#Love & Sex Problem In Melbourne

[cherry-leclerc]

cherry cola ☆ op81

genre: smut, humor, yearning, tiny bit of fluff, virgin!reader, innocent!reader, experienced!oscar, sub!reader (for a while!), dom!oscar (for a while!)

word count: 8.5k

After a painful break up, Oscar finds himself head-to-head with an enticing girl, filled with pure innocence. Also known as, his parents secret weapon, and his worst temptation.

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+...f!receiving, fingering, brief mentions of masturbation, face riding, missionary sex, doggy style

inspired by this !

cherry here!... hellooo anons, long time, no see haha sorry for the lack of posts, but hopefully this makes up for it, somehow? formal apology for my last post too while we're at it. though this fic is inspired by cola by lana del rey, it will not have a sour ending like past fics (iykyk). missed u all, so here ya go! enjoy :)

There is an apprehensive sensation that towers over him as soon as she walks in; shy mannered, tall, and firm with a hint of hesitation—it’s something he adores about her, but also something that has him feeling jittery. Oftentimes, her lips are his most prized possession, enjoying the way they move. All except at this very moment. 

Everyone notices his bitter, broken, and quiet mood despite always laying low. He’s never been one to share his problems with others, and he most definitely was not going to start now. It should be the best moment of the season—his first win—but he doesn’t have the joy to celebrate it with anyone. 

Oscar’s brown eyes are low and dull; empty. He’d be a damn liar if he said he didn’t see any of this coming. If he didn’t feel an ounce of guilt and misery. Should he have been more attentive, a better boyfriend, then he wouldn’t be regretting his life choices. Dramatic, but true. 

“How are you spending your summer break? Are you and Lily traveling?”

The Australian tries to scoff at the innocent inquiry beaming from his teammate, but he settles with a wince, not being able to hide it. “She, um…we broke up, actually.” He’s never been a religious individual—has never even set foot inside a church—but for the first time in his life, he prayed no more questions would be asked.

Lando raises his thick brows, clearly surprised by the sudden confession. Sure, they were a private couple—likely the most in the entire paddock—but he never saw this coming from Oscar and Lily. Though he only met her a couple of times, simply exchanging a kind greeting, he would’ve bet his entire Rolex collection that the couple were smitten with one another. “Ah, I’m sorry, mate.”

The rude sound of his race suit being zipped up harshly makes the Brit flinch in the slightest. “Don’t worry about it. That’s life, no?”

Costa Rica—they were supposed to go to Costa Rica. Instead, now, he sits alone on a flight back to his home country. He’s ecstatic to be sleeping in his childhood room with outdated posters hung of all his favorite drivers, but the feeling lingers. 

Sprawled like a koala, humid t-shirt pressed against his skin, he tosses and turns for an estimate of five whole minutes. He should be enjoying the beach, sipping on highly sweetened margaritas, getting the worst tan of his life, but he’s here. The hot summer air in Melbourne makes him spit out a string of dirty curses that would send his mum into a coma. 

The brunette might as well be an only child since not a single one of his three sisters were here to keep him company, ditching him with his parents. He loved them, of course he did, but a full house was his ideal way to spend his break. His home gym isn’t even enough to help him forget, even for a second. 

“Dinner is ready, honey,” Nicole announces, peeking carefully through the crack of the door. She grins widely. “There’s even pavlova—your favorite.”

He forces a polite nod, shaggy hair dangling just above his eyes. “Thank you. I’ll be out in a bit.” It actually takes a sum of thirty-minutes for him to jog down the stairs, a strong scent of apple expanding from his now washed hair. His dad hums as soon as he spots the McLaren driver. 

“It’s rude to leave guests waiting, Oscar,” he warns with a deep voice. 

The twenty-three year old assumes it’s a lame dad joke, perhaps, so runs along with it, taking a good look around the dining room. “Won’t happen again. I showered—”

“Where would you like to place the dessert, Mrs. Piastri?” a soft voice echoes down the hallway as he turns at the unfamiliar tone. You halt, caught off guard by the new presence. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you would be here.” 

“In my own home?” he finds himself squeaking involuntarily. The stern look that dances across his parents faces is enough for him to bite down on his tongue. He doesn’t even know why he said any of that—especially to a stranger. 

They introduce you two quickly, though you’re just as fast as to say that you obviously knew about his existence. Do you follow my races? You shake your head, glossy hair shining. “I work for your parents, so…I sort of know. Plus, your sisters always talk highly about you when you’re gone.”

He blinks. “You work here?” Brown eyes flicker to his parents, confusion written all over. “What could she possibly do?”

“Oscar,” Nicole scolds. “I thought you left all the unnecessary questions back in junior high.”

Chris slides a large hand over her smaller one, calming her down just a tad bit. The older man sighs. “You know your mum, always looking for something new to do—”

“I wanted to grow a garden!” she squeals, delighted. “Like in all those magazines you get me for my birthday—oh, so lovely, honey. Only I realized, I don’t know anything about gardening.”

“And this lovely girl standing right here is a total natural. Her hands must be magic.” Oscar blushes hard at his dads choice of words. “She’s helping us out for the time being. Until we get back.”

The Australian's mouth opens, then snaps back shut, swallowing. “Get back from where?”

“Costa Rica!”

He gapes. “You’re using my tickets?”

Nicole winces. “Can’t let them go to waste, honey…”

His father butts in. “How is Lily by the way?”

The brunette groans, running his hands through his waves. “How should I know? Come on, you guys can’t be serious.” The tickets weren’t the problem; the fact that they were leaving was.  He spots you awkwardly placing the pastry down onto the table. “Can you give us a minute?” 

“Yes, of course,” you quip, glad to have a reason to flee far enough away from the premises. You turn to the Piastri’s who smile fondly at your understanding. “I’ll be out in the garden.”

As soon as you rush out, the twenty-three year old turns swiftly. “I guess I’m leaving too.”

“Don’t you dare, Oscar Jack Piastri—” He fumes. “Why not? You’re all going to be gone!”

“She won’t—you are keeping her company.” She’s not asking; she’s demanding. Staring back in shock, the McLaren driver avoids eye contact, fidgeting like a kid at their first day of school. His mum stands up, makes her way over, and pecks his soft cheek. “She’s a sweet girl. She won’t be a bother—she’s just down the hallway.”

That’s where Lily would always stay back when they first started their relationship; too afraid of making a bad impression on his parents. He found it adorable. He rolls his eyes and releases a heavy breath. “Fine.” He stares out the glass window, focusing on where you patiently sit on the wooden bench, delicate hands pressing your dress down against your thighs. “Fine...”

-

The following morning, his parents wake him up at the crack of dawn, bidding goodbye. It comes as a total surprise, thinking he had a few more days left with them, but no. He’s barely registering any of it before they whisper inaudible nonsense and scurry out of his bedroom. 

After some debating, he changes and decides to go on a quick run. The sight of Ms. Alleck watering her burnt grass makes him smile as he sets off. It would have been easier to not get as tired if it were a slight bit chilly, but it’s blazing hot. He cuts it short, dashing back home and immediately serving himself a glass of cold water. 

“You’re up early.”

The brown eyed boy jumps in sudden surprise. Standing in a pastel yellow sleeping gown, you grin brightly. Long lashes lay flat, nose pinching rosy pink, and breath minty. “Yeah, my folks sort of woke me up. Couldn’t fall back asleep.”

“Oh.” You pout. “They left already?”

“You knew?”

“Yup. They mentioned it last night before bed.” A beat. “I hope me staying here isn’t making you uncomfortable…it’s just that they offered, and—”

“It’s not.” Lie. “Make yourself at home.”

Not much is seen or heard from him for the majority of the day; occasional glaces coming here and there. They put you in an uncomfortable spot yesterday—you had been working on the garden for a year now, damn it—but their son's demeanor took you by surprise. The pictures and stories were something you relied on as the only source of getting to know him: polite, tall, and swanky—boyish.

That was so far from the truth. Oscar Piastri has grown into his body; almost appearing to be a handsome giant. Despite his warm face, his attitude is a bit snarky. He has no problem in saying what’s on his mind. And he is most definitely not a boy. 

He’s a man.

“What do you say?” 

“Sorry?” 

He chuckles, Adam's Apple dancing up and down. “Would you like to join me for dinner?”

It wasn't his intention to try and get close to you—not purposefully, at least—but he thought; why not? Who knows when his parents are coming back, when his sisters would, and he wanted to prove to you that he wasn’t some snotty guy. Summer is summer, after all. A friend to spend it with sounds quite nice.

Pursing your red lips, you nod, setting your book aside. The dinner table is already set up. Chicken and rice. That’s it. Given, it looks and smells amazing, but plain. You quirk a brow. “Aren’t you supposed to eat your greens? To drive quicker?” He burns up at you teasing tone.

“I didn’t want to risk burning the house down. We’re lucky I was able to get even this done.”

“Very well.” The refrigerator opens, colorful veggies staring back at him. You grin, slow and easy. “I’ll take care of it. It’s only fair, roomie.”

-

Oscar left home a few years ago, migrating to the United Kingdom for work, so it had been a while since he had stepped foot in his backyard. He faintly remembers his pirate treehouse, his sisters’ Barbie’s cluttered inside. It was a bone-chilling sight for baby Oscar back then, but now, the paint is chipping off, the wood looks a lot weaker. It’s a nostalgic feeling.

The new additions are stunning. A bunch of healthy flowers beam back at him and he swallows when he realizes he can’t name a single one. Waxflowers, Calamint, Dahlias, Peonies, Carnations, California Poppies. One by one, he admires with an open mouth. “They’re beautiful.” He turns to you with a proud smile. “You’ve done an excellent job.”

Pink feathers onto your already blushed cheeks, biting back a cheesy grin. You had decided to eat out on the bench, choosing to enjoy the now fresh air. Still humid, but less than before. The scent of coconut sunscreen makes his whiff constantly. “So…Costa Rica?”

He winces. It was too soon to talk about the situation, but something in your calm voice makes it easier to spit it out even though you probably already heard from his parents. All of a sudden, your savory carrots taste like complete shit. “T’was supposed to go with my girlf—my ex. My ex-girlfriend.” 

You pout, sorrowfully. “Oh, I’m sorry, Oscar. I didn’t mean to…I had no clue.” And it’s genuine. Guess his parents weren’t complete traitors. 

“Tell me—how long have you been working on fixing the garden?”

“Since last summer,” you hum, chewing down on a piece of grilled chicken. “This is the first time I have actually stayed here, though. Your parents are sweet. As soon as they heard that you were coming back home, they insisted I kept you company.”

Sharp jaw clenches and he scoffs. You simply blink back innocently. Then, he notices it. The way it reflects against the yellow ray of the now setting sun. He knows what it is, so he doesn’t ask. Too busy staring off into the distance, you place your plate down. “Let me show you a few other things I’ve been working on.”

There’s row and row, further into the open area; every twist and turn makes his brows raise up higher, impressed by the noticeable updates. Coming to a halt, he spins his head around, brown locks hitting his temples. “Since when do we have a cherry tree?”

You beam, orbs shining with excitement. “Since last summer!” you repeat, cheerfully. You pick one, handing it for him to try. An embarrassing moan erupts once the sweet nectar slides down his throat. “Good?”

“Bloody amazing.” Every compliment makes you squeal with delight. “My mum is actually allergic to cherries, so how…”

“She was actually the one who brought it up. Said she knew how much I loved them, and that I deserved a little something for flourishing her garden. I couldn’t deny the chance to do so.” You bite down on your lip, sheepishly. “They are my favorite.”

Reaching for one makes him look away as soon as your dress rises up, soft legs poking through. Bare feet press against the wet grass as you tippy toe. He mustered a fake cough, but as soon as you bite down onto the bloody fruit, he clicks into a trance. 

Plump lips; thick and juicy. Long lashes fluttering shut against your glossy cheeks. That could have been because of the summer heat, but it affected him just the same. The familiar sensation of attraction rushes to his cock as he stands stiffly—but also loosely. He was loose. So fucking loose.

Something hits his cheekbones and it rips him away from his drooling. A singular seed now lays by his feet; indicating what you had done. A crinkled, wobbly smile shines back at him, hands nervously flattening your dress back down. The Australian jokingly lunges towards you as you squeal, backing away. 

“You were disintegrating! I had to get your attention one way or another!”

Oh, you definitely got his attention. Giving you one final scowl, he stops his steps. “Everything—all of it—it’s great. Thank you.” The wind picks up and you shiver. “...for doing this for my parents.”

Neat hair flies against the breeze, covering your eyes for a minute. Pushing it aside, you scrunch your nose faintly. “Anytime.”

-

Technically, what you’re getting paid for was to watch over the beloved yard; that’s all. But you offer to do more. Mow the lawn? Paint the chipped wall? Wash the windows?

“God no, darling,” Oscar’s mum laughs through the end of the line. “You are doing enough already. Please. Relax.”

But you can’t. Nibbling on your thumb, you brush the counter, strolling past countless family portraits. A smile slips when you spot a toothless Oscar. “I insist.”

So, here you are; decluttering the attic. After a bit of bickering with Nicole, she eventually gives in and asks for a favor. Clean and tidy the small room. Easy peasy. 

“Ouch,” you hiss when a nail digs through your skin, gore immediately pouring out of you like a waterfall; you squeak. Just then, a certain brunette peeks their head through the entrance.

“Oh good, it’s you. I thought we had an intruder.”

Raising a skeptical brow at him and the thin duvet, you quickly take it from him, pressing it down to ease the bleeding. “Holy crap, are you okay?” In one motion, he steps closer to you, analyzing the injury with worried eyes. You groan.

“It’s only a little cut. No biggie.” But the way your face is slowly losing color lets him know that your words aren't true. Brown eyes flicker, searching for a spot to sit, but everything about this is crowded. You were just about to start tidying; the mess was still there. Crouching onto a tiny stool, he takes a seat, somehow still towering over you. Or at least that's what it felt like, because suddenly, you felt suffocated. 

His long legs are spread as you stand between them, hand out towards him as he winces at the brutal cut. “Ah—that’s pretty deep.” He gags when he notices the underneath flesh. You suppress a giggle. “We should go to the ER.” 

You scoff, ripping away from his grip, tripping over a box. Regaining your balance, you drape the cloth over your hand once again. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll be right back.”

After rinsing your hand with alcohol, covering the wound with the largest bandaid to ever exist, and balling your eyes out, you make your way back up. The Australian is drenched in sweat, huffing and puffing. “Got it,” he pants. Confused, you tilt your head to the side, but that’s when you pick out the nail in the palm of his hand. You blink, too bewildered to make sense of how he retrieved it without the help of a hammer. “I also found lots of old trophies. Extremely bittersweet.”

“Why’s that?” you hum, kneeling down next to him, reading through the labels. Each makes you more and more dazzled. 

A minute passes by. “Because I grew up.”

“That’s…sad.” Shrugging, he digs for more. He laughs loudly, throwing his head back. “Dear G—I forgot this even existed!”

Oscar’s 81 Things To-Do During the Summer [List]

Learn how to bike.

Learn the Australian National Anthem (Sophie will be beautifully impressed)

Get better at being more outgoing (Mum is worried)

So on and so forth. “You were an extremely creative lad. Eighty-one things to do…eh.” A tongue click. “Possibly buy a pet dragon?”

He cringes. “Not all were realistic. I actually never really got around to it. Mainly added, if anything.” 

Crimson red flashes. “I, um, I could tell.”

69. Oscar Piastri, you know what I mean.

The brunette chokes on his saliva, yanking it away as fast as he can. Standing up to his full height, he rolls up the piece of paper and points towards the exit. “I think I should, um…yeah. See ya.”

“Yeah.” He dashes off. “See you…”

-

Eighteen-year old Oscar was a horny bastard. But every guy that age is, so it’s not really fair to feel bad about his list. The writing is obviously his, but the things jotted down made him almost feel like it wasn’t. Blowjobs? Hand jobs? What was he thinking?

And then, there was you—a curious cat. He had to be a virgin; he just had to. Why else would he be embarrassed? You weren’t one to judge, though. You knew nothing about the sexual world, having never partaken. The thin band wrapped around your ring finger is enough proof. 

And no—you weren’t married.

It would have been absolutely diabolical to mention sex in your household growing up. Being Roman Catholics is no joke, believing religiously to wait until marriage. You never had a problem with that; you would wait. Doesn’t mean you didn’t know what any of the common terms meant. Sort of. 

Only now—for the first time in your life—there it was.

Temptation.

The McLaren driver was no newbie. He has had his fair share of experiences; before Lily, with Lily. He knew just about anything and everything. His good-boy act was no facade. At times he didn’t like that about himself, but it’s who he was. Obeyed the rules. Never crossed the line with anyone he wasn’t romantically linked to. And yet…

There you were.

The flowers were perfect; only needing to be watered. The cherry tree was much more…complicated. The chances of animals recklessly hunting for the sweet fruit was high, the chances of the red drupes rotting also was. Therefore, you spent most of your time there. 

Maybe you were avoiding him; you told yourself you were already horrified at the dirty thoughts taking over like the plague. And perhaps he was doing the same; he had only been locked in his room for the past three hours. 

Golden hour. With your hands on your hips, you squint, admire the polished drupes, tickling with water. Walking back to the bench, you lay down, picking up on your reading, occasionally taking sips from your Cherry Cola. 

Pacing the small bedroom, Oscar mutters to himself. Maybe she didn’t read all of it. Maybe she doesn't know what it means. Yeah—he was exaggerating. Clicking his window open, he gasped for needed air. As soon as he spots you reading, he grunts. 

White skirt brushes down your smooth legs, challenging the sun to see who shines the brightest. Lips wrap around the glass bottle, puckering in the slightest. And he wonders; would you taste as sweet as the cool beverage?

He’s a grown man; an adult. There’s no need to be uncomfortable. Sex was a part of everyone's day to day life. He was the one making it a bigger deal than it actually was. Still, he slips on a pair of sunglasses, perched perfectly onto the bridge of his nose. 

“Is it any good?”

His voice makes you flinch, dropping the book flat on your face. A tiny groan rings through the air. Flashing him a weak smile, you sit up straight, fixing your clothes. “Want one? There’s plenty in the fridge.”

He had noticed, of course he had. Never in a million years did he think he'd see his refrigerator stocked up with the sweet drink. He never cared enough to ask who they belonged to; figured they would just expire.

Wavy hair swings back and forth when he shakes his head. “Gotta keep in shape.” I see, you murmur, loopy eyes peeking over at him, taking another gulp. The sizzling feeling is utterly childish compared to what he’s making you feel. The burning sensation between your legs is annoying and painful, you almost want to plead for help. “I meant the book, by the way.”

“No!” You laugh, nervously. “I mean…it’s alright?”

After he stormed off and left you a breathless puddle, you biked and biked—until you hit the local bookstore. You weren’t looking for anything in particular, simply browsing, but as soon as you reached the section of Erotic Literature, you stopped. 

So many—many—wrong choices. Still, humiliated, you paid and fiercely ran out. Maybe this was some sort of punishment for reading what you’re reading; had to be. And Oscar asking questions wasn’t helping. Licking your berry lips, you swallow a thick layer. “What have you been up to?”

Fuck, he moans, large hand sliding up and down his cock; more and more pleasure intensifying. Your tiny dresses. Your short skirts. Your angelic face. The way your lips would separate before every sentence. Your sweet scent that would have normally given him a headache, but instead made him chase after you like a dog. 

Finishing all over his thighs, he shudders. White liquid never looked more sinister than at this very moment. After changing, he paces the room with regret. 

Pushing the frames further into his face, he hums. “Oh, you know. Just… cleaning up my room.”

-

It’s been a week in a half now and you’re happy to announce that you have fallen into a routine. While Oscar did his daily workout, you would make breakfast. While you worked on the garden, he cooked dinner. Though, he was unbeknownst over the way you would drool over him when he would walk out the door; a compressed shirt hugging his built body tightly, arms begging to be kissed. You were unaware of the way he would rub his face in desperation when you walked out, banging his head purposefully against the cabinet; the way you would skip out with your book and infamous drink, or how you would prettily tie up your hair before you even got started.

It was a mess.

A mocking mess.

This afternoon though, you aren’t flying out the door to the yard, but rather frolicking over to Ms. Alleck, ready to assist. I try my best, but they always wilt! Could it be the humidity? Laughing, you toss your hair up into a bun, messy strands poking out as you cock your head to the side. “Could be, but don’t you worry. We’ll find a way to make it work. Promise.”

He had always known you were kind, gentle, soft spoken…pure. And you doing this only added to his attraction. It’s salad, spaghetti, and salmon that afternoon. Sweaty, you pant. I’m going to squeeze in a shower real quick. But you weren’t sweaty, like you believe; you were glistening. 

“This is so cute,” you chirp, sitting cross cross in the old treehouse. A few spider webs make your blood run cold, but he quickly took care of it, apologizing. The brunette blushes. 

“I wanted to use it one last time. Before we get rid of it.” Neat brows furrow. “It’s just that it’s old—only a matter of time before it plunges down.” “What?” 

���O-obviously not now!”

After a bit more convincing, you finally relax and enjoy the way the crickets sing against the night. Small feet press against the wall, white tube socks turning slightly brown from the lack of sweeping. For a moment, he shuts his lids, breaths shallow, body loose. The high temperature almost made him feel as if he was cuddling into the warmest blanket; it felt nice. 

