessly balanced your books in the crook of his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. it always is, with him. that’s the problem.

“haech—,” you stop, clearing your throating before trying again. quieter now. “haechan.”

he glances sideways, a smile already tugging at his mouth like it’s on autopilot. “yeah?”

your fingers twitch inside the sleeves of his sweater. it smells like his cologne—cedarwood and jasmine—with a faint trace of detergent. you don’t want to ask this here, not in the middle of the sidewalk, not with your heart stretched so thin. but it’s been waiting for far too long.

“what are we?”

he slows to a stop, the wind pulling at his hair. his brow furrows slightly—not in confusion, but in a sort of gentle, cautious surprise.

“...what do you mean?” he asks, tilting his head.

you lift your chin, trying to be brave. “i mean… you do all these things. you take care of me. you wait for me after class. you give me your sweaters even when you’re cold too. you tie my shoelaces for me. you—” you gesture vaguely between the two of you, heart racing. “you kiss my hands like they’re made of glass, hyuck.”

he’s quiet, eyes searching yours.

you look down. the words are slipping now, loose and frantic. “but you’ve never asked me to be your girlfriend. not even once. so i… i don’t know what this is. i don’t know if i’m just someone you’re being sweet to or if i’ve been reading too much into everything, or—”

“wait.” he steps in, gently but firmly. his voice isn’t shocked—just… surprised. “hold on. you’re not?”

your heart stutters. “not what?”

he runs a hand through his hair, laughing under his breath in a way that makes it clear that he’s just realised something ridiculous and painfully obvious at the same time. “i thought we were already dating.”

the world stills.

your lips part, but nothing comes out.

“i thought we were… together,” he says, wide-eyed and sincere in a way that makes you want to cry. “i mean... i told you i liked you. i thought that counted.”

“that was months ago!” you exclaim, stunned.

“exactly! so haven’t we been dating for months now?”

you gape at him.

“haechan,” you say slowly, like you’re trying to explain algebra to a potted plant, “you never asked.”

he blinks, his expression genuinely, hilariously baffled. “i didn’t think i needed to! i thought we were—i mean—come on.”

he shifts the cream puff box in one arm and gestures between the two of you with the other, like that alone should explain everything. a little blob of custard escapes and lands on his hoodie sleeve. he doesn’t notice.

“what do you mean, come on?” you demand, even though it’s getting harder and harder to stay upset when he’s looking at you like a golden retriever who just realised he’s been sitting on the wrong side of the door this whole time. “you never said anything! no ‘do you wanna be my girlfriend,’ no ‘hey! let’s make this official,’ no nothing! i thought we were in a romantic grey area!”

“grey area?” he repeats, scandalised. “baby, i’ve been carrying your bag, tying your shoelaces, and memorising your coffee order with alarming accuracy. i’ve given you, like, three of my best sweaters. i met your friends—who, by the way, are even louder than i am. does that scream grey area to you?!”

you’re trying to hold onto your indignation. truly, you are. but his voice is climbing in pitch and he’s gesturing with so much intensity that the cream puff box wobbles dangerously again. you eye it nervously.

“you also once gave me a banana peel and said, ‘for composting your feelings.’”

“a romantic gesture!”

“you tripped me with it after.”

“in a flirtatious way!”

you snort. and that’s it. the last of your frustration peels away like old wallpaper. it’s ridiculous. he’s ridiculous. but the thing is—he means it. every chaotic, confused, sugar-coated sentence spilling out of his mouth is the most haechan way of saying—i thought you were mine this whole time.

he exhales, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to physically shake the dust off his brain. “i told you i liked you, like, multiple times! remember our dumpling date two months ago? the one where you tried to steal my last piece? i said, ‘you can’t steal my food unless you’re my girlfriend,’ and then you took it anyway, and i thought, ‘wow. she wants me.’ that was, like, the beginning of our love story.”

you gape at him, again. “you thought confessing was the end?”

he frowns, squinting. “isn’t that how everyone does it?”

you give him a look.

haechan scratches the back of his neck, the box of cream puffs still dangling from one arm like it’s an afterthought. “okay, maybe my dating perspective is... flawed. but i really thought it was clear! i mean, i’ve been calling you my girl in my head for months.”

“haechan,” you deadpan, “your head doesn’t count as public record.”

he lets out a dramatic sigh, and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling too wide, but it’s a lost cause. the grin’s already blooming, like something inevitable. he’s just too cute.

“you seriously thought we were dating this whole time?”

“yes!” he says, flinging his free hand out so emphatically that the box wobbles again. “i was so sure of it.”

you cross your arms—not because you’re mad or confused anymore, but because it’s fun to watch him squirm. “okay. so what would’ve happened if i started dating someone else during this time?”

he stares at you, horrified, like you just told him gravity is optional now. “i would’ve recorded me killing myself and sent it to that someone else.”

you laugh so hard and suddenly that it startles a pigeon nearby, to which haechan grins, triumphant.

“there she is,” he murmurs. “my girl.”

the words hit you sideways. soft. certain. said like they’ve always been true.

you exhale, watching the mist of your breath curl into the cold air between you.

“okay,” you say quietly. “but… i still would’ve liked if you asked.”

he nods, the weight of that finally settling into his shoulders. “yeah. you’re right. i should’ve made it clear. should’ve done the whole thing. flowers, playlist, dumb question with even dumber handwriting.”

a pause.

“can i ask now?”

you glance at him, feigning skepticism. “you’re going to ask me out officially with custard on your sleeve?”

he looks down and shrugs. “you’ve seen worse.”

you consider this. “yeah, okay.”

he shifts his grip so he’s holding everything in one arm now, freeing up his hand. it’s a little clumsy, the angle’s awkward, but he still reaches for your wrist, gently turning your hand over to press a warm kiss to your palm. the same way he always does. like it’s a promise he doesn’t know how not to keep.

then he looks up at you, gaze steady. “please be my girlfriend.”

the world doesn’t go still—not like in the movies. a dog barks in the distance. someone shouts about being locked out of their dorm. a bike bell rings.

but here, with him, it’s quiet in the good way again.

you pretend to think about it, tapping your chin.

then you reach for the box of cream puffs, pluck one out, and hold it up between you. “okay, boyfriend.”

he beams.

you each take a bite from opposite ends of the pastry at the same time, like it’s some sugar-dusted peace treaty. there’s custard on your lip and powdered sugar on his nose—and somehow, that feels exactly right.

and as he threads his fingers through yours—still sticky, still warm—you realise maybe you were never in a grey area to begin with.

just... a really weirdly drawn, very haechan-shaped heart.

perm. taglist ♡ @dreaminabtrj @ddolbyong @f6llsun @egojo1st @sungbites @nonverdolly @strwberie @blondemrk @chenlezip @markkiatocafe @stqrgr7 @jisungji @taroddori @haeriaes @kukkurookkoo @polarisjisung @dudekiss3r @dejundesign @uncasings @sweetpinkblueberry @spacejip @yushiela @insbread @t-102 @haelvrty @pl4netx1a @haeivie @natakgae @fae-renjun @sunghoonsgfreal @jaemcaffe

[mytherapyisreading14]

Loving You Will Be The Death Of Me

Summary: You're secretly dating Spencer, and you're at Rossi's birthday party. That night, it's especially difficult to keep your relationship a secret, but the two of you don't really care anymore.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Category: Fluff

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,7k

Author’s Note: I can’t go to Tom Odell‘s next tour, which broke my heart, so I wrote this. The idea for the story came when I was listening to lywbtdom (I love this song sm😩)

It‘s a warm summer evening, and Rossi's garden is filled with laughter and music. He’s celebrating his birthday and you stand at a table with a glass of champagne in your hand, watching the people dance. It‘s a welcome change after all the stressful weeks.

"You look like you enjoy the music more by yourself," you hear a familiar voice behind you. You turn around and see Derek approaching you with a grin. "Or to put it another way," he continues, "it looks like you're the only one not dancing."

You laugh and look at him as he extends a hand. "All right, Derek. What are you up to?" you ask him. "Can I have this dance?" He winks at you and you can't help but grin. It’s impossible to turn him down.

"Of course," you say before putting down your glass and placing your hand in his. He puts his arm around your waist and pulls you to the middle of the dance floor with a confident grin. The music is catchy, and you follow him, trying to keep up with the beat.

But you quickly realize that Derek isn't the best dancer. He keeps stepping on your feet, which makes you burst out laughing every time. "Hey, watch out," you say, trying to avoid the next step. "I don't want to end up with sore feet at the end of the night!"

"Sorry, sorry," he says with an apologetic grin. You both laugh as he tries to pull himself together. Suddenly, you feel someone staring at you. Your eyes wander to the corner of the garden and you spot Spencer, positioned slightly off to the side of the dance floor. His gaze is intense, almost jealous, and for a moment you pause.

You got together with him last month but the two of you decided to keep your relationship a secret to avoid the constant teasing of others and the possible problems at work. But now, with that look, you can't help it, and a wide grin spreads across your face.

Derek, noticing your gaze, follows your gaze and frowns. "What's wrong?" he asks, but you just shake your head. "Nothing," you reply, still grinning. "Let's just keep dancing." Derek laughs and leads you further in the dance.

The music continues and Derek, who always enjoys stirring up the team, follows your gaze and sees Spencer, who, as always, is standing a little off to the side. He grins and calls out, "Come here, Pretty Boy! It's time for you to dance!"

You can hardly believe it when Derek simply marches forward and pulls Spencer onto the dance floor. Spencer hesitates for a moment but Derek, almost a little too impatient, brings him over to you. "He's yours now. Have fun you two," Derek says before he steps back with a grin.

You can’t help but smile. Spencer seems a little surprised, but also amused, as he turns over to you. "You can expect me to step on your feet again and even worse than Derek, I fear," he says with a crooked smile that makes you laugh again.

"I know," you say, laughing as he put a hand around your waist and pulls you closer. In that moment, you feel the familiar butterflies in your stomach. It’s still so new, so exciting, and you really have to pull yourself together not to kiss him right then and there.

Spencer notices your hesitation and, as discreetly as possible, snuck his finger over your hip as the song slowly comes to a close. The gentle, almost invisible contact makes your heart skip a beat. You look into each other's eyes for a moment longer than necessary.

Just as the music slowly changes and the song ends, you pull away, your eyes meeting briefly once more before you slowly move apart. But the moment isn’t quite over yet. Derek, who had obviously watched everything, can’t hold back. With a cheeky grin, he calls out, "Well, well, well, look at this!"

Both you and Spencer’s faces turn noticeably redder. You feel the blood rising in your cheeks, and to escape the awkward situation, you quickly turn around and head towards the table, where you grab your glass of champagne and take a sip to compose yourself.

