#but the fact she deleted it so quickly without a second thought just means she doesn't care about me

[binnie]

you guys.... i'm going down a spiral and I need advice

[pucksandpower]

Mastermind

Oscar Piastri x Bearman!Reader

Summary: all it takes is one glance for Oscar to realize that he will do anything and everything to make you his

Warnings: 18+ content, stalking, obsession, manipulation, baby-trapping, isolation, and possessiveness

Note: This was written in early August before Williams dropped Logan, so yeah … he’s still on the grid here 🫣

Oscar spots you from across the pit lane.

It’s quick — a glimpse through the crowd as someone shifts out of his line of sight. You’re laughing at something Ollie says, your head tilted back just enough for the sunlight to catch the highlights in your hair. The world goes blurry for a second, narrowing until the noise of the paddock fades into a dull hum. All he can see is you.

Oscar swallows hard. He feels his pulse spike, the rush of adrenaline making his skin buzz. This isn’t like him. He’s calm, composed — always. But now, everything is different.

You’re different.

Before he knows it, his feet are moving. He barely registers the McLaren orange on his sleeves, or the fact that he’s walking away from his garage. His mind is fixated. Ollie. That’s Ollie’s sister. But no — that’s not right. You’re not just anyone’s sister. No, you’re more than that.

Oscar adjusts his cap as he nears the Haas garage, forcing a relaxed smile. His heart races, but he tells himself he’s got this. Just be normal. Be charming.

“Ollie!” He calls out, raising his voice enough to draw both your attention. He claps a hand on the younger driver’s shoulder, giving it a friendly shake. “Little brother, you ready for another battle?”

Ollie laughs, glancing up at him with that wide grin of his. “Mate, you’re in for it this weekend. I’ve been practicing.”

“Practicing losing, maybe,” Oscar jokes, his eyes flickering quickly back to you. You’re watching the exchange with quiet amusement, arms crossed, your smile lingering just on the edge of your lips.

Oscar’s chest tightens.

“Who’s this?” He asks, pretending he doesn’t already know, doesn’t already feel that magnetic pull dragging him closer to you.

Ollie blinks, then his grin grows even wider. “Oh, right! Oscar, this is my sister. She’s visiting for the weekend.”

Oscar holds out his hand to you, his smile growing softer, warmer. “Oscar. Nice to meet you.”

You hesitate for a split second before your hand meets his, and he swears there’s something electric in that brief touch. It’s enough to send his mind spiraling.

He clears his throat. “So, Ollie’s your brother, huh? Guess that means you’re stuck rooting for Haas, then.” He flashes a crooked grin, playful but sharp.

You laugh, and it’s a sound that makes his head spin. “Someone’s got to support him.”

“Fair enough.” Oscar glances sideways at Ollie, who’s now distracted, talking to a mechanic. Perfect. He steps just a little closer to you, lowering his voice. “I’ve got to ask, do you have Instagram? You know, to keep up with the team rivalry.”

You raise an eyebrow, amused, but nod, reaching for your phone. “Sure. Let me-”

Oscar shakes his head, holding out his hand instead. “Here, I’ll do it. Faster that way.” He smiles again, all casual charm, and you hand over your phone without a second thought.

His fingers move quickly over the screen, but his mind is faster. In one fluid motion, he taps his own account to follow, sends himself your location tracking, then deletes the text before you even turn your head back toward Ollie. A small thrill rushes through him. It’s too easy.

While his thumb hovers over the block button for a split second, he hesitates. But then — click. One by one, he begins blocking every single driver from your Instagram. Leclerc, Norris, Sainz, Verstappen, Gasly — all of them.

Except Ollie, of course. Can’t make it obvious.

“Here you go.” He hands the phone back to you, his expression unreadable. “Followed myself. Now you can keep up with McLaren’s winning ways.”

You chuckle, glancing down at the screen. “Guess I’ll have to.”

Oscar’s smile grows just a little wider, though there’s something darker underneath it now. You have no idea what’s happening, and that’s what makes it so perfect.

He steps back, casually running a hand through his hair, eyes flickering between you and Ollie. “So, what’s the plan after the race? Celebrating Ollie’s big debut?”

“Maybe,” you say, glancing toward your brother. “Depends on how the weekend goes.”

Oscar chuckles, but his mind is already ten steps ahead. He imagines what it’ll be like — keeping track of you, knowing where you are, who you’re with. No more late-night chats with Charles, no more casual likes on Pierre’s posts. He’s cut all of that off. It’s just him now.

And Ollie, of course.

“You should come by the McLaren garage sometime,” Oscar suggests, as if it’s an afterthought. “See what winning looks like up close.”

Your laugh comes out again, soft and effortless. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good.” He nods, satisfied. He doesn’t need an answer now. He’s got time. After all, you’re already in his orbit, whether you realize it or not.

As Ollie turns back toward you, Oscar claps him on the back again, the easy smile never leaving his face. “Catch you on the track, little brother.”

Ollie grins. “Don’t get too confident.”

Oscar chuckles, throwing a quick glance your way before starting to walk back to his garage. His pulse is still racing, but it’s no longer out of nerves. It’s excitement. Anticipation.

He can already feel the control slipping into place. And the best part is, you’ll never even see it coming.

***

Oscar's phone buzzes. He’s been checking it religiously since the race ended — since he watched you leave the paddock, smiling and laughing with Ollie. His fingers swipe across the screen, and the familiar icon on the tracking app flashes.

