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cherry-leclerc · 6 months ago

Text

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

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ssprayberrythings · 11 months ago

Text

home is a person | OP81

oscar piastri x student!female reader / smau fic

fc: maude apatow

pov: you’re a student studying abroad in australia and during this time there, you realize home isn’t always a place but rather a person. in your case you find your home with mclaren's f1 driver, oscar piastri.

warnings: mention of alcohol (beer bong too), other than that just emotional fluff !!

i already have plans for a part two but please let me know your thoughts !!!

yourusername posted on their story

📍melbourne, australia

caption: i’ll miss my child while im travelling

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summer adventures 🔆

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friend1: youre so cute

friend2: y/n we miss you

╰ yourusername: i’ll be back soon. i promise

yourmom: my sunshine child

╰ liked by yourusername

yourbestfriend posted on their story

📍sydney, australia

caption: haven’t seen her in weeks and she brings a book to our lunch ☹️

╰ yourusername: i was only reading it until you got to the restaurant

friend2 posted on their story

📍melbourne, australia

caption: don’t be fooled, she’s actually happy to be home

╰ yourusername: sure, whatever you say

You loved all your friends but you had only been back in Melbourne for not even 48 hours and they were already dragging you to a BBQ party when all you wanted was to be in your apartment curled up with your cat, Timmy while reading a book.

“I promise if within an hour you really aren’t enjoying yourself, you are more than welcome to leave. I’ll even promise to order the uber” your friend told you “Deal” you agreed. You enjoyed your parties but you also enjoyed some peace and quiet, right now you wanted the latter.

You arrived at the party and made your way to the backyard with your friend. You had brought a pack of coolers with you, being raised never to show up empty handed to someones house. “I’m gonna go put these with the rest of the alcohol, Im sure I’ll see you around” you told the friend you had arrived with and then set off to find the alcohol table, mostly to put the coolers down but to also get yourself a drink, you needed one if you were planning on seeing this through.

You found the booze table and put the coolers down, then scanned what other alcohol they had. You opted for making a vodka, lemonade. Once you had a red solo cup in your cup, another friend of yours passed by and asked if you wanted to come play beer pong. You just shrugged and said “sure”, you didn’t mind a good game every once and awhile.

When the two of you got to the beer pong table, two boys stood at the one end. You had to admit they were both good looking, however the blonde one had caught your eye. “Is it us against you two or how are we doing this?” your friend asked, both boys shared a look “We can split up” the brunette boy suggested “I’ll be your partner” he added referring to your friend

“Are you okay with that?” your friend asked turning to you “Fine by me” you said as you walked to the other end of the table where the blonde boy stood “Just don’t be mad when we beat you” you added looking at your friend chuckling slightly “Oh you're on” she laughed.

“I’m Oscar” the blonde boy introduced himself “I’m Y/N” you offered him a smile, he seemed familiar but you couldn’t tell from where “Are you good at this?” you asked taking a sip of your drink while your friend and his friend introduced themselves to each other “Eh I’m decent” he answered your question, laughing slightly “We can win with decent” you joked making him laugh again.

One game of beer pong later, you and Oscar had won against your friend and his friend “Yes!” you exclaimed as the last ball went in, indicating you had won “Good job” Oscar told you holding his hand up for a high five which you gladly gave to him “We make a good team” you said as a small blush appeared on his face “We do” Oscar agreed with you.

From that point on, the two of you spent the rest of the party together getting to know each other, playing a few more games of beer pong, dancing a bit, overall having a great time together.

When the night was coming to a close and you were walking to meet your friend to go home, Oscar was right by your side “Is there any way I could get your number?” he asked scratching the back of his neck “Yeah but under one condition” you started “You have to take me on a date” he blushed but chuckled “I can definitely do that”.

Once your numbers were exchanged and you shared a quick hug goodbye, you were in your uber with your friend “Aren’t you glad I made you come” she smirked looking at you, you just rolled your eyes. The both of you knowing she was right but there was no need to say it aloud.

yourusername posted on their story

📍melbourne, australia

caption: planned or candid? guess we’ll never know 🤭

╰ yourbestfriend: MISS Y/N WHO TOOK THIS

╰ yourusername: i’ll tell you after the date

╰ yourbestfriend: DATE!!! FACETIME ME WHEN YOU GET HOME, I NEED ALL THE DETAILS !!

more replies…

╰ friend1: happy to see oscar took you somewhere nice

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📍australia

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perks of being home 📸🐨🌅

tagged: oscarpiastri

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yourbestfriend: THIS IS HIM

╰ yourusername: 🤦🏻‍♀️

oscarpiastri: cant tell whose cuter; the koala bear or the person who took the picture of the koala bear

╰ yourusername: i vote the koala bear

╰ oscarpiastri: i have to disagree ;)

╰ yourusername: guess we can agree to disagree ;)

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📍melbourne, australia

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im definitely enjoying this time off from racing

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yourusername: still never getting over how you casually said you were an f1 driver

╰ oscarpiastri: 🤷🏼‍♂️

landonorris: now i know why you’ve been taking forever to answer my texts

╰ oscarpiastri: i’ve had other things to do

piastrixnorris: WAIT DOES OSCAR HAVE A GF !?

f1fan_: OSCAR PIASTRI, ARE YOU A TAKEN MAN ??

wagupdates_: we’ll solve the mystery. its our duty 😎

yourusername posted on their instagram

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limit of happiness exceeded 🧡

tagged: oscarpiastri

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oscarpiastri: my happy place

╰ yourusername: 🥰🥹😘

oscarpiastri: timmy my adopted son

╰ yourusername: he loves you, maybe more than me

╰ oscarpiastri: that was my goal this whole time 😏

friend1: i’m taking a nap on the freeway tonight

╰ friend2: im joining you

yourbestfriend: he still needs the best friend stamp of approval

╰ yourusername: we’ll come to sydney before his break is over, i promise

╰ liked by yourbestfriend

oscarpiastri posted on their instagram

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my happy place is next to you

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f1fan: AWE

user4: THEY’RE DEF DATING

user81: SHES SO PRETTY

piastripastry: OSCAR UR GF IS STUNNING FR

╰ liked by oscarpiastri

wagupdates_: GUESS WE HAVE A NEW WAG ADDED TO THE LIST

yourusername: thats so funny, my happy place is next to you, what are the chances

╰ oscarpiastri: no way, we must be made for each other or something 😉

╰ yourusername: seems that way 😏

user20: im silently sobbing at their comments to each other

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for anyone wondering: f1 drivers make the best bfs

tagged: oscarpiastri

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yourbestfriend: he gets the best friend stamp of approval now

╰ yourusername: YAY

oscarpiastri: girls named y/n make the best gfs

╰ yourusername: ur so cheesy, keep it going

╰ oscarpiastri: for you, anything

friend1: does he have any single f1 friends ???

╰ yourusername: let me get back to you on that

╰ friend2: i’m wondering this too

╰ yourusername: 😅

oscarpiastri posted on their story

caption: my adopted son timmy & his mother 👨‍👩‍👦 @yourusername

╰ yourusername: we love you 😘

more replies:

╰ user12: ok cuteness overload

╰ user14: this is too cute

╰ user2: oscar you're killing us

yourbestfriend posted on their story

caption: cuties @yourusername @oscarpiastri

╰ yourusername: oh my..you’re the worst

╰ yourbestfriend: you love me though

oscarpiastri posted on their story

📍 sydney, australia

caption: boat days ⛵️ @yourusername

╰ yourusername: ❤️

yourusername posted on their instagram

📍 sydney, australia

liked by oscarpiastri, yourbestfriend, friend1 & others liked

i’ve become one with the sea 🩵

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yourbestfriend: today was so fun! the four of us need to hangout together more !

╰ liked by yourusername & oscarpiastri

friend1: youre the cutest

╰ yourusername: 🥰

oscarpiastri: i wonder who took these photos of you 🤔

╰ yourusername: some australian man who tagged along with us🤷🏻‍♀️

╰ oscarpiastri: hmm..hes a good photographer

╰ yourusername: hes alright..;)

Things between you and Oscar had been going so smoothly. Obviously he had to get back to racing pretty soon which was why you were making the most with the time you had, not that either of you minded spending pretty much everyday together.

Right now you were sitting on your balcony, enjoying the morning breeze, while Oscar was still sleeping. He had spent the night because yesterday you had gone to Sydney for a boat day with your best friend and her boyfriend and by the time you got back, it was pretty late.

You didn’t want Oscar driving back to his place so you offered for him to stay which he gladly accepted and you were able to fall asleep cuddled up together.

Your cat was curled up in your lap while you read a book. You were so engaged with your book, you didn’t notice Oscar walking out of your room and coming into the kitchen, seeing you on the balcony. He didn’t want to startle you so he walked over to the door, tapping on the side to get your attention before speaking

“Morning” he smiled at you “Morning, did you sleep well?” you asked as you put your bookmark in your book and shut it. He nodded while a yawn escaped his lips “Do you want a coffee? or I can make us breakfast” you suggested as you picked your cat up and got up walking to the door.

Oscar moved to the side to let you in and shut the door behind you “Why don’t we go out for breakfast” he offered “This way you can just rest” he explained as he walked over to where you stood by your kitchen counter, where you had put your book down, gently putting a hand on your lower back. “Sure, I like that idea” you told him as you smiled looking up at him “I just need a few minutes to get ready and we can go, I actually know the perfect place” “Sounds good, also I was wondering if you had a spare toothbrush” he asked laughing slightly.

You laughed with him and nodded your head “Follow me” you instructed and brought Oscar to your bathroom to show him where you kept spare toiletries incase anyone ever needed anything while they were here.

“Thanks” he told you once he had a toothbrush in his hand “Anytime, when you’re done just make yourself at home and I’ll be ready soon” you told him.

As you turned to walk away to get ready, Oscar grabbed your wrist causing you to stay in place, he leant down giving you a quick peck on the lips “Sorry Ive just been wanting to do that since I woke up” he told you blushing.

You had a small blush on your own cheeks, he truly was the cutest person you knew “No need to apologize, you're welcome to do that whenever you want” you told him causing him to blush even more but then he broke into a boyish grin and stepped closer, putting his hands on your cheeks and kissing you properly.

It didn’t matter to either of you if you both had morning breath, all you cared about was each other and getting to do this as much as you could before Oscar left to get back into the world of F1.

yourusername posted on their story

caption: my favourite breakfast spot + my favourite boy 🧡

╰ oscarpiastri: ❤️

yourusername posted on their instagram

liked by yourbestfriend, oscarpiastri, friend2, landonorris & others liked

got my film developed..finally 🫡

tagged: yourbestfriend, oscarpiastri, friend1, friend2

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friend1: omg these are so cute

╰ liked by yourusername

yourbestfriend: wait that pic of me is actually so cute, can you send me it 🥹

╰ yourusername: already did ❤️

oscarpiastri: im so lucky 🥰😍

╰ yourusername: brb blushing

╰ landonorris: who knew oscar had riz

╰ oscarpiastri: who let you here

╰ landonorris: y/n accepted my follow request..finally

╰ yourusername: sorry, takes me forever to do things 😆

yourusername posted on their story

caption: my favourite view 😏 @oscarpiastri

╰ oscarpiastri: youre my favourite everything 😏

╰ yourusername: real smooth..😆

oscarpiastri posted on their story

caption: i’ll miss you more than australia’s sunsets @yourusername

╰ yourusername: dont remind me that youre leaving soon

╰ yourusername: i need these next couple days not to fly by..

╰ oscarpiastri: i know :(

It was the day you and Oscar were most dreading, the day he had to leave Melbourne to get back to work. You had told him you would drive him to the airport, wanting to spend every minute you could with him before he left.

You made casual conversation on the drive over, not wanting to think about the fact you’d be doing long distance, not sure when you’d get to see each other next. You were going into your final year of your degree and would be in classes which meant you probably wouldn’t be able to attend the races.

Unfortunately you arrived at the airport faster than you hoped you would. You parked in the parking lot and got out of the vehicle once you turned the car off. You went to help Oscar with his bags “I got it” he told you, putting his backup on and then grabbing his suitcase handle with his one hand “Just hold my hand” he told you smiling and reaching to intertwine your fingers.

The two of you walked hand in hand towards the entrance. Because Oscar had some fame to his name, you were able to stay with him until he had to start boarding and then security would safely escort you back to your car, per request of Oscar himself. Luckily due to the time of day, there weren’t any fans that he could see but he didn’t want to risk it.

You sat in the waiting area for his flight to be called, you had your head resting on his shoulder “I’m gonna miss you so much” you told him softly “I know, I’m gonna miss you too” he expressed the same mutual feeling.

“I’ll be cheering you on from home for every race though” you added lifting your head up and looking at him, he smiled at your comment “Knowing youre watching is all the incentive I need to make sure I do good. I gotta make my girl proud” he said lifting your intertwined hands and giving them a kiss.