"You have no chance of escaping us," Derek calls after you, but all you can do is grin shyly and hope that the evening will somehow continue without the others getting any closer discovering your secret.

-

The evening passes and you keep feeling Spencer's eyes on you. It is as if the world around you disappears for a brief moment when your eyes met, and you’re looking forward to spend the night with him. Every time he looks at you, everything feels more intense and it’s impossible to wipe the grin off your face.

The cool night air is palpable, and it’s the perfect moment to wrap yourself up a little more warmly. You decide to go inside to get your jacket. You’re almost at the entrance when you notice Spencer following you. Without a word, he pulls you into the small guest bathroom.

You squeak softly when he suddenly closes the door and look around to make sure no one had noticed you. "Spence," you whisper quickly, "we have to be careful." You can't help but laugh as you look at him. It's so typical of both of you - to simply forget everything else in that moment. Spencer leans down to you, his gaze deep and intense.

Without another word, he gives you a passionate kiss that blurs all your thoughts. When he pulls away, his lips still so close to your face, he whispers, "You look so beautiful tonight. I can't help it. You drive me crazy. I just can't get enough of you. Kissing you... is addictive."

His words make your heart race, and you feel the desire building within you. He gives you small, tender kisses on your cheeks, all over your face, and finally on your neck. You laugh softly and run your fingers through his hair, savoring the moment to the fullest. It feels so right, so intense and passionate, that you almost forget where you are. All that matters is him, his closeness, the warmth of his touch.

But after a few minutes, you have to pull away from him. You take a deep breath, your hands still lightly on his chest, and look into his eyes. "Spencer, we have to stop now," you say, your words a little firmer, even though your heart is screaming for you to stay a little longer. "Otherwise, it'll be noticed. Or... or we just tell the others. That will make things easier for us."

He looks at you thoughtfully, and you see that he's just as torn as you are at this moment. Finally, he nods. "You're right. They are going to find out soon anyway, we are too obvious." He leans forward, and with a gentle smile, he gives you one last kiss on the forehead.

"I love you so much. I think loving you will be the death of me," he says softly, and you feel your heart beat a little faster at his words. “I love you too.” For a moment, the world remains silent and you hold each other in your arms a little while longer.

When you let go and walk back outside, you could almost feel the others' eyes on you. It’s as if everyone stops at the same moment, looking over and wondering what’s going on between you two. You immediately notice Penelope and Derek smiling at each other before they start to giggle quietly.

You pause for a moment and look over to them, raising an eyebrow and trying to act like you have no idea why they are suddenly acting like this. "What's going on now?" you ask with a crooked grin when you see their amused faces.

The two can't help but laugh even more. "Nothing," Derek finally says but the joy in his eyes is unmistakable. Then he points at Spencer and laughs. "You forgot to clean off her lipstick. But don't worry, we knew there was something going on between you two from the start." You and Spencer look at each other, both blushing immediately.

All the tension that had been building up over the past few weeks erupts in that one moment, and you can't help but laugh. "We were actually going to tell you soon because we assumed we’re too obvious," you laugh, "but we weren't up for all the paperwork and sorting out work stuff yet. So we decided to keep it to ourselves." You shrug, as if this is all perfectly normal.

Emily shakes her head, a wide grin on her face. "Well, okay, you didn't really manage it," she says, then laughs. "It was obvious from the start." There's a moment of silence before everyone starts laughing at once. It's a mixture of relief and joy that the secret is finally out and no one has to do anything more than pretend.

You feel the tension melt away and take Spencer's hand, which somehow immediately feels right. You lean against him and suddenly feel much freer. Finally, you don't have to hide anymore. It's as if a huge weight has been lifted from your shoulders, and you can't help but take a deep breath.

Penelope squeals with joy and claps her hands. "This is so beautiful!" she exclaims, jumping excitedly around you both. "I knew it!" You spend the rest of the evening together, laughing, talking, and enjoying your time together. It's a carefree, joyful time together that fills you with happiness.

And when it's finally time to go home, you feel this inner satisfaction. The joy that you've not only found someone you love, but also that you finally don't have to hide anymore. "That was a lovely evening. I’m glad they know now," you say quietly to Spencer.

“Me too,” he says and gently kisses your head before he opens the door for you to get into the car. You drive home to enjoy the rest of the night together, finally officially as a couple.

[authorddreamz]

More Than Words Left Between Us -Deshon Dreamz

Yes, I'm a writer, but this is my very first fanfic! I just love Annie down and I want to write about HER. What comes with Annie...SMOKE.

This is a Wunmi stan account.

Smoke x Annie #OneShot

Warnings: Child Loss, Smut, Explicits, Adult 18+, Fan Fic, Errors

Annie's shop Scene Modern Day Revision

Smoke returns to visit his daughter and Annie but Annie had a visitor(a man).

If you asked to be tagged, I don't know how 😂😂 I'm new to Tumblr!

This song was on a loop as I wrote this!

WC: 2.6K

More Than Words Left Between Us

Smoke X Annie #Sinners

Warning: Smut, Cursing, mentions of miscarriage

The gravel beneath his tires caused his truck to rock slightly as he slowly pulled onto the property. His heart raced in anticipation and…fear. He'd been beaten by the most undefeated concept to ever exist. Time. He wondered if too much of it had passed, preventing the remedy for his pain from becoming a reality.

He needed her.

She was the only balm he knew.

Fear crippled him as he slowly allowed his truck to come to a rolling stop. His feet felt cemented to the floor of his truck as he took in a calming breath. His hand moved to the handle of the door, stalling as he attempted to mentally go over the words he would say to her.

His lips lacked communication; there was no way they would properly relay the inner dialogue of his heart. The door of the truck felt weighed. He struggled, his body too emotionally fragile to complete the task he carried out with ease multiple times a day. His eyes lifted to the rebuilt structure sitting solo in the middle of the wooded area. Anyone in their right mind would be cautious of the area, staying away. Smoke on the other hand, felt at home.

Chicago had done a number on him, both mentally and physically. The weight in his shoulders caused tension in his back, the crisp air of the night slapped him viciously as he climbed from the truck. His frame felt stoic, robotic even. He moved with the stature of a man pained by years of separation from his love.

On top of the many emotions he felt regarding his love, grief was also an invisible anchor. His body moved on autopilot as he walked over to the small gravesite nestled in the back of the house. He clutched the white daisy’s in his right hand, as he came to a stop.

A small headstone, so prematurely manufactured for his child loss too soon. His heart grew heavier as he kneeled, using his hand to sweep away the dust and leaves that had fallen, obstructing the name of his daughter.

“Papa’s here.” He muttered, tears brimming around his eyes as he continued to silently mourn. “Papa’s here.” He tried again, more determined this time.

He stayed in his squatted position for a moment longer, placing the flowers on top of the tombstone before he stood, exhaling as he did so. His face was set in a stoned expression as he reached into his pocket, looking back at his truck before he hit the lock button.

His hand stilled in the air, brows touching as his eyes landed on a white Hemi truck sitting not too far away from where he parked.

Has that been there? He questioned internally. “The fuck?” He groaned out loud before his feet automatically began marching towards the front of the house. Before he could lift his hand to knock, the door was snatched open.

Just like the first time he laid eyes on her, the beauty she possessed rendered him speechless. His breath caught in his throat as Annie stood before him, looking like something his brain had imagined. Her smooth dark skin glistened under the Mississippi moon as she stepped out of the house, forcing him backwards. Her eyes held onto his for a moment before she spoke.

“What…Smoke?”

He blinked. “Who’s truck is that?”

Her face shifted. Annie struggled with the fact that he was standing in front of her. So long he'd been a figment of her imagination. She felt her heart trip in her chest; refreshed love and old wombs reopening at the sight of him. So many unspoken words between them and he was asking about a truck? “You've been gone seven years and that's your first statement to me??” Her nostrils flared, doe eyes somehow rounded twice their size.

Immediately, he had to acknowledge just how good time had been for her. She was stunning, always stunning. Tall, thicker than day old grits and as fiery as any woman had the right to be. Smoke felt like not a day had passed between them.

She was and still is…his one true love.

Smoke found himself trying to recover. “Well, how ya been?”

Annie crossed her arms over her chest protectively, feeling her defenses slowly be disarmed by his handsome ruggedness. Elijah "Smoke” Moore was the love of her life, the father of her loss child and in so many ways, her reason for being. “I won't complain. Ain't gone help none.” She exhaled slowly. “Are you here alone?”

Smoke nodded. “Yeah! Stack in town handling business.” He answered, giving the whereabouts of his twin brother.

“Well, whatchu come back fo?”

Smoke fidgeted with his hat, instantly feeling unsettled under Annie’s almost telepathic gaze. “Opening up a club close to downtown, wanting you with me tonight.”

“A club.” Annie’s chin dropped. “That sounds like a Stack idea.”

“Just tryna go legit.”

“Y'all couldn't open this club in Chicago? Last I heard y'all were northern men.”

“Nah. We done in Chicago.”

“Chicago done with y'all?”

Smoke squinted. “What you asking?”

“What you running from now, Smoke?”

Smoke was a trained warrior, tested in battle fields that claimed the lives of the strongest of men. Yet, in front of her, he was merely a man. One incapable of getting a lie past her. He knew she would see through any lie he told, so he ignored her question, posing one of his own. “You gone tell me who’s truck that is?”

“That'll be my truck.” A man he wasn't familiar with came from around the side of the house, limbs and twigs from an oversized tree that hung over the side of the house, tucked under his arms. His smile didn't quite reach the level needed to be friendly as he dropped the twigs in a stack with others. Smoke immediately frowned, silently looking between the man and Annie. “It ain't for sale, if that's whatchu askin’.”

“Oh no.” Annie groaned under her breath before stepping down off the porch.

Smoke’s head tilted slightly, eyes hard. “Look like I'm here to buy a truck, mothafucka?”

Annie placed her body in front of Smoke, turning to her company. “Jason, this is Elijah…my ex.”

“Ex?” Smoke repeated, eyes cast down before they shot to her. “Since the fuck when?”

Annie turned to him. “Since you left and decided to stay away.”

Smoke glared at her; his anger not exactly directed at her. “Yeah well, we back now so you can tell ya lil boyfriend he can wrap this shit up. I no longer need a stand in; the original is back.”

“Stand in?” Jason questioned with a low chuckle.

“You heard me.” Smoke muttered, his dark features set in an intense scowl. “I ain't gone say that shit again. Ya times up.”

Jason’s eyes hit Annie, silently asking her what she wanted him to do. “Can I call you later?”

Jason’s eyes narrowed before they went back to Smoke. His eyes remained on Smoke as he answered. “You sure can.”

“What exactly would you be calling him to talk about?" Smoke questioned, his eyes hard on Annie.