Whoops, you mumble when hollow glass pounds against the wooden floor. He perks up at the sound, brown eyes burning with high alert. “You do shit on purpose?” he screeches when he detects scarlet blood. Wincing in pain, you curl your hand towards the hem of your dress. 

“Help me,” you plead, slight annoyance written all over your face. He must’ve broken the world record of running into the house to retreat the first aid kit, and running right back to you. The way he sanitizes the skin, to the way he wraps your hand with a gauze pad, is honestly hilarious.

“What so funny?” he murmurs, attention never leaving the wound. 

“Mmm. Nothing.” He snickers and you giggle harder. “It just seems as if I’m making you a professional. You ought to be ready if anyone else needs your help to treat injuries.”

“Oh, of course. I’ll tell them a certain klutz made me learn from day to night with all her clumsiness.” His voice drops, laced with concern. “Seriously though—you were just healing. You have to be careful.”

Plump lips part with the sound of his delicate voice, accent almost disappearing. Wandering eyes admire the way his brows are knitted together and orbs soften. Swallowing, you nod. “I will.”

“Good.”

The once vibrant room is now hazy and suffocating. Does he not know what kind of effect he has on you? The type of power he holds? Oscar doesn’t seem to, though, with the way he chugs down his entire glass of water. Stuck in a trance, your hand briskly reaches out for your own drink. He roars with laughter, clutching his stomach. “You just broke your bottle, you don’t have a drink anymore.” He picked up the Cherry Cola you had offered, but he had declined. “Take mine.”

You don’t put up a fight, simply allow him to open and give it to you. The sweet drink doesn’t do a great job at hydrating your foaming mouth, but it helps as a distraction. On the other hand, the brunette can’t seem to not watch the ways your lips suck in and out, eagerly. As if this were the only source of air. He shudders. 

“We should probably head down…”

Wiping your lips with the back of your hand, you comply, already standing up. From the floor, he has a good view of your legs; long, soft, sweetly scented. He wonders if you use honey as lotion because that would explain his urge to nuzzle his face against them. Picking up the broken glass and plates, you turn back. “Coming?”

A sigh rings through the air once, and suddenly—he’s cradling your face with high intensity and lust, molding his lips against yours. Tomato sauce stains his shirt and your dress from the plates that still remain between you two. One second, you're wide eyed, and then the next, you're allowing yourself to kiss him back. 

You want to cry with how pleasant the feeling feels and he wants to scream with how much he wants to fuck you. But alas, one of you pulls away first—you can’t really tell who— and you’re both left gasping for air. Completely winded and fucked.

You both are fucked.

-

The treehouse comes crashing down the day after your first kiss. Yes, first kiss. You would like to blame him and say that he stole it from you, but the arousal that was dripping between your thighs last night was a clear indication that you could never actually say so because you liked it so much. 

The wooden house tearing down is something you take as a sign; you’ve sinned. Okay, maybe that was a bit too dramatic, but you were honestly thinking about it. That night you dreamt of the wildest things imaginable; his pretty face in between your legs, large hands squeezing your perky breasts, fingers swirling inside your velvety walls, cock tearing you in half.

It was unacceptable. 

So, while Oscar worked on picking up the tiles with a hometown buddy, you marched right over to beg for forgiveness. Kneeling down against the cushion, you say a silent prayer. 

I don’t want to think like this—not when I know I can help it, but God this is getting way too out of hand. And you know I’m not like this, you know that! But he just—AGH. Maybe it’s his personality that makes him so attractive, or maybe it’s his sudden growth spurt, but please let me get a hold of myself. He’s just a friend, he’s just a friend—HE’S JUST A FRIEND. 

“Would you mind keeping your words to yourself, sweetheart?” an older lady whispers, two rows ahead of you. 

Pink feathers onto your cheeks. “Oh, yes, of course! I’m so sorry…”

I don’t ever ask for much, no, that’s never been necessary, but I am now. So please. Hear me when I say: Push this desire I have, far, far, far away.

-

If you were to say, there was a ninety percent chance that you would walk away. Not even spare him a passing glance. He would call you out on it later, but whatever—too late. Ignored you, you say? No, really I did? I had no idea, I’ll make sure to not let it happen again!

If Oscar were to say, there was a ninety-nine percent chance that he would let you walk away. He didn’t need your company; he was doing just fine. But then again, that one percent tugs at him like the devil on his shoulder.

“Hey. You’re back.” Cool. Calm. Collected.

“Oh! I suppose I am.” Cool. Utter. Mess.

He grins, eyes crinkling like the leaves that hang upon the crimson tree. Signaling up, he cocks his head in deep thought. “Just finished. Cole said his uncle could shred…” A pause. “He owns a massive wood chipper.” 

Blinking like a deer in headlights, you chew on your bottom lip, simply nodding along. “Sounds good? I think. No. Yes. Very good.” You wince at all the uncontrolled mumbo-jumbo. “I’m sorry I was no help, too. I had to…talk to the man up above.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it. That must be why your pretty little knees are bruised.” 

Your breath comes to a harsh halt, ears burning like a wildfire. The Australian just keeps his brown eyes set on the tree for a second longer before turning to face you. Quickly, you relax your muscles. “You could make up for it by helping me with something else.”

You gulp. Suddenly, your mouth is overflowing with hot saliva. “With what?”

Dark orbs glue onto your delicate figure, a slight smirk playing out. And it looks so unfamiliar, not his own, that you create a distance. And just like that, it’s gone. Vanished just as fast as it slipped onto his pink lips. “Get on.” He crouches down and your jaw drops.

“Wha—like onto your shoulders?” Rolling his eyes in a goofy manner, he nods, picks you up safely, and places you on top. You screech, dizzy by the sudden altitude. “Put me down!”

“You’re fine. Just help me reach those. Been craving them all day,” he murmurs, voice raspy. The twenty-three year old is still slightly sweaty from his hard labor, and that’s clear when you cling onto his brown locks. Other than that, you’re as high as a kite; both figuratively and literally. 

You’ve known—seen—how tall and broad the Australian was, but being perched onto his wide shoulders was a sweet confirmation you couldn’t help but enjoy. “Move a bit forward.” He follows instructions, wide hands gripping onto your thighs to keep you steady. You giggle when a few fruits hit your face. “Watch it—and don’t you dare drop me.”

“Get,” he commands.

About three minutes pass by. You rip the cherries carefully, candy aroma filling the air, and plop them onto the basket. By all accounts, you’re well aware of your actions. The basket was full, now overflowing, really, and you could plant your ballet flats back onto the tall grass—but you don’t.

There’s something about feeling his touch; high electricity, shock waves nipping at your skin, soft pants. It’s pathetic how much you crave any ounce of physical touch he’s willing to give you, unknowingly.

“That should be good,” you whisper, meekly. He doesn’t respond, just swings you down as you let out a yelp. All of a sudden, you’re magically magnetic. And he wonders; if only. You hand the basket over, waiting nervously for him to thank you, at least. 

“Thank you,” he feels himself saying. “What do you say we play a little game? No prize. Only bragging rights.”

“O-okay.”

A singular cherry is handed over. He grins. Can you tie a knot using your tongue? “Wait—are you being serious?”

The red fruit dissolves inside his mouth, spitting the seed somewhere far enough away. Then, the stem flips into his mouth. “Come on. I’ll give you a head start.”

With wary hands, you rip the stem away from your own drupe, fitting the thin stick into your suddenly dry mouth. He stares intently, clenching his jaw, “Go on. Ten seconds.” Quickly, your lips start to move, twisting and turning. Pouting, then sucking back in. Your low breaths become heavy after a few tries. You think you’re getting it done right, the sudden ball forming is enough for you to guess that you must be doing something correct. 

The sound of his low mewls is what ends you. Doe eyes flicker up to face him, paying close attention to how his brown eyes wander up at the sky in concentration, occasionally squinting due to the bright sun. You can feel a thin layer of sweat hug you like a blanket as your movements slow down; a snail's pace compared to before.

For good measure, you fake your twists as you continue to simply admire. Too far gone, you blink hastily when he sticks his pink tongue out towards you, a stinking knot sitting nicely atop.

“I won.”

Gulp. “You sure did. Good job, Oscar.”

Long lashes flutter shut momentarily, head tossed back, sighing. “It wasn’t a fair fight. You weren’t doing anything. Other than staring at my lips.”

Flustered, you dig your hand into the bucket. “That’s not true! At all. At all, at all.” You munch harder, splitting a seed in half. You spit it out sourly. “You're just better at using your mouth than I am.”

It goes straight to his cock, your words. Opening his eyes, the brunette scrunches his nose. You’re avoiding his gaze. You’re good at doing that. A pro. But it leaves him to wonder some more. And that itself was dangerous when it dawned on him. 

He doesn’t like daydreaming anymore.

“Fuck it,” he grunts, kissing you harshly, like the night before. And you thought that blew your mind, but this? This left you gasping and reaching out for him even though he was pressed right against you. You could feel him buzzing, pinching your hips against his large hands. It’s perfect.

You don’t really understand how you end up straddling him on the grass, green straining your knees as you grind harder onto him, forcing your skin to burn with each stroke. This—this—must be as good as it gets. There can’t be more, but you weren’t complaining. It was enough. 

When his fingers dance underneath your dress, you halt, and everything comes crashing down. “No,” you pant. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I really am.”

“Why is that, baby?” he mumbles, lost on sucking the side of your neck. Looking up, his straight brows drew in together with concern. “What is it?”

“It’s just that…I’m—” Why is it so hard to admit? Brushing a strand of hair away, you purse your lips. “I’m a virgin, Oscar. It’s odd, I know, but I can’t sleep with you.”

“You think I didn’t know that?’

You freeze. “What?”

His thumbs circle your thighs, gently, swooning with how soft you feel. “I figured you were. Your purity ring sort of gave it away.” You blush hard, rolling off of him, playing with the thin band. 

“I wish I could do this—God, I really want to—but I can’t.”

Respecting your decision, he pats your hand with reassurance. The hot feeling remained between your legs and the pain between his. This was torture, you both know that, but what was there to do? It’s awkward for a while, that is, until he starts asking you about things that shouldn’t make you glow with happiness.

How was your day? I want to hear all about it. Do you think it’s bad to eat an entire bucket of drupes? Must be, right? In the long run? Hey, would you mind teaching me how to garden? You make it look intriguing. 

That seems to do it for you. Everything you ever promised flies out the window as you climb back onto his thick lap, and this time, he’s surprised by your actions. Clumsy fingers try their best to unzip his pants, but he only stutters against your kisses. N-no, we don’t have to rush anything. I, you, we—

“Shit, o-okay,” he sighs when you finally touch him, even in the slightest. He may be touch deprived, but so were you, so how far would any of this go? Flipping you over to lay against the tall grass, he winks teasingly and that effectively makes your heartbeat quicken. “Relax, sweetheart. Do that for me, yeah? Can you?”

“Yes. Yes. Yes.” 

The McLaren drivers press a kiss on the inside of your thighs before licking them. You shiver, though try your best to even your breaths. You shut your eyes, maybe if you act hard enough, you could somehow convince yourself that this wasn’t a war itself. To see how long you’d last. No—you would last. You had to.

“I’ve thought about it.” He slips your panties down, inch by inch. “A lot, as of lately. If you would taste just as sweet as I imagined. As sweet as those Cherry Cola’s you're overly obsessed with.” And he dives in, licking your arousal clean as you pant, chest heaving up and down like an erupting volcano. 

What were you supposed to feel—relaxed? In a frenzy? Most likely the latter because considering the way he was making your head spin said it all. The sounds he’s making forces you to involuntarily shut your legs around his face and his hand that now lies between you two. The stretch is a burning sensation that leaves you both gasping and moaning; it’s too much, but not enough.

More. Grinning up from in between your legs, he shakes his head full of curls, all thanks to the Aussie weather, and your dirty foreplay. “Does it feel good?” You whimper. “Good—good, baby. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” Velvet walls clench around his long digits. “Hey, hey, look at me.”

Once your soft orbs connect to his intoxicating ones, his cock grows harder. “Okay, listen, it’s going to hurt a little bit, okay? But that’s completely normal; it’s like a…a stingy feeling. Do you understand?” I do, you pant. He grits his teeth when his calloused fingers brush against your g-spot and your head lolls back, exposing your sharp clavicle. He itches to mark you all over. “Do you want it, then?”

A zing. “Fuck, Oscar. I fucking want you.”

The brown eyed boy is all over you, kissing you up and down, gripping you tighter. It was an addiction in its truest form. For a split second, you frown when he slips out of you, but as soon as he starts unzipping his pants, you feverishly lick your lips. 

It dawns on you that you aren’t scared, nervous, or anything; you’re bubbling with excitement. You watch carefully as he jerks himself off a bit, his already large girth growing bigger. How is that possible? “I’ll start with the tip.” Leaning down, he pecks your pouty lips and you smile. “Let me know if it’s too much, we’ll stop and take a break. Or do anything, really,” he adds, cheekbones flushing red. 

“I’ll be okay,” you whisper. “I swear.”

You were being skinned alive, it was excruciating pain. You know he notices it when he starts brushing your hips, hoping to comfort you in some sort of way. Heavy breaths, numb lips from biting too hard, exposed breasts arching straight for him. He didn’t know whether to enjoy this or worry. 

“Breathe, darling, breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. There you go,” he congratulates, admiring your shaky breath. “You’re doing so good.”

“Osc, move…please.”

There was no more confirmation necessary that you were ready to go. His hips find motion, thrusting into you slowly. Nails scratch down his back as you moan loudly, almost yelping. “Y-you’re so big.” So, so, so, so big.  “So good.”

Nearly animalistic, he releases a grunt, pounding deeper into you, getting lost with the way you hug him tightly. You mewl, pressing your naked chest against his, and he nearly slips from his hands being set on top of the cold grass, but it was beautiful torture, all at once. 

From the way you tremble, to the way you look up at him, he loves it all. He realized it been too long, he’s missed this, he’s missed having a body undeaneath his, as fucked up as that sounds. 

And he—he must be a saint, himself. There’s a sort of invisible halo that lightens up around him, nearly blinding you. There’s a gut-wrenching stare he’s gifting you, making your stomach churn with pleasure. 

Wrapping his mouth around your sore buds, you let out a shaky sigh. Skillful tongue swirls the way one would suck on a lollipop; the heat intensifies. “Close?” But you’re not sure, you just know it feels good—ridiculously good. He must have known so, and must want to make your first experience the best you’ll ever have, because suddenly, you’re on all fours. 

As he slips in and out with such ease, you grip harshly at the tall grass. You can hear the sad rips with every thrust and every tug, but how can you feel bad when he feels so good? His cock rapidly brushes the magic spot, and you’re left seeing stars. “Oh God. I feel it, Oscar, fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Tell me. Describe it.”

Your jaw locks, and your arms give up, flying down towards the grass, round ass high up in the air as he continues his movements. He groans at the sight, slapping your sweaty skin. Whining, you look back at him, grinning from ear to ear. The Australian looks up at the open sky, trying his best to push back the feeling of his upcoming orgasm, but it's hard to ignore the fact that an absolute angel takes him like no other.

And an Angel you were.

“Can feel your cock, Oscar. The way it pulses—so thick, so veiny, so sweet.”

An Angel with a vocabulary of Heathen.

“God, fuck me harder, please, Oscar, please.” He’s pretty sure you’re half-gone, half-present, but it only adds to the lust he carries for you. Just then, you feel the fresh cherry pressed up against your lips. Open, he demands and you follow straight away, ripping it from its stem. You nearly choke on the seed when he suddenly speeds up, limbs and arms burning from holding upright. For a moment, you stare back with an open mouth, admiring over the way his abs contract with every brutal push.

“Now spit.” Two seeds fly out towards the grass, laying there to taunt you as you pick up on your moans, ringing through the air. If you squint hard enough, you can spot the stars that mock the daylight sky. It doesn’t make sense, but then again, none of this does. “So pretty, sweetheart.” You swoon, feeling his arms hold you down. “Again—open.”

You’re expecting another set of cherries, thinking this might be some sort of prize, but as soon as you feel the familiar stick, you pout. No, you cry out. He chuckles. “Yes.” A pause. “You only get to come until you tie a knot.”

“You’re not being f-fair, holy shit.” Long fingers rub slowly against your puffy clit, throbbing with pain, begging to come all of his numbing girth. You clench your jaw, eyes screwed shut.

“We don’t have all night, go on. Move that pretty little mouth of yours.”

It’s a mission, it’s a task, it’s a fucking wreck. It’s impossible. You’re not that surprised, though, not when he thrusts into with twice as much force, triple speed; what a man. Loose tongue swirls at a weak attempt, but then he pinches your swollen bud, and you’re back to square one. You’re nearly there, excited to prove to him how much you wanted this and how you were able to multitask, but then he’s pulling all the way back, only his rosy tip awaiting by your entrance, and he’s coming back down, full-throttle. 

It was cruel.

But two can play that game, you suppose.

You pull away quickly, he blinks, and then you’re pushing him back, sprawled on the grass. He nearly whines from missing your warm cunt, but as soon as you climb to sit on his face, he grows more and more turned on. “Go on,” you push. “Use that pretty little tongue of yours.”

Dark eyes stare up at you, enjoying the way your body moves, hips rolling, riding his face at an impressive rate. The white nectar you're willing to spill out makes him lap at an embarrassing speed, desperate to taste the sweetness. 

Meanwhile, you’re gripping his hair, trying to feign indifference with the way his nose rubs against your lips, the way he keeps you in place with his watch covered hand, the other playing with your clit. It’s even, this is fair, but you still needed to reach your end. 

“I’m close,” you moan, head rolling back, but jaw continuing to tick. He hums and the vibrations cause you to squeeze your legs around his face. That seems to make him enjoy this far more. Unless you show me you’ve done it, then no, you’re not coming anytime soon. Your molars grind harder, white spots forming throughout your vision. “Shut up, just—fucking stop talking.”

“What do y’know? Miss Perfection has a potty mouth.” He pokes his tongue against your hole. “Dirty girl, eh?”

With one final suck, and one soft moan, you cum all over him. The Australian is quick to lick you clean, groaning pathetically deep. Gasping, you fall from your climax, slightly twitching with sensibility as he hauls you onto his lap. You giggle when he raises a teasing brow. 

“You got away with it—this time.”

“There’s going to be a second time?”

He stiffens, trying to play it cool. “Well, not anymore, you didn’t do what I asked for you to do—”

Opening your mouth, you stick your red tongue out, displaying the most perfect knot. He gapes, sticking his fingers in to retrieve it. “H-how?” A beat, sharp and accusing eyes. “Seriously, how?”

“Does it matter?” you ask, wide eyes back on for show. “I did it.”

“I…yeah, yeah you did,” he repeats in disbelief. He laughs. “You’re wickedly talented. That's an art.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, slowly, mixed with a giggle. “I tried my best for you.”

“I see that.” The brown eyed boy pinches your hip. “How was it?”

Sighing dreamily, as if napping on a cloud, your eyes twinkle. “I get it now. Why people have casual sex, I mean. It was amazing. Thank you.”

Casual, casual, casual, yes. Of course this was casual, why wouldn’t it be casual? He’s not looking to have anyone new in his life, and you’re barely understanding what any of this is, so yeah. Casual. 

“Was I bad?” you ponder, chewing on your bottom lip. “I know I’m no professional, but I—”

“You were perfect,” he reassures with a soft smile. “Best thing to come around, solemnly swear.” Swatting his arm, he snickers, catching your hand. You purse your lips. “I was right,” he murmurs when his lips graze over your own. You open your mouth, waiting for more.

“About?”

“You tasting as sweet as a Cherry Cola.” Then he connects your lips, and you’re left utterly smitten. You can hardly feel him slip your ring off, but you know so when your finger feels empty since the moment you first put it on. “Guess you won’t be needing this anymore?”

“Guess not, no. Keep it.”

“Could take it to a Pawn Shop, sell it for a couple dollars…”

“Hey! Be nice, you dimwit,” you warn. “You should feel special. Stupidly special.”

“I’m kidding. I’ll cherish it.”

“Creep.”

He groans, slapping your ass as you squeal. “There’s no right or wrong answer, it seems like. Very well, let's just leave it at thanks. So…thank you for trusting me.” You blush, looking away. Awkwardly, you reach for your dress, slipping it over your head. He coughs, dressing himself before choking back a much needed chuckle. “Looks like we got dragged through the mud.”

“Ah, ew, I can’t. I need to shower.” 

Reaching your end of the hallway, you press your back up against the wooden door as you sheepishly giggle when Oscar does the same. “Okay then…see you around?” 

“Around town?”

“Around the house.”

“In the garden?”

“In the attic, too, maybe. It still needs a good sweep.”

He rolls his eyes. “Do we still have time?”

“Before your parents get back from Costa Rica?”

“Yes.”

“Which is in—”

“A week.”

“Which is—”

“Seven days.”

“And roughly…”

“Enough time.”

“Enough time to do what?”

He laughs, eyes crinkling suggestively, and your heart pounds hard against your ribcage. “Come here and I’ll show you.”