He could be such a hopeless romantic at times and it always made your stomach do cartwheels, you didn’t know how you got so lucky with Oscar.

Some time passed before his flight was called causing the two of you stand, forced to look at each other not wanting to say goodbye but knowing you had to.

“Go be a brilliant F1 driver” you told him, not wanting to say anything more or else you might cry “Come here” he said opening his arms, knowing you were doing your best not to cry.

It could be alot dating someone in Oscar’s field constantly having to say goodbye and not knowing when you’d be able to see each other next. You walked into his arms wrapping your arms around his waist as he wrapped his around you.

A moment passed before you pulled away, if he didn’t leave now, he’d miss his flight. “Text me when you land, I don’t care about the time difference” you told him “Of course” he told you as he picked up his backpack and you made your way to the doors to the plane.

After he gave you one final kiss on the lips, he turned and made his way through the doors heading for the plane. He wanted to turn around and see you one more time but he knew he’d never leave if he did so he kept walking straight.

You got walked back to your car, being sure to thank the security before you got in and put your keys in the engine. You waited till you were back home and wearing one of his hoodies to let a few tears fall.

It was crazy to you that someone you had only met a couple weeks prior had become someone so important to you and now you were crying over them leaving.

You didn’t know why you were reacting this way, you had been able to pack up and move across the world for school saying goodbye to family and friends. You had travelled, always making friends then saying goodbye. Goodbyes were something you had plenty of experience with, yet saying goodbye to Oscar was another level of difficult.

The more you thought about it, you realized he had become something you didn’t realize you were looking for, he had become your home and for the first time in your whole life, you were missing your home.

It was in this moment that you knew you didn't want to go another day without Oscar by your side. You knew you had to finish school but once you had your diploma, you'd be flying to Oscar and never leaving his side from there.

ahh i've been working on this one for awhile now so i hope you like it !! once again feel free to reblog or comment ur thoughts !! other than those notes, enjoy and talk soon ❤️

#ssprayberrythings talks #ssprayberrythings x formula one #f1 x reader #f1 smau #f1 #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri smau #x reader #f1 imagine #op81 #imagines #op81 x reader #op81 imagine #mclaren f1 #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri imagine

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samheughanswife · 9 months ago

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Sam

Sam was in his element. With friends, Steve and comfortable in the auditorium.

Refreshed from a week of sun,sand and sea. Add in off the socials grid. No random blondes in bikinis, or the gym blonde rats at the North Bondi open gym breathing the same sea air as him instantly given a nickname and assumed bumping curlies.

He shared that he had a session with the famous Bondi Beach lifeguards. He was encouraged to dive off the rocks at the South end of the beach- Bondi. He shared he had never dived in his life( sure that’s not true, just not into the Pacific Ocean) He was shown how to swim back to shore in a rip, ( that’s what drowns people not understanding how to get out of a rip). And generally living a beachside life. He joked that he didn’t sleep in the sand, he had a house (?? 👀).

Loves 🇦🇺. Not the snakes he revealed to an answer re the snakebite episode. Met all the famous animals. And shared that he felt the walk to the top of the bridge more now than when he did it eight years ago ( doubt that). Mentioned the bars he hit up and the restaurants.

A week well spent. As you all have seen he has the tan to show for it.

Two afternoons were lost to late summer thunderstorms. What did he do then?!

He answered the expected questions regarding the end of OL. He is ready to say goodbye. He has been in discussion regarding work. He wants to continue to travel after the S8 wrap.

Mentioned going to Everest and working on getting distribution in 🇦🇺 for SS. And other countries.

Shared a tidbit that when he went to the studio his “things” had been moved for a new younger cast. All tongue in cheek. Said he is looking for to BOMB.

This was a contented man. It was all easy conversation and engagement with just under 945 fans. The auditorium capacity is 945 and there were about 20 empty seats.

He did not bring up the spirits unless asked. He didn’t have a bottle on stage. That bag on the table was Steve’s- with a drink bottle in it and a place to put the discarded written questions. He was not selling his booze, he was riffing. Laughing and just being relaxed.

Asked about Caitriona ( got to say that the audience was a Sam only) and he discussed her getting prepped for directing. Said they had FT her the night before, all the guys and showed her what she was missing. He said how much they had shared and that really “ THEY WERE LIKE BROTHER AND SISTER” ✅ ✅. Crowd liked that.

He said that it will be difficult working away the final time. Very poignant. But he said he is ready.

The rest was the same questions and answers. The event organizers said there will be a USB to buy. So the rest will be there for those who will buy and then share here.

I’ve been told that on the soulless account comments have said that the guys were disheveled and looked unwashed. BULLSHIT. All their clothes were ironed( I am that woman who judges unironed clothes. Sam had ironed his T-shirt and pants. His hair was not oily. And his eau de parfum was that of a man who had showered early and had used deodorant. Those hollow jealous haters were truly reaching for something- anything.

I’m guessing that the Melbourne audience will be just as thrilled and appreciative of the chance to be in conversation with the OL lads. There is a song from one of my teenage favourite 🇦🇺 band Australian Crawl. It’s called The Boys Light Up. It’s the perfect song for the fun day yesterday. The boys did light up.

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operationslipperypuppet · 4 months ago

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hi! i recently subscribed to the pateron, and im a little intimidated by all of the extra content available, lol. in your opinion, what are some of the funniest short rest / dungeon court / mixed bag episodes to start with? (if anyone else also has their fave eps to share please do)

oh wonderful! welcome to the best stupid show(s) money can buy.

i’m gonna operate under the assumption you’re caught up on main feed eps but if i suggest a short rest for an episode you haven’t listened to, definitely hit the episode first.

these are just off the top of my head with ones i can remember what they are, i may come up with more later lol

short rests:

i think short rests 99 and 100 should actually be required listening for everyone, they’re fucking earth shattering. start there.

the one for 70 is stupid and reveals how they almost lost the episode so that’s a good one.

c3e22 has one of the most insane short rests in retrospect. and c3e41 also has a bonkers short rest. they talk about santa manscaping in your bathroom. the episode came out in august. i wept.

c2e41’s campaign wrap up short rest also is a good time and gives good insights on the campaign.

the short rest for the can they kill it is the origin of crabster. 77 has a rose before noon. 91 ends with jake saying something so insane it ruins me.

the short rest for caldwells frooze your own adventure also slaps. the wilson brothers are there.

the brussels hookup is another 8bbc short rest that’s so dumb and beautiful.

c3e54 has them all hyped up on too much caffeine after a mixed bag and talking about jumping off decks onto frozen lakes and landing on one boob and one butt cheek. i wish i was kidding. it’s incredible.

dungeon courts:

i’m mostly gonna highlight patreon dungeon courts with the assumption you’ve listened to the corresponding main feed eps.

king robert can klump ft. ally beardsley. the flintstones costume fun around the house. you don’t know what that means but it’s. something.

a little place called mangia’s. murph breaks down. caldwell loses it. jake turns to google.

yuncle ft. jasper william cartwright. rats ride loose and your yuncle is power hungry.

the video dungeon courts are great, you can see murph lose it.

bird jail ft. zac oyama. actually anything with zac oyama. it’s great.

table rattlers ft. jeremy cobb. i don’t remember what happens exactly but it’s great.

the dm’s judge ft. lou wilson and zac oyama. absolutely iconic bench on this one.

mixed bags:

mixed bag tier my beloved!! so many are so good!

the whole blazing babe chronicles. not enough people know there was a second hot boy summer campaign that’s available on the mixed bag. caldwell spills half a corona on his character sheet. it’s a dry july and the boys are Not on the same page about it. love is love is love returns.

the biggest loreser is new but damn if it isn’t impeccable. warning: the fred flintstone noise is fucking LOUD

all the taste tests (energy drinks, m&ms, and gamer energy drinks). jake tries an expired products. jake later forgets to buy peanut m&ms while emily decides she can taste what color an m&m is. murph gets hyped on caffeine and has to take a break resulting in one of the most insane short rests to date. listen to the short rest first, it’s funnier that way.

if you can listen to live shows, (the sound is sometimes challenging) i recommend those. great starting point is the melbourne one from last year, i laughed so much the first time i heard it. “i was a lurking actor. that’s a union job!” also the boston dungeon court did hit the main feed but started as a mixed bag and i was there so i want to shout it out.

emily’s winter solstice one shot!! brennan and siobhan are there and it’s creepy and truly so fun.

both dungeons and dragons movies. jake and emily gaslight murph. they talk about a truly terrible set of films. there’s someone called grape lady that is a highlight.

both spilltaculars. at times a bit cringe, but it’s fun to hear other people’s failures sometimes because then you feel better about yourself. plus they make up a judgement scale that is different every time.

spellcheck! the game show that’s kinda sweeping the nation. or was. it’s fun.

that’s long (oops) and all i can think of off the top of my head. if people have other faves, share them for new patreon people!

also, my last bit of advice is to join the streams if you can. jake’s stream is for the short rest tier and above and caldwells is for the mixed bag tier and above. they’re wild. we had caldwell drawing everyone in crocs for like 6 months (it’s arguably why we’re getting the jibbitz). sometimes you get tucker lore. (tucker, the fictional man jake’s wife is cucking him with.) they’re grand.

#thanks for the ask hope this helps!!#naddpod #asks #anon

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ynbabe · 11 months ago

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Fake texts au- pt.11 bffs with the rookies+ Melbourne in the summer

guys y/n's alr been doing so much idk how many more scandals I can come up with 😭 pls lemme know what situations yall would like to see these 4 in hehe 🫣 comment it or dm me my inbox is always open to yall 🥰

| Masterlist |

It had been a long few weeks before you could see your best friends once again, not having been able to attend any of the races for the rest till the summer break, but now? You were finally free and ready to cause problems for your favourite people.

You laughed to yourself as you landed at Melbourne Airport, having been to the Piastri household many times, so much so that his mother had begun putting a stocking out for you at Christmas, knowing that you'd probably be celebrating with the Aussies, much like Logan would be. He too had his own stocking.

You'd called his Mother beforehand, asking if it was okay to come over and she'd told you, she'd be keeping your favourite Shepard's pie ready. She'd also told you that Logan was staying over as well, having arrived with Oscar.

You remember all the times the three of you had spent in Oscar's room as teenagers, talking about everything and nothing at all them complaining and marvelling about racing, you listening and giving advice wherever you could. You went to them with all your problems and they to you.

You trusted each other with your deepest, darkest, secrets. You, Logan and Oscar, and then you met Arthur, and he had been an unlikely addition to your peculiar little group, but the three of you had soon come to realise just how similar the boy was, and decided it was only fair to adopt him into your weirdness.

"Two hours!" you whisper-yelled at yourself, looking at how much time you'd have to spend in the uber to get to the house, maybe more with traffic. So you did what you did best, just to pass the time.

You got out of the app, not knowing how much chaos could come from one simple tweet. Turning on some mind-numbing show on Netflix, you settled in till you could be with your best friends again.

The two hours went by faster than she realised as the Uber pulled up to the house, she told the driver to pull over, earning her a weird look. She paid him his fare and took her luggage right behind the house. Thankfully the old trellis was still there, a little rotten and overgrown with vines but still there.

She climbed up with practised ease, settling just outside her friend's window, where Oscar and Logan had been sharing the Aussies' room, just like when they were young.

She sat just outside the view of the two boys Logan who was sprawled on the bed scrolling through Instagram and Oscar on the fluffy mat right below, snacking on nachos, passing some to the American as they spoke.

She couldn't help but giggle, stopping as she almost slipped off the roof.

She pulled out her phone, trying not to fall to her death or alert the residents of the house.

She moved to see the boys' reaction, only to see him smiling, kicking his feet up.

"Oh my god, this is fucking adorable," she whispered to herself, clicking a picture, how they still hadn't noticed her was a mystery, weren't F1 drivers supposed to super attentive?

She went back to texting the unsuspecting boy.

"Huh?" you heard the boy whisper to himself, perfect, both were distracted, now was your chance.

You jumped through the open window, making the two jump and scream. It was high-pitched and loud, making the brunette's parents run up to their room.

"IS IT THE SPIDER AGAIN?" His mother yelled, "OH HELL, DID A SNAKE GET IN?" His father questioned, as they pushed open the door, eyes wide looking around their son's room, only to find the laughing girl and their boys standing on the far end of the bed, hiding behind one other.

"How do you always fall for that?" The girl asked laughing at the prank she had been playing on her friends since she started coming home with them from their races at 16.

"Oh, sweetie, how was your flight?" His mother said, pulling you in for a hug, she ruffled your hair a little as she held you at arm's length to look at you, "It's been far too long since you visited!" She smiled and said.

His father patted her shoulder as well, "Oscar, go get her bags." he said while walking out of the room, making the boy still in shock complain, "But dad,", "Now, Oscar!" Was the only reply that came, making the girl stick out her tongue at her friend.

"How are you my parent's favourite!?" He screamed walking out the door.