“Seems like that’s something we gone discover when that call happens, now doesn’t it.” Jason's smirk grew at the pure rage in Smoke's expression.

Smoke’s patience was nonexistent. He also didn’t take kindly to disrespect.

As Jason continued to smirk at him, Smoke reached behind him, producing a .45 and pointing at Jason who immediately froze in place. Smoke enjoyed the expression of fear covering his face before he lowered the gun, shooting him in his foot.

Jason immediately screamed, falling to the ground. “Mothafucka, you shot me!”

“Next one going between ya eyes.” Smoke groaned, unfazed. “Now get up, go to that ugly ass truck and don’t come back this way no mo.”

“Elijah!” Annie screeched.

Smoke continued to mug Jason as he cried on the ground, holding his foot. “Gone tell him the truth, baby. Let him know you won't be calling.”

“Are you insane?!”

“Tell him!” He urged through clenched teeth. “Go head.”

Annie didn't speak, instead she continued to glare at Smoke before she turned to walk back into the house.

“Act like you know who I am and move accordingly.” Smoke kept his gun trained on Larry who was finally able to get to his feet and began hobbling away. “Come back here and you die.” He lowered the gun, kissing his teeth. He mugged him one last time before following Annie into the house.

Annie was livid. This was a level of audacity only Smoke could have. As she walked deeper into her home, she could feel him following her. She was torn, now she didn't know what she wanted to address first; him being back after leaving her for all those years or him running Jason off when he had no right to do so.

“I've been telling you to let me cut that tree down for years, Annie.” Smoke removed his hat, placing it on the island in her kitchen before he continued through the living room, into her bedroom where she stood, visibly upset. He steps slowed, eyes softening at once at her expression. Pissing her off was the last thing he wanted to do. “Wouldn't have no issue with twigs then.”

“You come in here talking about a tree when you just shot him?”

Smoke looked to the side, eyes low. “Ya boyfriend gone live.”

“The fucking nerve of you.” Annie couldn’t contain her anger; she wanted to hit him.

“About the tree.” Smoke changed the subject, wanting to move on. “How long you been having him come pick up the twigs?”

Annie’s head fell to the side slightly. “You expect me to let them pile up waiting on you?”

“It's folks you can call to have them removed, having some random…”

“He ain't random!” Annie snapped. “He been round here for years.” Her brow lifted stubbornly, ready for whatever verbal tussle Smoke wanted to have. She didn't care. Her pain wouldn't allow her to spare his feelings.

“Years?” His voice was low, dripped in a southern drawl only the Delta of Mississippi could provide. All those years away, and it hadn't faded at all. “Whatcha mean by years?”

“You would know if you were here.” Annie walked around her bed, getting into his face. “Years.” She dragged, emphasizing the s. “Them twigs ain't the only thing he's been tending to neither, Smoke.”

“You fuckin’ him?” Smoke felt like his chest would explode. Fresh heat spread through his body, starting at the soles of his feet. The thought of someone else touching her made him nauseous. “Annie…”

"Why would it matter to you who...I...fuck?" She dragged. "Huh?"

Smoke felt immediate regret for not killing ole boy. "You know he's as good as dead, right?"

"Oh, that's rich." She snapped. "Should I get my blade ready for the trail of bitches I'm sure you left in Chicago?"

Smoke's nostrils flared again. Anger consumed him again. "Annie, did you fuck..."

“Never sex.” She replied, wanting to exaggerate the truth but not wanting to put Jason in any more danger. They'd never been intimate. “The furthest we've gone is a drunk kiss we shared one of the nights I spent crying on his shoulder about you.”

Smoke’s trained expression didn't change, though hearing about her pain made him feel weak. “Look…”

Tears rimmed her eyes as she stepped back from him. The sight made Smoke’s heart skip a beat, his words tripping to an abrupt stop as he looked at her. He stood there, suspended in time like Annie felt she'd been all these years.

“I've spent 7 whole years processing by myself. I've had to grieve our child alone. I've had to grieve the love we shared, not knowing if I would ever feel it again. I've spent every single day praying for you and Stack. Now you right back in front of me, perfectly whole and asking me about a man who could never replace you in my heart.” She shook her head as the first tear slipped. She swiftly wiped it away, disappointed in herself for even allowing it to fall. “You're a fool, Elijah Moore.”

Smoke, never the talker, continued looking at her. “I am a fool.”

Annie looked up at him. “Why are you here?”

Smoke stepped into her, thankful she didn't step back. “I'm man enough to say it.”

“Then say it.” She urged.

Smoke continued to stare down at her, holding her eyes. “I was a coward, Annie. I ran. I left you and I ran to Chicago to avoid the pain of losing our child. I was wrong for leaving you here to deal with that alone. I also shouldn’t make you feel bad about whatever you did to cope.” He stepped closer to her, grabbing her face. “I want you to understand that I know what I did wrong and I’m here because I want to fix it. I…I need to fix it Annie because I love you…and I’ve missed you.”

Annie stood there, unsure of what to say to him. Her heart felt split between defense and dropping all guards to him. Mentally, she was scared of what would happen if she exposed herself to him too soon. So, she allowed her heart and brain time to settle their dispute while her body yielded to him.

She would check back in with her emotions later. Right now, she craved him in a way she never craved another man. She closed the distance between them, looking up at him as his hard eyes remained on her. Without reserve, she reached up to grab the back of his head, pulling his lips to hers. Smoke felt his world rock of it’s axis as his lips touched hers. Years of pain evaporated from him as he reached, grabbing her to pull her into his chest. He groaned as her tongue slipped into his mouth, creating complete silence in his overactive brain. He reached down, grabbing as much of her ass his hands would allow before lifting her into his arms. Annie yelped, scared momentarily that Smoke would drop her. She was a lot more than skin and bones, but that wasn’t something Smoke didn’t know. She exhaled into his mouth as he effortlessly maneuvered her onto the bed, forcing her back. He climbed on top of her, returning his mouth to hers. His eager hands reached for the nightgown she wore, ripping it in his pursuit to get it off her body. Annie’s pants grew wilder as his hands found their way to her breast as they spill from her gown. Smoke moved with the precision of a starving man as he cupped her breast, sending his tongue over her large mahogany nipples. Smoke lifted, removing his vest from his body before going for his shirt. Annie began to assist him, feeling she couldn’t get his clothes off fast enough. Once he was down to his slacks, he moved back between her legs, settling between them as his hand reached between her legs. Once he felt her clit, then dipped his fingers lower, he was met with her wetness. He exhaled, feeling overwhelmed by the discovery.

“You get this wet for him, Annie?”

She shook her head, feeling anxious. “No.”

Smoke continued to slide his fingers over her clit, making her wetter before he removed his fingers from her, slipping them into his mouth. Annie watched through hooded eyes as he licked each finger slowly. When he was done, he kissed her again, grabbing his dick to place it at her entrance. Slowly, he returned home. Smoke was flooded with instant pleasure as Annie gripped his arms, keeping him close to her. He lifted her legs, pushing them back as he went deeper into her, wanting to relay every word his mouth failed to speak. She was his. Forever and always. No amount of time or space would ever change that. Annie felt consumed with raw pleasure only Smoke could summon within her. The feel of his dick stretching her was the most beautiful mixture of pleasure and pain and she accepted him. As flawed and tormented as he was, she accepted him.

The End.

Thank you for reading!

[secular-jew]

Article by Masih Alinejad, Iranian exile, journalist, writer, women's rights activist. Probably the most wanted woman by the Iranian regime.

I've spent the past four years of my life being hunted by Iran’s Revolutionary Guards. They sent agents to kidnap me from my home in New York. They hired assassins to kill me on American soil. They even followed me to Davos, Switzerland, where I had to be helicoptered out from my hotel.

If not for the FBI’s protection—and the more than 21 safe houses I have shuttled between over the past few years—I might not be alive to write these words.

So yes, this moment is personal. But it is also far bigger than me.

For more than four decades, the Islamic Republic of Iran has exported terror, crushed dissent, and pushed the Middle East to the brink of war, all while robbing its own people of dignity, opportunity, and peace. Now, the regime is feeling consequences at the highest level.

Israeli air strikes have reportedly killed some of the Islamic Republic’s most senior military leaders, Hossein Salami, commander in chief of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC); Amir Ali Hajizadeh, architect of the regime’s ballistic missile program; and Mohammad Bagheri, chief of staff of Iran’s armed forces.

For many people around the world, these will just be foreign names. For me and for the people of Iran, they are the monsters who have impoverished and tyrannized our families.

They are the ones who have made millions of people's lives miserable, not just in Iran, but across the entire Middle East.

While sanctions choked the economy and hospitals ran short of basic medicine, IRGC commanders lived in luxury. Today, viral images on Persian-language social media show their rooftop pools, penthouse suites, and VIP elevators, many of these destroyed in the recent strikes.

These commanders didn’t defend Iran, they defended the regime from its own people. The only people who sacrificed for the sake of the country were the poor, the women who dared to show their hair, the students shot in the streets.

This is why many Iranians are not mourning today. Despite the profound uncertainty that lies ahead, they’re celebrating.

I’ve received thousands of messages from inside Iran showing young women dancing in the streets, or families cheering in their kitchens. They remember these commanders as the ones who gave the orders to shoot protesters in the eyes, jail teenage girls, and lie to the world while building bombs in secret.

One mother in Tehran who was imprisoned for protesting the 2019 murder of her child wrote to me that “waking up to the news of Salami’s death, I started to scream out of joy that I’m seeing justice.” She told me that “soon you’ll be back to Iran and we’ll dance on the graves of these killers.”

Another woman, whose mother was shot dead by the IRGC in 2022 for protesting the brutal death of 22-year-old Mahsa Amini in police custody, wrote, “We’re all happy for the elimination of the killers of our loved ones. War comes with a price. Innocent people might get killed. But we know who we should blame: the Islamic Republic.” This particular woman shaved her head over her mother’s grave—an image that soon became a symbol of resistance in Iran.

Millions of Iranians have marched, danced, sung, and bled for a better future. In 2022, after Amini’s death, the world saw the courage of young women facing armed soldiers with nothing but their hair and their hope. That movement was not crushed. It is still burning, quietly and bravely, in homes, schools, and prisons across Iran. Today we are reminded of that. The courage of these Iranians might very well spell the end of the Islamic Republic itself.

Now, the world faces a choice. It can focus solely on missiles and maps, treating this as another geopolitical chess move. Or it can recognize the human story unfolding beneath the surface, the story of a nation rising from the shadow of its captors. The story of a rising lion.

Israel’s strike may have taken out top military figures. But the real victory is still ahead: the day the Islamic Republic falls under the weight of its own crimes and the strength of the people it has tried so hard to suffocate and silence.