“Yeah,” you ponder in deep thought before your lips stretch out into a bright smile of your own. He raises dark brows as you scurry over with bruised knees, a muddy dress, and an exploding heart. “Yeah, okay. Just until they get back.”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious

[monzamash]

lost in japan — lando norris

lando norris x you (femreader) | 3.8k summary – a convincing late night call and a flight to japan. warnings – 18+ (sex, coarse language) inspo – ‘i like being close to you. you’re warm’ for the #monzamashspecial and that shawn mendes song – you know the one. masterlist

“Fly out and see me…”

“You know I can’t, Lando.”

This had been the back and forth for nearly half an hour, like a painfully long rally in tennis and neither one of you wanted to give up the point. Lando had been out in Japan for nearly a week, 5 days and counting and before that, Singapore and before that, Italy for training. He had always been at peace with the time he spent away from home, because up until now it had never really been a problem. Jet-setting across the globe, living out his childhood dream – on top of the world. Chained to nothing and nobody.

But then you showed up in those leather pants; it was all by coincidence and he was in trouble from the very beginning. He liked you. A lot. And you liked him but that one night on a breezy street corner in Melbourne had changed his perspective. Skewed beyond recognition, because now he had someone to miss. Someone who influenced his happiness, his contentedness and that was you. You had snapped up a spot in his cold, precious heart that he had guarded, locked away safely so he didn’t have to wake up to that sinking feeling in his gut, or look at his phone and have his mood drop when he didn't see your name in his notifications.

He was forlorn without you and even though it made him sick that he had ended up like this, he loved it. He took the good with the bad, every chance to hear your voice made it worthwhile and much to your surprise, you felt the same. Infatuated and swept up in this new romance.

“Why not? If you give me a really good answer, I’ll stop asking,” Lando bartered as he trudged around his hotel room, kicking articles of clothing towards his empty suitcase in an attempt to clean up the mess he’d made over the last couple of days.

“Well for starters I have this thing called a job… I have responsibilities and I have my houseplants – you know how much they mean to me.”

A small smirk tugged on the corners of your mouth when Lando rolled his eyes, brow quirked. Even the shaky camera was able to capture his distain for your answer but he quickly bounced back, knowing that he wasn’t completely out of the fight if it was a couple of replaceable pot plants keeping you from dropping everything to see him. Surely he meant more than that.

“You love me way more though.”

“Definitely not,” You scoffed playfully and adjusted the loose, somewhat revealing top you'd been sleeping in before this late night call, “But I do miss you a tiny bit…”

Lando’s frown softened at your confession, one he’d been patiently waiting to hear. I miss you too; he sighed and walked into what looked like a bathroom, carefully balancing the phone on a shelf beside the mirror. 

He was an enigma the night that you met him; a friend of a friend of a friend, someone had said when introducing the two of you at a swanky restaurant in the heart of the city. You had wondered why there was a last minute invite sent your way that afternoon, until your friend explained that her new work friend wanted to show their friend who had just flown in from England a good time. It was a confusing web of acquaintances but you agreed, knowing that whatever she had organised would be worthwhile attending.

Little did you know that the friend would have something to do with why your street was shut down for a week, making your daily commute fifteen minutes longer than normal. But when you looked into those stormy blue, or maybe they were hazel eyes, and grasped the hand he was holding out for you to shake, you didn’t care. In fact, nothing really mattered after the two of you pulled up a seat at the long table and continued chatting, drawn together.

“See something you like? …”

Lando’s tinny voice pulled you out of your daydreaming and snapped your eyes back to your screen. You cleared your throat and tucked a couple of stray hairs behind your ear as you watched him change out of his Phoenix suns shirt; his rippling muscles contracting caught your attention, perfectly sculpted under is sun-kissed skin. Beneath all the boyish charm and dripping sarcasm, he was sexy. And it was taking everything in your power not to give in and book a plane ticket to Japan as soon as possible.

“Nothing in particular but I do like that shirt,” You deflected with a smirk, wanting nothing more than to be crawling your lips all over his skin, tasting the cool mint mouthwash he was swirling and spitting out in quick succession.

“Might have to steal it when I see you next.”

“Which will be…?” Lando teetered off, hoping for sooner rather than later but you simply shrugged and closed your eyes, exhaling so deeply that a whistle rang through your nostrils.   

Lando could tell you were battling internally with the idea, knowing that you wanted to see him just as much as he ached to see you. It’d been too long and with your situationship being so new, so hot – he was desperate to lock in a time or have at least a crumb to cling onto if nothing else. But he needed to be gentle, patient while you worked through all of the metaphorical plates spinning in your head.

“You can steal all of my shirts when you get here,” He sweetly stated, his attention full focused on your solemn expression, “Look, what day suits you the best and I’ll work around that.”

He was serving the ball in your court now, with the promise of taking care of everything else so you didn’t even have to think about it. Make the fleeting decision and the rest will be sorted. Except for the glaringly obvious hurdles you’d have to jump over to get the time off work that you knew Lando wanted you to have.

“Maybe Saturday…”

Lando groaned at your response, “But I’ll be busy all day Saturday.”

“Doing what?” You teased; lip firmly gripped between your front teeth as Lando rolled his eyes and ran his fingers through his messy hair in frustration.

“Ha-ha. Very funny,” He grumbled and titled his head back, chin and jawline tensed as he groaned loudly into the dark bedroom he was sitting in, “Come on – I’m blue-balling out here and you’re not here to help me… It's not fair.”

“Oh, so you just want me for sex?”

Lando’s eyes narrowed and a small smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth as he planned his next move, “No,” He sheepishly whispered, “But also not no… But definitely not just for sex because that would be wildly perverse and disgusting – promise.” Cheeky fucker.

You hummed, “Just so we’re clear, I’d just be coming out for the sex. Nothing more than that – can’t stand you, actually. Absolutely gross.”

Not even a beat passed before Lando's loud, high-pitched laugh filtered through your air pods, hand barely covering his face. The other was in your face, middle finger perfectly framed on your screen while you sat back and enjoyed the sound you’d missed so much; his laugh alone made you chuckle and forget all about your worries.

“Fuck you,” He cheekily retorted, wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes, “But what I’m hearing is that you’re coming out… I’m booking you a ticket right now so keep an eye out for the email, baby.”

Baby.

“Baby?” You asked, eyebrow quirked with intrigue.

“Shit, sorry…” Lando cursed under his breath, cheeks reddening as he clicked away on his phone, “It slipped out. Is it bad?”

You shook your head and balanced your chin on your knuckles, “No, I like it – makes me feel like we’re more than just strangers fucking around.”

“Oh yeah? And is that something you want to feel or?”

Now he was just being cocky.

It was your turn to roll your eyes and scowl, “Don’t push it, baby.”

“You can’t go calling me that with that tone and not be naked in this bed right now… You’re killing me.” His voice was strained, eyes dark.

You simply smiled and winked, “I will be soon.”

“Cannot fucking wait.”

It was raining in Osaka when you landed; the red eye flight causing your eyes to flutter close as you slumped in the back seat of the cab, silent. Bright headlights from the heavy traffic flashed behind your eyelids as the driver slowly made his way through the city streets, stopping every two seconds for pedestrians. You were in a foreign country; one you’d never visited before but you felt calm, safe to completely relax after the tenuous eleven hour flight.

Lando had messaged you the address to the hotel he was staying at and let you know he’d left his spare key card for you downstairs at reception. You shyly asked the attendant for the card he left, feeling a little dirty at the insinuation that you were there for a good time, not a long time. A thought entirely in your own head as the young lady gave you a polite smile and sent you on your way.

Because of Lando’s efforts to go above and beyond making your journey as stress-free as possible, you hadn’t bothered messaging him when you landed or even checked to make sure he was at the hotel. Only having carry-on gave you the freedom to jump off the plane and into a cab – no time to really think about the logistics that you had been reassured were taken care of. All you could think about was the instinctual pull you felt to get to him as quickly as you could.

Maybe you should’ve messaged. Given him the heads up as you tiptoed through the long hallway, past the large lounge room and kitchen that was bigger than your own back home. It was massive and as expected, exuding luxury. You could tell from the facetime yesterday that he was living large in the penthouse suite, indulging in all the lavish things life as a professional athlete promised. It was too much but you weren’t complaining when you touched the plush robes hung up on the back of the bedroom door or when you saw how huge, and enticing the bed was.

You let your mind wander to the possibility that maybe, just maybe you could get used to this but as soon as that thought emerged, you flicked it away. The gentle sound of running water echoing drew your attention to the door on the other side of the room, closed and most likely locked for privacy, or so you assumed.

Your feet were gliding you towards the sound, hand reaching for the handle before your brain had even registered what you were doing. Impatience and temptation were fuelling all of your movements as you clicked open the door and let out a cloud of steam, warmth instantly hitting your face as you took a couple of steps over the threshold.

“Hello?” You softly called out, not wanting to startle Lando but failing as you heard a shallow gasp from behind the steamed glass. His hand hit the pane and smudged away the moisture obstructing his sight, his narrowed eyes bloodshot from the water but he could see you, wondered for a second if you were a ghost in the fog but grinning when he realised you were here. Really here.

“Holy shit…” He breathed out and pushed open the glass door, thrilled that you were already unzipping your jeans and tugging the tight shirt from your shoulders. He didn't even have to ask.

“You scared the absolute shit out of me.”

He almost giggled as you skirted your underwear down your legs, the cool air sending chills down across your skin, “Let me in, quick!”

Lando moved aside with another chuckle, hands grasping your waist as you searched for warmth, a sigh of relief exhaled when you felt the hot water rushing over your back, eyes closed and skin tingling from the gentle touches trailing down your spine. You fluttered your eyes open; smile etched on your face as you looked up and took in your surroundings. Took in him.

“Hello.”  

“Hi.”

Lando whispered back as you reached out and placed your hands on his chest that was glimmering with water droplets the same size of his birth marks and freckles. Misshapen and lovely. The scent of lemon and sandalwood mingling together filled the air, his skin still slick and soapy from being interrupted mid-shower but he didn't care. Not one bit.

Your fingers danced across his beating heart, tracing small circles on his shoulder before gazing up through your lashes, smile coy.

“I made it…”

“You did… and you’re real,” So real he could feel you and see, for the first time in over a month, how you reacted to his touch.

“How are you real?”

“That’s way too philosophical for my mushy brain so just shut up and kiss me, please,” You teased, tone soft and arms snaking around his waist to bring his body closer; chest stuck perfectly against yours.

“That I can do,” Lando sang back as he grasped your slack jaw in his hands and pulled you in, lips tied in a wistful kiss.

It wasn’t an ordinary kiss. It was a Lando kiss, which up until this point in your life you’d never experienced before now. You felt sparkly, giddy yet set alight, burning with desire – all rolled into one wild emotion. At first you mistook it for lust, merely a physical attraction that would slowly fade away, never felt again. But it was lust disguised when you felt it for the second time and then the third and forth time, the fifth and so on.

The feeling never faded and remained even when you were miles away, kissing through the phone and pretending you were together, touching one another. Chasing that feeling over and over again.

His lips moved so perfectly with yours, in sync and the taste on his tongue reminded you of a warm summers day down on the beach, cocktail in one hand and his fingers intertwined in the other. It was visceral and destined, like you’d kissed him a million times before; but what you were doing with him was all so new, so fresh, so fucking exhilarating that you hadn’t even realised he’d moved his lips to your neck, the soft spot beneath your ear being gently nibbled by his sharp teeth.

“You smell so good... like the first night we fucked,” Lando mumbled against your supple skin, eliciting the tiniest whimper to slip from your parted lips as he brushed the palms of his hands over your perky nipples.

“Hello to you,” He whispered, pressing a soft, smirking kiss to the top of your left boob before moving to the right, “And hello to you.”

“Oh my god,” You groaned at his words, barely slapping his bicep but still making him flinch, as his breathy giggle fanned across your chest, “Such a dork.” 

Lando removed his lips, reluctantly and stood up straight again, slightly towering over your smaller frame, “I remember you saying that you liked that about me…” He defended and suggestively winked, slowly walking you out from underneath the stream of water and towards the shower wall.

“I think it came up when you were touching yourself and moaning my name… Maybe? Can’t quite recall,” He toyed, knowing exactly what had happened last week when you texted him, ‘call me asap’ in the middle of the night.

“You are doing a lot of talking for a guy who replied with ‘I’m watching the new episode of Mandalorian, can’t call’, after I sent you a photo of me literally naked… You know what, maybe I should leave you hanging, now that you’ve so kindly brought it up.”

The whiny protest and strain in Lando’s eyes softened when he felt your hand graze his thigh, fingernails lightly scratching the skin so close to where he had been aching for you. He gasped at the sensation, starved of anyone’s touch besides his own for far too long. Your eyes met in the middle, a humorous smile twitching on the ridge of your mouth when he sucked in a deep breath and his bottom lip with it as you wrapped your hand around him, twisting gently.

Long strokes sent his eyelashes fluttering shut as he pushed you against the wet titled wall; skin slapping as your back made contact. His head was titled back from the pleasure coursing through his veins, somehow still attached to his body as he let out a strangled moan. He couldn’t think straight – the words magnificent and mind-blowing tumbling around his empty head until he heard a squeak and cracked open his eyes to see you turning around, hands pressed against the crimson tiles.

He noticed a hunger burning behind your stare when you glanced over your shoulder, ass brushing over his cock like a woman starved.

“I’ve been dreaming about this ever since I left your place in London,” You confessed as Lando dipped his head and trailed open-mouthed kisses down your back, "Think about it so much."

“Fuuuck,” He grumbled as you rolled your hips steadily, stroking him between your slightly parted thighs with a raspy moan, “Shower sex specifically?”

Lando’s question was punctuated with his tip nudging forward, gliding over your clit before sinking slowly into your warmth with a gruff exhale, “Shiiit.”

A soft giggle slipped from your lips as you leaned forward and rested your forehead against the wall, droplets of water dripping down the ceramic onto your flushed cheeks. Chills crawled down your spine as Lando roughly grasped your hips, fingertips kneading the skin as he slowly fucked into you.

“Shower sex had crossed my mind but honestly, I imagined it all…”

“Did it feel this good?” Lando asked with a knowing smile on his lips as he rocked into you, slow and steady, sensing that the occasion called for something gentle, "Because it didn't in my imagination." You shook your head and grasped his wrist, needing to feel his large hand on your stomach, “Not even close, baby… I want it all.”

Hearing you stake your claim for his heart and hint that maybe you wanted more than just a couple of one night stands strung together sent a surge of serotonin through Lando's hazy mind. It may have started that way; a subtle mention of 'no strings attached' so you could both keep your hearts safe but the countless hours talking on the phone, venting about your day as if you’d known each other for years proved that it was more. The way his touch set every inch of your skin alight proved to you that he was more.

He was the match to your fuse.

A gasp slipped from your lips when he pulled out, the emptiness feeling like a punishment for god knows what but Lando was quick to spin you around and pin your back against the cold wall, “Need to change it up otherwise we’ll be calling it a night very early.”

“Can’t handle the heat?” You teased, hoisting your leg to wrap around his thigh as he stretched you out again; eyes closing for a split second to adjust to his firm thrust.

“Oh, I’m doing great, pretty girl. Dunno about you though...” Lando whispered the last part as his hand skimmed down between your legs, thumb gliding over your sensitive nub ever so lightly – enough to have you hissing in pleasure.

“I am going so good..." You exhaled, trying to keep your cool but the scrunched up brows and slack jaw exposed you and he couldn't help but admire how fucking beautiful you looked meeting his snapping hips, deliciously synchronised .

"Keep touching me like that.”

You unclasped your claws that were digging into Lando's muscular biceps and slung your arms loosely over his shoulders, chest to chest and you could feel his heart beating. It was pumping under the taut skin, thrumming against your own as he rocked his hips into you, long, teasing strokes that were clouding your mind with all sorts of dangerous thoughts.

“I like being this close to you. You’re so warm and soft and god…” He rambled off with a moan and a gritted smile as you opened your eyes and held his face in your hands, smiling back.

“I like it too.”

The words got tangled in your throat as your nails dug into the back of his head, the pace now quickening to a level you’d never really been before with Lando. Sure, you'd had sex but this was different. It was pent up, building to an unparalleled crescendo that was washing over the both of you quicker than expected. Loud moans being swallowed in a desperate kiss, hands fumbling to grab hold of any inch of skin they could to pull you through your earth shattering high. Screams muted by the sound of running water.

And all you could do was ride it out while Lando held you upright, palms shaky and fingertips barely holding on as he dipped his head into the crook of your neck; curls tickling the sultry skin. The air was thick, humidity making everything sticky as your erratic breaths rattled against one another; chests connected, limbs tangled together as you stood under the water.

Wow, was all Lando rasped with no attempt of untangling himself from your embrace until your trembling fingers traced down his back, nails dragging over his supple skin finall brought him into your vision once again. Eyes misty and tired.

“I’m really pruny.” He stated and held up his wrinkling hand; a shy smile appeared on his plush lips as you laced your fingers with his.

You hummed and tucked a couple of the damp curls that had fallen into his face behind his pointy ears, “Shall I suggest continuing this on that massive fucking bed sitting in the middle of a room that’s bigger than my apartment?”

Lando chuckled and ghosted a soft, heart-racing kiss to your pursed lips as he reached for the towel he’d set out for himself, “It’s stupid how massive it is,” He bashfully confessed, wrapping your shivering body up and guiding you out to the warm bedroom.

“It’s… Lavish and maybe a little silly.”

There was comfortable silence as you glanced around the room again, noticing the pile of clothes that Lando had been kicking around on your call yesterday, “Yeah, sorry about the mess. I was gonna clear up but I didn’t expect you to get in so early tonight – I'm bad with time zones and all that shit.”

“Well you have a lot to keep track of with all the travelling so that’s understandable and don’t worry about the clothes, my floor is ten times worse than this.”

There was something familiar in the way you soothed his nerves and made his anxieties melt away with your words. He liked that about you, that no matter what stupid thing he’d said or done, you were either backing him up or affectionately ribbing him before mollifying his worries.

“Can’t wait to see it in person soon,” Lando blurted out, not even thinking about whether that was something you wanted or if your reassuring words warranted that intense of a response.

But you smiled and nodded, again, easing his blushing cheeks that were still burning from his high only minutes ago. There was a comfortable silence as you stood up from the end of the bed and let him bury you in one of the big, fluffy robes you’d noticed on your way in – the gold italic ‘H’ shining under the down lights as you tied the belt up, watching Lando do the same.

“Very soon, I hope.”

You sealed the promise with a kiss to his bottom lip, praying that you could be more than just a stranger he’d met by happenstance. More than an acquaintance who was simply a way to pass the time while he was away from home. Away from his creature comforts.

And if he did need you in his life like you needed him, then you definitely wanted to be his friend. Maybe more.

a//n – really been feeling the lando bug recently so let me know what you thought of this little one-shot! this will actually be the last of the #monzamashspecial celebrating 700 followers and funnily enough, i just passed 1k this morning, i think? so thank you all so much for the support. i still have a couple of great suggestions that i will get to next so keep an eye for that x masterlist | askbox

[lamialamia]

We have a problem: why am I watching this sex scene again?

Ah. Sex scenes. You wild wild beast. The crossroad of many discourses and analyses and opinions and essays and now, here I am, a mere casual ww2 rpf fan, throwing my own hat to the ring. In this blog post I'm going to talk once more about sex scenes -- two in particular -- and why the eff one of them matters, making the ww2 rpf more compelling and the other did not.

Disclaimer: Whether or not sex scenes are needed in media in general or the right way to implement them across the vast spectrum of art is not part of this discussion. Please keep in mind I'm trying to complain about the writing decision in the small scope of the HBO War shows.

I have discussed the problem with the Crosby/Sandra plot line in a previous analysis here. But I think the problem with it requires another (and maybe a third) write-up. Here, I want to talk about why the tiny sex scene between Crosby and Sandra in episode 7 is a waste of screen time.

So, we have the sex scene in MOTA episode 7. It is somewhat explicit and it was clear it is consensual and that the people who are fucking is very into it. In comparison to other sex scenes in HBO War fandom, it doesn't exactly stands out to me with just the imagery of the act (of course this is a personal opinion, whether or not I find a sex scene hot or bad or corny or lovely or [insert adjective here] is not universal).

However, my problem with this sex scene between Crosby and Sandra is that it doesn't matter to the story.

After getting it on with Sandra, and then after she left him, Crosby never talked about this affair in anyway. Not over the narration, expressing some kind of sentiment over it, not with Rosie or any other guy, so me, the audience, have no idea what he think about it or how he might be affected about it. We didn't know what Sandra think or feel about it either because her scenes are about her spy works and that's it.

You might say: well he doesn't have to tell us how he feel if the show can demonstrate to us the same thing.

Yet, MOTA never did that. Furthermore, the show never portray the sex between them matters to the characters beyond getting their rocks off. And then, the sex doesn't matter to the theme of the episode nor the overall theme of the show either. It's just something that happened.

(Sad to say that maybe this sub-plot distracts me from the rest of episode 7 and 8)

This might be consider 'realistic'. In real life, people can have sex just for the joy of it. Which is true, but in a drama mini-series, the choices to include or exclude details must take in consideration whether what is on screen is valuable to the story the show is trying to tell. Why are they including this sex scene instead of the hundred other real life details that don't make the cut? We don't have a training montage for the pilots, we never learn how Quinn and Bailey get back to base from Germany, we never have the D-Day invasion sequence,...

Let's have a comparison to another sex scene.