"Actually, it Y/n, me and theeeeen you," Logan spread gasoline on the fire, "SHUT UP LOGAN," the boy threw a few nacho chips at the blond.

The girl let herself fall on the bed, taking Logan's phone off the charger, the boy followed suit, resting his head on her stomach, the girl lowering her phone so he could see what she was seeing as well.

She opened Twitter to find her simple tweet had practically gone viral.

"Doesn't that bother you?" he asked making the girl raise her brow, "All these people who don't even know you and they hate you,"

She hummed as she wrapped a coil of blond hair around her finger, letting it loose and moving onto another, "I mean not really?" she started, "Sure it hurts when they call me just for hanging out with yall but it doesn't matter much cause at the end of the day I'm hanging out with yall," she explained, "It'd matter if y'all said something cause you know, you know me, but these don't mean shit, bruv," she said further, showing him the screen, where someone had suggested a club.

"Sounds good," he replied, beginning to doze off.

The flight had taken a lot out of the young girl, the jet lag finally catching up, "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU HAVE IN THESE BAGS-", Oscar yelled as he walked into the room but quickly shut up as he saw his friends fast asleep. He pulled out his phone and quickly took a photo of the two for blackmail reasons and pulled a blanket over them.

Why he had to sleep on an air mattress, on the floor, in his own house, was a mystery to him but all of them had grown used to unpredictable chaos when they were together.

what i wouldn't do to have her life 😮‍💨 also next Y/n and Arthur get home aloned and his brothers go through the 5 stages of grief thinking they'd gotten their 20-year-old brother and his friend kidnapped.

Taglist: @dark-night-sky-99 @cashtons-wife @i-wish-this-was-me @thehufflepuffavenger1 @eugene-emt-roe @fangirl-dot-com @landosgirlxoxo @aquangxl @sachaa-ff

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scenetocause · 8 months ago

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no one asked for this but i was in the kitchen makin instant ramen and poleaxed by the thought of landoscar puppy play post-melbourne in the style of a fic i thought was gemjam's but now can't find where mark webber gave his then-protegee mitch evans a collar to help with homesickness anyway whatever have some fuckin words

edit: fuck's sake cassian obviously it was a collar and a kiss by zeraparker

mild warning for hopelessly undernegotiated kink

"Don't you ever get homesick?" Oscar could count the number of people he'd less like to be having this conversation with than Lando Norris on one hand and one of them's the bored immigration officer who had to tell him he'd not got his passport stamped right in Doha.

Lando snaps his gum, looking up to the ceiling like he's actually thinking about it. "No? Not really. I was sick of fucking Bali over Christmas, jesus and I don't want to go back to Dubai but like, home is everywhere innit?"

"No." Oscar closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose. Obviously Lando doesn't experience this, he could literally drive to his parents' house on half a tank of fuel, straight out of the MTC car park. Straight from Oscar's flat, where for some reason he's letting Lando crash as though him seeing the post-Australia comedown is a good idea.

"Hmm." Hearing Lando think is always disturbing. "Well, what can I do about it?"

Oscar has to open his eyes again in disbelief. 'What do you mean do about it?"

Seeing Lando cocking his head on one side, like a dog, makes something painful sear across Oscar's temples. "You're sad, I want to fix it. Max always-"

"Don't tell me about that." He can't hear about Max Fewtrell right now. The guy haunting the garage all weekend was enough. Oscar doesn't need a reminder he's not Lando's first anything, needs to keep the thoughts about breaking up with his girlfriend so they can properly be a thing to himself.

"Well." Lando is literally sitting on his hands. "Then you have to tell me about it yourself."

Thing is, this is too much. It's not the kind of thing he should share with Lando. Lando who he just got team-ordered for, Lando who he needs to match the tyre management of, Lando who will sit there and smile angelically and get his fucking way on anything they ever diverge on about feedback.

Oscar's clenching his jaw so hard he can almost feel the ache where they took his wisdom teeth, though. Another thing he didn't know he'd really miss this much.

"You can't fucking laugh at me." Why's he said that, for fuck's sake? Lando laughs at everything, would probably do it at a funeral in his weird, stressed-out way when he doesn't know how to socially behave.

"Ok." Lando's eyes are very big and he's looked up from his phone. "I can order TimTams on Uber Eats?"

That's actually quite sweet. But not what Oscar needs right now.

"Just - stay here." Lando's fucking weird, he's probably into some of this shit himself. If not something freakier, lying around his Monaco flat in a gimp mask, suffocating himself or god-knows-what shit.

It doesn't take long to find the box. Oscar's consciously never accumulated too much stuff in this flat, like he might have to move out of it any time. Like everything might have to go in a suitcase because the contract review board said it's over, kiddo, go back down under and pretend you understand your dad's business enough to pay him back.

It's not got very much in. Oscar doesn't like to wear too much, when he's like this. Just a t-shirt and shorts or his boxers. He doesn't think he's ready for Lando to see him shirtless, like this, make his eyes crinkle up in glee at how much of Oscar he can touch.

It'd be better if Lando did it, if someone put it on for him but that's too complicated to ask for, so Oscar does it himself, mostly. Puts the soft shorts on, an old Prema shirt that's a little too tight to wear outdoors but feels comfy, soft, reassuring on his skin.

The ears are easy but the collar. He can't do that, himself. Can't give himself the ball, the well-chewed, if pristinely laundered, beanie toy. Whines, unhappily, about it.

"Osc-" obviously, Lando heard him. The sounds of him chaotically standing up, nearly falling over Oscar's rug and stumbling towards his bedroom door, are already clattering through the flat. "Can I come in?"

He just whines again, an animal thing. Oscar needs permission, like this, doesn't give it.

"Ok you better not be dying because I never finished the first aid-" Lando stops in the doorway. "Oh."

Oscar sinks to the floor, his knees bending beneath him, shoving the box at Lando before he folds down on his knees and elbows, looking up at the guy he's supposed to do anything to beat.

"Good..." Lando moves his mouth around for a moment, licks his lips. "Puppy?"

He doesn't have a tail to wag, although he has thought about one of the plugs, sometimes. Objectively, the bit of Oscar's brain that's still somewhat functioning says wiggling his arse must make him look ridiculous, especially when he paws at the box and whines again.

Lando crouches down, touches the ears. "Do you want to go out?"

Oscar cringes back, shaking his head violently. God, imagine the headlines.

"Ok." Lando does his head-cock thing again, then sticks his hands into the box. "Do you want your collar?"

It's pretty shameful, the way Oscar crawls forward so easily, smushes his face against Lando's knee and maybe he should have asked about this properly but Lando goes easily, scritching behind Oscar's ear. "Oh you're such a good boy, look at you."

Lando fumbles the collar for a second, not getting the buckle right the first time and it's nearly uncomfortable enough Oscar stands up, right back out of it but then it goes and it's snug and tight and good, Lando's hand in his hair.

"Are these your toys?" Lando shifts to kneeling, lets Oscar get his head right in his lap, nuzzling against Lando's stomach through the pouch of his hoodie. He doesn't need to answer that one, it's pretty obvious.

"Well, I don't think Oscar would want you breaking his stuff, so I'm going to leave the ball here." The third person is a jolt, like a nod to camera but it feels right. Oscar is elsewhere, can worry about that later.

"Come on then, good dog." Lando stands up, with the beanie toy in hand. It's a koala, a stupid joke. "Come and play, then."

It's not a comfortable flat to get through on your hands and knees, hard wooden floor jarring him in a way that'll probably bruise a bit, tomorrow. Lando's walking easily, waggling the beanie like he thinks he needs to keep Oscar interested.

Not Oscar. Puppy. It feels good.

Lando pushes the coffee table away, scraping on the floor in a way Oscar's landlord will probably have an opinion about when he comes to pay the deposit back. But puppies don't worry about that kind of thing, so Oscar just crawls over to where Lando's sitting, legs spread and outstretched, on the rug.

"Come on," Lando holds out the beanie, waving it by Oscar's mouth. "You want this, yeah?"

Oscar growls, nips at it. It's not the toy he wants, really, just the -

Ah, perfect. Lando pulls Oscar forward by the toy, right on top of him as he leans back. Oscar can paw him like his, Lando laughing delightedly and twisting away.

It's - he's seen the video, McLaren posted it for some national day or something last year - the same way Lando plays with his family's dog. Silly, rolling around the floor, letting Oscar half-hump him while Lando's shrieking and trying to get out of his grip, only to dive back in, wrestling with Oscar.

The rug scoots across the floor under them and they nearly crash into the telly, Oscar ending up on his back, against the sofa, Lando tickling his tummy but the toy in Oscar's mouth, triumphant.

"Are you submitting? Are you letting me lead the pack?" It's a bit on the nose but yeah, maybe. Oscar kicks out a leg, half-heartedly, to show he isn't always going to be ok with that.

"What a good boy." That, he is always ok with. More than human-Oscar would like to admit.

Lando lies down next to him, face a bit flushed and eyes bright from playing. "Always wanted a dog. You can even come to all the races."

#emptyhalf fic #ramen is cold now bad vibes #but then again it was the indomie chicken flavour so not exactly storming anyway #why does NOWHERE ever have the hot pepper one ffs #clearly the best one #though i do respect that og chicken comes in a giant pack called a hungriman and an even bigger one called beliful

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phryneluvbot · 6 months ago

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so, I basically live tweeted my (third) watch of crypt on twitter (it's the same name as in here, if anyone interested), so let me just drop everything I passed by this entire evening:

goofy opening, but where is my dancing silhouette and the 1920's godly music?

detective inspector jack robinson would like to know your location

tip: ALWAYS keep your sight on that woman, ALWAYS

I just love how phryne changed from a golden dress to a red outfit (I love it btw) that quickly, also one of her 8 languages is arabic!? MY GIRL!!

PRISON BREAK OUT FOR AN INNOCENT GIRL WHO WANTS TO SHARE THE TRUTH OF HER VILLAGE?! PHRYNE, YOU ARE AN AMAZING WOMAN

PLEASE GET INSIDE THE TRAIN PHRYNE, PLEASE GET-

oh...

oh no... she did actually... oh my god no

OMG DOTTIE IS PREGNANT AND VULNERABLE, MUST PROTECT AT ALL COSTS (and hugh too)

(also, the only scene where we saw a part of the wardlow crew - where's mr butler, mac - HER BEST FRIEND, AND JANE, HER DAUGHTER!? COULDN'T WE SEE THEIR REACTIONS!?)

so, he never went after her... makes it even more heartbreaking

he even still saved the photos, his face showing the tears being retracted... I want to hug you so badly jack

"You meant so much more to Phryne"

OK, THAT MAKES IT EVEN MORE PAINFUL, I-

on the floor, crying and sobing

oh, aunt prudence is here (but not phryne's parents, on their daughter's funeral - I might get that most likely they have trauma from Janey and couldn't mark their presence in another funeral for their last daughter, but it would have been nice to be present and meet her boyfriend - aka jack - who is noticeably suffering a lot)

SO, YOU WERE ACTUALLY ALIVE THE LAST 6 WEEKS!? COULD HAVE JUST SENT A LETTER TO SOMEONE, GIRL-

I get it that she didn't knew she was presumed dead, that would have worried everyone she knew and loved, so it was a perfect time to apologize and show the empathic phryne we love

instead it was a "oh" and some awkard smilling

Phryne, I love you, a lot... But you can do better, and especially that you saw the man that loves you the most broken

"I came here for one thing, to farewell you. Farewell" I could hear the pain on his voice, poor Jack...

Well, this scene was iconic

"Jack, are you awake?"

well, he said he wasn't

proceeds to appear on the church moments later

and the man was murdered

and they can't leave england (my condolences)

oh, this is ending badly

"And I am sorry if I am not dead"

phryne, don't say the word "death" to that man again, he thought you died twice in the space of a few months (idk, this movie doesn't even say how after it is from the show). I understand that you might be hurt that he never came after you, I really do, but please, the poor man is still processing that he almost lost you.

also, both (still) don't know what personal space means

(kinky)

oh, so that thing is cursed and... oh, this movie is like if indiana jones was an australian detective, good to know

from the creators of "singing in the rain", we present you "almost kissing in the rain"

oh, you're going to break in his house, so you while use your old stealth black outfit like in melbourne, righ-

why. did you. chose to use. a jumper. with. your. initials. (I still love it, and the entire ouftit, I'd like one of those too please designers)

ooooh, he brought her a gift (and tuxedo jack, meow)

please, both of, learn what personal space is

oooh, they're dancing again... cute

arguing

more arguing

Palestinian man finds out that the people of the country that occupied his country are all douchebags

HE DIED, HE GOT SHOT AT THE HEART, WHY!?

Sharim, I am so sorry...

oh, those guys again... great

well, now they're going to Palestine and find the crypt of tears (OMG IT'S THE NAME OF THE MOVIE)

"I just hope she doesn't fly like she drives"

"I HEARD THAT!"

they are so married

oh, it's a mercenary... well, we're getting of quickly then

bombastic side eye

woman, why are you so hot?