The Islamic Republic built its empire of tyranny on blood: of protesters, dissidents, women, children. That empire is now cracking. The people of Iran are watching to see what will come next and hoping that the world is watching, too.

[just-some-random-blogger]

The Cage Of My Rib

"Aegon?" "Mmm." "They say twins come from a split rib... do you think it is true?" "Pfft, no. If it were, I'd be short and ugly like you!"

Aegon Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader x Aemond Targaryen | 1k+ | cw: fem!reader, targcest, twin!reader, wife!reader, pregnancy, motherhood, post-rook's rest, angst, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: this is a fic I wrote for my lovely luna. im going to be completely honest with you. i had a vision then i didnt... i dont know if this has a happy ending im so sorry T_T HAHAHAHAHA @vhagar-balerion-meraxes I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!

His skin was scalding as he stormed into the dragon pit. His nostrils flared at the sight of the dragon about to exit and take flight. He clenches his fists, "keligon."

My mount rumbles at the sound of the command. I, at first, do not realize the command was given and pat my dragon's skin, encouraging her to continue.

"KELIGON!"

Both my dragon and I turn, seeing Aemond march towards us with a face painted in fury. He screams again, "STOP!"

I furrow my brows and hush my ride when she grows restless. She screeches at Aemond to show her displeasure, and so in turn, I have to calm her down as he approaches. I pull on my reins and scowl at him. I quip in High Valyrian, "you dare command Rhovior while I am mounted?"

Aemond looks up at me, pulse raging in anger. He screams again at her, commanding my dragon to obey him with such severity that she forgets her own predatory inclination and submits. Rhovior then cranes her long neck to the side and looks up at me. Her violet eyes reflect my own and I rub her pinkish scales before turning back to the man.

"Get down," he commands me in High Valyrian, reaching a hand out to me.

I clench my jaw and tilt my head at him, "I do not wish to."

His nostrils flare, "you truly think it wise to fly on dragonback in the middle of a war?"

"I am not flying into war, brother."

"You are not flying anywhere," he snaps, "wife."

Rhovior was getting restless again. She begins to shake her head and shift towards Aemond. I have to calm her down, lest the one-eyed prince be left one-armed or worse. He at least has the mind to step away from her at this point, his hands coming to his side.

Aemond clenches his jaw as I calm Rhovior. I grunt when part of the saddle digs into my belly. My husband flinches, boot skidding forward on instinct. He hisses in the High Valyrian once more, "you are in no state to be flying."

I make sure my ride is completely calm before finally dismounting. Once I do, Aemond comes upon me, glaring down with a furious eye.

"I am her rider," I repeat in the same tongue, "she would not cause me harm."

"She does not need to cause you harm for harm to come to our child."

I step forward. My protruded belly barely brushes against him, "she would not harm my child."

"Our child," he corrects, "I have as much say on what happens to the babe as you do."

I sigh and close my eyes. I hear Aemond command the dragon keepers to bring Rhovior back into the pit. I rub my belly and ignore my husband, walking past him.

"Do you think you would be spared simply because you are a woman with child? Rhaenyra will spare none in King's Landing to have her way."

I remove my gloves while he follows after me. I respond by the time I feel him beside me, "as I said, I was not flying into w-"

"Flying at all is an act of war," he grabs my arm, forcing me to face him, "you are my wife."

I whip my head, pulling my arm out of his clutch, my silver hair flipping behind me.

"You carry my seed."

"Trust me, Prince Regent, I know what I carry inside me better than you."

Aemond's jaw sets. The muscles on his face feather. I can practically feel the anger radiating off him. My stomach begins to churn. I look down and sigh. I step forward and grab his bicep. I can feel his muscles are tense. I whisper, "I would not have flown far."

He does not reply.

I look up at him. His face is bound in anger. I reach for his cheek, but he pulls away and steps back before I touch him.

I gulp. I allow my hands to drop.

His silence held the violence of a storm, and his stoic expression held something searing beneath it. His voice held a false serenity as he whispered, "you'll have to kill me before you forfeit so much to a dead man walking."

I stare at him. I do not argue with his distasteful comment nor do I correct his belief that I meant to fly out to do something for the said man.

I simply walk away after he's said his piece and head for my chambers.

I change out of my riding clothes and go to the nursery. I dismiss the wet nurse and tell her I will continue breast feeding my son.

I immediately take my child onto my hip and rub his back as I make my way down the hall. Aenar sighs into my shoulder, his soft cheek pressed against my neck. I make it to the King's quarters and nod at the Kingsguard stationed outside his room as he opens the doors for me.

I stop just as I enter; the sight and the smell never gets easier to palate. I shift my boy in my arm when he begins to fuss. A mewl from across the room makes my heart twinge.

I walk towards the bed, the sound of my heels on the tiles reverberate in the otherwise silent chamber. By the time I sit down on the chair beside the bed, Aenar is restless, and so I undo the ribbons on my chest and allow my baby to feed.

I stroke my son's head, rocking him in my arms slightly, but my eyes are on the man before me and his are on mine. Aegon's lilac gaze is watery. His lips are dry as he speaks, "you shouldn't be here."

I adjust my son in my arms so his weight doesn't put so much pressure on my belly. I rub the boy's bald head, "and where should I be, my king?"

He scoffs but regrets it when he breaks into a ragged cough. I huff when it doesn't seem to stop and reach for the glass of water on his bedside table. I manage to keep a firm grip on son as I help him drink. Liquid spills from the corner of his lips and soon he shakes his head, making me pull away.

"There is no king here."

I simply wipe his skin, careful not to irritate him. Aegon watches me, or rather, he watches Aenar. I freeze when he grabs my wrist weakly before I pull away.

His voice is soft and strangled, "you misunderstand."

He releases his hold. I put the cloth down.

"I don't want you here."

We stare at each other. I am unfazed because I knew he did not mean it. I adjust Aenar in my arms. He stops suckling after this, and so I move him to my other shoulder and lace up the ties on my chest. I rub his back and gently pat him, "shall I move to the other side of the bed then?"

Aegon does not reply.

Aenar burps softly. I lean into him and kiss his head, "good boy."

His eyes water. He screws them shut, "do not insult me further-" his nostrils flare, "-and fucking leave."

My brows knit, "I've not yet helped you ea-"

"I DON'T WANT YOU HERE!" he snaps, spit flying out his mouth as he screams.

I jolt at the severity of his tone. Aemond, even with his display prior, was never one to shout at me, not even as a child. Aegon, however, always did. It did not make it any bearable. Aenar too was affected by the shout. He promptly begins to sob.

I immediately begin to rock him and shush him. When he does calm, I cradle him in my arms and sing to him. It was my favorite High Valyrian lullaby, one that our father sung to us in but a few instances or less.

Aegon's face twitches at the sound. The act causes his tender injuries to flair. Tears stream down his face.

It takes two repetitions of the song for my baby finally find peace again. By the time he does, I feel out of breath. I sit back down but do not stop rocking him. Aenar coos and I do not dare to cease my singing.

That is, until, Aegon calls my name.

Not only do I stop singing, I stop moving altogether.

His eyes are closed and his voice is shaky, "your being swells with life while mine wastes away."

"No, you get better everyda-"

"I am a dead man walking," he chuckles dryly, "I cannot even walk-"

"And did Aemond tell you this?"

His eyes slowly open. A tear drips into his mouth, "I know what I carry inside me better than he."

Aenar begins to fuss again, and so I bring him to my shoulder and pat his back.

Our silence is broken by the sound of my brother and I saying each other's names at once. I pull my chair close to him. He slowly shakes his head in disagreement, screwing his eyes shut.

"I am here," I tell him.

He chuckles, "I pray you were not."

"I will always be here, Aegon. Your woes are mine and my joy is yours."

He slowly opens his eyes. He sniffles and mumbles, "you are not my wife."

"I am your twin-"

"I am glad of it," he reaches out a hand. I perk and lean in, knowing exactly what he wanted instinctively. I maneuver Aenar until he was laid back in my arms. Aegon's curled hand comes to my son's leg. His breathing is heavy, "he would have been Jaehaerys."

I clench my jaw and place my hand atop his.

He huffs slowly through his mouth, "I cannot feel you anymore."

I rub his burnt hand, "perhaps not in flesh, but always in heart."

Aegon slowly pulls his hand away.

"I wanted to pick you flowers, but Aemond did not let me."

"I would not have either if I were him."

"But you are not."

"I wish sometimes I was," he looks away, "how content I would have been to be born the second son... to have you."

"You have me."

He chuckles, mumbling under his breath, "do not tell him that. My injuries are suffice."

I cradle Aenar as he snuggles into my breast.

"Do you remember what you asked me when we were children?"

I nod, immediately knowing what he meant, "if twins are split from the rib?"

He hums, "if we were, I am glad that you are rid of me."

"I am glad we are not joined at the rib, but I do not wish to be rid of you."

He mumbles my name. No one but himself hears.

I adjust my baby's collar, "I should put him down. I will return before your supper is served."

He does not reply. I give him one last look before heading back.

I enter the nursery. I stop in my tracks when I see the figure looming over the cot. Aemond turns over his shoulder. I blink at the sight of his distraught expression before walking over to him.

I stop beside him, debating where I should place my son. I decide to hand him to Aemond, who graciously takes him into his arms. Aenar mewls before settling against him. A line forms between Aemond's brows as he gazes at the boy. He mutters, "how is he?"

His words hold double meaning and yet I could feel like it was a trick, to see if I would talk about Aegon.

I step closer, gazing at the infant who was blissfully unware of all that was around him. I stroke his cheek with my finger, "he is tired," I pull away, "not unlike his father."

Aemond turns to me as I rub my belly. He clenches his jaw but says nothing.

I cautiously reach out for his cheek. He does not pull away from me this time, "I will return to join you for supper."

I wait for him to respond. I walk out when he does not. He watches as the door close. He turns away after the click.

"Keligon, muña," Aemond mutters as though it was his son speaking. He then shushes him, "muña kessa daor henujagon īlva..."

Mother will not leave us.

"... my son."

[gpcwsl]

Katie McCabe x Reader

- Straight Red -

MasterList

Warnings: very short, injury? McCard.

WC: 614

I wrote this one before Katie got the red card. 😭

The match had been heated from the first whistle, the tension building with every play. You were in form, giving the opposing team plenty to worry about, which only seemed to fuel their aggression. Katie, as usual, was playing with her signature fiery intensity, keeping one eye on the ball and one on you.

The game changed in an instant. You were sprinting down the wing, the ball at your feet, when an opposing defender came flying in with a reckless, studs-up tackle. You didn’t even have time to brace yourself before you hit the ground hard, pain exploding in your ankle.