In The Pacific episode 3, Sidney Phillips met Gwen in Melbourne and started a romance with her that ended in them having sex before he got shipped back to Pavuvu. Personally for me, it wasn't an awesome sex scene either. Both Gwen and Sidney were awkward, they kissed and the entire thing ended with him kissing her bare shoulder.

But what truly matter happened latter. When Eugene arrived in Pavuvu and reunited with Sidney, he asked Sidney about what combat was like. And to answer this, Sidney mentioned him sleeping with Gwen not to brag about his sexual conquest but to make a comparison with the brutal battles he survived.

Despite the fact that the two of them grew up together, in just a small amount of times, Sidney have been through things and done things Eugene hadn't. All of that (both combat and his brief romance with Gwen) had changed Sidney to the point that Eugene could not longer connect with him. There was now a chasm between them. Eugene looked at his friend and tried to understand him but couldn't. There were things that must be experienced to be understood.

And then, Eugene himself went through life-changing events. The war changed him so much that when he returned to Mobile, he once again couldn't connect with Sidney

Or his brother (who was in the Army and was in the euro theatre) -- another person who had gone through the war himself.

Both Sidney and Eugene's older brother had returned home before him while Eugene had just came back, fresh off the board with his mental wounds, and it showed the chasm had formed between him and these two men who supposed to shared this brutal experience with Eugene.

In fact his brother specifically mentioned how Eugene is still a virgin, which highlight further how he was 'missing out' on that particular experience that both these men have.

And this all started when we were still following H company and witnessed Sidney and Gwen having sex. That small thing compounded over time. It snowballed into all these differences and distance that Sidney would have with Eugene, and then Eugene would be having against his own hometown, his brother, his family, and his best friend. It served to show how war had did its number on Eugene in many ways.

The sex scene between Sidney and Gwen mattered to the story, it served a narrative purpose eventually.

Crosby and Sandra's sex scene did not. And to include it meant there would be less screen time for any other story line, leaving not just the sub-plot of Crosby's arc weaker, but the other ones as well. Overall, this creative decision left MOTA a weaker show in term of its writing.

[qnewsau]

Time to tackle the problem of homophobia in the AFL

New Post has been published on https://qnews.com.au/the-problem-of-homophobia-in-the-afl/

Time to tackle the problem of homophobia in the AFL

The AFLW season has started and when it comes to inclusion for our communities, is kicking goals over AFL. As co-founder of Hawks Pride and cohost of Chicks Talking Footy on JOY 94.9, Fiona Newton loves her footy. She has a lot to say about homophobia when it comes to our national sport. She shared her thoughts in last month’s Victorian QNews.

In 2024, there have been multiple sanctions for homophobic slurs and language.

North Melbourne coach Alastair Clarkson, Port Adelaide player Jeremy Finlayson, and Gold Coast player Wil Powell.

St Kilda player Lance Collard used the word f***t up to 10 times in a VFL game against Williamstown.

This was on the same weekend that St Kilda hosted a Pride Game with the Sydney Swans.

It raises the question, is it an inclusive workplace for gay male players?

The AFL has 530,000 registered players in over 25,000 clubs across Australia. One in twenty-one Australians hold an AFL club membership.

Footy has a huge influence on Australian society, so if footy becomes a more inclusive space for gay men, so does our society.

When AFL CEO Andrew Dillon was asked whether the league had a homophobia problem, he replied, “No, I don’t think we do. But I think language of the type that has been used is not acceptable in any forum, let alone the footy field.”

Dillon warned players of more severe sanctions for homophobic slurs in future.

If there is no problem with homophobia in footy, why has no past or present gay male footy player felt comfortable to be open about their sexuality in the sport?

Why is it not okay to be gay at the AFL?

In a recent podcast, The Invisible Men (of the AFL), John Buck interviewed Dr David Lowton from La Trobe University, the author of a world-first comprehensive academic survey of 670 players.

They confirmed for the first time that gay men are playing AFL at the highest levels.

Several players ticked the box in the anonymous survey confirming that they were gay and some were bisexual.

We know that being ‘in the closet’, suppressing part of your identity, and fearing being shunned in the community and excluded from friendships causes a huge amount of angst.

We don’t see this same angst with gay female players in World Cup soccer or the AFLW. Gay female players are open about who they are dating, married to and having babies with.

We are used to seeing women hold their same-sex partner’s hands on the best and fairest nights.

Most clubs would say, with sincerity, that they would welcome a gay male player if they were to come out publicly and openly about their sexuality.

This seems to be delusional when players and coaches are still using homophobic language on the footy field which sends the opposite message – being gay is bad and we won’t accept you.

I dream of a day that we see a gay male player holding his partner’s hand at the Brownlow. But that will mean understanding that homophobic slurs keep our gay male players in the closet!

For the latest LGBTIQA+ Sister Girl and Brother Boy news, entertainment, community stories in Australia, visit qnews.com.au. Check out our latest magazines or find us on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and YouTube.

[bradleymarshall]

Life

Are you ready for the truth

These are my problems

So I’m gay

I’ve been in the closet for 15 years now

I knew I was gay at 13. I knew people were gay but it devastated me that I was so I kept it secret and have been in denial ever since. It affects me deeply. My parents are also devastated knowing they’ll never have grandchildren.

I’ve dated a heap of girls and led them on. One, we lasted two years together, another we travelled to Paris together. None of them know.

Today, I’m seeing a girl called jasmine.

She knows I’m gay, and still loves me strangely. She says, if she can’t find another man in two years, being 5 years older than I am, she’ll still marry me, and maybe we can have a family together.

Recently she’s been diagnosed with cancer in three places.

Her thigh, her left foot and back.

I’ve never enjoyed sex, only been traumatised by it, I’m yet to feel love or enjoy any intimacy.

My relationship with my mother and father are very strained. They want me to move out as soon as I can, but I’m spending $500 a week on organic and pasture raised food and my savings is devastated.

I wonder how I can survive at all when everything I eat makes me fall apart.

It seems everything I do

I’m

Constantly working at full capacity just to survive and I’m exhausted.

I can’t even have a shower in Melbourne without falling apart

I can’t have the relative relaxation of a warm flow of water running over my head

Instead all I have is the freezing ocean where I feel numb for 5 minutes

Every second day of the year

I’m about to start a 7 year medical pathway

Which will also heighten my stress

When will I be free?

[froshele]

I'm not aromantic. I have a fuller than usual love life, and I still neither replace community for anyone nor expect them to replace community for me.

I grew up in community. Community so intense and involved and tightly knit that leaving was tearing into flesh both for me and for everyone else, so proactively communal that people sometimes just don't believe me out here. ("You have a loaning system for baby stuff? That's... weird.")

That's not one person - it's one person and their whole family and the whole families of everyone they know and everyone those people know, all tied together by blood and choice and obligation and religion and tradition and culture and suffering and change and stagnation and place and time and memory and "ey I'm going to the store, do you need diapers, time sensitive question im half out the door ok peace and love see you" and "hey we're both Hindl's neighbours and she's in mourning" and "do you have anyone in Melbourne? I need a place to stay".

Nobody can do all that alone. Nobody can be all that alone. In a context completely inimical to it, like this one, it's hard to even take the steps to make sure you have a niche in the collection of houses you happen to reside in, and sometimes fruitless and impossible. Not for any personal reason - sometimes the neighbours are racist or antisemitic or who knows what, in unconquerable personal ways that it could be pointless to make your problem. Sometimes they're just afraid of you and no one wants to take the risk first. Everyone is convinced everyone else is Freddy Krueger waiting to jump out of the bushes with a weapon. Helpfully, you can buy both guns and ski masks in Walmart.

In the absence of the knowledge I will ever again be useful and know useful people anywhere, I am wilting a little, because this condition is not easy to adjust to. It's hard to live in a society where trying to be a good or even normal neighbour is readable as an act of aggression for reasons totally outside your control or understanding. It's weird to feel like you'd be a bother if you started taking walks outside.

And you know what, having people in your corner helps weather that a little, but the part that helps isn't the part where those people want to date you or have sex or even nest with you. The part that helps is that those people are in your corner, that there is something holding them to you stronger than just that they feel in the moment like being there. The part that helps is that somebody honestly gives a damn, and the core of the problem seems to be that no one in this entire society has to give a damn about anyone at all unless they feel like it. Not their parents or siblings or grandparents, not their partners (unless they're married, and then they're supposed to be all of the above to each other), nobody. Not even their children (who the hell turfs out a kid at 18?).

But if you don't give a damn about your relatives because you have to, you can't conceive of giving a damn about anyone else because you have to either. You put your whole ass into caring about a long term partner because/as long as they give you the warm glowies, and then as soon as one of you doesn't feel the warm glowies anymore it's on to the next one because this one is now a cosmically ordained bad person not worth your girlboss time (you've begun to notice their most annoying behaviours, and remember, a queen won't accept less than perfection).

Your neighbour? Forget about even trying to get along - lord forbid they might have a bad opinion, you know? Better to leave each other alone. Totally alone. Put up a really high fence to be sure they don't steal your car. Dear lord, did they pet your dog through the chainlink fence between yards? Fido's in lifethreatening danger of poisoning and that person probably puts razor blades in Halloween candies.

My first Halloween (last year) I made a cutesy little sign for kids about safety at night, with little pumpkins and ghosts on it, and we almost didn't put it up because my girl was concerned people might take something badly. She grew up in this society, or at least chiral to it, so I took her word for these things. We put it up, with changes. Nobody came to our door. The one is likely a cause of the other.

If your partner is meant to replace community for you, the least anyone could do is approach partnership through a framework of reciprocal need, but nobody needs anybody out here, and nobody is needed by anybody either.

People just do what they want, alone, and other people can collapse on buses because no one wants to get off their ass for someone who has nothing to give them back. They just don't want to, although nowadays there are all sorts of highminded moral justifications.

Wanting has very little to do with living with other people, unfortunately, but wanting is the only thing passing for societal glue in this place, at this time, among this people. It seems natural that sexual or emotional wanting would define the only relationship where, pardon me, any fucks are still supposed to be given just-because at all.

I don't want a romantic partner I want friends who will go dumpster diving with me, I want neighbors who will knock on my door and ask for butter because they forgot to buy some and it's sunday. I want book shelves in public spaces, food banks and shared tool sheds and community gardens. I want to trade home grown tomatoes for a couple of eggs with my neighbor and I want to bring food over to my friends house when I've cooked too much. I want bicycle only streets and I want people to go on spontaneous walks with. I want people to ask me for help when they need it and I want to be able to ask for help in return. I want community as a safety net. I want people to stop focusing on the vague concept of the one, who will Cure All Isolation and Loneliness. I want every single person to be able to find support and comfort around them, regardless of their relationship status.

[oddsandendsandthings]

A List of Podcasts You’ve Probably Haven’t Heard

FYes there are a million podcast rec lists out there already but here’s a list of podcasts that you’ve probably never heard of that truly do not get the attention they deserve.

Compelled Dual:

A 2 play co-DM’d DnD podcast following Leoril and Phirora Valcyne as they each try to inherit the throne from their dick father. The DMs Al and Barry are master story tellers who’s unconventional system works seamlessly with the story. It is a story of political intrigue, mystery, adventure, and finding the true meaning of family. It is also packed to the teeth with LGBT+ characters and if you’re like me and crave quality shows with good representation this is the show for you. If you like The Adventure Zone or Critical Role you will love this show. It is currently in it’s final season of their first campaign and it updates every Friday.

Supernatural Sexuality with Dr. Seabrooke

This show is a relationship advice radio show set in a fictional world where mystical creatures and monsters exist. The characters may be monsters but their problems have real world connotations to them and very usable advice to take to heart. This show is also sex worker positive! And shows said sex workers in healthy relationships and the advice they receive isn’t about telling them to stop being a sex worker! Regardless of your current relationship status there is likely something here you will be able to relate too. This show currently has 12 episodes and is currently on an extended hiatus. Also the content of the show can obviously go into NSFW territory and so use discretion.

Love and Luck

An audio drama between two men living in Melbourne, Australia falling in love and finding they’ve developed magical powers to change the mood and luck of those around them. This show also has the unique aspect of being told completely through the voice messages they leave for each other. I’ll be real with you. If you’re one of those people that likes those coffee shop/flower shop/tattoo shop AU fanfics, you’ll love this show. This show is just a warm cup of coffee on a rainy day levels of soothing. It does tackle homophobia and transphobic behavior including topics such as parents kicking their children out and queer bashing so use caution but those episodes are always prefaced with content warnings so take care. Each episode is very short with the longest episode topping out at about 15 minutes so it is easy to binge through the 101 episodes. It is currently also on hiatus due to COVID so no new episodes are currently forthcoming yet.

Light Hearts

Follow the optimistic Janine as she does her best to run a café that is unfortunately haunted. You’ll see as she does her best to not only cater to the needs of her customers, but her paranormal roommates with the help of the colorful friends she makes along the way. This show is just light hearted fun at its finest and is tragically short with only 4 full episodes and a few minisodes and is also on a COVID based hiatus. Still worth the listen in my opinion though!

The Two Princes

Follow Prince Rupert as he struggles through an enchanted forest to find a way to save his kingdom from its viney grasp. He will find not all is not as it seams as he encounters another Prince by the name of Amir who seams to know more about the forests origins and what must be done save both their kingdoms. A show of adventure, romance, and mystery that can’t be missed. The show reached its series finale in 2020 but with 3 seasons worth of content it will have plenty to keep you entertained for a while.

Caravan

Follow Samir who accidentally falls into a mysterious canyon while on a camping trip with his best friend. The canyon is filled with demons, vampires, ghosts, and all other forms of monsters all fighting for control. Listen along as Samir must join with the humans who have come to call this crazy place home to help him find his way back to his. The best way to describe this is a western meets fantasy in the best way possible. I will say this show gets into NSFW territory and just about every character has no problem talking about how DTF they are for monsters and does have an instant of in scene sex so be aware.

Foundation After Midnight Radio

 This is a radio show set in the SCP universe that brings the news and announcements of all SCP facilities to all foundation personnel. It is very much Welcome to Nightvale meets SCP in the way. The announcer DJ Scip has a hilarious delivery and brings the fun to the SCP universe. If you like other SCP fan content like Containment series on Youtube you will love this show. It is the SCP universe though so horror and reality bending events are going to happen so if that is not your cup of tea skip it. 

The Mistholme Museum of Mystery Morbidity and Mortality

Listen to this helpful and friendly tour guide as it leads you through the strange and mysterious exhibits of this equally strange and mysterious museum. This show is like SCP if the SCP Foundation was actually good at their job of containing their subjects. The show balances its humor and horror perfectly and by the end you too will also want your own Guide. The show is currently ongoing with its fourth season so there is plenty of content!

The White Vault

Follow a repair team sent to Outpost Fristed in the middle of the wastes outside Svalbard. They quickly become snowed in by a terrible storm and come to find there are mysteries and horrors waiting for them beneath the ice. I’m gonna warn you now that this is a horror show that has no qualms killing characters so be forewarned if that’s not your thing. But if you are someone who likes a good horror story to keep you up at night then this is the show for you. The mystery will haunt you worse than the monsters and know that the show writers are not going to just give you any explanation of what or why things are happening the way they are. There is an eldritch horror to this that does not directly use any preexisting lore so you will likely leave with more questions than answers and  looming dread to both wanting to understand and knowing that the truth may be worse to know. The show is five seasons long with bonus content available for purchase on their website. While the bonus content does have some valuable pieces of world building lore and some character set ups they are not necessary  to enjoy the main story.

Spines

Wren wakes up suffering from memory loss, covered in blood, and surrounded in the remains of what looks to be some form of ritual. The only sources to he past are the fleeting names and faces of those who fled when she awoke. Follow her as she hunts them down to find out who she is, what happened to her, and how she can stop anyone from doing it again to anyone else. This show is a horror mystery that is engaging to follow and has a mystery that follows through with bringing more questions forward as old ones get answered. The horror does rely on a lot of body horror so use caution if that’s not your thing. But if you like a well written horror with ambiguous endings this is a good show to give a listen too.

[misscrawfords]

20, 63, Phryne/Jack

Teacher AU + Everybody Knows/Mistaken for Couple

Oh, fun!

*

Phryne Fisher was an easy hire. Her academic credentials were superb, her references from some top English public schools were glowing, Mac vouched for her as a dear friend from university (and the Head of Biology was very reliable about these things), and even better, she apparently had a pilot's license. So useful for the cadet training. (Jack was very keen to see more girls get involved with that. Phryne seemed supportive.)

She interviewed over Zoom, still being in England at the time. Perhaps that was where the trouble started. Miss Fisher, over a rather bad internet connection in a lime green suit from the boarding school in Surrey where she was currently working, seemed fresh and earnestly devoted to student welfare and alround excellent, albeit with a dashing dress sense.

Phryne Fisher, swaggering up on the first day of term in February in Melbourne was quite another matter. She was a force of nature. The kids loved her. She made friends with the grounds staff, the cleaners, the office staff, the catering staff. Unfortunately, she did not follow rules. Her clothes pushed "acceptable smart casual business wear" as stated in the Code of Conduct to its limits. Her methods for dealing with behaviour problems were original to say the least. She was passionate about reforming the sex education curriculum and annoyed a very important (and more importantly, rich) governor by demanding LGBT+ content on the syllabus. She refused to attend chapel.

In short she was an absolute pain.

And the way she would waltz into his office daily and perch herself on the edge of his desk, eating her breaktime apple and look at him like that and say, "Headmaster-" in that tone of hers before she rattled off some new idea for reformation or scheme for the students or rant about the unfairness of the system which he really did not have time to listen to...

That was the worst of all.

No, worst of all was the way she kept calling him "Sir". Which the other teachers often did too, since they could hardly call him "Jack" in front of the students, but did Phryne have to do it like that? Surely there should be a law against someone calling him "Sir" in that tone in front of the students?

Half the staff, the older, conservative half, wanted her gone. Jack ought to have agreed with them. Did, in fact, agree with a lot of their arguments.

And yet, somehow, Miss Fisher remained. And thrived. And made school just that bit better for some of the more reluctant students. And Jack? He couldn't be sorry about that. He could not be sorry at all.

*

I've just realised I completely forgot the whole "mistaken for a couple" part of the prompt. But I reckon the entire school ships them after seeing them get into a heated argument during school assembly in which Phryne calls him "Sir" one time too many and he accidentally calls her "Phryne". There's no going back from that tbh. (But I'm sorry for forgetting half the prompt.)

(Also I really want this AU.)

[spnfanficpond]

Manta Ray in the discord server

Tomorrow (sorry for the late announcement), one of our Manta Rays, @fictionalabyss, will be in the discord server, just hanging out! (*whispers* It's gonna be her birthday, so send her some love, y'all!)

What time will it be for you:

Los Angeles - Thursday 4pm

New York - Thursday 7pm

London - Thursday midnight

New Delhi - Friday 4:30am

Melbourne - Friday 9am

Our Manta Rays hang out like this in an effort to foster the mentoring side of the community, where more experienced members help the newbies with anything and everything Tumblr- and writing-related. This is your chance to get advice and feedback from people who have been there and done that!

(We also like to just chat with you guys and see how you’re doing as people, so don’t feel like you need to bring only writing problems into the chat. Writing is life, and we welcome all parts of life! Be that writer stuff, personal stuff, or really personal stuff like sex, periods, and poop.)

RULES TO LIVE/CHAT BY:

You must be a Pond member to participate. (Joining is easy! Send us an ASK!)

No hate. Everyone’s opinions must be respected. (Ship and let ship!)

No NSFW images or text, as some Pond members are under the age of 18 and we want all members to be welcome. (If chat turns NSFW, we have a whole separate channel we can move to!)

So, bring your frustrations, your problems, your lack of inspiration, and let’s see if we can help you work it all out!

[chaotichedonist]

Tharunka (Kensington, NSW : 1953 - 2010)

Wednesday 9 June 1976, page 14

   Some funny moments to tease you into reading:

Press: Roger, you're noted for your amazing screams.

Freddie: It's a controlled scream. I'd rather call it art.

/

Freddie: You're joking dear. I'm just a singer, dear.

/

It’s been a struggle, because in the beginning nobody knew what we were doing. We were the only people who believed in ourselves.

  back at the hotel sleazy

  For all those fans who were misled by the media, Queen did not spend a couple of days-relaxing on sunny Perth beaches - it rained the whole bloody time they were there. (In Melbourne the hotel was 'besiged' by fans, who to quote Pete Brown — Queen's personal manager — seemed to be emerging from the wood work). Not to be put off however, by the Australian conditions Freddie Mercury (lead vocals and keyboards) attended the press conference in white pants and a simply sumptuous summer synthetic top with delicate butterfly sleeves curling gently over his shoulders. He was even more beautiful than Sophia Loren.

  They were all quite chatty only Roger (Meadows-Taylor, the drummer) would keep interjecting, usually over John Deacon (bass) who said not an audible word.

Press: Would you describe your music as mock opera? 

Freddie: They call it cock-opera back home. 

Roger: I suppose because the vocals are in the 'grand style'. 

Press: When is your next album coming out? 

Freddie: We'll have a rest and think about it.. 

Roger: We just don't bung'em together. 

Brian: We don't sort of write sitting in hotel rooms you know. 

Freddie: We gather influences. 

Press: Your music has been described as snob rock. What do you think? 

Freddie: I couldn't describe our music as anything. We certainly don't put across that this it intelligent music that is on a completely differenrt level to the people who come to it. 