Jack, she just wanted to take the gun, don't worry...

and now they have no guidance, great-

Phryne, we both know how it ends

steps on quicksand

"JaCK, I NEED YOUR HELP!"

Jack continues to not give a fuck after their arguing

"IT'S QUICKSAND"

Jack proceeds to run into her

"I'm not losing you like this, not after all the stupid ways I've nearly lost you."

"WHAT STUPID WAYS?"

Phryne, we both know which stupid ways

not saying a thing, just admiring

ok, they found one of the points of the map, they just need to connect all and boom: entrance found

damn, nice crypt

lesson of the day: don't ever trust "british" man

and it wasn't an accident, YOU MURDERED A VILLAGE AND DOOMED THAT GIRL'S LIFE, THAT IS NOT CALLED AN ACCIDENT

and of course the butler was part of this, and jonathon's father!? Ok...

he thinks he's cursed, blames everything on himself, and wants to die there so he can be free and find forgiveness from the people of the village... I hope you have found forgiveness jonathon, and that your father is going to suffer forever

goodbye sharim, we're all hoping you can motivate many other young girls and women with your spirit

Yeah, trying to shoot a giant spider is a very Phryne thing

Yay, Jack "killed it"

"It's my only fear, Jack. Apart from spending a long flight with Aunt Prudence"

omg, it's going to happen...

"You're afraid if you fall in love with me, I'll turn you into a policeman's wife and... try to stop you from saving the world." Jack, you are so wrong (except on the marriage part, she would only accept one in her own terms)

"And I don't need to marry. I just need your heart, as god knows you've already got mine"

"Jack, I've already gave you my heart a long time ago."

OMG, IT'S ACTUALLY GOING TO HAPPEN

"For a detective you don't notice much"

IT HAPPENED, IT HAPPENED, IT ACTUALLY-

dies in excessive fangirling

THEY FUCKED, THEY FUCKED, THEY ACTUALLY FUCKED!! THE PHRACK SEX IS REAL!!

and it ends with a teaser for a sequel... that atp I think we won't get (hope I am wrong)

well, that was fun, now it's the spin off left (that got cancelled after season 2 of finished-)

#mfmm #miss fisher and the crypt of tears #phryne fisher #jack robinson #phryne x jack #phrack #essie davis #nathan page #and make the sequel happen please

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chosetherose · 9 months ago

Text

getaway car / august / the other side of the door

then

this is me trying

Wait. What? For the love of the soft cozy blankets I am still in…what is going on right now?

Mind you I’ve just woken up and haven’t watched any clips of Melbourne N2 yet but this feels very much like Kaylor Tumblr lore.

August: like the timeframe we’ve talked about *for years* as being potentially important for Jerklie contracts?

Getaway car: like leaving at the end of a contract?

The other side of the door: like a closet door? The secret hideaway house’s door (you know the imagery she always sings about)?

This is me trying: like something in the works is hard to get done?

We know Taylor sends messages with her surprise songs so this combo has my mind racing with options.

Telling us 🚜 is around until/through August? Start of football season disconnect? But she’s about to be on break for September and October so hmm.

Jerklie split after August 2024? This feels like wishful thinking. I’m wondering more and more about 2025 for them.

Taylor sharing her truth? This would very much surprise me too, especially since she still has tour dates on the books. Her last show before her 2 month+ break is 8/20. I guess she could share what she wants to share then let it soak in for a few months. But still it seems far fetched to think about. You’d think she want the option to be out of the spotlight depending on how she feels.

Or maybe it was just a cool song combo.

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smilingformoney · 8 months ago

Text

The Eternal Summer | Elliott Marston/Reader

III. Moth to a Flame

Summary: Elliott has a plan.

Read on Ao3 or below the cut:

You were sleeping peacefully in Elliott’s arms while he struggled to fall asleep. His mind was spinning with plans. He had to find Quigley and kill him, that was certain. Earlier that day, Major Ashley-Pitt had arrived at the station with the bodies of the men who’d taken Quigley into the outback and sealed his fate.

Turning down the work was irritating, considering the lengths he’d gone to to get Quigley there, but he’d have let the man go on his way back to America without any fuss if he hadn’t decided to raise his fists.

Elliott’s back was still sore from his fall. You, with your tender heart and soft hands, had patched him up the best you could, but it still ached. Not only had Quigley made Elliott seem weak in front of his men by throwing him out of his own house, but he’d embarrassed him in front of you too.

Now, Quigley had killed his men, and probably stolen their supplies too. Which meant that he was probably still alive, and though Australia might still do her work on him, there was a chance he’d survive.

Elliott couldn’t let that stand. He had to make sure the American was dead, and if Australia didn’t do it for him, he’d do it himself.

Matthew Quigley wasn’t his only problem. He also had his cousin’s shadow looming over the beautiful woman in his arms, who he was falling more in love with every day. Sometimes he thought perhaps you might be falling for him too, but then you’d mention that bloody husband of yours.

As well as the bodies of his men, Major Ashley-Pitt had also delivered the news from Melbourne that Judge Turpin had been held up in finding suitable accommodation for him and his wife, he’d be travelling to collect his wife as soon as he could and he apologises that she may have to stay at the station a little longer.

That gave Elliott an idea. He didn’t want to have his cousin killed - they were family, after all, and he hardly expected you as a grieving widow would want to be with the man who’d had her husband killed. But he could delay William’s arrival a little longer, giving himself more time to win you over. Then, when William arrived to pick you up, Elliott would challenge him to a duel for your hand. William would either accept, and inevitably lose, or decline and give you the choice to stay.

You hummed with contentment in your sleep and wriggled closer to him, as if you’d heard his idea and thought it splendid. Yes, he’d do that, he decided as he planted a kiss to your head and finally closed his eyes to settle into sleep. In the morning, he’d send three of his craftiest men back to Melbourne and task them with delaying Judge Turpin’s arrival at the station for as long as possible, giving him the time he needed to win your heart.

***

Thanks to his sleepless night, Elliott awoke later than usual in the morning and found the bed empty. He got himself dressed and stepped out onto his porch, the hat on his head protecting his eyes from the glaring sun as he looked around to make sure everyone was at work.

The only person not at work that should be, he in fact noticed, was your brother, Tommy. He had apparently decided that 11 o’clock in the morning was the perfect time to be playing hopscotch.

“[L/n]! Why aren’t you working?” Elliott called just as Tommy hopped onto one leg, causing him to lose concentration and fall down.

“Elliott, you did that on purpose!” you said with gentle admonishment, appearing from around the side of the building with a hat in your hand. “That can only mean that Tommy can go again since he was unfairly distracted.”

“It’s almost noon, he should be working by now!”

“He’s working very hard, aren’t you, Tommy?” you said as you placed the hat on your brother’s head. “Tell Mr Marston what you’re doing.”

Tommy bit his lip, a habit he shared with you. “I’m - erm —”

“Yes?” Elliott prompted, leaning against the pillar with his arms folded.

“He’s keeping me amused, since you’re too busy sleeping to do it yourself,” you said, standing next to Tommy with a protective hand on his shoulder. “I had to have breakfast all by my lonesome this morning, so Tommy offered to keep me company until you woke up.”

Elliott narrowed his eyes at you. You were picking up an attitude, and while that kind of cheek wouldn’t have been acceptable from any of his men, in you it stirred something inside him.

“I don’t accept cheek at my station, Lady Turpin,” he reminded you with a low growl. “[L/n], go find Coogan, he’ll give you something to do. [Y/n], inside.”

Tommy ran off quickly, glad to have avoided Elliott’s wrath, and you followed Elliott back into the house with far less subservience than he would have liked.

As soon as the door was shut, Elliott pushed you up against the wall, lips tantalisingly close to yours.

“Where’s this attitude come from, hm?” he said in a low voice, eyes boring into yours. “Have you forgotten your place?”

“I must have,” you replied with a mischievous grin that only served to stir Elliott’s cock. “Are you going to remind me?”

Elliott’s hands ran down your body, resting on your waist, his fingers flexing as he resisted grabbing you elsewhere.

“Your place… is right next to me,” he growled. “If I’m in bed, so are you. If I’m oversleeping, you wake me up with your mouth. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Elliott grinned. He pressed himself against you, and you could feel the outline of his growing erection through your skirt. He took a deep breath, as if collecting himself.

“Normally I’d teach you a lesson by taking you right here, right now… but as you say, I overslept. I have work to do. I’m afraid your lesson will have to wait.”

“How are you gonna work with this?” you teased, brushing your fingers against his crotch, and he groaned in frustration.

“Fuck, [Y/n]… what happened to the innocent lamb I met in Melbourne, hm? The girl who was so shocked at the idea of laying with another man.”

“You happened.”

Well, there was no way he could resist that.

But… he did have work to do.

He’d better multitask, then.

Elliott took you by the arm and dragged you over to his desk. He pushed his chair back, giving you room to kneel as he pushed you to your knees, and you knew immediately what he had in mind when he sat in his chair and unbuckled his belt.

He pulled his cock out, hard and dripping with precum, and you instinctively opened your mouth for him. Elliott sighed with relief when he slipped past your lips and his cock sat heavy on your tongue, stopping just shy of the back of your throat. You instinctively tried to open your throat to take him fully, but Elliott grabbed the back of your head and held you still.

“Stay still, darling. I just want you to use that slutty mouth of yours to keep me warm while I work. Can you do that for me?”

You nodded as best you could, and Elliott smiled hungrily. You were so good, so obedient. The perfect little wife.

He pulled out a pen and some paper and began drafting demands for Quigley’s capture and promises of a reward. His servant came in with a plate of jam and toast for his breakfast, and you tried to extract yourself when you heard movement, but Elliott put a hand firmly on your head and kept you in place.

He considered drafting orders to the men he’d choose to delay William, but he decided against it. If written proof were found of his instructions, his cousin could cause him some serious trouble. No, this was something that would have to be done surreptitiously.

Since he was so comfortable at his desk with you between his knees, Elliott wasn’t keen on moving, so he took the time to work on some other paperwork he’d been putting off. He wrote some letters, kept his accounts ledger up to date, and occasionally slipped his spare hand below the desk to stroke the side of your face, making sure you knew he appreciated how good you were being for him. He’d have to think of a worthy reward for you later.

About mid-afternoon, satisfied with the paperwork he’d got through, Elliott sat back in his chair and looked down at you. He gently pulled your head back to pull out of you, and you immediately rubbed your aching jaw.

“Oh, are you aching? You’ve been such a good girl, [Y/n],” Elliott cooed, stroking your jaw affectionately. “Come on, get up here. I think it’s about time we had a break, don’t you think?”

You nodded and stood up, desperate to get off your knees and onto his lap, and Elliott chuckled at your eagerness.

“Skirt up, bloomers down. Be a good girl for me.”

You obeyed, and when your bloomers came down your knees they were soaked. Elliott looked so handsome, sprawled in his chair with his legs spread out, shirt half-buttoned and chest hair poking out - how could you not be dripping for him?

You hitched your skirt up to your waist as you climbed onto Elliott’s lap, knees either side of his hips, and slid yourself down onto his waiting cock. He groaned with relief, finally giving into the desires that had been swirling around his mind for the last few hours, the desperate need to fill you up until you could take no more.

Even though your knees were aching, you desperately wanted to feel the friction of his cock moving inside you, so you ignored the ache as you rode him, focusing instead on the delicious pleasure inside you, the stretch you felt as you impaled yourself over and over again on his cock, the beautiful way he groaned with pleasure, letting you know you were doing well.

“Such a good… good girl…” Elliott muttered. He sucked on your breast through the fabric of your dress, desperate to rip the fabric apart to get at the soft flesh beneath your bodice. If it were easily replaceable he would have, but it was a dress you’d made yourself and he wouldn’t dare ruin your hard work.

There was something so deliciously sinful about watching you ride him fully clothed. Your skirt fell over both your laps, and if it weren’t for your skilled bouncing and both of your sinful groans, a visitor might think you were sitting on his lap quite innocently.

Yes, you looked innocent, but underneath the exterior image of the sweet little Lady was a cockhungry slut, desperate to be fucked and loved the way you deserved, and Elliott knew he was the one to give it to you. Sure, William fucked you three times a day, but did he make you cum? Did he look after you, make sure you were clean and comfortable, adore and worship you the way you deserved, even out of the bedroom? From everything you’d said about him, Elliott suspected not.

He grabbed your hips firmly, stilling your movements, and lifted you up to place you on the desk. He supported your back with one hand while he laid you down, hair a mess and dress crinkled, your cheeks bright red, all splayed out on the desk for him to see.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, before thrusting into you once more.

Elliott’s face was red and sweat was dripping off his brow thanks to the Australian heat plus the exertion of fucking you into the table, but that didn’t slow him down. You could see his chest glistening too between the loosened buttons of his shirt, and the way he looked at you, with both adoration and hunger, was an image you wanted to burn into your memory forever.