The whistle blew, and chaos erupted. You clutched your leg, wincing, as your teammates rushed to surround you. But you didn’t need to see who was yelling the loudest—you already knew.

“What the hell was that?!” Katie’s voice cut through the noise like a knife.

She stormed over, shoving past players and pointing an accusatory finger at the defender. “Are you trying to break their leg, or are you just that useless?”

The referee was quick to intervene, but Katie wasn’t done. “That’s a straight red! You’re letting them get away with murder out here!”

The opposing player muttered something under their breath, and that’s when Katie truly lost it. “Oh, you’ve got something to say? Say it to my face!”

By now, the referee had heard enough. The red card came out—but it wasn’t for the player who’d tackled you. It was for Katie.

“You’ve got to be joking!” Katie shouted, throwing her hands in the air. “I’m the one protecting my partner, and you’re sending me off? Unbelievable!”

As she reluctantly marched toward the tunnel, she turned to the referee one last time. “Might as well start calling me Katie McCard, because you lot love handing me these!”

Even through the pain, you couldn’t help but laugh. Leave it to Katie to crack a joke in the middle of her righteous fury.

By the time the medics helped you off the pitch, Katie was waiting at the edge of the tunnel, pacing like a storm cloud ready to burst. The moment you were close enough, she was at your side, her anger replaced by worry.

“Let me see,” she said, crouching down and carefully taking your hand. “How bad is it?”

You gave her a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. “I’ll live, Katie. Probably just a sprain.”

Her jaw tightened, and she shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. They shouldn’t have gotten away with that. I swear, if I see them after the game—”

“McCard, please,” you interrupted, smirking at her. “You’ve done enough damage for one day.”

For a second, she looked like she might argue, but then she huffed out a laugh, running a hand through her hair. “Alright, fair point. But they deserved it.”

“Maybe,” you said, leaning into her touch as she gently brushed a thumb over your cheek. “But you getting sent off isn’t going to fix my ankle.”

She sighed, her expression softening. “I just can’t stand seeing you get hurt. You know that, right?”

“I know,” you said, squeezing her hand. “And I love you for it. Even when you’re turning into McCard out there.”

She chuckled at that, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “Alright, I’ll let it go. For now.”

As the medics led you away for further assessment, Katie called after you, “Don’t let them screw it up! And tell them McCard says they better take care of you properly!”

Despite everything, you couldn’t stop smiling. Katie’s fierce protectiveness might earn her a few cards, but it also reminded you just how deeply she cared.

[babybearnation]

hopefully i worded this well 😖🤞

landoscar plan anonymous valentines gifts for reader thinking he would recognize their handwritings and overall the vibes of the gifts but reader always oblivious when someone likes him thinks the gifts are from someone else then lando and oscar desperately drop hints reader still adorably clueless

don't worry this is well worded! plus i really love this idea!

established!landoscar x gn!reader

lando and oscar are obsessed with you even more than they are obsessed with each other

they got together after silverstone 2023, and even though they're really happy together, they can't help but feel like a you-shaped void exists

you've worked at mclaren since 2020, so you're really close with lando, but when oscar arrived, you found yourself falling for him as well

but unfortunately for lando & oscar, you're really oblivious and didn't even know that they were a couple until they told you directly

you're happy for them, obviously, but you do feel a littte bit upset and/or jealous and you have to walk away and go calm down the second you can do so without it being weird

with valentine's day occurring during the middle of pre-season testing and preparations, lando and oscar set about making a plan on how to seduce you

lando buys you 10 gifts

oscar buys you 10 gifts

they buy you 5 gifts together

hell, oscar even convinces lando to work together on writing a love letter in case the gifts dont work (altho they are stupidly optimistic that they will)

they start planting the gifts around for you

you receive jewellery you've wanted for ages and stylish clothes that you mentioned ideally owning one day from lando

from oscar, you get hard to find sweets/snacks and things that pertain to whatever your hobby is

overall you're really starting to feel doted and loved upon

and you know the gifts are from two different people - the handwriting tells you as much - but you don't know who

even though the handwriting feels familiar, you don't investigate into it

you do excitedly tell lando and oscar all about it though which makes both of them suffer on the inside

when they realise you truly are that oblivious, they decide to start dropping hints

mentioning the next gift mere minutes before you'll find it

well, oscar is doing that. lando is telling you what the gift is as you find it

and yet, you still remain confused and oblivious as to who could be giving you all these gifts

lando snaps first, obviously, and marches over to you with the last present (a box of chocolates because valentine's day!!!) and the love letter he wrote with oscar

he hands them both to you with an insistent huff

"these are from me and oscar. just like everything else was."

he then storms off, leaving you alone with the final gift & the letter

you open the gift before reading the letter and you feel so guilty that you didn't recognise their handwriting and didn't notice all the signs they were trying to send

you read the letter two to three times before you start crying and you run from your work space to go and find them, tears streaming down your face

when you find them, you apologise for being oblivious and stupid and you confess your feelings and ask them to be your boyfriends

oscar doesn't give a fuck about the confession tbh, he just wants you to a) stop crying and b) never call yourself stupid ever again

lando meanwhile is not so patiently waiting for oscar to move the fuck out of the way so he can kiss you

yeah, you go home that day absolutely loved up and smothered in kisses from lando & oscar!

© all rights to babybearnation 2025.

[arvensimp]

I LOVE the Leon sneaking around with reader/oc thing you wrote - the Leon theme that's goin on in general is great tbh - but I'm personally more of a Raihan gal, y'know? 🥰 don't know if he's for anyone here but I personally like the completely separate concept of an "older brother's best friend" sorta scenario where the reader/oc is another sibling to Leon (being 18+ of course) and is sneaking around with Raihan.. 😊

Okay so I'm low-key loving this. Let me see how this sounds?

Honey, you've got a big storm comin'

Raihan x fem!reader who is Leon's and Hop's sister. warning for some slightly adult behaviors, but no full on sex

-

Your whole childhood basically revolved around Pokemon. Now, don't misunderstand, you like pokemon well enough! There are tons of cute little kinds, and they're fun! You've got one that you keep around because it's sweet and easy enough to care for.

But between a celebrity champion older brother and a massive pokemon-fan-turned-pokemon-grad-student younger brother, you kind of dealt with enough of the whole "Pokemon Trainer" life. You watched Leon march off (initially in the wrong direction) to become a trainer, then heard all about the hardships of basically camping in the wilderness while he trained for some matches, and Hop ate it up ravenously. But you? You don't really care for The Great Outdoors and all of its associated dangers. Like, people talk about the wild area and how cool it is to be out and about there, but??? People have died there. Yeah, it's dirty, and the weather can change at the drop of a coin, but also??? For real, there are dangerous pokemon out there who can very easily kill someone.

So yeah, like the middle child you very much are, you deviated from your brothers and their obsession with Pokemon training. You're happy living in a proper city in a proper flat with a proper job, not exposing yourself to the elements.

Still, you do care about your boys, so you help them out in your own small way. See, you went to school to become a meteorologist, and you work as the weather reporter on a small, local channel in Hammerlocke. You're able to live a comfortable life in a nice city, not particularly well known as a local celebrity or anything, and you can let your brothers know if there are any bizarre weather phenomena on the horizon while they're out being stupid in the wild area.

It's also kind of nice that you're not super recognizable. Folks don't recognize you in public as a sibling to the champion. You basically go unnoticed, like the middle child that you are. It's not like Lee hides you away or something, but you don't bother going to the majority of his big public events, unlike Hop, who will happily follow your eldest sibling to the ends of the earth, so you've never been "debuted" to the world the way that Hop was when he did that whole Gym Challenge thing.

Still, Lee always invites you anyway. It just so happens that this latest event of his is in Hammerlocke, so you figure you might as well attend. Hop had to study for exams, and you're not busy with anything else. Truth be told, it might do you some good to socialize a bit more. You'd been spending an awful lot of time cooped up in your flat lately.

This brings you to your current situation, chilling at the buffet of some Rose Sponsored Event in Hammerlocke Stadium's lavish upper floors. Floor to ceiling, wall to wall windows overlook the greenery of the pitch below, so you figure this must be some kind of box space for major movers and shakers within the pokemon league for when they do their matches below. You'd never bothered visiting the stadium before today, despite living in Hammerlocke for a few years, so it's kind of neat to see. You can cross it off your bucket list or whatever.

Lee is off chatting it up with whatever bigwigs are trying to get him to wear their logo, so you haven't had the chance to grab his ear and say hello just yet. Instead you're eyeing some curry puffs and mini quiches, trying to decide how much would be polite to load up on your plate, when you hear someone's voice.

"Aaaaand that's our GBC 12 Hammerlocke News today. Up next, the weather." The phrase makes your ears perk. It's the one the news anchor speaks every day just before your segment on air. Internally, you cringe. Someone must've recognized you. You plaster on your Broadcast Smile and look to the source.

"Haha," The laugh is as stiff and uncomfortable as you feel. "Sounds like I've been spotted..."

The man who drew your attention is surprisingly tall, giving you a grin with teeth so sharp that on anyone else they'd seem almost predatory, but with his relaxed posture and overall chill demeanor, you're not getting any vibes of ill intent. Maybe (probably) cockiness? But nothing bad. The discomfort you'd felt at being recognized melts away like ice in a heat wave, replaced with a warm thrum of nervous excitement. He's very handsome, and you certainly don't mind attention from someone like him. In his hand is a rotom phone. He gestures with it as he speaks.

"Well, yeah. Gotta keep up with current events; especially gotta keep up with the weather. Can't control what you don't know, am I right?"

No, that didn't entirely make sense to you, but you smile politely and nod anyway. He's definitely easy on the eyes, and getting easier the longer you look.

"So they're inviting the press to these events now, I'm guessing?" The man goes on. "Kinda surprised they'd ask the weather girl to come schmooze it up and get photos and whatnot." He gives a bark of a laugh, and his stark white teeth gleam. "Then again, I suppose it does make for a thematically pretty picture–the weather girl with the weather specialist."

Weather specialist? You think to yourself. Is that some kinda pokemon thing? Whatever.

"Actually, I'm not--"

"Here, get in, and we'll snap some shots, and I can text'em--"

The pair of you speak at once, so you stop and try again.

"Oh, so you want my--"

"Wait, you're not--"

You both laugh this time. He gestures for you to go ahead and speak first, uninterrupted. You can't help but smile, teasingly calling him out.

"I was gonna say. So you just want to get my number, so you can send over those pictures? No other reason?"

"Ahh, ya caught me." Another laugh. Gosh, his eyes are a captivating blue... "Maybe I want your number..." He doesn't sound ashamed at all. "Not every day you get to meet the cute weather girl you see on TV, right?"