Roger: It's written for the people. That's what it's all about. 

Press: The theme of death recurs on your albums. Why this preoccupation?

Roger: Freddie's morbid mind.

Press to Freddie: Do you consider yourself a sex-symbol?

Freddie: You're joking dear. I'm just a singer, dear.

Press to Roger: Do you consider yourself a superstar? 

Roger: As meaningless, (blows kisses).

Roger on the media - absurd for a magazine combine rock and politics. 

Press: Roger, you're noted for your amazing screams. 

Freddie: It's a controlled scream. I'd rather call it art. 

Undauted by the fearless Australians they continued talking about their lyrics and the esoteric implication.

Roger: Freddie just loves the word 'Beelzebub'. 

Freddie: Yes, well, Brian's got a taste for unusual words. 

Roger: You talking about dandling on your knee and things? 

All four of them write songs and each has at least one song on 'A Night At The Opera'. 

Brian: It's very difficult to talk about our songs as a group because we all have different ideas of what the songs are about. 

Roger: No we don't. 

Freddie: Roger's the sensitive one. 'I'm in love with my car' is the most sensitive song on the album (Night At The Opera). 

Roger did tend to sit there pouting at the bows on his pink lame gym-boots. One hardly noticed the dark roots in this gold angelic hair. We did ask, but unfortunately Roger didn't have a pic of himself in the gymboots. Roger was later accosted by David Essex fans in the foyer of the hotel, who wished to know if he was a popstar, girls now have Roger's autograph. Back to the lyrics..

Freddie: Every song is written by one of us and means something special to each one of us. Certain songs have a very literal meaning and can be understood straight away. Then there are some songs that can be taken on a lot of different levels.

He describes a lot of his songs as fantasies. 'We want to consciously lose ourselves. There are certain things we want to escape from in our lives or whatever.' He feels that people should create their own private fantasies from the images in his songs and so doesn't like to talk about what they mean to him. 'I'd hate to shatter someone's illusion. If I listen to somebody's songs I conjure up a fantasy of what its about and I like to keep it that way.'

He elaborated further.. 'Lyrically it is helpful to use certain words. You see it depends.. sometimes I want to use words that are phonetically useful. In the beginning they're surface words but you entwine them into the meaning of a song. That's what I mean about different levels.' 

Brian May has a different approach to his songs, 'There's usually something serious behind them, but I feel a big responsibility not to over-indulge in idealogies. In 'White Queen' I was very interested in the significance of Queens and White Ladies in English folk lore. The song started off as a personal experience, the frustration of not being able to communicate, I was thinking about Robert Graves' ' White Goddess' and that became involved in the song.' 

Roger: Romantic slush.

Brian: Our 'Now I'm Here' song is really about our first American tour. A big experience for anybody. It's a conglomeration of all the experiences we had on that tour. We had a great time with Mott the Hoople. I suppose they taught us to be a touring band.

We're very critical about each other and very cynical. We don't get deeply into meanings because you're living with it all the time. You have to be a bit light-hearted about it.

With four individual writers the albums were not done with a specific concept in mind. The 'White Queen' was written four years before the 'Black Queen'.

Brian: I don’t think that Freddie’s 'Black Queen' was a reaction to the 'White Queen'. We just discovered that we had these songs and the rest of the album seemed to fit around it.

Freddie: It probably subconsciously coheres.

Similarly ‘A night At The Opera’ has no overall concept though the name of the album is related to Freddie’s ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’.

As Brian puts it ‘We are four very different people with four very different directions, but there is a musical development that does make some kind of sense. Queen is very much an independent thing. We are always bouncing ideas off each other. We are very aware that we need each other.’

The rapport between them onstage bears out this statement. They work off each other in a carefully intergrated show thatt creates an atmosphere of spontaneity for the audience.

At the opening of their set there is a flash of fire and smoke as Queen emerge on stage. While music winds up they launch into ‘Orge Battle’. Like a Greek God or a simister Mephistopheles Freddie's powerful vocals cut through the smoke and flames. 

With the stage show the band is doing something different to stimulating their records. Brian: "You don't get up there and behave like you do in the street. You go up there to entertain people and give them some kind of excitement". They have rearranged some of their songs especially for stage performance, including a medley of 'Bohemian Rhapsody', 'Killer Queen', 'Black Queen' and 'Leyroy Brown', which grinds down into 'March of the Black Queen' and then skips out on a lighter note which features Brian on genuine Japanese ukalele. 

The brilliant solo Brian performs in 'Brighton Rock', with sweet high Paginini frills and harmonies, stimulating two or three guitars on stage, is in a style he has evolved himself. He got the idea the first time he was in a recording studio. Says Brian: "It was my first experience of doing multi-tracking. It happened to be in the cannon-things which repeat themselves. You play one, then you play the same over the top of it after a time interval. Later we started to do those things on stage but there was the problem of how to do it. We started having a single delay and then another one over the top of it. Then afterwards you do another repeat on the second. You can then do three part harmonies with yourself. We started to base it all on ten second solos and it grew and grew. There's a lot of other people doing it now and I'm glad because it’s a thing you can play around with.' 

In the stage arrangement of "Prophet's Song' Freddie uses a similar echo feedback system which multiplies his voice into a celestial choir. His voice floats as a vision - "Listen to the madman' - while Brian plays some beautiful guitar.

encore amore

Brian describes their encore performance as the time when the band really unwinds. "It's nice at the encore to just completely unbend and make a fool of yourself. It gets rid of the tension between the band and the audience. I used to get a kick out of going to concerts to see rock groups like the 'Who' and feeling involved, like the group knew you were there. WE go by the kinds of things we think people would like at an encore. It's at a very basic level really, an energy level, a physical level. Rock and Roll is kind of a body music. I get as much satisfaction out of basic rock'n'roll like Status Quo as the most sophisticated music I know.' 

The audience certainly enjoyed it and really let loose their energy. Roger (who claimed the most female screams) in rainbow mop-wig opened the encore with slow heavy rock-beat as Freddie did a dramatic entrance in a silk kimino. As he eased into 'Big Spender', he peeled off to striped hot pants for an outrageous version of 'Jailhouse Rock' - simple hard-driving rock'n'roll that had everybody out of their sets.

gettin' feelin' thru th' transistors

Brian was rather upset that the Australian Press should braiid them as a manufactured band. If 'Bohmeian ,hapsody' can be seen as incorporating the spectrum of s talent - mood changes, heavy stuff, the soft ballad - it is not because they (men of letters from universities) have developed a magic 'X' formula. Rather the song can be seen as a musical progression, a reworking of motifs off their other albums. 

Brian can only say that, 'They obviously didn't see us in the earlier days. I can understand why they'd say that over here. Big impact. Overnight success. It must have been all calculated. If you’d seen the way it happened in England, you wouldn’t think that. I’ve had years playing pubs in England where people were drinking beer and discussing what other people were doing and not listening to the music. I want to build up this thing where people do want to go to a concert. While it begins to look like the commercial side, it;s what it’s all about. I want knock it because I want people to come and hear what we do. 

It’s been a struggle, because in the beginning nobody knew what we were doing. We were the only people who believed in ourselves. We started playing because we had some kind of vision that we thought was worthwhile. For over a year and a half we were playing to ourselves. Gradually you gather people around who believe and that’s the way it happened.

Nobody is going to tell us to play what is commercial. What we play comes from us. We’re very lucky really in that we have a kind of audience who are attentive to whatever direction we choose to follow. One of us will come up with a song and we'll say, 'Yeah, it needs that kind of treatment and maybe that turns out to be something you call heavy and sometimes something which is light.' 

To get back to the charge that they are a manufactured band, while he doesn't like it, he can only take it as a compliment that they think the band is so good. He doesn't consider himself a technician "technically I've stayed the same for the last six or seven years. Progress is what you feel and what you are putting across. That's what playing is about for us.' 

Freddie: There's a lot of music there too.

Roger: A bit of music, yeah.

low key queen

By Anne Finnegan

Wednesday 9 June 1976

If you save, do not forget to leave a link to this, coz i kinda found it by myself and made and transcipt. Thanks :)

[bradleymarshall]

It’s like my only option in life is to be rich

I can’t afford a maid

Dishwasher atm is fine

I’ll buy heaps of pans and plates and just stack the dishwasher until it’s full to wash

Won’t touch a plate in my life

Unless I have to

Not every day though

Maid can do that eventually

Just a ridiculous existence

How can I even relate to anyone at all

My experiences are so fucking skewed and left of centre I can’t even explain to a counseller how I feel

You know

I can’t wash the dishes or use a shower

Oh wtf

Yeah I don’t eat anything from any restaurant

Like people ask me

How do you live

I don’t even know

The only way through is to be rich

Then I can afford 50,000 to casually hook up my whole house to bore water

And to cancel my students cause I don’t teach them

They attend my school of music

And I just fly anywhere the fuck I want just doing podcasts

And being openly gay

And making content

If I was rich

I could have a studio

Where I record music

Have green screens

Have a room for props

I wouldn’t have to have my bedroom full of equipment

I could actually make it a bedroom to film scenes in that I don’t have to rearrange every time I film

How the fuck is anyone supposed to relate to me as a genuine connection

Jordan or Adam

Short of casual sex

It’s a miracle anyone can be attracted to me given how fucked up everything is

If I was rich

I could install bore water across my whole house inside a faraday house cage

And then I could shower like everyone else

And wash my hands without fear

Like I need to be rich enough to hire a maid before my parents die

Like how the fuck

I can’t even washes dishes without my fingers falling off

How pathetic

I can put the dishes in the dishwasher

But the pan

I need to be able to wash the pan without touching the soap

It’s just ridiculous

Too hard basket

Just buy 7 pans haha

And hire a cleaner for an hour for 1 hour a week to fucking do everything

Idk everything is just a massive head fuck

Philippines

It’s all there

Permanent maid

Showers

Bore Water

Maybe when I’m rich I’ll just fly Adam to the Phillipines where he can’t escape my love island

But by then I’ll be rich enough to have it in my house in Melbourne

Even the fucking heater is a headfuck

Elaine likes it on

I want it off

But I don’t want to live alone

So what

Solution: have an illusion gas fireplace where the heat isn’t dry? Can there even be a humid heat

Just fucking have a jet engine humidifier going so the whole house feels like it’s on the equator

Move to Queensland

Lose all my contacts here

Crown Maria

They don’t even know im gay

Such a fucking headache

Idk how many millions id have to spend to make it all work eventually

I definitely think my fingers are so bad because of the heater and dish washing

It’s just drying them out so much

Idk what to do

Even a counseller would be like

Idk bro

Doctors and counsellers are all useless haha

It’s too specific

A problem

Bore water

Use boiling water to wash the pan

Only use soap at the end once already clean

Use a long sponge with a handle so there’s no contact

I’m like a fucking retard boy in the bubble

I may as well should sleep in glass oxygen like MJ

My life’s a literal punch line to a joke

Gay retard with everything falling apart from skin to life

And the only thing holding him together is his intj Bruce Wayne brain

If not, he’d most likely be dead

Like dazelle

How many years will it take

Fucking 5?

Until I push this shit up hill

I need to just spend every day behind a computer editing

I promise to never get a normal job

Even that masters of teaching position I’ll fuck off

But idk

Maybe I’ll want to teach down the track

Vcass sounds so fun to teach at idk

Not a luxury life though

How is it

Out of all the people that I’ve seen in my life

Only you, Jasmine,

Seem to stay

And that’s it out of everyone

Everyone

Is it really that hard to stay in contact with people

Xavier, Belle, Tim smith my vocal coach, Benjamin Martin, it’s like, people come and go like the wind. There’s barely any constants but yourself. Life is a horrible tragic experience if you just look around

That song glimpses is so true

It’s only the glimpses of happiness among the oceans of bullshit that make it worth it remotely

Otherwise he “would kill my self today”

Amen

To that

Is the only way people can stay close to me is if they had a romantic sexual attraction to me initially

I wonder

Is there anyone platonic who stayed with me

Xavier

I don’t trust

Is there anyone?

lol

I sound like I’m having a full scale mental break Down again but I’m just venting

“If I have peace, let it last beyond the day”

I want to write a song like that

It’s my favourite song

I come back to it every few months

Him post Malone and Reagan beam haha

I haven’t read a book in so long cause I fear I don’t have time to escape anymore

I’m like those are the things you can do in old age when no one no longer cares for your looks

You know all this is selfish in a way

Cause I talk to you

Cause I feel like my story is so complex the counseller won’t have time in an hour to understand wtf is going on so it’s a waste of time unless I just present one problem to him

But I don’t even know what problem to present first. At least you know everything.

I just feel shithouse for so long now. And now ever since a few weeks back I feel even more shithouse haha

At least I’ve found peace making content with Jasmine laughing there

I love those moments in transit between places where you’re forced to waste time

Like on a plane or on a train

It’s like those long trips

Even to my gigs

Are my breath of fresh air where there’s a few hours up my sleeve I can afford to waste time and I can relax.

It’s like when I’m at home, I’m just sprinting as fast as I can every second, and it’s like I’ve hit a wall and I’m so exhausted. And everything is burning up at the same time, like how can I feel so attracted to boys and also afraid at the same time. wtf is going on

Maybe its only half gay

Maybe the other half is spiritual and intellectual height, which makes you feel lonely among everyone else

Why I can only seem to keep you and jasmine

[ultimaa]

OFFSIDE

Two shot

PART I

Summary: "You’re young, attractive and rich, but Martinique stands between you and the love of your life. Damn, I'm happy I'm not you."

Eren had two sacred rules during his holidays: no football, no social media and no England. These purposes involved moving a thousand kilometers from his apartment in Liverpool to enjoy a peaceful summer in his native Shigansina, a small town in southern Germany where everyone knew each other. There he was simply Dr. Grisha's boy. "Really? Come on, man, go to French Polynesia or Dubai," his partner Connie Springer said. "Shigan-what? Okay, don't mind me. I’m sure parties are great in your town..." Honestly, Eren spent his days off sleeping and playing video games. Sometimes he jogged — after all, he earned his salary thanks to his body — and drunk HB beer, but what he liked most was the feeling of making up for lost time. He loved football and played in one of the best clubs in the world, history would seat him at the same table as Ian Rush, Michael Owen or Steven Gerrard. He loved Anfield, but he was too young when he said goodbye to the field of earth soccer and was taken to Melwood, where his parents visited him once a month. At the age of twenty-six, with a brilliant career, Eren Jaeger returned to Germany like an elephant going to die in a cave, with his family, and then repeated the cycle of nostalgia. However, that year would be different.

The Jaeger couple celebrated their 25th anniversary and they organized a small party with relatives and close friends. Only Eren Kruger, best man, who was in a submarine five thousand meters deep, was absent. As for the others, they all attended: Zeke and Pieck, who had come from Berlin, Aunt Faye, Keith Shadis (Eren’s Godfather), Tom Xaver (Zeke’s Godfather), Hannes, Armin and his grandfather, Kuchel Ackerman (bridesmaid), Kenny Ackerman (usher) and Levi Ackerman. Grisha did not like parties, but Carla settled the discussion with a resounding statement: "Silver anniversary aren’t celebrated every day, darling."

While Hannes, old Arlet, Pieck and Kuchel made a beef stew and the couple danced to the sound of Wiener Blut in the sitting room, Eren opened a bottle of beer and toasted with Armin and Zeke.

"You’re the only one, brother," Zeke pointed out. "You’ll retire bachelor. With ten Golden Balls, but a bachelor."

"The golden bachelor," Eren corrected. "Hey, Armin, you're single too."

"Annie and I are taking some time." His best friend shrugged.

Zeke laughed. He was a cardiologist. "I understand the heart much better than you... in all aspects," he used to say. And it was probably true: he was married to Pieck and the ring did not bother him yet.

"Really? She has been in Australia for two months. Do you know how long Australians last in bed, huh? About seventeen minutes, behind only the Americans, the Canadians and the English. As for the Germans, only eight percent have participated in a trio. If I were you, I'd start to worry."

"Did you just tell me I'm a bad lover?"

"No. Statistics, Armin. Information."

"This dude is like that." Eren took a sip. "He throw the stone and hides the hand."

"I have no interest in offending the virility of the Germans. I'm German, in case you haven't noticed. Siegfried is my grandfather and every Friday I go drinking with Wagner, but not all women know how to appreciate the Central European charm. Also, Melbourne is one of the best cities to live."

"Annie is in Sydney."

"See? That's precisely the problem." Zeke finished his beer and put a hand on Arlet's shoulder. "You know exactly where she is, but does she remember you? When a woman puts fifteen thousand kilometers between her and her partner, she only has one goal: to forget. And while she builds her new beginning, you water her plants."

"I still wonder how you seduced Pieck," Eren said. "Did you take her to dinner with Kaiser Wilhelm and Angela Merkel?"

"Actually, she won me. Well, I fell into the trap. I thought I could escape later. I was wrong and I'm not ashamed to admit it. I ain’t immune to women either."

Zeke showed a wide smile. He was blond and had a magnificent bearing. When the waltz was over, he congratulated Grisha and gave him a beer. Then he hugged Carla and cleared his voice. They all looked at him.

"This woman you see here is suicidal: marrying a Jaeger is dangerous, but marrying a divorced Jaeger with a child is deadly. The first time I saw her I was seven years old and I thought: Will she be like Miss Rottenmeier? No, thanks to God. I had always been Ezekiel, but she started calling me Zeke and that's how my friends, my coworkers and my wife call me. In a way, he baptized me. She ain’t my father's wife or my stepmother. Sorry, Eren; Being an only child is wonderful, but she’s also my mother and I would like us to toast her, the woman who brought us together here today. Cheers! Who’s in charge of the music? Auntie, put Spring’s Voices on. Eren and I are gonna dance."

"Wonderful idea." Armin laughed. "Football? As Martha Graham said, dance is the hidden language of the soul."

"You bastards." Eren took his brother's hand.

"Don't step on my shoes."

Among the music and the wild laughter of Kenny and Hannes, Eren did not realize what was about to happen. No clairvoyant would have guessed it. He looked sideways and saw her appear: black hair, aviator sunglasses, and a cigarette between her lips. White rolled-up shirt, capri pants and strappy sandals. He lost concentration and Zeke roared with laughter. He knew, of course. The last time he saw her was on the eve of her trip to Martinique, where she had spent the past year. The waltz ended and they both bowed. Eren did not want to raise the head. Why had no one warned him?

"Levi told me she came back last night," Zeke whispered.

Eren did not even hear the applause. He quickly returned to Armin, who was chatting with Keith Shadis, a retired military man, about the Ardennes Counteroffensive and the Nuremberg Trials. "I am almost sure," said his friend, a historian, "that Franz von Papen died in '69."

"Mikasa is here," Eren hissed.

"I know," he nodded, "and I'm gonna greet her, she's my lifelong friend and I'm glad to see her. You should do the same. Don't think about what happened."

"Did you know? Armin!"

His friend approached her. Great. Eren slipped out into the garden with a couple of beer cans and sat down on a wooden bench. Pretend you don't care, he thought. It belongs to the past, that's it! Fuck! You have to call it by its name: pain. Before she left, they drank like a fish and ended up going to bed. That was last summer. They had not spoken about it since then. He could already hear wise and eminent Zeke Jaeger’s voice: "So you haven’t had a girlfriend since Christ was crucified, but you shag with your best friend. Da ya need to talk, Eren?" Shit! Maybe he needed to tell someone how much her decision to go to Martinique hurt when he declared her love. She had a degree in Arts, so she was offered to do a study about Paul Gauguin, who spent a time on the island. So Zeke would say: "The Caribbean? I'm sorry, brother, I'm so sorry. You and Armin can cry together."

Eren was in love with her. It is one of those truths that one understands with a broken heart. And this led him to reject the insinuations of several, too many women in recent months. There were rumors that he was gay.

"Look who's here: Reds’ Hunter," Mikasa greeted him. "Can I sit?"

"You can do whatever you want." Eren was not angry, but a little drunk. He scratched his right arm; Delacroix's Liberty was tattooed from shoulder to elbow; Lower down, on the forearm, Goya’s Colossus collapses the Berlin Wall. On the inside of the doll, an M. Again, he could hear his brother's voice calling him an idiot.

Mikasa sat next to him. Her skin was not as pale as before: Caribbean tan. The serious mouth was the same and the gray eyes had not changed. She had a fine scar on her right cheek.

"Congratulations on winning the Premier."

"Yeah, well, first in Liverpool's history." Eren groaned. "How did it go with Gauguin?"

"Excellently. Van Gogh said that Gauguin didn’t paint with the brush, but with the phallus. However, mayby he didn’t die of syphilis..."

"Are you kidding me? Do you congratulate me on the championship and talk about Gauguin's cock?" He let out a sardonic laugh. "If that's all you have to tell me after all this time..."

"This is neither the time nor the place".

"I don’t care. We fucked, Mikasa."

"I know. I was there."

"Really? Because sometimes I think about it and it seems a mirage. You've been avoiging the matter a whole year, a fucking year. You show up at my parents' party like nothing's wrong and talking about fucking Gauguin." Eren paused. "Annie is in Australia. Do you know how long Australians last in bed? Seventeen minutes. How long do Martinicans last?"

"I know what you're implying," Mikasa said seriously, "and you're wrong, Eren. You’re very wrong. Do you think I would be able to do that after sleeping with you?"