“Have I ever told you how handsome you are?”

Elliott nearly faltered in his movements, and if he weren’t already bright red from exertion you might have seen him blush.

“You think so, huh? Even when I’m fucking you into the desk?”

“Uh-huh. Especially now. You’re so lost in the moment, it’s - ah! - it’s beautiful.”

Elliott laughed and shook his head. “I’ve been called a lot of things, [Y/n]. That sure isn’t one of them.”

You were too lost in the moment to hear the door open, but you did hear the voice of one of Elliott’s men as he walked in.

“Hey, Mr Marston, me and the boys were wondering - woah!”

Elliott stopped his movements but stayed buried inside you.

“I am busy, Cavanagh,” he hissed.

“Yeah, I see that. Hey, I thought we weren’t allowed to fuck this one?”

“This one has a name. And no, you’re not allowed to fuck her. She’s mine.”

“Ain’t she married?”

“None of your business, Cavanagh, now fuck off.”

The door slammed shut, and Elliott sighed. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” you said quickly. “Just keep - keep going, please…”

Elliott grinned. “As you wish.”

Cavanagh had a point, Elliott thought as he continued his desperate thrusting into your cunt. You were married. And yet — here you were, on his desk, legs spread open for him, telling him he was handsome when he fucked you. Telling him he was beautiful. And when he slid his hand under your skirt to press his thumb against your clit, you moaned his name so sinfully, he wanted nothing more than to mark you as his.

Your orgasm washed over you, causing you to scream his name loud enough for the whole station to hear, and the way your cunt clamped down around his cock made withdrawing impossible as he exploded inside you, shooting his seed into your womb, a long, sinful groan stuttering from his throat.

Elliott almost collapsed on top of you, just about catching himself with his elbows, and you took the opportunity to kiss him, silencing any apology he might have been forming for spilling inside you. In fact, you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him in further, as if trying to push his seed as deep inside you as he could.

He trailed kisses down your jaw and neck, murmuring words of praise, telling you how good you were for him, how beautiful you looked in the throes of pleasure… he had to stop himself from telling you how much he adored you, how you invaded his every waking thought, how desperately he was falling in love with you.

Those words would have to wait. But if your words and actions that afternoon were anything to go by, it wouldn’t be long until he could have you all to himself.

***

A few days later, you were sitting in the shade of a tree with a pile of the men’s clothes next to you. You’d offered to patch up the holes in some of Elliott’s older shirts, and when the men heard what you were doing, they began bringing you their torn clothes too. Elliott made it very clear to them that they had to ask you politely, and if he heard of anyone treating you like a servant, they’d have no dinner that night.

You, of course, had no idea of this instruction and thought the men were all just being very polite, and you were too polite yourself to say no. Not that you minded - you liked being useful, you liked sewing and you liked sitting under the tree. Most of all, you liked that you could look up and watch Elliott at work, ordering his men around. Even the way he stood was attractive to you, his hands on his hips, stance relaxed yet powerful at the same time. Any stranger coming into the station would know he was the man in charge.

You had no idea, as he stood giving instructions to three of his men, that he was telling them to sabotage your husband’s journey to pick you up.

“When you can’t delay him any longer, you offer to escort him here,” Elliott was saying to them. “Keep him alive, treat him with respect, but make the journey slow as possible. He’ll get here eventually, and when he does I want him unharmed. Understood?”

“Yessir,” the men all said.

“Good. Get your supplies together and get going. The longer he takes to get here, the more I’ll pay you.”

Excited at the prospect of more gold, the man clapped each other on the back and scarpered. Elliott looked over at you and smiled when he realised you were watching him. He gave you a little wave and you waved back before ducking your head to focus on your sewing, a little embarrassed that he’d caught you watching him. He had a spring in his step as he went around the back of the station to find the women where he’d hoped he’d find them, tending to the allotment that had been cultivated to the rear of the station.

“Afternoon, ladies,” he said, tipping his hat to them. “I wonder if any of you are versed in floriography?”

***

The next day, you spent almost all day patching up the clothes you’d been given, and it wasn’t until almost evening that you were able to finish the last shirt.

You laid out the men’s clothes in a pile outside their lodgings, then you were about to go searching for Elliott when you saw him approaching you with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye.

“I thought tonight we might dine under the stars,” he said, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Just you, me and Australia. How about it?”

“I’d love to!” you grinned.

“Excellent, I’ve got the wagon all set up. I know just the spot!”

He took your hand and led you out to the wagon, which was waiting at the gate with Elliott’s servant at the helm.

Elliott helped you up into the wagon, which you hadn’t been in since your arrival, and you noticed that he’d already loaded it up with baskets and blankets.

“Why, Mr Marston, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were taking me on a date,” you teased as he heaved himself up into the wagon and took a seat opposite you.

Elliott winked at you, then hit the side of the wagon twice to signal to the servant that he should start moving.

You were excited for your date, or whatever it was. You always ate alone with Elliott, but your meals were too often interrupted by his men bursting in with some question or news. He always shooed them away, but that didn’t stop them interrupting again when something else came up.

“How’s your search for the gunman going?” you asked.

“I’ve put up a reward for his capture, and I’ve got men out looking for him,” Elliott replied. “If he knows what’s good for him he’ll be heading to Melbourne to get the first boat back to America, so I’ve sent some out that way too.”

“Is it a good idea to send so many men out to find him? What if he kills them like he did the last two?”

“There’s never a shortage of men looking for work,” Elliott shrugged. “Besides, I’m sure they’ll bring him in soon enough. He’s a long-range shooter, he’ll be useless at short range. They just need to get close enough to him.” He shook his head and put a hand on your knee. “But never mind that nasty business. I want to know all there is to know about you. You’ve been by my side for a week now and I feel I’ve hardly scratched the surface of you.”

You shrugged coyly. “You know all there is to know, Elliott.”

“I doubt that. For example - I’ve noticed there’s a scar on your left arm. There must be a story there. How does a gentle thing like you end up with a scar?”

Your hand instinctively grabbed at your upper left arm where the scar in question was. You forgot about it most days, as it was hidden underneath your sleeve - but Elliott, of course, did everything he could to get your clothes off.

“Oh, yes… that’s from when I was shot.”

Elliott’s eyes widened in surprise.

“You were shot?”

“Why so surprised? You love shooting things.”

“Yes, but not women!”

You laughed.

“I suppose not. I was shot by the sailor who stole William’s ward away. She ran away quite literally; I chased after down the street. He shot at me to keep me at bay. He only grazed my arm, but it was enough to delay me, and enough to leave a mark.”

“Why were you chasing after them and not William?”

“He was busy finding a constable to arrest the man who’d tried to kill him.”

The confused frown on Elliott’s brow deepened, and you laughed.

“I’m sorry, I’m telling the story backwards. I should tell it from the beginning. It was frightening at the time, but looking back on it now, it’s quite an exciting tale.”

Your telling of the tale of Sweeney Todd, the demon barber of Fleet Street, lasted the whole journey, and you were just telling Elliott about the death toll on the final night of Todd’s reign of terror when the wagon pulled up at your dinner spot.

“What a horrifying experience for you,” Elliott said as he helped you down from the wagon. “No woman should be exposed to that sort of thing, especially not someone as sweet as you.”

He took a blanket from the wagon and laid it down on the ground for you.

“Here, have a seat and admire the view while I get our dinner unpacked.”

Seated on the blanket, you admired the view just as Elliott had told you to - but the view you were admiring wasn’t the horizon, as beautiful as the Australian landscape was, but Elliott as he unloaded the baskets from the wagon - particularly when he bent down to open the baskets, and you got a lovely view of his bum.

You were restless after the journey, so you stood and looked out over the landscape. Elliott had taken you to the top of a cliff that looked out over the outback, a landscape that stretched for countless miles, with not a building in sight. You saw trees, and animals, and a few ponds, but mostly it was empty plains. It made you feel small, but it also filled you with pride, knowing that the land you were looking out on was Elliott’s.

“It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?” Elliott said softly as he came up behind you.

“Yes, it’s wonderful,” you replied with a smile. You turned to him, and you gasped a little in surprise when you saw that he was holding a bouquet of flowers.

“I gathered these from the allotment for you,” Elliott said, and you blushed hard when he held them out to you. “Would you accept them as a token of affection from my humble self?”

Your heart was all aflutter. Who knew he could be such a romantic!

“Oh, Elliott, they’re beautiful!”

You took the flowers from him, and your heart skipped a beat when you realised they were red tulips. You hesitated, then held the flowers to your chest and smiled at him shyly.

“Thank you,” you whispered, as if speaking any louder might be heard in Melbourne.

Elliott smiled, and you swore you saw relief cross his face. He offered his hand to you and led you to sit on the blanket, where he’d laid out an array of snacks for you. You sat there together for hours, and when the sun went down and the air became chilly, Elliott wrapped his coat around your shoulders to keep you warm.

“Now, I’m sure you’ll agree that the best way to enjoy strawberries… is with chocolate,” Elliott said proudly as he opened a tin of melted chocolate, and your eyes widened.

“You’ve got chocolate!” you gasped. “I haven’t had chocolate in years! And so much of it too - Elliott, you shouldn’t have, this must have cost a fortune…”

“Nonsense. It’s worth every penny to see the look on your face right now.”

You glanced at him and blushed when you saw the way he was looking at you, eyes alight with admiration.

“Oh, but it’s all melted!”

“Trust me, that’s how we want it.”

Elliott picked up a strawberry, dipped it in the chocolate and held it up to you.

“Open.”

You obeyed, and when your teeth sunk into the strawberry, you thought you must have died and gone to Heaven, because nothing on Earth could possibly taste this good.

“Do you like it?”

You nodded your enthusiasm, mouth too busy savouring the flavour to speak. You took a strawberry and dipped it, then held it up for Elliott to take a bite. You giggled when you saw that he’d managed to get some chocolate in his moustache, and when you pointed it out his response was to dab some chocolate on the end of your nose.

“Why have chocolate-dipped strawberries when I can have chocolate-dipped [Y/n]?”

“Oh, sure, I bet you’d love to lick it all up off me, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Elliott replied innocently, before licking the chocolate from the end of your nose.

“Hmm, then I guess you won’t mind if I do this?”

You forwent the strawberry and dipped your finger straight into the chocolate and dabbed it on Elliott’s lips. He caught your finger in his mouth and sucked it clean, but you still managed to get some on his lips, so once your finger was free you licked his lips clean in a motion that one might have mistaken for a kiss.

Elliott wrapped his arms around you and pulled you with him as he fell onto his back, both of you giggling like children.

“Careful, you’ll knock the food on the ground!”

“You think I care about that?”

“I don’t want to lose any of the chocolate.”

“Have a preference for sweet things, do you, [Y/n]?”

“I like you, so I must do.”

Your words flooded Elliott’s brain as he kissed you, and though the chocolate was long since cleaned up, he continued exploring your mouth with his tongue, and to his surprise your tongue fought back, fighting for dominance between your mouths.

“God, I want to fuck you right here, beneath the stars,” Elliott growled when you both called the battle a draw and paused for breath. “All of the land below us… and my cock in your cunt, just as it was made to be.”

You grinned mischievously and sat up, scooting back slightly to sit on his legs, pinning him to the ground while giving yourself access to unbuckle his belt.

“You’ve done so much for me today, Elliott. Let me return the favour.”

He stared at you, flabbergasted, wondering what had happened to you to suddenly want to take the lead. But he wasn’t complaining - there was something so incredibly sexy about you owning your power.

Elliott closed his eyes and groaned when you took your cock in his hand, and his eyes shot open again in surprise when he felt you sinking onto him almost immediately.

“[Y/n]…”

You hummed inquiringly, as if you didn’t know exactly what had him so surprised.

“Are you… not wearing any bloomers?”

You grinned.

“Why bother? They always end up a mess anyway. I might as well save on the washing, and be ready for you whenever you want me.”

Now it was Elliott’s turn to wonder if he’d died and gone to Heaven. But he’d killed too many men to ever get anywhere near the pearly gates, so he must still be in the mortal realm, you the visiting angel who was blessing him with your grace, your presence, your kind heart and — son of a bitch, your damn fine cunt too.

He loved watching you ride him with your dress still buttoned, your skirt pooled around your waist, your hair just about still pinned up but threatening to fall out at any moment with the ferocity of your movements. Dressed like a prim and proper Lady, fucking him like the desperate slut he knew you really were underneath. Even under the confines of your corset, he could see the movement of your breasts bouncing in time with your hips, desperate to be free of the stifling confines of your dress.

If only you could always be as free as you were now, taking your pleasure because you wanted to, not because you thought you had to. Elliott could give you that freedom here, the freedom to be your own woman. Even if you were his wife, he’d let you be free, doing whatever you wanted. If you wanted to have five kids and devote yourself to being a mother, he’d happily build a bigger house to keep them all; if you wanted to devote yourself to creating and mending clothes to earn your own money, he had plenty of space to build you a shop. He’d give you anything you wanted, anything at all. You only had to ask. You already had his heart; what was anything more on top of that?