"Well it's not every day a cute weather girl meets someone as impressive as you." You eye him up and down very obviously. You're not typically this brazen a flirt, but it's kinda nice to chat someone up like this once in a while.

The man picks up on your traveling gaze, and his smile widens. "Listen, they're not gonna be making any crazy toasts or announcements or anything for a minute... Wanna maybe go somewhere private til then?"

It's a very tempting offer. Your eyes scan the room til they find Lee. He's still engrossed in conversation with some older guy with a pudgy belly and facial hair even patchier than Lee's own sad attempts at a beard (you only tease him about that a little bit). It definitely seems like they'll be there a while, so why not?

"Do you know a place?"

"Heh. Cute. C'mon, I'll lead the way." You feel the warmth of his hand trail down to the small of your back as he guides you from the room. He takes you through a few winding corridors before stopping at a massive mahogany door. It's unlocked, so the pair of you slip inside. The only light you can see is from some kind of underlit dragon themed bauble on what looks like a desk. Maybe this is an office? You can't make out many details, but you also don't have much of a chance before the man pins you to the door, resting his forearm over your head.

He towers over you, even in your heels, in the most attractive way, and you're left with no choice but to tilt your head up to meet his gaze in the dim purple lighting of the room.

From there it's easy enough for him to press his lips to yours. Seems like neither of you felt the need to chit chat further. He's warm, and the clean scent of his cologne fills your senses. Kissing him comes naturally, intoxicatingly. You hum against his lips, and he pulls away just enough to start trailing kisses down your jaw. His free hand takes a hold of your jaw, tilting it to expose your neck and collarbone to him, which he happily bites with those sharp teeth of his. Nothing too hard so as to hurt, just enough to entice and make you squirm.

You thread your own hands around the back of his neck, pressing him just a bit closer to you. "Very nice..." You hum. "But come back here." You pull his face back to your mouth, so you can kiss him again. It'd be an issue if he left any hickies, purposeful or otherwise.

"Yes, ma'am," He laughs softly against your mouth. The hand he'd used to tilt your jaw shifts, just so, to cup it instead, but you gently take it, threading your fingers over his. You hold him there for a moment, savoring your kisses. It's easy between you, finding a rhythm to enjoy, so it doesn't take much more from him for you to squeeze his fingers just a bit and guide his hand down to your chest. He fondles you eagerly, honest to goodness groaning at that first squeeze. Or maybe he's groaning at the sound you made in reaction. You can feel him smile against your lips, biting them softly.

"Ohh, atta girl, give me more of that, yeah?" He whispers between kisses. His hand works its way under your top and into your bra.

You moan as he pinches your nipple between two warm, calloused fingers. You want to ask for more, maybe wriggle your way out of your top, see if he might match you in undressing, but the man's rotom phone loudly dings several times in quick succession. The groan from its owner is of an entirely different sort as he silences the device and checks his notifications. "Agh, damn. I'm sorry, but we'll have to cut this short. Looks like someone's wondering where I am up there, and I can't leave him waiting."

Very frustrating, but you get it. It's probably for the best, too. Lee's bound to find you missing eventually.

"Gotcha..." You sound more breathless than you thought you would.

The man gives your breast a teasing squeeze and a peck on the mouth before he fully pulls away from you and opens the door to the corridor behind you.

"Don't worry. We can pick back up where we stopped later, if you're up for it." He winks.

"Well, it'd be a shame to keep a girl like me waiting for very long, right?" You reply, slipping your hand into his as you make your way back to the event space together. Along the way, you double check that you haven't mussed your hair or makeup noticeably.

Your grip loosens and you pull away from one another by the time he opens the door for you. He gives a teasing bow, gesturing for you to enter before him, so you oblige. Inside, the same pudgy man who had been chatting Lee's ear off seems to be coming to the end of some kind of toast. The pair of you quickly snatch some champagne flutes to join in the "Cheers!" when he finishes.

The hum of the crowd then picks back up as conversations start anew, and your new friend departs quickly to wherever he was needed, so you head back to that buffet line, suddenly remembering those curry puffs that you didn't get to try. Lee can find you whenever, you figure.

True to form, a few minutes pass, and you hear your name being called the same way you've heard since you were a kid. Lee is politely pushing his way through groups of people to you. You offer him a mini quiche (you've eaten an embarrassing number of them already), which he takes without a second thought.

"Mm, thanks. You must've been bored to tears here." Lee says as he eats. "Sorry I haven't been able to show you 'round yet. Here, we can make the rounds together. I'll introduce you to my colleagues."

As it turns out, your big brother knows every person in the room by name. He couldn't find his way out of a paperbag, but he can learn faces and names apparently. They all blend into a massive blur for you, all the different gym leaders, their top gym trainers, and some guy wearing a pokeball costume, of all things.

"Aaah, there he is!" Lee eventually says, guiding you away from the beautiful ice gym leader and her adult son, another top trainer of the region. You've already forgotten their names. Emily? Jordy?

Lee puts on an air as he continues. "Dearest little sister, please allow me the pleasure of introducing you to the gym leader of Hammerlocke. I'm sure you've seen him on the telly or some such."

Ah, fuck.

"My very best mate."

Damn it.

"My closest rival."

Son of a bitch.

"And the second best trainer in Galar."

Blast it all to hell and back.

"Raihan."

Your mystery guy with the big hands, stunning eyes, and beautiful teeth stands in front of you, smiling between Lee and you.

"Raihan, meet my little sister."

Raihan, for his part, barely falters for a second as he learns your identity.

"Champ." He says between too-tight-teeth. "I don't think you ever mentioned a sister. I'm hurt."

"You sure, mate?" It's an honest question. Bless Lee's dumbest of asses.

Raihan nods, and Lee laughs it off. "Ah, you know... She's got herself all hidden away in her flat. Not much into the whole league thing, so I must've...uh..." He looks down at you. "Forgotten? But only in the kindest way!" He attempts to placate you.

"I've been hidden in a flat in this town." You remind him, face flushed from embarrassment. Of course the hottest guy here (who has also already felt you up and had his tongue down your throat) is your big brother's best friend. "You'd think I'd have come up at some point."

"Well, you never wanna come to my matches anyway. Besides, you're the one who lives here. Why has it taken you so long to come down to the stadium? You could've met Raihan ages ago."

You curl in on yourself a bit. Yeah, it's probably not amazing form that you didn't even recognize the gym leader and second best trainer in the region, much less the man who's supposed to be your brother's best mate. That isn't a great look.

"Listen, I'm sure your sweet little sister here was just too busy with her job. She's a local celebrity, you know." Raihan comes to the rescue. Kinda.

"Yeah? I didn't realize that many people saw her. You knew who she was?" Lee sounds impressed.

"Well I've only been watching her as long as they've been broadcasting her!" Raihan laughs. "I just didn't know she was your sister." He looks down at you and narrows eyes slightly. It's probably imperceptible to Lee, but you're not quite sure how to read it. Is he mad that you didn't know him? That you didn't say who you were? "But like I told her earlier, what kinda weather specialist would I be if I didn't pay attention to the upcoming forecasts?"

In the back of your mind, you can feel it. There's absolutely a storm coming.

[tsumuus]

Hiii I'm here for the valentines event if you'll have me

How about receiving an anonymous letter from Osamu, your childhood best friend since diapers. Plot twist? Reverse "to all the boys I loved before" where it's his attempt in confessing through a corny love letter starting from kinder, grade school, middle school, and now the latest anonymous confession- high school.

It (being years worth of attempted love letters) wasn't supposed to find itself in your locker, I guess fate (Atsumu) had other plans for both you and Osamu this valentines.

No pressure in this ask, feel free to discard this if you don't feel like it- have a nice day!!

Osamu Miya met you when he was five years old, and that was all it took. One meeting, one shared carton of juice at snack time, one moment of your bright smile aimed right at him, and he was gone.

A week later, he wrote you a letter.

His five-year-old hands gripped a crayon too tightly as he scribbled out the messy confession, his heart racing even though you weren’t there to see it. His letters were uneven, his words barely legible, but the message was clear: I like you. A lot.

But when the time came to give it to you, he couldn't. His palms got sweaty, his stomach twisted, and he shoved the letter into the back of his closet, hidden behind his toys.

One letter turned into another, then another. Every year, on Valentine's Day, he wrote you a new one, promising himself that this year would be the year he gave it to you. But every year, he chickened out. The letters stacked up, filling a small box buried in the back of his closet, each one chronicling his growing love for you, each one holding words he could never bring himself to say out loud.

Atsumu knew, of course. He had known since the very first letter, because Osamu was bad at hiding things from him. And for years, Atsumu let him be, let him hold onto his secret, until he finally decided enough was enough.

So, on the morning of February 14th in your second year of high school, you opened your locker to an avalanche of old, yellowed letters.

They tumbled out in a flurry of paper, slipping from the shelves and falling to the floor in front of you. You blinked, startled, as students around you glanced over, whispering.

The first letter you picked up was old. The handwriting was horrible- big, uneven letters written in crayon. I like you a lot.

Your heart clenched. You picked up another one, the ink slightly smudged. You looked really pretty today. I wanted to tell you, but I was too nervous.

Another. I think I’ve loved you since I was five. Maybe even before that. I don’t know how that’s possible, but it has to be true.

One after another, you read through them, your heartbeat growing louder with each one. By the time you finished, your hands were shaking, not from nerves but from something warm and overwhelming. Love. Affection. A feeling that had always been there, waiting for you to see it.

You had to find Osamu.

You barely heard the murmurs of your classmates as you turned on your heel, marching straight to his classroom. The moment you reached the door, you didn’t hesitate, stepping inside and scanning the room until your eyes landed on him.

“Osamu.”

His head snapped up from his desk, eyes wide at your sudden appearance. “Huh? What-”

“Come with me.”

He barely had time to react before you grabbed his wrist, pulling him into the hallway. His heart was hammering now, but for all the wrong reasons. He had a sinking feeling he knew exactly why you were here.

And then you showed him.

The letters, held carefully in your hands, the pages slightly crumpled from how tightly you’d been gripping them. His breath caught in his throat.

He recognized them immediately.

His world tilted. “I- where- ”

“You wrote these.”

Osamu swallowed hard, panic rising like a tide. “I don’t- how did you-”

“They were in my locker this morning.”

His stomach dropped. He whipped around, scanning the hallway as if he could catch Atsumu in the act, but the bastard was nowhere to be seen. Of course. That idiot.

“I- I don’t know how they got there,” he started, scrambling for an explanation, for anything that would make this moment less terrifying. “I never wanted you to see them- I mean, I did, but not like this- I was gonna throw them away, or burn them or somethin’-”

“Burn them?” you repeated, voice gentle.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at you. “Yeah, ‘cause- ‘cause they’re embarrassing, and you probably feel weird now, and I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable or anythin’-”

“Osamu.”