Carla Jaeger interrupted them; the meal was ready. They were not hungry, but an inexplicable feeling oppressed them: Eren's blood boiled; Mikasa's was frozen.

"When you want us to talk as adults, let me know," she said.

Adults! Eren said nothing. He sat between Zeke and Armin, who gave him a questioning look. Eren sighed and started eating. He remained oblivious to all the conversations, sharing looks with Mikasa, sitting next to her uncle Kenny. One year had passed and perhaps he was angry, but he winked al her. She smiled and caught the kiss Eren discreetly sent her, and showed her thumb.

"Okay," Zeke said, after wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Have I ever told you about friendship between men and women? No, because it’s impossible. Were you and Annie ever friends, Armin?"

"Huh… Yeah?"

"No. You wanted to have sex, but you didn't tell her."

"I know you know," Eren whispered.

"I’ve known for a long time. In fact, I knew it before you did, bro. You were like Heidi and Peter, and now, if you were alone, this would become ​Nine and a half Weeks.

For Zeke it was too obvious, but what about the others? Eren looked at them closely. They talked about politics, football, past... Levi was the only one who remained silent. He was not a very talkative man, unlike his mother and uncle. Kuchel and Kenny talked and laughed like no one else. As for Mikasa, whose premature orphanhood led her to grow up with them, her character was soft; silent, good listener and without his cousin’s curtness. Did she tell someone what happened? Maybe Sasha Braus? After the meal, Eren felt adult enough.

The whole evening passed pleasant between anecdotes and skat hands. Keith Shadis left around six in the afternoon; He had to return to Munich for work. As for the others, Carla insisted that they stay for dinner. While Grisha and Zeke had a scholarly conversation about the latest advances in medicine, Kenny was laughing loudly with Mikasa by his side.

"I never imagined that we would have an artist in the family."

"I'm an art historian," Mikasa pointed out.

"If God doesn’t give you children, Devil gives you nephews." Kenny lit a cigarette. "Ackermans have always been country people. Levi was the first to go to university; He was already a whiz since childhood. Fortunately, Mikasa followed suit.

"What is Martinique like?" Carla asked.

"Quiet. When it rains, goodbye internet and light, and of course I have to mention mosquitoes, humidity, heat and earthquakes," she paused, "but people are lovely and the landscapes are spectacular. They are exactly like on postcards. Oh, and the accra is very good."

"We could go on vacation, honey." Zeke looked at Pieck. "I'm tired of Sardinia."

"But you have to be careful with snakes," Mikasa continued, smiling. "I was bitten by a eyelash viper. Nothing serious, but I wouldn’t repeat the experience."

"One year has been enough, hasn't it?" Eren, who was playing cards with Armin, had his ears set on the conversation.

"Yes. For now I will stay here I’ll go to Munich in September to work at the Alte Pinakothek."

"It's fantastic," said Armin.

"And you’ll be close," added Kuchel.

So Munich. However, Mikasa commented on the possibility of another trip. She specialized in Impressionism and did not rule out settling in France. After dinner, when it was time to say goodbye, Eren pulled out his cell phone and wrote her a message: "Do you wanna talk?" She looked sidelong at him and replied, "Come home tomorrow. We will be alone." Jaeger thought about that last one; He smiled, pleased, and quickly typed, "Good."

They all left except for Zeke and Pieck, who would spend a few days in the village before returning to Berlin. It was like going back fifteen years ago, when they still crowd around under one ceiling. Carla loved having them all there. Her good character led her to have an excellent relationship with her daughter-in-law. Grisha was pleased with the situation; He played chess with Zeke for hours, in total silence. Eren used to watch them, attentive to the gestures, wondering how they could drag on a duel that long. And it all ended with one word: "Checkmate."

Zeke followed him into the garden with a cigarette on the lips. He had tried to stop smoking, but there are things a man can never give up, like mentholated Camel.

"You don't smoke, do you? What a pity. One or two cigarettes once in a while doesn't hurt anyone, Mr. Perfect Abs." Zeke blew out the smoke. "Munich. A wonderful city, especially in October."

"We’re gonna talk tomorrow."

"One day I take a look at the yellow press and I see you with Historia Reiss, and I think you're a lucky bastard. You’re young, attractive and rich, but Martinique stands between you and the love of your life. Damn, I’m happy I’m not you."

"I love you too." Eren frowned.

"I’m trying to help you. Don't screw it up, okay? A bad step now and you will regret it all your life." His brother clapped him on the back. "Now If you can excuse me, I'm going to make love to my wife in my fifteen-year-old room."

"I didn't need to know that."

…

Having the house to herself, Mikasa went down to have black tea. Frugal breakfast, as always. She felt like an intruder in her own town and jet lag was not benevolent. She wanted to stay in bed, she’s just got ants in her pants. She did push-ups and thought about the last exhausting year. Operation Gauguin, as she called it, had been a true odyssey. Fuck the Caribbean. She had missed Europe, her family and friends, but duty is duty. As for Eren, she could not reproach him for anything. He was angry. She should not have slept with him before she left; Mikasa kept thinking about it for a moment. Secrets and sex are a bad combination for consciousness. Besides, she left without saying goodbye. She behaved like a real motherfucker and would do it again: sentimentality is not advisable before a possible trip with no return. No, she couldn't listen to Eren's feelings before getting on the plane. Deep down, she suffered from the greatest weakness: love.

She lay down on the floor and closed his eyes. God, the cold slabs were nicer than any bed in the Caribbean. The woman forgot the physical and mental exhaustion when Eren touched the knocker. She took a breath and decided to improvise. The first thing Mikasa noticed was Dior's perfume. He was wearing an unbuttoned black polo shirt, gray jeans, and deck shoes. The three-day beard and dapper cut fit him very well. Those tropical eyes ... Shit!

Silence. Glances. It was inevitable. Eren closed the door behind him and received her kiss in a frenzy. Mikasa bit his lips, tugged at his hair. The man held her prisoner in his arms, sliding his hands down her back, her hips and her neck, anxious and needy. Their mouths were lost in each other's. Eren threw his head back and went deeper, searching for lost time. He licked her lips from corner to corner. The touch of tongues was deadly like a sword dance. They parted, face to face, panting, obscene. Mikasa wanted to make love to him in the middle of the hall and tell him how much she had missed him.

"Did you want to talk?" Eren planted another kiss.

"Yes," Mikasa replied. "I’m so sorry. I fucked up. I have a very interesting story to tell you, but I don't know if it will be more exciting than winning the English league."

"Ok, you know I prefer Monet, but..."

"It has nothing to do with Gauguin." Mikasa took his hand and led him into the living room. If she thought about it, it was a concise thing, but difficult to assimilate. Eren sat down on the sofa. She made him coffee and moved to his side, maturing the words in her head. "It's complicated. If you don't believe it, I get it. I’ve spent more time in Cuba than in Martinique. I haven’t done any study about Gauguin."

"What?" Eren looked at her seriously. "What's going on, Mikasa?"

"I've been working for Interpol for a couple of years. No one knows, only you. Crimes against cultural heritage."

"I don’t get it. What does that have to do with Martinique and Cuba?"

"During Nazism many degenerate works were plundered. Gauguin, Chagall, Klee... Some works were located last year. There was a certain black market for art among many American magnates. That is why I went to Cuba together with a team, to find out the whereabouts of some Gauguin works lost since 38."

"It’s definitely more interesting than winning the Premier." Eren drank from his mug thoughtfully, still amazed. "Was it dangerous?"

"Not much. At least not for me. My job is to see, evaluate and give a verdict, not shooting. Do you think I'm out there drinking Martini and driving an Aston Martin?"

"The idea excites me." The man touched the scar on her face. "And this? I don't remember it. It’s not on the maps that I have of your whole body."

"Then you will have to add it." Mikasa took the cup from him, put it on the table and leaned against him, kissing him calmly and sweetly. For a moment she thought she would never see him again, or maybe he would see her repatriated corpse with a bullet in the head. God! She hugged him and rested her head on his heart. Eren stroked her hair and she trembled at the memory. "It was a shot. I don't know how I'm still alive. I was so lucky..."

"My God," Eren whispered. "Why did you not tell me? Don’t trust me?"

"I know you. Worry wouldn't let you focus."

"Of course not. And now that I know why you left, it will take me a few weeks to recover from my fright. Damn, it hurt so much when you answered my messages as if nothing... I wanted to tell you about my feelings, but you always talked about trivial issues and I thought you didn't care what happened between us. Why?"

"I was scared. I didn't want to think about you or our plans. What would have happened to all those words if I had died? Look at this scar. It’s a miracle I’m still alive. It happened a few days after arriving. It shouldn't have happened, but it did. A rich man held a clandestine exhibition, I infiltrated and they discovered me. I didn't want to tell you that I love you and then die. I don't do things that way."

"And how do you do it?"

"Like this." Mikasa kissed him again.

[fortheheavenssake]

MM ANON II - 2.

72. July 1

MM ANON ……… Hong gone ………… Melbourne hellbourn……… Britain made a wedding profit ??? …………… 4 th July closed. …………… Independent’s bug. …………Maple Kate forever……… George is upset…………… 🎼follow er of fashion 🎼………………… MM, a legend in her own lunchtime ……………… Wigan bin in ……………………air Bridge of size.

—————-

73. July 2

MM ANON ………OMG your under arrest………… video link………… across the border Scotland ……………surprise George …………… Charlotte leads………… Kate&William on top again ………… MM pathetic and mendacious ………… fakency lies……………… “ nice to be going soon cabbage“………… “ yes , I’m looking forward to a drive around the grounds” ………… “ shooting party’s this year” ……… “ doctors approval Philip “ …………” we’ll bring Sydney “……… “ Ahhh, that reminds me,Sydney!!”……… “Philip, it’s tic toc.”

——————-

74. July 3

MM ANON ………… 0600 hr. ……………… build,build,build, drink ,drink,drink …………… 🎼Braaaaaazil🎼……………… business as unusual …………… speak to the Guinness ………… TSDONY………… Subpoena ad testomonium…… theatre/ no theatre ……………… but not America ………… Lone Ranger……………… Mt, Rushmore ………… a bad day in LA ………… still hiding

—————-

75. July 4

MM ANON ……… formula sprog………… madness will spill………… stupid father………… no she wont’ yes she will……… Nigel’s illegal pint………… Williams cider………… Spain’s pain……………… ahhhhhh, blonde bits …………… 🎼only the lonely🎼……………… for love or MONEY …………… HMTQ ( NENC) ………… with the contempt she deserves …………… it’s all a gamble , Arrrrrr!!

—————-

76. July 8

MM ANON ……… girl up the creek………hostage man. ………… half free meal………… drug exposure …………… …staff redundancy at HMTQ …………… boarding rules …………… most popular royal ……………… mines a cider……… ( where’s pg 💜💜) ……………”it’s Balmoral Philip, but not as we know it) …… out of his Depp-th… “ more 🎼Braziiiiil🎼…………… Spanish flu?? ……… 🎼we’re all going on a summer holiday 🎼

—————-

77. July 9

MM ANON …… HMTQ The long wait ………… BLM Trumps ………… no taxes………… boarding Charlotte 🥳🥳🥳……Boarding George 😱😱😱😱………… open the Jim…………… Brazil el Presidente……… Amber Amber,red……………IOC allow protest? ………… school 😷 masks. ……………cricket lovely cricket ………don’t cruise ………………glee, not today …………… tic-toc down. ……… red crane down.

—————-

78. July 10

MM ANON …THANK EVERYONE WHO ATTEMPTS AND GIVES SUCH CREATIVE ANSWERS. MY CONGRATULATIONS AND THANKS TO YOU ALL. 💜💜💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

79. July 10

MM ANON …… fly high Vera…………… Johnny poo…………… Murray mint Kate…………… now Pneumonia …………… Break cover……………… without merit ……… cover up Boris………… stop and search 😱😱😱…………… open theatre …………………… “ we want gan gan !! “ …………… “ we can visit Catherine “ …………… “ yes’ before Scotland “…………… “ clandestine William “ ……… “your grandfather will be ecstatic 🤣🤣🤣”

—————

80. July 11

MM ANON ………… relaxed on zoom…………… Leeds bleeds ………… office no office ………… compulsory …………… Brooklyn!! Yawn. ………… Smith, Will deny …………… “Well” , solve the mystery???…………… STONE cold guilty………… Bollywood in hospital ……………Beach sleep………… Tapes😱😱😱😱………… In secunda Eboracum venit ………… Boo-Hoo !!

——————

81. July 12

MM ANON ……… keep my sex life private…………… farm infectious …………… we don’t have to wear them…………… elephants virus ……………… sad swim ……………… down and out in LA…………… Burton blocks…………ROYAL BUTLER. ………… Fourteen Times!!!! ……………… Ritchies holiday camp …………ATMs lockdown ……………… electric scooters😱😱😱😱😱………… Kate tops poll

——————

82. July 13

MM ANON ……… heartbroken …………… musky Amber…… sleepy ice cream………… sad Lake……………… more organ warnings …………… huge slave factory’s ……………… tin foil………” never call your babies…???………………… second safest road ……………Forest Rambo…………………” you go old thing , it’s for the best” …………… “ I may stay!! “ …………… Ken. Palace bubble.

——————

83. July 14

MM ANON …… NO BAIL……… happy little people ………… gymnast aghast ………… George is not happy ………… a woke joke…………………… masked rats………………… carry on up the Amazon …………… “ so are White People” ……………… a new rash ……… HMTQ Royal zoom…………Black-burnt ……………… cut my card up………… veggies break out………… blame the dog-poo………………up up and Huawei………”

——————-

84. July 15

MM ANON …… Now a “married”abomination ………… girlfriends!! …………… HMTQ,will she , won’t she…………… Kate’s amazing ascension ……………… the feeding machine ………… a future Queen in all but name. …………… “ Yes!! A homogeneous bubble” …………… a sterile palace ………black Colorado ……… sir Tom?? …………… a hush hush holiday. …………… awoke to a scathing review.

—————-

85. July 16

MM ANON …… “ after re-watching the Crown how on Earth did HMTQ accept the DOEs dalliances…………… it’s a miracle she never castrated him……… GBHMTQAOGC

—————-

86. July 16

MM ANON ……… TODAYS RIDDLE IS A TRIBUTE TO OUR GLORIOUS MONARCHY … GBHMTQAOGC. …… Dear anons, take your time , this riddle is not a race …… GOD BLESS THE QUEEN.

——————

87. July 16

MM ANON …… HMTQ ……… The engagement …… The courtship …… The wedding …… The commonwealth tour……THE CORONATION …… The dalliances of Philip ……Her stoicism……… The children …… The 50/60/70/80/90…………PC/… W&K…… OUR MAGNIFICENT MONARCHY ……… The future legacy. ……… GBHMTQAOGC 🇬🇧

—————-

88. July 17

MM Anon for PG💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

MM ANON ……… DEAR PG. such a magnanimous and eloquent tribute for all anons to enjoy and wonder at your historical recollections and memorable facts. A thousand thanks. A labour of loving and informative joy. My thanks is to say we’re so lucky and blessed to have a PG. …… BRAVA!!

We are indeed! This was such a labor of love, truly wonderful, we are blessed indeed!🙏🏻💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

—————-

89. July 17

MM ANON …… Bea-discreet …………… “ give them a wave Philip, its a wedding “…………… “ I’m looking forward to congratulating the happy couple and sharing a few jokes “ ………… “ No Philip”…………… “ don’t be silly, I won’t say anything ……… “ NO PHILIP!! “ …………” what’s this Philip” ……… “ just a few notes” …………… “ you can’t say this!! ……… “ OK… bloody hell , it’s a joke” …………… “ if you said this , Italy would declare war!!” ……… “ bloody hell !!”

—————-

90. July 20

MM ANON ………… honeymoon Italia…… “hello my old China “…………… more engagements ………… Balmoral cottages ………… secret snaps ( eyes only) ………………”once upon a time “…………T. R. Ah. …………… the green eyed trasher ………… close the beaches …………… a coach full …………… Bea-frugal ……… unknown posie.

—————-

91. July 21

MM ANON … Hello anons , I have a hospital appointment today at 10.00. At the RD&E for tests and an MRI ,Sounds all a bit dramatic, I hope not , things could be better but ……… one day at a time ! I love you all ,dear Skippy,PG , LK …… all you beautiful anons who fill my world with love and humility. I sincerely love you all , acceptance is the answer to ALL my problems. 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜much love and hugs. ☘️☘️☘️☘️☘️☘️☘️☘️

———-

MM ANON...” in hospital at the moment, RD&E , so I cannot sleep, catheter!! I’ll attempt a riddle to keep myself awake. Much love to all

Oh…poor you! Prayers for you dear MM Anon..we are here for you❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

———-//—

92. July 22

MM ANON ………7 into 99…………The “wishing well”……… “ I can hear a canary singing “ …………… “ good news MM ANON, it’s not c***er🙏🏻………… By-polar …………… “ what , not the nurses” …………Biker Justice …………… Cor,i bin apologising …………… “ I wish her hell”……………… LA to stay away ……………… kiss and MAKE UP ………………Colonel Cam. ………… scouse rouse.

—————-

93. July 23

MM ANON ……… love life exposed …………… gift of jewellery ……………… it’s all a mask ………………… sister protection ……………… yippee ,Balmoral …………… 15 Bank accounts??……………… return to school??? ……………… “ it’s the theatre Jim, but not as they show it”………… Sending in Federal Troops ……………………Bojo crabs ……………… a strong union 🤣🤣🤣……………… 4 million. …………” are you coming Sydney”………… “indubitably sir”…………… “ stock the cellar!! “ ……… “ your request is my command sir” ………… “ and don’t tell anyone I’m driving the LR.”

—————-

94. July 24

MM ANON ……” since 1948 ,no changes ………… wags wobble………… phone a drone ………… Kim-vorce ……………… masked burger………… flowers for team Johnny ………… bailed out by old Bailey…………… Ban her from the palace ………………… tell all will destroy her……………… K&W&LCG will sunny fly to island???……………” I’ll drive Sydney!! “ ……… “ I’ll walk sir” …………… “ bloody get in”😱😱😱

—————-

95. July 25

MM ANON … … “ SHOWGIRL”…………… “that girl” ………… “ I don’t trust her “……………… quarantine …… “we never consulted the authors”😂😂😂……………”it’s a gym Jim, but not as they row it”………… “coming for a swim”…………… knock em for SIX……………Four!!!…………… “jump Frankie”…………” it’s only to the Glen Sydney “ …………… “ it’s three miles sir” ……… “ get the bloody hamper” ……… “I’ll drive back sir” ………… “ not a bloody chance Sydney” ……… “ then I refuse sir” ……… “get your bloody arse in the LR” … “reluctantly sir “😱😱

——————

96. July 26

MM ANON ………… BARC-ALONE-A……… no Transport home………on ya bike …………… obesities ………… floating for Vlad…………… Kim-jong-corona ………… Hurriicant ………… Moderna………Daisy down……… dog collar reunion …………………”more than kin and less than kind” ………… “ a three-pounder Sydney,the Gillie can smoke it” ………” Sydney, Sydney ……… SYDNEY???”

—————-

97. July 27

MM ANON:…… arrivals !!…………… HMTQ, “ ego lava manus meas”……………” you bloody talk to them”……………Kate cry’s lies………… lying interview……… O ‘no!! …………… one man and his dog…………… a foggy moggy……… “ let’s go shooting Sydney “………… “ with guns sir” ……… “ lots of bloody guns” ……………” O dear”

——————

98. July 28

MM ANON …… colourful Cam !!…………… Fast Far-raar-ri blast. …………” let your daughter breathe “…………… A niece wedding …………… Inappropriate funds??………… Bush tragedy ……………… inappropriately shamed royal ………… a pricey disinfect ………… “ you’re a spot on gun Man Sydney!!”………… “ a privilege sir” ……… “ how’s the shoulder?” ……… “ I’ll recover sir “……… “ it’s stopped bleeding “ ……… “ just a flesh wound sir “ ……… “ next week Sydney? ……… “ I hear the Gillie comes highly recommend sir”……… “Ahh, spiffing!! “

——————

99. July 29

MM ANON………… Peter,Crouch with William ………… 🎼Son in Law🎼…………Facebook , Apple, google …………… 5 friends , Shhhhhh !!!……………… very upset islands………… MM is leaking 🤣🤣………… Refund , Shmeefund.…………Heath-row row!!……… “Why is ones arm in a sling Sydney ??…………… “ I slipped exiting the LR ma’am………” where was Philip ?………… “ sitting in the back ma’am”……” hello old thing, what’ho Sydney “ ……… good afternoon sir”……” Sydney had a hiatus Philip “……… “ O dear, looks sore Sydney “ ……” yes sir”…… “VERY!!”