You grabbed his right hand from where it was holding onto your thigh and guided him under your skirt towards your sweet spot.

“Touch me, Elliott,” you begged. “Please…”

Oh, with pleasure, he meant to say, but it came out as more of a mumble, his brain too addled by the pleasure you were bringing him to focus on something so menial as forming coherent words.

You could have happily stayed there for hours, bouncing on Elliott’s cock while he caressed your sweet spot in just the right way, but your cunt had other ideas, and you could feel the pleasure building up inside you.

“If you cum on my cock, [Y/n], I don’t think I’ll make it,” Elliott warned you, his voice high and whiny, betraying the way you were sending him absolutely fucking wild.

You leant down, pressing your clothed torso against his, and Elliott gasped when you nibbled on the skin on his neck.

You pressed your lips to his ear and whispered, “Go ahead. I want you to.”

Elliott immediately increased the speed with which he was touching you, his hips thrusting up to meet yours, and just as he’d promised, when your cunt clamped around him and you moaned his name into his ear as ecstasy overtook you, Elliott shuddered as his seed spilled inside you, filling you up with his desire, his adoration and - fuck it - his love for you.

“[Y/n]… [Y/n]… oh, [Y/n]…”

He mumbled your name like it was the only word he knew, as if saying it over and over again would be enough to tell you everything he could never say.

You stayed in his arms even long after you’d both come down from your highs, savouring each other’s presence, lingering in the cloud of everything you could never say to one another.

But maybe you didn’t have to say it. Because once upon a time, when Johanna was teaching you to read, she showed you a book with many pictures and short descriptions, a book which also taught you about the secret language of flowers among the social elite, and you remembered the entry for red tulips very well.

I declare my love.

You were in big trouble.

***

You’d been at the station for over a week now, and you were starting to get worried.

William had promised to join you within a few days of your own arrival. Elliott tried to assure you that delays happened, he might have been held up in Melbourne or on the journey, and there was surely nothing to worry about.

That didn’t ease your mind. You remembered what Elliott had said to you in the bathroom about your husband taking whores in Melbourne. Surely he wouldn’t? He had promised fidelity in his wedding vows, after all, and your husband was a pious man. He didn’t make promises lightly, and certainly not promises before God.

Then again, he’d ordered you into Elliott’s bed, even knowing it was infidelity. He’d sworn no one else would ever have you, yet he’d offered you up as if he were simply lending a book. Was he getting bored of you? Did he even intend to pick you up at all, or was your ‘visit’ a ploy to get you off his hands? Perhaps he’d found whores more skilled than you in Melbourne, or even a better wife, one of good standing whose womb would take his seed.

Or… perhaps he had left Melbourne, never to arrive. Maybe he got lost in the plains. Maybe… maybe he was lying dead in the sun somewhere, dingos picking at his corpse —

You pushed the thought out of your mind. You couldn’t stand to even imagine it.

You were sitting atop the hill that shielded the station from the worst of the sun, looking out across the land that stretched to the horizon and, somewhere beyond it, to Melbourne. It was peaceful here; with your back to the station, far enough that you couldn’t hear the goings on, you could almost imagine you were alone.

That was, until you heard the footsteps of someone coming up the hill behind you. They stopped, and you ignored them, continuing your watch over the horizon.

“What on earth are you doing up here?”

When you didn’t reply, Elliott clamboured over to you and sat by your side.

“You know, sitting in the sunlight for too long can make you sick.”

He pushed back a strand of your hair that had fallen across your cheek, and you winced.

“[Y/n], you’re bright red. You need to get inside. What are you doing out here?”

“Which way’s Melbourne?”

Elliott looked at you for a long moment. Then, he looked out at the horizon and pointed. “Two or three days that way, speed depending. Maybe four if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Elliott seemed to know what you were thinking because he put his hand over yours and said, “Sitting here won’t bring him any closer.”

“But I’ll see him sooner —”

“And he’ll be greeted by a burnt red tomato for a wife. Believe me, [Y/n], you don’t want to be burnt by the sun. Please will you come back to the station with me?”

You hesitated, but you agreed, and Elliott helped you to your feet. You took his arm to steady yourself on the uneven ground, and as you walked, you noticed your skin was feeling dry and tight. You raised your spare hand to your cheek, and noticed the heat radiating from yourself.

“Am I very red?”

Elliott stopped walking, turned to face you and pushed your bonnet back to examine your face properly. He winced, and you knew it wasn’t good news.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Like I said, we need to get you inside. I’ve got some ointments to help with the dry skin. I’ve caught the sun plenty of times, but it’s not a pleasant experience, and certainly not one I wish for you. You should have told me you were going up there, [Y/n]. You could have been taken by an Aborigine or worse.”

“I wanted to be alone,” you replied dejectedly. “And I wanted to wait for William —”

“I know, sweetheart,” Elliott said softly, gently cupping your face in his hands, and though he smiled sympathetically, a fleeting sadness crossed his expression when you said your husband’s name. “But you need protection, even from Australia herself. I could have given you a parasol for the sun, a gun for defence… Well, never mind that now. Come on.”

As you entered the station, you passed some of the men practising shooting tin cans, and you recalled Elliott’s comment about giving you a gun for defence.

“Would you teach me how to shoot?”

Elliott looked over at you, a hint of excitement on his face. “You’d want to learn? A delicate lady like you?”

“I’m tougher than you think!” you insisted stubbornly. “I grew up on the streets of London, remember?”

Elliott chuckled and put his arm around your waist as you entered the house, and you had to admit the shade was a relief.

He sat you down on the sofa and pulled out a jar of ointment from his desk drawer. “Alright, I’ll teach you how to shoot. But only for emergencies, understand? You should stay with me whenever possible, so you’ll always have me to keep you safe.”

He sat next to you and carefully took your bonnet off to start applying the ointment to your reddened skin.

“You’re so protective,” you said with a giggle. “Like a lion. Will you protect me from the scary dogs and the wild people, my big strong lion?”

“I’ll protect you from anything,” Elliott said seriously. “I’m the fastest draw in Australia, there’s nothing and nobody I won’t shoot down to protect you.”

“You can’t shoot the sun, Elliott.”

“I can try. How do you feel?"

Scared for where my husband is. Frightened of how I feel for you. Terrified that I want to stay.

“It stings.”

“It will, but it’s necessary to heal.”

“I know. I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

Because I’ll do anything to have you.

“I’m a dangerous man, [Y/n].”

He gently turned your head to the side to pay attention to your other cheek.

“You don’t seem so dangerous to me.”

Elliott smirked. “The most dangerous men seem harmless, until they stab you in the back.”

“You won’t stab me in the back, Elliott. You’d shoot instead.”

He smiled.

“Shoot you? Never. But if a man threatened to harm you… I wouldn’t hesitate.”

He glanced at your eyes before returning his focus to your skin, wondering if you understood his meaning. He didn’t want to tell you that he planned on challenging William to a duel for your hand as soon as he arrived, but when it did happen, he wanted you to understand that he was doing it to protect you, because from everything you’d told him, no man had harmed you as much as your husband had.

“Have you had news of the sharpshooter?”

Elliott’s lips thinned and his brow furrowed in the adorable way it did when he was annoyed.

“He killed more of my men last night. Seems to have decided he’d rather protect the Aborigines for nothing than shoot them for pay.” He scoffed. “I’ve upped the reward. I can’t afford to lose so many men so quickly. There, I think I got it all.”

Elliott stood to return the ointment to its drawer.

“What will you do when someone does bring him in?” you asked. “Oh, if you have him arrested, maybe William can send him to the gallows.”

Elliott smirked and pulled his revolver from its holster. “Nah, no point in all those formalities for the same outcome. I’ll kill him myself.”

He turned the gun around in his hand and pointed the handle towards you.

”Still wanna learn?”

Frankly you were still scared of guns, but you were more scared of Matthew Quigley and, though you’d never tell Elliott this, the men at the station, who leered at you when Elliott’s back was turned.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

***

Wary of your fresh sunburn, Elliott waited until sundown to teach you how to shoot. He stood behind you in the middle of the station, hands on your waist as he guided your stance. The heat being what it was, you’d taken to wearing thinner skirts, which made it a lot easier for you to feel the outline of his cock pressing up against your bum.

“Do you stand this close to your men when you teach them to shoot?” you said with a smirk.

“Of course I don’t,” Elliott murmured in your ear. “But I find myself drawn to you like a moth to a flame.”

“Careful, sweetie,” you whispered in reply. “The moth dies in the flame.”

“And what a way to go that’d be. Now… remember what I told you?”

“That I look pretty in this dress?”

Elliott chuckled, his breath warm on your cheek. “You look pretty in everything, darling. No, I mean about the gun. How do you make sure you don’t accidentally set it off?”

“Safety on at all times. Click it off only to use it, then straight back on.”

Elliott kissed your cheek. “Good girl. You wanna give it a shot?”

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Alright. Show me your grip.”

His heart swelled with pride when he saw your fingers slide into place around the barrel of the gun, as if you’d held one a thousand times before.

“Good. Now, aim it at that can over there.”

He pointed to a can that he’d placed on the fence. You raised your arm, holding the gun straight, and Elliott gently placed his hand on your shoulder.

“Relax your arm a bit. You don’t want to be tense, or the recoil’s gonna be a bitch. Now, I wanna see how you aim naturally. Give it a go, but don’t worry, I don’t expect you to get anywhere near it on your first try. Take your time. Breathe. Line it up… then take the safety off and pull the trigger.”

He still had a hand on your waist, but rather than distracting you, you found it soothing, as if his very presence was grounding you.

You thumbed the safety off, then pulled the trigger, and winced at the loud bang as the bullet shot out the end - and the can toppled off the fence.

“Holy shit,” Elliott breathed.

“Hey, I got it!” you said with surprise.

“Yeah, you fuckin’ did,” Elliott growled. He wrapped his arms around you, groping you hungrily, and you felt his cock pressing against your bum again. “God, that was so hot. You’re a natural, [Y/n]. You sure you’ve never shot before?”

You blushed, excitement tingling through you, pleased with yourself that Elliott was impressed with you.

“I just figured it’s not much different from sewing, right? Except it’s a gun and a bullet instead of a needle and thread. The target’s just the hole for the thread.”

Elliott grinned. “Brilliant. So brilliant. Here, let’s see where you managed to hit it.”

He jogged over to pick the can up from the floor and examined it. It was dented right at the top - you’d managed to hit it, but only just. He brought it back to you and showed you the mark your bullet had left.

“Not perfect, but a damn good shot, especially for your first try. I have men who practised for days before they could hit it.”

“Not perfect?” you repeated with mock indignation. “If that was a man’s head, he’d be dead either way.”

“True enough, sweetheart. Even I don’t shoot it perfectly on target every time.”

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you show me what you’ve got, cowboy?”

Elliott looked at you with a devilish glint in his eye. He loved to shoot, he loved to show off, and he especially loved to show off in front of you.

He replaced the can on the fence, then took your spot to ready himself to shoot at it.

“Nuh-uh, mister!” you protested. “That’s a beginner’s spot. If you’re such a good shot, you need to take another… six paces back.”

Elliott shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

He took six steps back, making sure they were big strides too, and you stepped back as well, not wanting to be close to his firing range - not that you expected him to miss so wildly as to hit you.

Elliott locked eyes with you and grinned cockily. You hardly had time to smile back when his gun was out and the can was flying off the fence.

You retrieved it this time, and just as expected, there was a round bullet-sized hole slap bang in the middle of the tin and mirrored on the other side.

Elliott jogged up behind you to examine his work.

“See? I told you,” he said proudly. “Best shot in Australia.”

“Sure you are.” You grabbed his hat, which he’d left hanging on a fence post when the sun went down, and placed it on your head. It was a little big for you, so you tipped it back to stop it covering your eyes.

“Look at me, I’m Elliott Marston! I like shooting things, making jelly and fucking [Y/n] [L/n]. I own so much land in Australia but I wish I was an American cowboy. I have a massive cock and I know how to use it. I —”

BANG!

You let out a squeal of surprise when the gun in your hand went off, and you instinctively dropped it to the floor. Fortunately, the bullet only lodged into the fence post, but Elliott instinctively pulled you back anyway.

“What’d I tell you about the safety!” he hissed. “You gotta turn it off as soon as you’re done shooting!”

He grabbed the gun from the floor and clicked the safety on. He tucked the gun under his belt and turned to you to check you were okay, and to his surprise you were standing with your head tucked, your fingers fidgeting anxiously with your dress.

“I’m sorry,” you said meekly. “I’m too simple for guns, I shouldn’t have tried —”

“Hey, hey, shh!”

Elliott cupped your face in his hands and forced you to look at him.