He kept rambling. “I swear I wasn’t tryin’ to creep you out or nothin’-”

“Osamu.”

His mouth snapped shut at the way you said his name. Soft. Certain.

“Did you mean what you wrote?” you asked, holding the letters closer to your chest.

Osamu felt dizzy. “...What?”

“Every single thing?”

He swallowed thickly. “Yeah. I meant every word.”

A pause. Then-

“Good.”

Osamu blinked. “Good?”

You stepped closer, the warmth of your presence making his breath hitch. “Because I like you too.”

The words took a second to register. When they did, Osamu’s brain short-circuited. “You- you do?”

You smiled, and he thought he might actually pass out.

Then, before he could say anything else, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

“I expect a letter every Valentine’s from now on,” you murmured, eyes shining with something that made his chest feel like it might burst.

Then you turned on your heel and walked back to class, leaving Osamu standing there, utterly frozen.

His fingers twitched. His cheek burned where your lips had been. His heart pounded so loud he thought the whole school might hear it.

And then a thought hit him, so certain and real that it knocked the breath out of him.

He’d write you a letter every day if it meant he got to be with you.

valentines event | masterlists

a/n i love this request sm thank you anon this has been my favorite thing to write so far in this event that i just had to post it first lemme give you a big fat slobbery kiss muah muah💋💦 hope you liked it as much as i loved writing it !!!! :)

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Neil talking about the responses to Good Omens Season 2 - from the Neil Gaiman interview with Brian Levine for The Gould Standard (x,x)

BL: The audience that you have built is a very passionately engaged audience. They, frankly, they love you. And one of the reasons they love you is that you fit into what I think of as one of two great divisions in art. There's, or in writing, um, there is: I'm entertained, I'm amused. I may be even enchanted; and then there's this hits me at a visceral level. You understand me as no one else does. You have touched something very central to my experience. And it seems to me that Much of your writing, maybe all of your writing, actually reaches your audience at that latter level. You know. I would say in the former category, sort of my quintessential and beloved example would be P. G. Woodhouse. He amuses me, but I don't feel like he's revealed my inner self at a very deep level. Um, were you aware that you were going to be able to achieve that? Um, that this is something... was it a startling thing when people began coming up to you, who'd read your work and said, this means so much to me?

Neil: Yeah. It was huge. And it wasn't expected. I... if I had a mountaintop I was heading towards, it was gonna be P. G. Woodhouse. Um, I wanted to be a proficient entertainer with a clear prose style who could tell stories. Um, it probably wasn't until Sandman that I found... I started to realize that in order for a story to work, I had to show too much. In order for a story to resonate, in order for a story to matter, I had to let it matter too much. And, and I remember the first people who would start coming up to me and saying, um, you, you know, your, your Sandman comics got me through the death of a loved one. Your death character got me through my child's death, through my parent's death, through my partner's death, through my friend's death. Um, and that left me kind of amazed. I'm like, well, I didn't write it to do that. I wrote it to feed my children. I wrote it to satisfy myself. I wrote it because nobody else had ever written it. And if I didn't write it, it wouldn't be written, but I don't think I wrote it to give you what you've taken from it. And I spent really about 20, 25 years feeling awkward about that. And then my father died, in March 2009, and never got to cry about it. Never... I, you know, I've, I've got on a plane and I went to the UK and dealt with the funeral stuff and organized all of that stuff and came back and go toff the plane and went and did Stephen Colbert's Colbert Report and wearing the funeral suit because and that was all I had with me and carried on. And then, somewhere in the middle of summer, I was reading a friend's script. They'd sent me a script and said, can you look this over? And I'm reading it, and on page 20, the lead character meets somebody, and on page 26 maybe, she's dead, and I burst into tears. And I'm bawling. I am sobbing. It is coming out of me in giant racking waves. And I realized that it's everything that I'd been, hadn't let myself feel, or hadn't been able, hadn't stopped enough to let myself feel, was suddenly being given permission to feel by the death of a fictional person who I'd met six pages earlier, ia script. And I thought that... and it was huge for me, and I thought, okay, that's that thing that people are talking about sometimes, when they come tome and they say, you, you did this. So right now, I'm in this weird, wonderful place where I think a lot of people in Good Omens Season 2 thought they were signing up for the P.G. Woodhouse, and didn't know that, no, no, no, you've, you've signed up for the whole thing. You've signed up for the feelings. You've signed up for the emotions. I... it is my job to make you care and to make you feel and to feel things you haven't felt before. And which meant that the first week or so after Good Omens came out, I was getting angry, furious, deeply upset messages on every possible social medium telling me that I had betrayed people, and it was awful, and they couldn't stop crying, and why would I do that to them, and did I hate them? And they hated me. And then a weird sort of phenomenon happened as people would watch the show again. And again. And now they started to know, okay, this is where it's gonna go, this is what's gonna happen, this is how it works. And they started realizing that they were actually feeling things, and that was good. And that they were caring about two people who don't exist. You know, I made them up, and then and Terry Pratchett made them up, and then, um, David Tennant and Michael Sheen gave them life, and then they get to walk around on a screen and you know they don't exist, but you can cry for them, you can love them, they can make you laugh, they can make you exult, and most important of all, they can make you care. And the number of people who are now writing to me, saying, 'This was so important to me. This has changed my life. This makes me feel like I belong. This makes me feel like I can cope. And it's let me sort of find myself. P. S. I hope you get to do Season Three.' is, is huge.

[ayukas]

WHERE THE CHERRY BLOSSOMS FALL

the year slips away after march. tomorrow it will be december. tomorrow i promise not to write about you again.

pairing oh sion x fem!reader genre hurt/comfort, first love au, unspoken love au, grief/mourning word count 1.7k notes hehe

you always wrote him letters.

it started when you were six years old, messy block letters on a crumpled piece of notebook paper, sealed with an uneven sticker of a smiling star.

you never attempted to stop, scraps of receipts, the backs of old class worksheets, the margins of your math notes—they all bore your handwriting, curling around the things you couldn’t bring yourself to say. words that trembled too much when spoken aloud but sat calmly when written down.

the letters were kept in a wooden box under your bed. inside it were other little pieces of your heart—the first four-leaf clover he found for you, a broken plastic keychain from the arcade, the movie ticket from the time you both skipped school just to watch a terrible film and laugh yourselves sick.

you told yourself that one day, when you’re braver, you’d give them all to him.

one day.

dear sion, you laughed so hard today you fell off the swings. you looked so ridiculous lying there like a starfish and i laughed so hard i had to sit down next to you. i think that was the happiest i’ve ever been and i really wanted to tell you. but i couldn’t. maybe tomorrow.

summers were made for the two of you.

sun-drunk days where the air tasted like metal and dust, biking through the scorching streets, plastic bags tied to his handlebars and ribbons to yours. your pockets clinked with coins scavenged from couch cushions, just enough for popsicles from the corner store.

sometimes he’d race ahead, glancing over his shoulder with a teasing glint in his eye. other times, he’d hang back just enough for you to pull ahead and throw your hands up in victory, your laugh ringing out high and bright.

when the sun sank and the rains came sudden and heavy, you’d huddle together under the huge umbrella outside the convenience store, sharing a bag of chips and watching the puddles.

“you think we’ll always be like this?” you asked once, chin propped on your knees, pretending not to look at him.

sion crunched a chip, thoughtful. then he smiled—the kind of smile that felt like stepping into a warm house after a cold walk.

“yeah. always.”

dear sion, you let me have the last chip today even though you wanted it. i saw it in your eyes. you’re such an idiot but i love you. and one day, i’ll tell you properly. i promise.

spring arrived like a sigh.

the cherry blossoms bloomed through heavy clouds, lining the streets like something out of a dream. sion always insisted on walking the long way home from school, past the biggest tree at the edge of the park.

once, he plucked a blossom from a low-hanging branch and dropped to one knee in the middle of the sidewalk, holding it out to you like a knight offering up his defences.

“milady,” he said, overdramatic, his voice rich with laughter.

you snorted, shoving at his shoulder—but your hand lingered just a second too long, fingertips brushing against the curve of his collarbone, feeling the heat of him.

for a moment, you thought—maybe today. maybe i’ll say it today.

but then he jumped up, brushing off his jeans, and the world spun forward like it always did. and you just smiled instead.

dear sion, i think if i kissed you under the cherry blossoms, time would stop. but i’m too much of a coward. maybe next spring. next spring i’ll be brave enough.

the last real letter you ever wrote him while he was still breathing wasn’t even a letter at all.

it was a sentence, scrawled hastily across the back of a grocery list you were supposed to hand to your mom—

i miss you already and you haven’t even left yet.

you shoved it into his jacket pocket at the bus stop, your face burning. he pulled it out, read it, and laughed—that beautiful, easy laugh that always made you feel weightless—before ruffling your hair and promising he’d be back before you even noticed he was gone.

you can still feel the ghost of that touch sometimes, when the nights stretch long and hollow.

sion lied.

but you don’t blame him. how could you?

march bled into april. april bled into silence. you forgot how to count days, only knowing how to count the ways the world felt emptier without him.

you kept writing.

because you thought if you stopped, it felt like you were letting go—and you weren’t ready to. not yet. maybe not ever.

you wrote letters and folded them carefully, leaving them by your windowsill. you wrote letters and tucked them under the cherry blossom tree, in the earth he once danced on. you wrote letters and whispered them into your pillow at night, hoping somehow he could hear you, wherever he had gone.

your friends stopped asking if you wanted to hang out. your teachers started giving you that soft, wary look, like you were something fragile about to break. your mom cleared away his photos from the living room shelves when she thought you weren’t looking.

you saw. you saw everything.

still, you wrote.

dear sion, i saw a boy riding his bike today. from far away, he looked just like you. my heart nearly broke itself open trying to catch up. but alas, it wasn’t you. it’s never you.

the cherry blossoms bloomed and fell without you noticing. summer came back hot, thick and unbearable. then suddenly, it was winter which settled into your bones, familiar and unwelcomed.

you started forgetting the sound of his voice. you started hating yourself for it.

it’s almost march again now.

you sit at your desk, an unfinished letter before you, fingers curling and uncurling around the pen. the sky hangs heavy with rain, the old cherry blossom tree outside your window stripped bare and aching against the grey.

your room smells faintly of dust and something else—something sweet and rotting—the memory of flowers blooming where they shouldn’t.

you close your eyes and think of him falling off the swings, laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe. you think of him offering you a cherry blossom with mock-serious devotion. you think of all the words you swallowed, the bouquets you grew inside yourself, never plucked, never given.