————-

100. July 30

MM ANON ( BALMORAL ANON )…… “ who’s this Sydney?” … “ Mr Angiss sir, he’s come to install Netflix “… “ Ahhh, EPIC, what’s your first name?”… “Angus sir “…Ehh !!!, Angus Angiss”…”yes sir “… “ bloody hell, that’s unfortunate “ … “ My mother had a sense of humour sir”… “ bit like me then, what say you Sydney?……………” indubitably sir” …… “ bloody marvellous, The Queen wants to watch Ozark, she loves a bit of the old ultra violence “……… “ right ‘ refreshments Sydney,I’m parched!!”…… “yes sir “

—————-

101. July 31

MM ANON …… Kate being scilly ……… ……… Borix nails down the caughin ………… roving explorer …………… phew! What a scorcher …………… Lions Arm-y…………… climate is a changing …………… ( get well mr, skippy 🌈) ……………beaches,stay away 😱😱………………Peer- pressure ‘ O brother!! …………… tick tick bite!! ……………”doctor, what’s growing on my arm.” …………… Williams conservs film

——————

[bvckctt]

TOBY WALLACE ❙ CISMALE 』 ⟿ looks like BECKETT GRIMES is here for his SENIOR year as a NURSING student. He is 21 years old & known to be CARING, SENSITIVE, DETACHED & TIMID. They’re living in GORHAM, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ lynds

tw; death, depression, drowning, car wreck

it be me again. have this innocent mess of a man. sorry its so long?? got carried away a bit

&. BASICS

Full Name: Beckett Hendrix Grimes

Nicknames: Beck, B, Bucket (will not reply to it)

Age: 21

Sexuality: He doesn’t exactly know, because he’s still a virgin??? But pansexual

Date of Birth:  June 27, 1998

Place of Birth: Melbourne, Australia

Gender: Cis Male

&. MORE BASIC INFO

Languages: English

Religion: Non-religious

Education: Radcliffe University

Occupation: Student

Drinks, Smokes, & Drugs: No, no, no. A little angel baby

&. PERSONALITY

Zodiac Sign: Cancer

MBTI: ISFP

Likes: Hikes, Video games

Dislikes: Parties, any event with a lot of people, bodies of water

Bad Habits: Bites his nails,

Fears: Drowning

Five Positive Traits: Caring, Forgivng, Open-minded, Sensitive, Selfless

Five Negative Traits: Detached, Timid, Naive, Brittle, Unorganized

Other Mentionable Details: He gets distant sometimes, like he feels a disconnect between him and the world at times.

&. APPEARANCE

Tattoos:  No tattoos are you kidding???

Piercings: None

&. FAMILY INFORMATION

Parent Names: Jamie Foster and Charlie Grimes, Andrea Grimes (Beckett’s step-mother)

Parent Relationship: Mother deceased and Beckett and Charlie are close.

Sibling Names: Nadia Hanson (20) and  James Hanson (22)

Sibling Relationship: Nadia and Beckett get along, however they aren’t super close. They kind of tolerate each other, being that they are polar opposites. Again, James and Beckett are not close. James makes fun of Beckett for being a virgin. Beckett likes to keep it a secret, though.

Pets: A beta fish named Gary

&. BIOGRAPHY

On June 27, 1998 a baby boy was born in Melbourne, Australia to Jamie Foster and Charlie Grimes. Jamie and Charlie were young parents. Charlie 19 and Jamie 17. They decided to name the baby Beckett Hendrix Grimes. Of course, Beckett was an unexpected baby, but that didn’t stop Jamie and Charlie from caring for him as much as they could. It was a struggle. They lived with Jamie’s parents for the first year of Beckett’s life after Charlie’s parents disowned him for having a child with a woman he wasn’t married to.

During his childhood, Beckett’s parents moved house to house, one foreclosed after the other. His father had picked up a factory job to support Beckett and his mother, who was a stay at home mom, they didn’t have a very steady income. It did not change how they cared for Beckett, though. They showed him nothing but love. Beckett was a sweet child. You could find him picking flowers from the yard to give to his mother and trying to offer his father any help he could as a small child.

As he got older, Beckett never had trouble making friends, however, he wasn’t the outgoing type. He enjoyed his own company. Usually spent playing video games or helping his parents around the house as much as possible. Beckett always had straight A’s and even took AP classes in high school. He never caused trouble to any of his teachers, he was by far the best behaved. Things took a turn when Beckett was 17. The summer before his senior year of high school, Beckett, his father, and mother were the victims of a fatal car crash. They were on their way back home from dinner one night when Becket’’s father had to avoid a car coming directly at them in the wrong lane. The car hit the side of the bridge they were driving on and flipped into the water. Unfortunately, Beckett and his father were the only ones to survive. Because of the accident, Beckett became distant from his friends and started to fail his classes his senior year. Beckett stayed in his room most of the time and became disinterested in things that he had previously enjoyed.

Beckett was able to graduate high school and apply for colleges. He had no intention of leaving Melbourne until his father told Beckett that he had met an American woman. Charlie had convinced Beckett to move with him to America for ‘a new start’. They packed up and ended up in Lovell where Beckett had to quickly apply at Radcliffe. His father and step-mother quickly married. His new family consisted of a brother and a sister, Nadia and James. Adjusted was hard for Beckett, but he managed. His grades had improved when he started at Radcliffe and thought his dad was right.

&. PERSONALITY

Beckett has never had a sexual relationship, he was never able to initiate it, because he was too shy. He had relationships, but they never lasted long for that reason. He is not very sure on his sexuality, either. He’s dated girls, however he is not sure that he is just attracted to girls, he just wants someone to love him and for him to love someone. Beckett is very sweet and caring. He loves to help people to distract himself from his own problems. Beckett decided that he wanted to be a nursing major because he wanted to help give people a surviving chance. Also, he kind of hates that he couldn’t do anything to save his mother, so it is a way for him to make it up to her. He will sometimes get into funky moods that cause him to feel detached from everything, this is usually caused if something triggers his memory of the wreck.

some wc below

someone that would help him discover his sexuality, although this someone has to be v patient. 

the regular friends ya know

past relationship?? obviously didn’t work bc he was too shy to sex

enemies?? i doubt beckett would be able to have enemies but it would be fun to write out with someone who just doesnt like him

roommates?

bad influeneces

and anything ur heart desires

[rockandrollstorytime]

Rock and Roll Storytime #5: Brian Jones and His Five(?) Children

While I will absolutely admit to being infatuated with dead rock stars, that doesn’t mean I’m going to give them a pass for everything they’ve ever done. Take for example, Brian Jones. While I think he is quite cute and an extraordinarily talented musician, there’s the fact that he was also abusive towards women, and he was never really involved in the lives of any of the multiple children he sired.

Hell, he was so bad in regards to having responsible sex, we don’t even know how many children he had for sure.

What I’m going to do with this is tell you how his five confirmed children came into the world and maybe even talk about some of the speculated ones this time. 

Confirmed:

1. Barry David Corbett (aka Simon): So, let’s face it, Brian started out young, being just seventeen when he got his then girlfriend, Valerie Corbett pregnant (sources vary as to whether she was fourteen or seventeen when this happened). What’s important to remember is that the adults of Brian’s generation heavily disapproved of teenage pregnancy (some of it owing to how we used to be a lot more religious), and if Call the Midwife is anything to go by (great show by the way), it was usually the parents who would determine whether a teenage mother was able to keep her unborn child. Most often, it seems, the child would be given up for adoption, though it seems that sometimes, a shotgun wedding would be initiated, and in rarer cases, the grandparents would bring the child up under the impression that the mother was actually an older sister, whilst they posed as the biological parents (think Jack Nicholson). Reportedly, Brian encouraged Valerie to get an abortion, which, mind you was illegal at the time, but she refused. She gave birth to little Barry on May 29, 1960, and he was subsequently adopted out and renamed Simon. Reportedly, he eventually found out that Brian was his father in 2004, and by then, he was married with two kids of his own.

2. Unknown (Known as Belinda or Carol depending on the source): within months of getting Valerie pregnant, Brian was at it again. In this instance, he met a woman only known as Angelique at a dance and the two had a one-night-stand. As it turns out, the 23-year-old was married and had been going through a rough patch with her husband. When she turned up pregnant, she and her husband ultimately decided to keep the baby, and on August 4, 1960, Brian’s only known daughter was born. According to Bill Wyman, Brian never knew about his eldest daughter’s birth, and in a similar vein, the subject of Brian Jones was taboo in Belinda’s household, given the pain it caused both her parents (which is also the reason we don’t know her real name). Bill’s book Stone Alone, states that she realized that her father wasn’t her biological father when she was six, and that she realized Brian was her father when she was fifteen after her brother brought home a Rolling Stones record (Through the Past Darkly, Big Hits Vol. 2). In talking to Belinda, Bill also discovered that she had temporal lobe epilepsy, which to the pair of them, explained Brian’s hypochondriac tendencies, as well as some of his behaviors (for instance, Bill said that in about a minute, Brian would go from being fully engaged in a conversation to being completely disengaged). While the truth of the matter is, we’ll never know for sure whether or not Brian had epilepsy (because we knew jackshit about mental health back in the day), I personally think it’s an interesting explanation for Brian’s health problems, and that theory might even shine a light on what might have happened the night he drowned.

3. Julian Mark Andrews: Surely, Brian was living the “Sex, drugs, and rock and roll” lifestyle well before he became a rock star. After returning to Cheltenham after the scandal that was him getting Valerie pregnant, Brian began dating 15-year-old Pat Andrews. When she was sixteen, she fell pregnant with his child, and by her own admission, she was so naive about childbirth that she didn’t even realize she was pregnant until her sister marched her into the doctor’s office. On October 22, 1961, she gave birth to Julian Mark, named after Julian “Cannonball” Adderley. By all accounts, on the day Mark was born, Brian sold four of his records (his most prized possessions) in order to buy flowers for Pat and clothes for his newborn son. He was even involved in their lives for a while, but sadly, this arrangement wouldn’t last. For one thing, Brian was very promiscuous, and he was never good at the whole “fidelity” thing. Another possible explanation is that one time, when Pat and Mark came to spend a day with Brian after he became famous, his manager, Andrew Loog Oldham, started bitching about how Brian shouldn’t be seen as a “family man” (even though Bill Wyman was married and had a young son). Apparently, Andrew wanted to market Brian as a hot young bachelor that the fangirls would have no qualms squeeing over. In either case, Brian soon cut all ties with Pat. In addition, according to Paul Trynka, Mick Jagger once made a drunken pass at Pat (she rejected his advances), and Mick apparently bragged to Brian that they’d had a drunken fling. According to Pat, Brian never gave her a chance to explain her side of the story, and that was around the time Brian cut all ties. In 1966, she sued Brian for child support, and when Brian failed to show up to court, the very pissed-off judge awarded Pat the maximum sum allowed at the time: £2.50 a week for Mark as well as another  £78 to cover Pat’s court costs and confinement expenses. After Brian’s death though, the payments stopped coming in. On a side-note: Laura Jackson’s book states that Mark has no memories of his father.

4. Julian Brian Lawrence Leitch: Before anyone says anything, yes Brian has two sons named Julian, and allegedly, he wanted all of his sons to be named after Cannonball Adderley. In 1964, Brian had been dating a 17-year-old Linda Lawrence for two years. She subsequently gave birth to his third son on July 23, 1964. Reportedly, he was involved for a brief while whilst he lived with Linda and her parents, but then he was kicked out after it became clear that he had no intentions of marrying Linda. She came forward against Brian with a paternity suit in 1965, and ultimately, she received a £1,000 settlement. In October 1970, she married Brian’s friend and fellow musician Donovan Leitch (simply known as Donovan in most parts) who later taught Julian to play guitar. For the curious, there are clips of him online singing “Sympathy for the Devil,” and he later became the father of Joolz Leitch Jones, who like his father, grandfather, and step-grandfather, is a musician.

5. Paul Molloy (John Maynard): This one is an utter doozy even when you take into account the usual low standards surrounding any given rock star and his/her children. This story starts with Brian dating 19-year-old Dawn Molloy on and off again throughout 1964 (while he was still seeing Linda, mind you), and her eventually becoming pregnant. At around this time, Brian was ordered by Andrew to never contact her again. Subsequently, Andrew, in a case of severely misguided damage control, essentially coerced Dawn into signing a non-disclosure agreement, which stated that the matter was now closed and she would never go to the public or press about the child being Brian’s (the whole thing was witnessed by Mick Jagger). In exchange for her silence, she would be awarded £700. Her parents were not supportive of her during her pregnancy, and she was sent to a home for unmarried, expectant mothers, where, on March 24, 1965, she gave birth to Paul. Soon after, she was forced to give up her son for adoption, and told that she would never be able to see him again (those of you who’ve seen the film Philomena or Call the Midwife will probably get an idea of what I’ve been describing). Paul was renamed John, and while he did know that he was adopted, he did, at least, know he was loved. Some thirty years later, John, having married and had three kids of his own, went looking for his birth family, and was eventually able to find his birth mother and information about his late birth father. Mother and son have both spoken about their experiences since; Dawn wrote a book entitled Not Fade Away, and John spoke to the Daily Mail, where he said of Brian, “First, I'd probably hit him for what he did to Dawn. Then I'd brush him down and ask him if he wanted a coffee. I'd like to chat with him. To get to know him and for him to get to know me. He'd like me, I know he would. I'd want him to be proud of me. To be honest, I'd just want him to be my dad.”

Unconfirmed/Rumored:

-Marlon Richards: For a while, people suspected that Marlon was actually Brian’s son for a while because when he was little, he was blond and had a cherubic face, though I could argue that this came more from his mother, Anita Pallenberg. Even if I could already dispute the idea that Marlon is Brian’s son, given how Brian and Anita’s relationship came to a legendarily messy finish in 1967, there’s also the fact that Marlon grew up to look exactly like Keith. Still, figured I might as well debunk this old rumor.

-Timmy Faithless: This one comes straight from Australian tabloids in which it is claimed his mother, Loriann (the article will make sure you remember she was a Satanist, which doesn’t matter to me, but whatever), conceived after a Melbourne concert. As with anything in the tabloids though, I tend to doubt the veracity of such claims (it might help if we had Brian’s DNA on file, but last I checked, police don’t really have a good reason to dig up Brian’s skeleton).

-Anna Wohlin claimed to have been carrying Brian’s child, but miscarried shortly after his death, likely due to the high stress and duress caused by the situation. However, I personally think she’s a bit of an unreliable witness, so I’ll just leave that to conjecture.

-Barbara Wolf: In 2019, she came out of the woodworks to allege that Brian was her father and that he was murdered by Frank Thorogood (she is not the only one of Brian’s children to believe he was murdered). Once again though, considering this story seems to have originated in a tabloid, I’ll just sit over here being my highly skeptical self.

-David Lars “Cannonball” Brandstone: Claimed to be writing a book about his dad set for release in 2008. Once again though, I find myself sorely doubting his claims about Brian (some of the details he gives in his interview are a bit... suspect to say the least).

If there’s anything to be taken away from what you just read, it’s that sometimes, people are going to be irresponsible as hell when it comes to... relations. As someone who has experienced something similar to what Brian’s children went through (teenage mother, absent father), I can certainly say that, while I respect Brian’s musical ability, I simply cannot condone his behavior in any of these cases. I know that it was a different time, but still, the fact that he got so many women pregnant and subsequently abandoned them is simply inexcusable.

Thank god for contraception and better sex ed. 

Sources: Brian Jones: The Making of the Rolling Stones by Paul Trynka Brian Jones: The Untold Life and Mysterious Death of a Legend by Laura Jackson 27: A History of the 27 Club through the Lives of Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain, and Amy Winehouse by Howard Sounes Stone Alone by Bill Wyman https://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1353783/Being-Brian-Joness-son-greatest-thing-happened-me.html http://www.angelfire.com/rock3/sixtiesfish/kidsweb/kids.html https://iorr.org/talk/read.php?1,2325726,2325735 http://www.angelfire.com/rock3/sixtiesfish/brianjones_son.html https://ultimateclassicrock.com/the-rolling-stones-children/ https://www.earcandymag.com/foundationstonebook-2.htm https://www.mirror.co.uk/3am/celebrity-news/daughter-rolling-stones-wild-child-17479033 https://born-late.blogspot.com/2011/09/legend-of-girl-child-linda.html https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brian_Jones#Early_life_and_children https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j8OANZg8_iE

[smolbeandrabbles]

The Honey - Vince Kovac x Reader (Tangle)

Oh shit! My hand slipped!

Note: All my readers start out as OCs. That why reader has a little more description to her here. The fact that she is very short I made into an important story factor. The fact she has blue hair... a little less... but I stuck with her...  Hopefully you do too... Author’s Note: Sometimes songs are kicked from chapters and playlists so they can find the perfect Mendo. And here we are. At last. Also, Grace - AUS represent!!  Set in an AU (I guess!) to Tangle, where everything is the same - apart from the last 15 minutes of the 10th episode. Disclaimer: Tangle and related characters not mine / Gifs not mine  / lyrics not mine

Premise: Dating a known cheater & divorcee was never really in your plans. Mind you, neither was moving to Melbourne. Enter Vince Kovac, who is about to shake your world up...

Words: 5822

Warnings: Swearing / Major set up, probably not that interesting / Essentially its one long talk about sex without... actually talking about sex.

________ You got what you give, so keep on giving what you get Call it what you like but that does not say what it is I'm a slave for you, I check my lashes in the whip... Me and you, no stoppin' us Love is hard to handle, guess I need to get a grip Ooh, it's a game Honey, it's a pity And I'm a good girl, but even angels gotta cry sometimes Oh, baby, just let me cry You're just what I need now This ain't funny, he ain't sweet But he might be the honey I need now Please now, got me on my knees, I can't breathe You're the honey I need now I usually like it simple but the compliments just make it complicated And your confidence is far from understated They say you're no good for me But they can't tell me nothing You're only gonna go and break my heart, I take the risk Sittin', thinkin' bout ya, thinkin' bout ya, thinkin' bout ya It's a trip ---

You had moved to Melbourne a few months ago. Goodness knows why they’d moved you here for work relocation; you could think of a million reasons why it would be better not to have moved you but you didn’t ask questions like that. These days you figured it make sense to go where the work apparently was. Although you spent maybe 50% of that travelling anyway. So... the work was everywhere. Still, no, Melbourne. Which you guessed was fine. Whatever.

 You’d moved into an apartment and were renting when you arrived, but what you really wanted was a house. Which you could buy, of course - but why not use your own skills? No no, you wanted to build it yourself. Only you didn’t build houses... so you needed to find someone who could. “So, you need a construction company?” You looked to your co-worker, Manuel, a good friend for many years as it was - and perhaps one of the only reasons you agreed to move out here; “This is where you tell me you know someone.” “I know of someone...” “Right... ever used them?” “Oh, trust me they will do what you want, no problem.” “But?” “Why is there a but?” “There’s a but. I can hear it in your voice...!!” “I dunno... there’s a reputation that goes with it...” “What kind of reputation?!” “Well, for building itself you won’t find better... but there’s been a few disagreements.” “Disagreements.” You repeated, in the same tone “Yeah...” “What kind of disagreements?” “Oh, not with clients. Like I say they do an outstanding job... just, with contractors and the like...” “Contractors that will be working on my house!!” “Look they are the first ones I’d recommend... do you want the contact or not?!” “Yes. If you’d recommend them!” He brought out his wallet and offered you the card “Call ‘em.” “Kovac Construction.” You raised an eyebrow “...you promise me they are good.” “I promise you. They’ll do exactly what you want. And I know you’re particular...” “That’s one word...” you agreed with a smile, “This Kovac got a name?” You were left with a mysterious smile and a laugh “No. I’ll let you figure that one out for yourself...!”

 **

 The phone only had to ring twice before you were greeted with a rough Melbourne twang; “Vince Kovac.” You almost laughed. Almost. Vince Kovac. oh yeah, he sounded like a troublemaker. “Uh, Hi, Mr.Kovac - I’m F/N L/N; I’ve heard that you’re the man to come to if I want a house building...” “Sounds about right, Y/N, how can my company help you?” “Well, I’ve been here a couple of months, and already looked into and secured land... I just need it building to spec.” There was a slight pause as your information was considered; “...Well, you got an architect?! You know what it’s gonna look like right-?! Cuz we don’t really do that stuff... though I can probably find you a good one.” “No, that’s alright, and I was hoping to talk to you about that. But I can deal with that, I just need the construction company.” “Well then I hope we might be the one.” “As do I - you come highly recommended!”

**

So that was how you agreed to meet Vince Kovac at the QT hotel, lunch time two days later. “You know what this Vince Kovac looks like?” Manuel raised an eyebrow; “You don’t know? You got a google!” “Are you serious?! Just tell me!” “No! Find that out for yourself too...” He nodded to your folder “Hey! You already got a portfolio ready for him - damn girl!” You smacked him with it; “Tell me what he looks like! I’m meeting him like right now.” “Your detective skills got you his name, they’ll get you his face too.” “I hate you.” You’d stay and glare at him for a little while longer, but you didn’t have time. You walked away, if you didn’t leave now you’d be late... and that wouldn’t look good. He yelled after you with a broad grin; “You’re welcome!!”

 You arrived at the hotel exactly on time and walked through into the lobby. This wouldn’t be hard, you figured. He’ll be the only man here who looks like he works construction; you continued a short, slow walk around. Pretending like you weren’t looking for someone in particular. Like you might be here for a business meeting with a client, or just about anything else. Then you smirked to yourself; sitting on a bench alone, looking at his phone, was the man who could only be yours. Short neat dark hair that seemed to be going grey with the way the light caught it, blue T-shirt, black slacks and jacket – both faded from being worn often. Looks like he had a favourite set of clothes. His shades sat next to him and he was gazing at his phone.  No briefcase, suitcase or papers. Vince Kovac.