“Hey, come on, now. You’re nothing of the sort. You forgot in the excitement, that’s all. You’ll remember next time, won’t you?”

You nodded, and Elliott thought he might just melt at the sight of your doe eyes, so sweet and innocent, looking up at him as if you were frightened of him. Had he ever given the impression you had anything to fear from him if you did something wrong?

No, he thought as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and held you tight, murmuring soothing words against your skin as he littered soft kisses over the top of your head. He’d never done anything to make you fear his anger - but he was willing to bet your husband had. You’d been so timid in Melbourne, so frightened of disobeying William that you’d even agreed to warm a stranger’s bed because you had no choice but to obey your husband.

And simple? In what world were you simple? Or was that just an insult your husband used to keep you believing you weren’t good enough to be anything more than his obedient wife?

“I think you’re brilliant, [Y/n],” Elliott said, pulling back from the embrace to look at you. “You hear me? I…”

He faltered. He’d nearly slipped and said what he should never say to another man’s wife, what he couldn’t say, not here, not now.

You knew, surely? Could he make it any more plain without saying it?

“Why don’t we work on your draw, huh?” Elliott said, ignoring the thoughts swirling inside his head, willing himself to draw his attention away from your beautiful doe eyes. “It’s all well and good aiming, but if you’re too late to draw, you won’t have chance to aim.”

You nodded, and Elliott kissed your forehead warmly.

“Come on. Bet you can draw faster than half the men here.”

(You could.)

#elliott marston #elliott marston x reader #quigley down under #alan rickman #the eternal summer

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labuenosairesfrancaise · 1 month ago

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Brocket Hall

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Hi guys!!

I'm sharing Brocket Hall. This is the 22nd building for my English Collection!

I decorated some of the house ground floor, for reference.

History of the house:

Brocket Hall is a neo-classical country house set in a large park at the western side of the urban area of Welwyn Garden City in Hertfordshire, England.

On the parkland site were two predecessors: the first of these was built in 1239 as Watership or Durantshide Manor, and was early held variously of Hatfield Manor and the Bishop of Ely. A second predecesor was built about 1430: whereas in 1413 John Mortimer had held Waterships, it is known that in 1477 Thomas Brockett held both manors. The house was acquired by John Brocket in the early 1550s, and passed to his son Sir John Brocket (captain of the personal guard of Queen Elizabeth) on his death in 1558.

The building and park owe much of their appearance today to Sir Matthew Lamb, 1st Baronet, who purchased the estate in 1746 and commissioned Brocket Hall to the designs of the architect Sir James Paine in around 1760.

The next owner was William Lamb, 2nd Viscount Melbourne, who was Queen Victoria's first Prime Minister (1835–41). She often visited during this period. His wife, Lady Caroline Lamb, infamously had an affair with Lord Byron, causing Lord Melbourne much embarrassment. For one of his birthdays she held a state banquet in the Saloon, at which she had herself served from a large silver dish, naked.

On Lamb's death, the house passed to his sister Emily, whose second husband was another Prime Minister, Lord Palmerston. Palmerson died at Brocket Hall in 1865, the last UK prime minister to die in office.

On Emily's death, the hall then passed to Emily's grandson by her first marriage, Francis Cowper, 7th Earl Cowper, though it was his younger brother, Henry (d.1887), who lived at Brocket Hall.

In 1893, George Stephen, 1st Baron Mount Stephen, President of the Bank of Montreal and the first Canadian to be elevated to the Peerage of the United Kingdom, leased Brocket Hall from the 7th Earl for the remainder of his lifetime. Over the next three years, guests included the Queen's children: The Prince and Princess of Wales, The Duke and Duchess of Connaught and the Princess Mary, Duchess of Teck. In 1897, one year after his first wife died in 1896, Lord Mount Stephen married Georgina Mary (known as Gian) Tufnell, a Lady-in-Waiting to Princess Mary Adelaide, Duchess of Teck, who encouraged the match. Gian was a lifelong friend and confidante of the Duchess's daughter, Mary of Teck, the wife of King George V, and the Mount Stephenses regularly entertained the royal couple. Gian preferred life at Brocket Hall to the social life that surrounded their London residence at Carlton House Terrace. Lady Mount Stephen was a close friend of Georgina Gascoyne-Cecil, Marchioness of Salisbury, who lived on the neighbouring estate, Hatfield House.

After the death of the 7th Earl Cowper (1905), the underlying future reversion was left to his niece, but she died only a year after him (1906) and the estate passed to her husband, Admiral Lord Walter Kerr, who lived at Melbourne Hall. When the life tenant Lord Mount Stephen died in 1921, Kerr put the estate up for sale, and in 1923 it was purchased by Sir Charles Nall-Cain, who co-ran the brewing company Walker Cain Ltd; he was created Baron Brocket in 1933. His son, Ronald Nall-Cain, 2nd Baron Brocket, was a Nazi sympathiser; he was interned during the Second World War, and his property was sequestrated and put to use as a maternity hospital.

More history: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brocket_Hall

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

House file:

Location: Hatfield, England

Material: red brick

Style: Neo-classical

Date: 1760

This house fits a 50x40 lot.

I only decorated some of the important rooms. All the rest of the house is up to your taste to decor.

Hope you like it.

You will need the usual CC I use:

all Felixandre cc

all The Jim

SYB

Anachrosims

Regal Sims

King Falcon railing

The Golden Sanctuary

Cliffou

Dndr recolors

Harrie cc

Tuds

Lili's palace cc

Please enjoy, comment if you like the house and share pictures of your game!

Follow me on IG: https://www.instagram.com/sims4palaces/

@sims4palaces

Access only for memebers (free for all)

DOWNLOAD: https://www.patreon.com/user?u=75230453

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evita-shelby · 2 months ago

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We didn't start the fire

Jack and Katie Nelson end up meeting Rose and Samuel Coldwell after getting arrested for the same crime in the same neighborhood

rose and sam belong to @justrainandcoffee

cw: drinking, drunk people, arson, absent dad, arrests

When Jack and Katie decided to track down his father, whom not even his elder half-brother knew, they didn’t think they’d end up in London.

Eva had come on business and while she did what she came here for, Jack had called Katie, who was visiting Colin’s family here, and went pub crawling for old time’s sake.

He should’ve known it was a bad idea when, despite being busy with vlogging everything they did, his sister managed to find his dad’s address. Katie was white girl wasted by now and Jack had reached that point of fuck it we ball moment of the night.

Jack had gotten a bottle of Bushmills Whiskey for the road somehow remembering that was his dad’s favorite drink when Eamon O’Neil met Rosemary Nelson during graduate school.

When they found the nice house empty and showing signs of a happy upper middle-class family it brought up all those times his mother struggled to raise him and his sister and all those times he could’ve used a fucking dad.

“Fuck him! Fuck that guy, you don’t need him, Jack. You hear me!” Katie pulls him down to her height as she assures him that his father doesn’t deserve to even know him.

And suddenly the ribbon in Katie’s blonde hair is shoved half ways into the bottle they were sharing at the curb and the lighter he kept from that day he met Eva in Vegas is in his hand.

The Instagram video has him tossing a Molotov cocktail prefaced with the words, “Fuck you!”. An iconic moment followed by him angrily ranting at the security camera closest to him about how Eamon O’Neil was a piece of shit who abandoned two pregnant women in Boston during his time at MIT.

In the same neighborhood, Rose and her brother had done the same to the house of Samuel Coldwell.

They are put in the same cell and nature takes its course.

Katie leads the way, always the funny charming one who knows how not to step on people’s toes while Jack has the subtlety of Godzilla trampling Tokyo. But with a few drinks in, a shared hatred of their absent fathers and being in here for the same crime two Irish Catholics and two English Jews become unlikely friends.

“Yeah, Jack can make molotov cocktails because he w---” Jack using his sister’s drunk state and his greater height to successfully put his hand over her mouth to prevent her revealing where his skills came from.

“Huge fan of the Good Place.” He says with a laugh that works good enough for the two women who end up changing the topic while Sam Coldwell silently agrees to keep his secret.

He’d been in a gang until he got too good at it and pissed off the leader causing him to end up in fucking Melbourne, Australia to avoid prison. Luckily there had been no proof and Jack was able to return with a masters in finance and a short but lucrative career as a webcam model.

Now he had graduated from Harvard Business College, gotten the investment firm off the ground to great success and would marry the love of his life if she could just get here to bail them out.

“Do you guys need any help getting bailed out, my girl says she doesn’t mind.” He offers after the phone call goes well enough.

“My brother-in-law is already coming, thanks for the offer.” Sam rejects the offer, and both guide their sisters ---who are tearfully bidding each other farewell and exchanging numbers as jumbled as they come out their mouths--- out of their cells.

Jack finds Eva chatting amicably with what he presumed is Rose’s husband and greets his future wife with a short kiss and threw his arm over her shoulder before asking, “How do you guys know each other?”

“We fucked the same guy.” Evie answered far too casually as she led them out the station and into Colin’s car.

#jack nelson fanfic #modern au #rose coldwell #jack nelson x oc #alfie solomons x oc #peaky blinders fanfiction

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spnfanficpond · 5 months ago

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SPNRewatch: FanFic Edition

Our goal is to rewatch the show with fanfic writing in mind. We want to look for all the places in canon where we could add a scene, show a scene from a certain character’s point of view, or change something to make things turn out differently. (We may also critique what the show writers did; that seems inevitable.)

Episodes we're discussing: 2.13 Houses of the Holy and 2.14 Born Under a Bad Sign

What time will it be for you:

UTC - Saturday 21:00

Los Angeles - Saturday 2pm

New York - Saturday 5pm

London - Saturday 10pm

New Delhi - Sunday 2:30am

Melbourne - Sunday 7am

Who’s invited? All Pond members, including Turtles! You don’t have to be a writer to have an opinion on the episodes that could inspire a writer! Everyone has valuable opinions about the show and could spark conversation and inspiration.

Where will we meet? In the discord server. There is a special channel for us to chat in so we don’t disturb other chats happening at the same time.

How does it work? On our own, whenever we have time, we all watch two episodes of SPN. At the appointed time, we all get together and chat about them. Although we have several questions to consider and creative ideas for you to do if you want, there is no pressure to actually have answers to these questions or have created anything prior to the chat. Didn’t get to watch them? No biggie! We’ve all watched these episodes enough that we can probably talk about them without rewatching them!

More info under the cut!

What questions should we consider while we watch? We have a few questions you can keep in mind while you’re watching the episodes:

Are there any “fanfiction gaps” in this episode? Any places between scenes where a juicy story could happen? (For example, one scene ends at night, but the next scene begins during the day, and what did they do with all of that time?)

How would the episode be different if you changed one thing? What is changed is up to you. It could be as complex as a character making a different choice, or as simple or silly as someone wearing a funny hat throughout part or all of the episode.

What about this episode would you like to see happen differently? How would making that change affect future episodes?

List any parts of each episode that you think could be jumping-off points for a fic. Like, in the pilot, how did Sam meet their friend who was in the bar with them?

How would the episode be different if there were another character involved like a reader insert character?

Do any of the themes we've already discussed in The Archive (See the bottom of the doc under the heading "Thematic docs") show up in this episode? Does this episode bring up any new themes we should be watching out for in the future?

What else can we do before the chat? You can add any notes you have about the episodes we'll be discussing to The Archives! In addition, besides just discussing the fanfiction possibilities in every episode, we also want to encourage you to create things centered around the episodes we’re discussing and share them with the rest of us. Things like:

Write some meta about some part of the episode. What does this episode show us about one or more of the characters?

Write a fic based on the episode. Share a link to your fic in the discussion and we can talk about it!

Make a playlist that you feel reflects the mood of the episode.

Make some art or a photo collage or edits to go along with the episode.

We look forward to seeing everything you create! Be sure to tag us so we can reblog your work!

Have questions about this or anything else? Send us an ASK or send a private message to one of the admins below!

Admins:

Michelle - @mrswhozeewhatsis

Marie - @mariekoukie6661

MJ - @thoughtslikeaminefield

Mana - @manawhaat (Founder and Admin Emeritus)

#pond events #spnfanficpond spn rewatch #spn fan fiction #spn fanfiction #spn fan fic #spn fanfic #supernatural fan fiction #supernatural fan fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #john winchester #mary winchester

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house-of-galathynius · 2 years ago

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Overdrive

Chapter Four

Chapter Three - Chapter Five

Word Count: 3.1k

Aelin

The luxury of being born into a wealthy family meant that Aelin never really had to think about getting a job or worrying about money. The disadvantage to this was that she spent a lot of her time twiddling her thumbs and trying to figure out what she actually wanted from life.

With Lysandra caring for her new baby and Aedion starting pre-season prep, it meant Aelin was at a loose end. She’d finished her masters degree and hadn’t rushed into finding a position because God knows she didn’t know what she really wanted to do. But she found herself procrastinating, not really finding anything productive to do with her days. There were only so many brunches she could go to with her mum or pilates classes she could stomach. The people who ran in her parents social circle weren’t exactly exciting, and most of them didn’t see the point in Aelin being ambitious— why would she, when her father had enough money to support her indefinitely.