dear sion, it’s been almost a year. it feels like yesterday. it feels like forever. i still write to you. everyday, almost. i wonder if you get them. i wonder if you read them and laugh at how stupidly, endlessly, and desperately i loved you. i did. i still do. i love you. i love you. i love you. god, sion, i miss you. i miss you so much it feels like my body forgot how to hold anything else. they say the first year is the hardest. they say it gets easier after. i don’t know if that’s true because every spring still smells like you. every summer still sounds like your laugh. and every winter still feels like you left yesterday. you’re everywhere and nowhere all at once and i miss you so much. i hope wherever you are, there’s a swing set, cherry blossoms and a bag of chips waiting for you. i also hope you know i really did mean to tell you. i hope you know i really tried. i’ll come by the tree tomorrow and i’ll bring your favourite chips. we can sit for a while, and maybe this time, i’ll say it out loud. that i love you. that i’ve loved you everyday ever since i’ve known you. and i’ll keep loving you, even after all the tomorrows run out.

you fold the letter carefully, hands trembling only slightly, and hold it to your chest.

outside, despite the rain, a single blossom has unfurled at the tip of a branch—a stubborn, ridiculous thing, blooming against all odds.

the next day dawns cold and pale.

the walk to the park is slow, your letter tucked safely inside your pocket. the familiar cherry blossom tree stands ahead, its skeletal fingers reaching for the overcast sky. a thin wind sighs through the empty playground, causing the rusty swing chains to clink softly against each other.

for a long moment, you just stand there, watching the branches sway.

you half expect him to come running around the corner, shoes kicking up dust, grinning that grin that made you forgive him for everything.

but he doesn’t.

he won’t.

you step closer to the tree, your boots sinking slightly into the soft, wet earth. you sit down under it, your back pressed against the rough bark. the letter feels impossibly heavy in your hands as you unfold it carefully, smoothing out the creases with trembling fingers.

your voice, when it comes, is thin and unsteady. you begin to read aloud.

“dear sion. it’s been almost a year.”

your voice wavers, but you swallow hard and keep going.

“it feels like yesterday. it feels like forever.”

the words blur as tears fill your eyes, but you don’t stop. you owe him that much.

“i still write to you. every day, almost. i wonder if you get them. i wonder if you read them and laugh at how stupidly, endlessly, and desperately i loved you.”

you close your eyes against the rush of grief, pressing the heels of your palms into them until the world is just dark and quiet.

“i still love you.”

a sob tears its way out of you—raw, broken, and barely human—you clutch the letter to your chest, curling in on yourself like something wounded.

“i miss you,” you whisper. “i miss you so much.”

the swing set continues to creak in the wind, a hollow, aching sound.

you wonder if he’s listening. you wonder if he’s laughing gently, telling you to stop crying, dummy.

you wonder if he’s proud of you—for finally saying it, even if you’re too late.

when you can breathe again, you carefully fold the letter back into a small, neat square and tuck it into the hollow of the tree’s roots, where the earth is soft and welcoming.

you pat the ground once, like sealing a secret.

standing up, you brush the dirt from your knees, take one last look at the swings, the tree, the empty spaces he left behind.

“i love you,” you say again, aloud, to the grey sky, to the restless wind, to the ghost of a boy who never really left you.

“i always will.”

you turn and walk home alone, but for the first time in a long time, your chest feels a little lighter.

somewhere, you think, sion is smiling.

and somewhere, maybe—he’s carrying a bouquet of all the things you never got to say.

perm. taglist ♡ @dreaminabtrj @ddolbyong @f6llsun @egojo1st @sungbites @nonverdolly @strwberie @blondemrk @chenlezip @markkiatocafe @stqrgr7 @jisungji @taroddori @haeriaes @kukkurookkoo @polarisjisung @dudekiss3r @dejundesign @uncasings @sweetpinkblueberry @spacejip @yushiela @insbread @t-102 @haelvrty @pl4netx1a @haeivie @natakgae @fae-renjun

[thisismeracing]

The one | CS55

― Pairing: Carlos Sainz x fem!reader (she/her) ― Warnings: mentions of break up and food; typos. ― Summary: Yn is doing well a few months after her break up with Carlos, and so is he. Everyone thinks that this paragraph of their lives is over, but as it happens they may be a chapter to each other, and Yn makes sure everyone knows he was her great love, the one - through her new song. ― A/n: None of the pictures used are mine, they are all from Pinterest and other apps, but the work is, and I do not allow it to be published on a different platform. I would appreciate it if those things could be taken into consideration 💛

▸ my masterlist | my taglist | patreon guide ▸ support my writing by reblogging, leaving a comment (don’t forget to follow me if you like the piece), or buying me a coffee

February, 2023

February, 2024

realyn

liked by charles_leclerc, sza, and others

realyn "The One" has just come out on all streaming platforms. I hope this piece of my heart reaches yours. Tune in and dive into the feels 💐🤍

view all comments

saintsainz "for old time's sake" HELLO?????

ynsummer omg another bop!!! I wish I could write songs when I'm sad, the few breakups I had I could only cry and try not to choke on my own phlegm

⤷ fan2000 ewwww LOL

hammert1m3 charles on the likes 👀

leclowns1655 in my head they're not over yet

⤷ mercmickey you need therapy, bestie

lewishamilton great music as usual 💜

francisca.cgomes 😍😍

szadirection I love how the grid's still here supporting here even a year after she and carlos broke up 🥺

popyn WE WERE SOMETHING DON'T YOU THINK SOOO ROSÉ FLOWING WITH YOUR CHOSEN FAMILY 🎤🎤🎤🎤

ferraristrangers I have so many theories for the lyrics and the cover and kksjksdj aaaaaaaa

Old posts

March, 2018

realyn

liked by lewishamilton, ynfan, and others

realyn eat pasta, run fasta, they said 😋😂

view all comments

bieberf1 they my new fav couple now 💋

raintyresainz thank you for feeding us that last carlos pic

hurricaneyn welp now I wanna eat pasta but its like the middle of the night

⤷ alonsochamp eat pasta, sleep fasta 😙😂

carlossainz55 ❤️❤️

amarelorenault her glasses are so cool!!!!! her style is always on point

carlossainz55

liked by yourfriend, fernandoalo_oficial, and others

carlossainz55 we tried homemade, it worked 😋

view all comments

realyn we didn't run fasta this time though :(

⤷ carlossainz55 there wasn't any race this Sunday, cariño

⤷ realyn shhhh, let me be funny

harrystylistee I want what they have!

April, 2018

realyn

liked by hulkhulkenberg, renaultf1team, and others

realyn enjoyed April with my fav spaniard, wrote a few songs for you guys - new album dropping soon!!!!! 🥳

view all comments

aussiegrid howd you like Australia, Yn?

⤷ realyn I loved it, def gonna come back soon 🥰

ynfan 💙💙💙💙💙💙

carlosfullname1 where’s your jacket from?

⤷ realyn website.com 😘

fab2000 can’t wait for the new song and espec the new album!!!!!

July, 2018

carlossainz55

liked by pierregasly, realyn, and others

carlossainz55 Yn's new album "I used to know her" is out now and you guys should run to listen to it 💙💙 she did an amazing job as usual. I'm very proud of you, cariño @ realyn

view all comments

lewishamilton congrats, Yn!

hulkhulkenberg everyone here loved the new album, well done, Yn!

renaultf1team its our garage soundtrack 😎💛

March, 2019

realyn

liked by landonorris, mclaren, and others

realyn the past few months wearing papaya have been amazing! 🧡 and yes, last concert clothes were orange bc of the team

view all comments

landonorris looks like the concert clothes gave us some luck, make sure to wear orange again next time!

⤷ realyn I love you guys but I can't be wearing orange all the time

⤷ yourmanager yes, you can

⤷ realyn shut up, I'm gonna fire your ass

⤷ yourmanager no, you won't

⤷ carlossainz55 jajajaja

tifosinha I love how lando looks like their kid 😂

spaincarlos_ not yn and carlos adopting lando lol

ynfan4 her music taste is *chef kiss* 🤌🏾

ynandsainz yn, your album still on repeat on my apple music!

mclaren 🧡🧡

December, 2019

carlossainz55

liked by charles_leclerc, hulkhulkenberg, and others

carlossainz55 ¡Feliz Navidad! 🎄❤️

view all comments

saturnracer FELIZ NAVIDAD TAN TAN TAN PROSPERO AÑO Y FELICIDAD 🎤

szalover 😭😍 its the way she loves pasta

⤷ cowboyvettel @ realyn pasta or carlos? choose one

⤷ realyn carlos cooking pasta 😙��😜

July, 2020

realyn

liked by lewishamilton, fernandoalo_oficial, and others

realyn compilation of some of the flowers Carlos gave me and pics he took 💖 Te amo, cariño 💐🌷🌹🌸🌺🌼🌻

view all comments

fonedirection God I see what youve done for others

carlossainz55 you’re my favorite flower, love 🌸💖

⤷ fernandoalo_official you guys know how to be sicklengly cute huh 🙄

piastripastry see? carlos gets flowers regularly to yn and yall out there crying over an ugly ass man who gives you the bare minimum 🫵

March, 2021

realyn

liked by carlossainz, scuderiaferrari, and others

realyn new character unlocked hehe ❤️💛🏎️

view all comments

ynfrance We want a new album, queen!!! save us!

swiftverstappen the way they went through everything togerher 🤧

⤷ russellsainz I want what they have

monegasque16 another day another yn post to make me cry in single and alone

carlossainz55 thank you for the endless support, cariño 💛 you’re my everything

tifosisunshine you’re 😭 my 😭 everything 😭

August, 2022

carlossainz55

liked by landonorris, pierregasly, and others

carlossainz55 my kind of free-weekends 🩵

view all comments

sunnyyn yn looks so good 😍😍

yourbestie ❤️ aweee

realyn te amo! 😘

January, 2023

realyn

liked by lewishamilton, francisca.cgomes, and others

realyn happy new year 🙃

view all comments

charlsmonaco where's carlos? 😟

mylightyn I don't like this vibe…

ynwardrobe what is she reading?

lewishamilton 💙

⤷ mclatinha lew do you happen to know something we don’t?

carlossainz55

liked by landonorris, fernandoalo_oficial, and others

carlossainz55 ¡Feliz Año Nuevo! 🎉

view all comments

brocedes2010 where's Yn??????

schumini_ at least they seem to be on the same place 🙏🏾🙏🏾

redsainz he looks so good it hurts

back to 2024 💬📩

────── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi! I hope you guys liked this piece! I'm set on publishing my drafts but I need time to work on them, this one was saved for a while now, and it's finally here heheh let me know your thoughts!

If you liked this piece and want early access to new ones and exclusive access to others, subscribe to my patreon!💘

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