You walked over slowly; and he didn’t look up when you got to him; so you didn’t look at him when you addressed him - instead made a sweeping statement whilst gazing around the lobby again; “I’m going to make an educated guess here, that you’re Mr.Vince Kovac.” He looked up - and that gave you his eye colour, a sharp, intelligent blue - but had to look up considerably less than he was expecting. And your eyes turned back to him; “Yeah.... which makes you Ms.L/N.” “Correct.” Vince rose from his seat. Didn’t matter how tall he was, he would still tower you. He held out his hand; “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” “And you.” Though you thought that might just be you saying a formality, considering it seemed he had a reputation. He nodded to the folder “Looks like you already have your architect.” “Yeah, there’s only one I trust.” “That so.” “Yeah.” You gave him a smile that seemed more like a warning, “I get what I want, Mr.Kovac.” “Oh.” He raised an eyebrow; “That I don’t doubt.” He looked around the hotel “Got a room?” “Matter of fact I do…” You folded your arms “Wow. I thought we were just here to discuss a business proposal… Having said that, I have no qualms with mixing business and pleasure.” His eyes flicked up and down your stature and you narrowed your eyes at him; if you knew him a little better, you’d have hit him with your folder too. “Unfortunately for you, we will be sharing the room with a bunch of people – so I guess you can say I really ordered a table.” You indicated for him to walk with you, and he blew out a breath like he was slightly disappointed as you led him to the restaurant. Vince Kovac dropped a little behind you to watch you walk, to count the number of piercings in your ears, the way your hair colour ran into a powder blue. But you couldn’t have been much over 5ft in heels. Tiny. But even watching you he bit his lip; no less a woman, though. “You’re not exactly what I expected.” “What makes you say that, that I’m vertically challenged?” “Ha!” He smiled “Maybe that’s it... maybe not.” “Maybe I should take my heels off; would that make you feel better?” “No, I’m just looking at you thinking you would be able to lie down in my truck bed no problems. And it’s a short truck bed.” You paused and looked to him; he’d said that on purpose. You knew. “…I’m not sure what your truck exactly has to do with this Mr.Kovac…” “Well. I’ll be driving it to your building site every day, so maybe we can just test my theory.” You flashed him a small smirk “Ha. You’ll be lucky.” For a second he tilted his body back and even though he was smiling he squinted. Oh, you guessed he might be used to being the kind of man woman found hard to resist. What were you meant to respond with? - ‘Oh yeah, guess you can throw me in the back of your truck now, where did you park…?’ You shook your head with an eyeroll and he had to go back to following you to the restaurant.   You weren’t dumb either, you knew exactly why he chose to follow you instead of walk with you – so you were glad enough when you could sit down and get a table between you. And he was still giving you that look, like if he tried hard enough he could get whatever he wanted out of you by the end of this conversation. Nuh uh. You placed your rolled up architectural sketch and portfolio on the table. “So. I don’t see much point in dancing around this – let’s get to the point. I’m going to show you what I want, and you’re gonna tell me if you can do it or not, okay?” He placed his elbows on the table and leant on his hands “Okay.” You rolled it out using the folder to hold it down flat. “It’s only two floors, but it’s a big build. Pretty much all open plan downstairs… Upstairs is a little more sectioned rooms.” “You do realise the support needed for that to work, right.” “I factored for that.” You tapped the drawing. “…Yes…” He quirked an eyebrow and leant in closer to the drawing. Realising this wasn’t something from a CAD system. This was hand drawn. “…Did… you draw this…?!” “Correct.” “You…” His eyes flicked back to you “You’re the architect.” “Yes.” “…Well shit…” He sat back, arms folded “Then you know what you want I can’t do. We won’t have the same vision.” “I understand that building it is you grounding me in reality, when what I see in my head will never be what I get. I’m asking you if you can be that man, Vince.” He pulled the folder towards him and flicked it open; he’d seen things like this before. Essentially the plan in front of him blown up in much more detail. At the top of every page was neatly written script detailing everything you’d been thinking. “Geez…” He kept going. “…Do you know how much this is going to cost ya?!” “If money was a problem I wouldn’t be asking…” He closed the folder and slid it back to you “It’s ambitious.” “Too ambitious?” “I didn’t say that. I think it’s a big project. And we both need to be on the same page with how big it really is.” Is he still talking about architecture here-!? He better be! “I know what I’m asking you to undertake. I also know that at every step of the way I’m going to have to alter my plan… I’m prepared to accept that. But I want someone who sees what I’m trying to do and wants to do that with me…” There was a pause for a minute as both of you stared at each other, there was enough measuring going on here. However, he eventually gave; “…I do… And working on something like that would be… An experience in itself for me and my guys… But it’s months and months of very hard work.” Still Vince stuck his hand out “If you’re prepared to front the money for this – I would be honoured to take the project on.” You gave him a small smile, but took his hand anyway; “Oh. You have no idea how honoured you should be Mr.Kovac.” He gave a laugh “…Well. At the end of the day, I get to see you solidly for a few months. Who knows, maybe you’ll end up taking me up on the truck offer.” You shook your head “In your wildest f**king dreams.” You noticed the playfulness in the next smirk he gave; “That’s kinda what I was thinking, yeah.”

*** You emailed back and forth for a couple of weeks as you and he finished up other projects, and you got used to each other. His banter was always suggestive, and you played right along with that. It was funny to read between the lines of what he was sending you every day. You slowly warmed to him – and were at least looking forward to working with him – having scoured his company website you’d done a quick check in of his own physical builds. Nothing quite so ambitious as what you were thinking. But, lets an architect loose on her own house and she was bound to go a bit crazy. It was his job as your builder to pull you back to Earth; Y/N that’s ridiculous… Y/N you realise if we use that the whole ceiling caves right?!... Come on, you can’t fight gravity, that entire structure will shatter if you do that. And Vince at least looked, and sounded, the type who was going to take every opportunity he could to overpower you and try to curb your feisty attitude. You thought that his front was amicable, he didn’t know what he was dealing with yet… Still, he agreed to meet you at the location you’d given him for your house. And when he rolled into what was to be the driveway, he realised his was the only car. You were sitting at the top of the slope on which the house would sit. Vince slammed his car door shut and looked around. You appeared to have brought a plot of land at the end of a developed and developing street. Fascinating… He wandered over; “Where’s your car?” “Car? I ran here, I’ll run back.” “Ran? Well... I run. Every morning before work.” “Oh really.” He seemed quite proud of himself with the way he folded his arms; “Yeah, quite serious about it.” “Really? How fast are you?” “Fast enough.” “Keep pace?” “Pretty well.” “Ever run a marathon?” His face fell “Oh. You’re a serious runner.” “Damn right Mr.Kovac, if you wanna partner up with me, you best know what you’re in for.” “So your stamina’s good?” “Why don’t you find out.” He looked away from you for a minute with a laugh, because he damn well knew that after building this house that was his goal. He’d get you it was just a matter of time. You raised an eyebrow, turning in the direction of his parked vehicle and looking at his truck bed “You sure I’m gonna fit in that? I mean I know I’m small, but, even that’s a stretch.” “Yeah, it’ll be fine we’ll work on it. I’ll make you fit.” “You got a bar in there?” “A bar?” “Yeah to keep everything in place. Hold stuff still.” “So you have been thinking about my offer then?” You didn’t miss a beat to shoot him down; “Not in the slightest.”

 At this point you were 99% sure you were both talking about sex but pretending you weren’t. And you realised quickly that nearly every conversation you’d ever had had followed this same pattern. If you weren’t careful this was going to get real complicated real quick. But that prompted enough questions of it’s own; Do I really want to be careful, if he’s so sure of himself…?

*** It was strange, being on a building site with a bunch of guys. Usually they would just build away and you’d either get called in when it was time to get a bit more aesthetic, or if they couldn’t read something on your plan and problems were about to occur. That of course meant you’d be back in the office drawing. But this was your house. So you wanted to watch it grow, to spec, every step of the way. You just did your actual work a little later in the evening, and you were on call in case anyone urgently needed you for something. But none of your current clients had particularly strenuous deadlines so you were fine doing this as you wanted. It meant you got to come face to face with Vince Kovac and his risqué banter every day. Which amused you, because you decided that you could completely shut him down... or you could just serve that banter right back. And the more you did that, the more it turned into something a little more like flirting. Today as you stepped into your car, you were wearing heeled boots figure hugging jeans a white shirt and leather jacket. And that didn’t really bother you too much until you decided to check your make up in the mirror. And then you realised that none of the decisions were subconscious. “Shit!!!” You pressed a hand to your mouth and sat back in your car seat “...Y/N! NO!!!” You slumped against the steering wheel with a cry; “Oh you’ve done it now.” How he’d got you, you didn’t know. Sure he was attractive, but Vince was such a lad for a grown up man. Builder covered it nicely. But there was something about that banter - and something curious enough in you to find out whether that was all it was. If he was a paper-thin framework. Call his bluff and he’d back down? Or call his bluff and you’d find yourself pinned in the back of that truck? Interested enough to realise that you’d worn this outfit and you’d worn make up to a building site simply on principle that you would be seeing Vince today...

Idiot...! You had a crush, and probably a stupid crush to have considering how closely you worked together - but a crush none the less. Could you afford to put that crush to the test? To see how far you could really push him. Part of you certainly wanted that. You’d met men a little like him, that same overconfident cocky outward attitude, but never a man so implicitly forward. You wondered if that was his usual style, or if he was simply trying to keep that professional surface with you. Maybe neither, maybe he was just interested in flirting with as many women as he could, maybe that gave him a little bit of power. But then, you wanted to find out if that were true, too. So you drove yourself in, and sure enough the red Kovac Construction truck was sitting on your drive before you got there. It was a competition now, who was going to get there first. You shook your head with a smile and parked behind him, hopping out of your car.

Vince heard you coming of course and was wandering out of the shell of the house they were building before you were even on the ground; “Heels?! To a construction site?!” He called over “You didn’t have to dress up just for me, Darlin’!!” “I didn’t!” you did. You wandered across the grass, shouldering your bag. “Still not running here then, Kovac?” There was a grin on his face every time you addressed him by his last name that you kinda liked seeing, so you did it often when you attempted to tease him. “Aw, no, you don’t want me to arrive like that. I need to look my best on site, dontcha know?” “Oh, is that what you call it?” He placed his hands on his hips “Yeah... gotta build up nice and slow to where you get to see me all hot and sweaty, that’s for sure. Don’t worry...” he pointed at you with the paper in his hand “I’m sure we’ll get there.” “Oh. Can’t wait.” His voice dropped lower; “No I bet...” that smirk was back, and he let it linger between you for a while before jerking his head over his shoulder. “Come on. Let me show you what on your little plan we’ll get done today...” “Efficient, If I do say so myself...” You gave an approving nod “Well, I do try to have all bases covered... a little efficiency never hurt anyone... I tend to find my way around things...” You watched his face carefully - still not talking about a building site are we - and folded your arms with your voice edging disbelief; “uh huh.”

As expected from when you had started drawing your ‘dream house’; Vince needed you on site nearly constantly to re-draw or re-plan aspects. And also shake his head at you, point to something and declare it wasn’t architectural short hand. 99% of the time it was, and you took offence; but sometimes you had -isms you’d come up with yourself. Anyone who was used to working with you knew what they meant; you had to realise the men of Kovac Construction would not. And this was a mild-dream house; one where you’d actually thought of the constraints of modern living! He was lucky. But had constraints of his own - namely actual building techniques.

But he had reasons of his own to like telling you to redraw something. And revelled in ever minutia of detail where he got to suck in a breath and tell you he couldn’t do it. That more than once earned him quick witted retaliation about just skipping it, but more often than not had you bent over a table to redesign something. And that always happened to coincide with Vince’s tea and coffee breaks so that he could stand in the doorway and watch you. Which of course had nothing to do with you working. More so he could stare at your ass and fantasise about what it would be like to bend you over that table and do what he really wanted to do. But you always looked good. And he noticed that you always wore clothing just tight enough or... just short enough to give him a little buzz.  Seen as that had changed slowly the more banter you had exchanged there was little doubt in his mind that you were dressing like this for him. And he’d given you enough hints about the kind of man he was.

And you knew he wasn’t watching you draw. If he wanted to watch you draw, he’d be closer. This wasn’t a “how do architects do their thing!?” type staring that curious people usually got as you sat there with mathematical measuring tools - oh no - this was keep 20 paces away and hope she doesn’t notice what you’re doing, staring. So this time you placed your pencil down and turned around to him. “You’re gonna get a better view from over here...” He took a sip from his mug and quirked an eyebrow “My view is perfect; thanks.” “... Kovac! Get the hell out of here!” “I could get off the site, and you wouldn’t get any work done.” “Well it’s clear you’re not here for my drawing, so as far as I’m concerned you don’t need to be here.” “Don’t you wanna know?” “Know what?!” He smirked into his drink “Why I am here.” “I got a pretty good idea.” “Oh, I can stare at you for all it’s worth - but really I like seeing you have to bend over that little table to correct something I told you to.” That was more than just admittance of fantasising; he’d added those last four words on purpose... Like what he would like was you to be in this position for him because he’d told you too. That only made you stand up and fold your arms. But because of the shirt you were wearing he still wasn’t complaining about this view. “You wanna try that one again.” He took a significant gulp of coffee; “Well, I could also clear the table and bend you over it from this angle if you’d prefer… And I’d quite like too.” Your tongue pressed into your bottom lip, and you looked to the floor for a minute, your face read that you were less than impressed, but your eyebrows raised; “I’d hope so… things like that can get messy ,and I really wouldn’t like to ruin my drawings…” Suddenly his mug found the floor and he took the first five paces – until your held your hand up, and then pointed back to the door frame he’d just walked through: “Get back to work.” “I’m on break!” “How is that going to get anything done - I’m working on the changes - go make yourself useful on your construction site! I have to review you after, you know that too.” “Trust me,” Vince winked to let you know he once again wasn’t talking about building; “you’ll only be giving me the best reviews...” *** The tit-for-tat continued like this and a few days later when nearly all his construction workers were in to finish the ceiling off - and he was half way up scaffolding no less - you decided it was the optimum time to get him back. Sauntering into the room you didn’t think you could have a bigger smirk on your face. You had a harder time keeping it straight when you even thought about what you were going to say, let alone getting it out of your mouth. A few of the workers had already spotted the look and nudged each other; knowing something big was coming.

 You’d noticed how cut he was before; that wasn’t hard he used the majority of his muscle groups building or climbing things around here - but you’d also seen him run here on more than one occasion (after you’d mentioned how much he didn’t, no less). You didn’t know exactly where he lived, but you thought he was proving to you he could do it too. And his shirt stuck to him where it was soaked in sweat was easier on the eyes than he usually was. Usually he was covered in dust and building debris – but at least he looked like a man who worked for a living… Was that supposed to turn you on as much as it did? You know he knew how much you watched him when you were supposed to be doing your own work… He didn’t look like any of the men you worked with, sleeves rolled up pouring over every detail in every sketch, and certainly like none of the pretty city boys you were used to mixing with. But his back muscles through his shirt from this angle were something else... and if Vince stared at your ass for as long as you thought he did, you had plenty of reason to stare at his too.

And there was no way you were about to be subtle about this.

You whistled; in a manner you thought these boys might be used to (considering the building site/pretty girl stereotype) and folded your arms - still with that brilliant smirk. “Shit! I don’t even think as an architect I could draw something as fine as your ass-!” You nearly regretted it as he slipped; caught by the harness - his crew weren’t howling with laughter at that, though. But all your ballsy blurt out. Vince turned at you, blue eyes wide and mouth agape. Which almost surprised you, with the way he’d been going at it you thought he’d appreciate a little comment by you. Gratuitous or not. “I didn’t think something so dirty could come out of a mouth like that!” You gave him quite possibly your sweetest smile; “Why don’t you see what else you can make come out of it… Kovac?” That only had everyone laughing harder, and they completely missed his expressional change – which had your heart skipping beats. Dare ya to make me. *** Eventually you got frustrated -  and you couldn’t take any more of this teasing without any action; and it was no longer about overtly sexual flirting. Now him staring at you whilst you fixed another ‘mistake’ was pissing you off. You slammed your pencil down on the table and whirled around to him – he didn’t even need to be here anymore, the rest of his crew had already clocked out. “Vince! Geez! For Godssake I can’t take this!! I will you stop saying this shit and actually DO something about it?!” He stopped chuckling to himself, and there were five seconds where his eyes looked between yours to try and gauge how serious you were. And you were, and the look in your eyes was fierce. So he took the step forward, yanking you to him as soon as he could get a grip on any part of your body. Vince was at the top end of five foot and he towered over you when he was this close, when his hands were in your hair and you could taste him on your tongue. You had to put your hand out to steady yourself as he backed you into the table. You were lost in the way he was kissing you. You didn’t think you’d ever been kissed like this, you didn’t think a man had ever wanted you so bad he’d needed to kiss you like this. Vince kept your body in and tight to his; his hands on either side of your face, not quite running into your hair – as he bent you back over the table; it wasn’t long until you were forced to sit on it; considering your feet left the floor, and then you decided you would tangle your fingers in his hair instead. You’d both barely taken a breath and still he continued to fiercely make out with you. But his sudden sharp breath nearly made you jump and he pulled himself way from you. “Shit!” he backed up and turned away; “F**k! F**k! F**k! F**k! F**k! NO… No, no, no, no, no!” You straightened up and raised an eyebrow at him; what had just happened? He turned back to you for a minute “I’m so sorry!” “…Sorry!?” You let him know you thought he was crazy; wasn’t this literally what you both wanted to do-!? You didn’t think the both of you flirting the way you had been was ever supposed to lead anywhere else. “Yeah I… We can’t do this.” “We can’t!?” “No… I can’t have this happen to you… F**K! If they find out, they’ll tell you everything… F**k!” “…Who?” “I dunno…” Vince gave a shrug with his whole body “…Anyone who knows!” “Knows what? Vince… You can’t just tell me half a story!” Also you wondered why he thought you cared. “Cuz you don’t look like the kind of girl who is just going to let me f**k you and leave.” “…Well…We will still have to work together…” But he didn’t mean that, Vince Kovac was looking at you like a serious relationship. “…Well if I was gonna do that, I would have done it by now.” “Figured you might wait until we finished the house…” He ran his hands over his face and through his hair; “You don’t deserve it… Frankly… So… I… Need to tell ya. Before they do.” You leant forward, quite frankly this man was nearly a complete mystery, and you felt nothing he was about to tell you would come as a surprise. But you didn’t say anything. “Well… Let’s start with the fact I’m divorced.” He lost you immediately, and you looked behind you to the table; “…Well… I wasn’t exactly looking for a marriage proposal…” all you really wanted him to do was bend you back over this table – well, maybe you’d prefer to move all the papers on it… But still, that’s what you thought you were both doing… Where did marriage factor here? “Yeah, but it’s the reason we divorced that they’re gonna tell you about.” That meant he did something, that’s the only thing he was saying. “…Right…” “F**k. Y/N… I…” Clearly, he wanted a serious emotional reaction from you by the way he stepped forward; and his voice rose to a level of anger. You didn’t have anything to be mad at yet… “…I cheated on her.” Your mouth opened, but you didn’t say anything. There was a nice level of awkward silence as you started to figure Vince Kovac out. What he said was bad enough. What he was saying was almost worse. He had no reason to tell you that. Absolutely zero. He could have you right here and right now on the table you sat on, and have it mean virtually nothing and have no consequences. Maybe you’d do it again, a few more times. And you’d be a casual love affair with barely one string attached. No. Vince Kovac was telling you he was a divorcee and a cheater (the cheater was the big one.) because he saw something here. He wasn’t looking to casually f*ck you when he wanted to. He was looking for a relationsh- You couldn’t even say it to yourself. Vince Kovac admitted he was a cheater, because he was telling you he could do it again. And the only reason he wanted to tell you that, was because he wanted to stop this before it started. He wanted you to turn away from him in disgust before he could take so much as your jacket off… It was a startling amount to process all at once. And you had two choices, you cared. Or you didn’t. And either way what kind of woman would that make you. “What do you want me to say?” He took a hesitant step back, and there was anything but confidence in those blue eyes “I…” “You either want me to say I don’t care – and I do. Or you want me to tell you I want you to leave… And I don’t.” You slipped off the table “…What you’re telling me this for can only be one reason…” You folded your arms “You want to be more than just the guy who is building my house. And you want me to be more than just the girl you casually sleep with whenever you see her.” He held silent. “So how about I field you the ‘are you single’ question to make sure I’m not the home wreaker here.” “…Yes…” “And are you looking for something serious? Or just a girl to fu-” “Yes.” You were a few paces from him now, and suddenly you seemed a lot taller, and you were fixing him with a hard stare that he felt was cutting him to his soul; probably what he deserved. “Then what the f**k are you playing at?” “…I’m telling you the kind of man I am.” Finally, a sentence that was said strong. “Ah.” You shook your head “No. You’re not. You’re telling me the kind of man you were - would he have told me that?” Your next step forward made Vince concede one; “Tell me you learned something.” “I still think I am.” You shook your head, “No. You’re doing this wrong. Don’t tell me who you think you are. Vince Kovac, show me who you really are.”

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@dennismitchell @wltz-bby @happyskywhale #MendoTagSquad. @3134045126​ @kylo-ren-has-an-8pack​ Figured I might have got a Vince Kovac crew...?