Her father was at the breakfast table reading the news, the TV was on low in the background and her mother was pottering about the kitchen when she entered. Sure, Aelin could have been back in Melbourne in her own apartment or at one of their family houses basking up the sun. But instead she was at her parents’ home in the countryside enjoying her time with them.

“What’s up, kid?” Her dad said cheerfully.

Aelin slumped down into a chair and poured herself some coffee from the pot. “I’m bored.”

Evalin laughed and her dad chuckled to himself. “The garage needs sorting out. Or you can finally fix up the old car in there. It’s been sitting waiting for you for three years.”

Aelin groaned. “I want to do something meaningful, dad. Not hide myself away and play with an old car that will never get driven anyway.”

He put down his tablet and met her eyes. “I told you that Murtaugh offered you a spot as an engineer. You told me there wasn’t any chance in hell you’d go back.”

Which had been true. After her introduction back into the F1 world a month ago, her father had taken it as a sign that she might be willing to jump back into racing again. Rhoe had been full of nothing but glee when he’d informed her that Red Bull needed another engineer for the season. But after one evening surrounded by the drivers— surrounded by Rowan— it had all but confirmed her aversion to that industry and the people within it.

“It might be a really good opportunity for you. You’d barely interact with the drivers and it’d mean you could be with Aedion and support him for the season.” Her mother said with a slight hopefulness to her voice. “Plus, it would get you out of the house and doing something you love.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get rid of me.”

Her parents laughed, but shared a look as if to say that they were trying to get rid of her. “We’ll support you in whatever you do, Aelin. But it’s been four months since you graduated and I think that it would be a really great opportunity for you.”

It was true. What better experience was there than becoming an engineer for a Formula One team? Since she had been ten years old, it had been her goal to become one. Her dream had started because she had been desperate to make sure her dad’s car was the safest it could possibly be. Then it had morphed into genuine enjoyment and before everything had gone to shit, she had been on course to join Red Bull as an apprentice. Then the shit-show had happened. And all she wanted to do was leave behind any sort of memory of Rowan— including anything to do with F1. But she had a stubborn realisation that she wasn’t going to let him take everything from her. So she’d stayed and endured the years of study.

She turned back to her parents, “I don’t even like being around those people. Going to the awards with Aedion was enough to remind me that I don’t care for that world.” Although her heart was saying that it would be fun, that maybe she could ignore him.

“Ace, that was one evening. You know what those events are like… you’d be too busy during the day to think about where you were and too tired in the evening to bother with socialising. And the reporters will stay away from you because they can’t go near the cars anyway.”

Her mother nodded in agreement. “Don’t let one person ruin this for you. You have been working so hard to achieve this. It’d be a shame to let it go to waste.”

As always, her mother was right. Aelin hated that fact… but she also hated being in this in between state with nothing to do. And it was probably true; she’d barely see the drivers and she’d be too tired after the day of work to bother socialising with any of them. But she would be lying if she didn’t say that her stomach dipped at the thought of spending nine months travelling the world in close quarters to Rowan.

“I’ll leave it up to you. But don’t say no just because you’re scared.”

Rowan

Pre-season testing always hyped him up. The winter break was always too long and he craved to be back in the car.

This winter break had felt too long.

When he had finally received the email of his schedule and he realised there were only two weeks left before he would be back in the car, he could barely contain his excitement. In fact, he’d gone out with Fenrys that evening and had celebrated the return of the season with one last booze-fest and then rewarded himself with the prettiest girl in the bar.

His head didn’t thank him the next day, but it had been enough fun that he didn’t care. Of course, once he’d politely encouraged the woman to leave his house he’d finally felt fully relaxed and could enjoy a long run on his treadmill and an easy breakfast on the patio.

The house he lived in might have felt empty, but there were still certain parts of it that he loved. Although, he was eagerly anticipating the day he would get to leave and not have to look at the place for almost a year.

Rowan’s phone vibrated on the table and when he saw Aedion’s name on the screen he felt an ounce of dread seep into him. Whilst he had a lot of respect for Aedion on and off the track, the two of them rarely communicated unless it was to do with something race related.

“Hey man.” Rowan answered casually.

There was faint crying of a baby in the background and then Aedion’s voice cutting through it. “Hey. Sorry to call you so early. I just thought you should be aware of something.”

Rowan sat up straighter. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course. I mean, I’m great. But um,” there was a beat of silence, “Aelin is coming to join the team. Murtaugh offered her a position as an engineer for this season.”

Rowan was quiet. “I thought she turned it down?”

“She was going to. But she changed her mind.” There was sigh through the phone and then Aedion began talking again. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you and honestly at this point I’m too afraid to ask. But I wanted you to know so that you weren’t surprised when she’s there.”

“Right.” He replied slowly. He didn’t know what Aedion wanted him to say. Did he want Rowan to kick off and complain? Or was he waiting for Rowan to admit something about their relationship— or lack thereof. He wasn’t entirely sure, and in all honesty his emotions about this bit of news were all over the place. “Thanks for the heads up.”

“Sure,” Aedion said hesitantly, “you’re not going to make this an issue, are you?”

Rowan scoffed. “No offence, Aedion. But I don’t care about your cousin coming to work for the team. All I am focused on is winning another championship.” The word cousin seemed to be the only way Rowan could pretend that she was just another insignificant person.

“Got it. I’ll see you in a few weeks then.”

The phone went dead and Rowan didn’t move from his position. He’d assumed his run-in with Aelin at the awards ceremony was a one-off. She hadn’t been in the F1 world for five years and he had assumed after their disastrous meeting last time, she would just avoid coming back into it again.

Rowan realised he was gripping the table so tight that his knuckles were turning white. He immediately let go and paced across the floor. He tried to convince himself that it wouldn’t be that bad. She may not be working on his car… and even if she was, he’d only have to see her in passing and he could ignore her.

He’d just finished a run but his body was tense again. He would need to find a better coping mechanism than this for when he was around her more.

Aelin

Murtaugh had been more than thrilled at Aelin wanting to join the team. And though she had her reservations about being back, there was a simmering excitement within her at getting to work on such an exciting project.

Her father and Aedion had been just as excited as her and the two of them had been swapping stories with her all evening. Although her father had retired to bed when the clock had hit one in the morning— leaving Aelin and Aedion to finish off the bottle of whisky between themselves and enjoy the last weekend before shit hit the fan.

“I told Rowan you’re coming back.” Aedion said in between sips.

Aelin rolled her head to the side and glared at him. “Why would you do that?”

Aedion shrugged. “I didn’t want there to be any surprises. After your last encounters with each other, I thought it be best that he was aware you’d be around.”

“Shouldn’t you be spending your time looking after your newborn? Rather than worrying about how Rowan might react to seeing me?”

Aedion snorted. “I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you say his name since whatever happened.”

“I’ve said his name plenty of times.” She replied defensively.

“Ace, I’m being serious. If at any point you think that you two are going to clash and make working together difficult, you have to say. Rowan is on a mission for another championship and you have a massive responsibility in making sure our cars are the best they can be. You can’t be distracted.”

“Jesus, Aedion. I know.” She finished her drink and turned to him, “if I thought I couldn’t handle it, I wouldn’t have said yes.”

Aedion went silent. She knew that she was being unfair on him. After all, he was just trying to look out for her. But she didn’t need him or anyone else telling her how to work or to be careful. She was a grown up. And she had been letting what happened with Rowan stop her from being in the world she used to love for too long.

“Whatever happened between us is over. I think seeing him again made me realise I’ve been holding onto anger against him for too long and I need to get over it.”

Aedion laughed. “The fact you’ve been holding a grudge for so long suggests that you won’t get over it that quickly.”

Aelin playfully hit him and poured herself another drink. “We’ll see. At this point I’m just going to stay away from him because I don’t think I have anything nice to say anyway.”

“So mature of you.”

It was the first time in a while that she had been able to talk about Rowan without wanting to scream at the top of her lungs or hide away in a corner from embarrassment. Whilst she had spent five years trying to forget about him and avoid talking about him, in her subconscious there was always a part of her that remembered the day they stopped being friends. She didn’t think that any amount of time would erase the memory of it. Her therapist had told her multiple times that talking it out with Rowan would ease the pain, but Aelin had been unwilling to listen and had shut down any further conversations about him. But maybe her therapist had been right…

She finished her drink and then stood. “I’m going to head to bed. I’ve got some prep to do before I start work next week and would rather not be hanging for the next two days.”

She left Aedion sitting there and as she made her way into bed and lay there thinking; she hoped that what they had talked about what be true. She wanted nothing more than for this job to work out. And she hoped that both her and Rowan would be mature enough to work together civilly.

Rowan

The only thing he didn’t enjoy about his job was the meetings. Gods they dragged on so long, and there were always so many of them. Especially at the beginning of the season when there were so many new people and new things to learn. But Rowan absolutely loathed the day long talks and the constant stream of people trying to speak to him— or on some occasions— flirt with him.

There were of course the people he was happy to see. And he spent as much time with them as possible before he was pulled away by Murtaugh to say hello to others.

“Rowan, we want you to come meet your engineers.” One of the coordinators told him, interrupting a dull conversation with a stakeholder.

He happily followed the petite red-haired into the large conference room and nodded in acknowledgement to a couple of long-term employees— whose names he should have known. Then he was being seated at the head of the table and within seconds there were people pouring into the room as well. Some of them smiled at him, others gave him a look of pity— he reminded himself to steer clear of them when they were in the garage. The ones who didn’t look at him at all were few, and they tended to be the newest members who were still a little awe-struck at being around him and Aedion.

Rowan was politely listening to what the coordinator had to say when his attention shifted to the door. His stomach did a flip at seeing her standing there— chuckling to something Murtaugh had just said. It seemed the entirety of the room had shifted their attention to her now, too. Not only did she have this immediate draw to her, but she was the spitting image of her father— save for those Ashryver eyes.

“What is she doing here?” Rowan asked the red-haired girl who was still loitering beside him. Her own gaze fixed on Aelin.

“I thought you were aware that Aelin is joining the team as an engineer.”

“I did. But what is she doing here.” He said again, gesturing to the room.

The red-head swallowed. “She’ll be working on your car for the season.”

Rowan swore under his breath. What the fuck was Murtaugh thinking? He’d made his feelings about her joining the team very clear after he’d found out. He had said to his team principle that he would be as civil as he could and if they ever interacted it would be friendly. But she was not to be anywhere near his side of the garage, if Murtaugh could help it. Rowan couldn’t be doing with any sort of distractions this season. Not if he wanted the championship again.

Just as Rowan was about to go to Murtaugh, the old man made his way to him.

“Get over it, Whitethorn.” And that was all he had to say.

The meeting was short and sweet and Rowan was ready to get the hell out when Murtaugh had finished his speech. He hadn’t spotted Aelin leave, but she had clearly had the same feelings as him and had left as quickly as she could. And for that he was more than grateful.

Rowan was halfway down the corridor, finding the bathrooms— his mind on Aelin, not paying attention to what he was doing— as he went straight into someone as they exited the same door he was entering.

“Oof.” The woman’s voice said.

Rowan steadied her with his hands on her shoulders. It took a moment to see who exactly he had touched and then he was ripping his hands from her like the contact was burning him.

“Watch where you’re going.” Aelin said bitterly. “Or can you do what you like because you’re Rowan Whitethorn?”

Rowan rolled his eyes. “Don’t act like a fucking child, Aelin.”

“Rich coming from you.” She snarled.

“I’d be careful how you speak to me. I could have you fired faster than you could blink.”

Aelin laughed hollowly. “I think you forget who my father is.”

Rowan cocked his head, “you can’t stand there and tell me I do what I want, when you throw your father’s name around just as much to get what you want.”

Aelin was silent. And Rowan gave a satisfied smile. If Aelin wanted to act like this, then he could play the game too. She was still holding open the bathroom door and he was blocking her exit.

“Don’t you think we should try and be nice to each other? As we will be working closely together for the foreseeable future.” He said eventually.

Aelin narrowed her eyes. “I don’t need to be nice to you to be able to do my job efficiently. Just stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours.” With that, she brushed past him, leaving him seething in the hall.

He knew that he had fucked their relationship. He knew that the words he had used all those years ago had hit her where it hurt… and he regretted the way he had ended their friendship. But the hatred she seemed to have for him was a burning rage that had been stewing for five years and was now finding its way out. When he’d seen her at the awards ceremony he had briefly wanted to reconcile— or at least tell her he was sorry. But every time they spoke she was angry and she threw accusations his way and he had no choice but to defend himself. He was frustrated and wanted nothing more than for the problems between them to disappear.

But right now the only thing that plagued his mind was getting into that car and winning another championship.

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