You’re still in town.

He watches the blue dot settle into the shape of the mall on the outskirts of the city. Of course, you’re still here. His pulse quickens again, that familiar rush of adrenaline mixing with something darker, more possessive.

He taps Logan on the shoulder, dragging his friend’s attention away from whatever nonsense he’s scrolling through.

“We’re going out,” Oscar says, already walking toward the exit. He doesn’t wait for Logan to answer.

“Uh, out where?” Logan calls after him, jogging to catch up. “Oscar? What’s the rush?”

Oscar doesn’t answer. Not yet. He’s focused on the image in his mind — you, walking through the mall, maybe stopping at a coffee shop. You’re close. He’s so close.

They pull into the parking lot within minutes. Logan’s still shooting him confused glances, but Oscar keeps his face impassive. Calm. They walk into the mall, a hum of noise surrounding them, and Oscar checks his phone again, tracking your dot.

It moves.

He moves with it.

“Oscar, seriously, what are we doing here?” Logan asks, his voice edging on frustration now. “I didn’t sign up for some weird stalking mission.”

Oscar stops in front of a shop, glancing back at him with a raised eyebrow. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

Logan huffs, but follows, as usual. “Whatever, man.”

Oscar keeps walking. He knows exactly where you are. The entrance to Victoria’s Secret looms in front of him, and Logan freezes at the door.

“Victoria’s Secret?” Logan groans, his face scrunching up like a kid. “Why are we in Victoria’s Secret?”

Oscar doesn’t even look at him. His eyes flick to his phone again, and then to the aisles in front of him. “You can go if you want.”

Logan huffs but follows, albeit reluctantly. “Dude, you don’t even have a girlfriend. What are we doing here?”

Oscar ignores the comment, eyes darting between shelves of lacy bras and bright pink displays. He’s searching. Your dot says you’re close. His heart races, a thrill creeping up his spine as he rounds the corner of an aisle.

And then-

He sees you.

You’re standing near the back of the store, holding up something light and silky, completely oblivious to the two drivers now lurking awkwardly nearby. Oscar’s breath catches in his throat, and for a moment, he just watches. He feels like a predator lying in wait. Every part of him hums with anticipation.

Logan, on the other hand, is shifting nervously beside him. “I’m not sure I want to be seen in here, dude. This is weird.”

Oscar glances at him, impatience bubbling to the surface. “Stop being so dramatic.”

“I’m dramatic?” Logan scoffs. “You’re the one dragging me into a lingerie store for … I don’t even know why!”

Before Logan can say anything else, Oscar turns a corner, deliberately walking right into your line of sight.

“Oh — Oscar?”

You blink in surprise, eyes widening as you spot him. Your hand drops the item you were holding, and your gaze flits between him and Logan, standing awkwardly behind him.

“Hey, Y/N,” Oscar says, his voice casual, but his mind is anything but. He takes a quick step closer to you, closing the gap. “Fancy seeing you here.”

You laugh, slightly nervous, shifting the bag on your shoulder. “Yeah, um, kind of unexpected to see you here too. Shopping for someone?”

Logan, still half-hidden behind Oscar, can’t resist muttering, “He doesn’t even have a girlfriend.”

Oscar shoots him a sharp look. “Logan was just leaving.”

You glance over at Logan, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, hi! I don’t think we’ve met before.”

Logan hesitates, shuffling his feet. “Yeah, hi. I’m Logan-”

“He’s leaving,” Oscar repeats, this time with more finality. His eyes cut back to Logan, who gives an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

“Right. Sure,” Logan sighs, throwing his hands up in surrender. “I’ll see you later, Oscar.”

Oscar waits until Logan has fully disappeared from sight before turning his attention back to you. You’re watching him, slightly amused, though there’s a question in your eyes. He steps closer, not too close, but enough that he can smell the faint scent of your perfume.

“So,” he says, his voice smooth, “What brings you here? Shopping for yourself or someone else?”

You glance down at the items in your hands, then back at him, shrugging lightly. “Just browsing, really. Didn’t expect to bump into anyone I know.”

“Must be fate, then,” Oscar says, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The words come out casually, but inside, there’s that same rush of possessiveness, the same pull that led him here.

You laugh again, shaking your head. “Fate, huh? Or just a coincidence.”

Oscar tilts his head, considering you for a moment. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”

There’s a beat of silence, your eyes lingering on him. You seem to be weighing something, but then you smile, shifting the bag on your shoulder. “Well, it’s good to see you, Oscar. I didn’t think I’d run into anyone after the race.”

Oscar’s smile tightens, though he keeps his tone light. “You sticking around long?”

“Not too long,” you reply, glancing briefly at your phone. “I’ve got to head back soon, but I’m just enjoying the day.”

Oscar’s fingers twitch at his side, resisting the urge to check his own phone, to confirm that you’re exactly where he wants you to be. Instead, he steps back, giving you just enough space to make it seem like he’s relaxed, like he’s not hanging on every word you say.

“Mind if I join you for a bit?” Oscar asks, his voice carefully casual. He doesn’t wait for an answer, stepping into the aisle next to you, pretending to look at the same display.

You seem caught off guard but not enough to refuse. “Sure, if you want.”

Oscar picks up a random item, pretending to examine it. He’s not really paying attention to what it is, though. His focus is entirely on you, on the way you move, the way you glance at your phone every now and then, the way your eyes occasionally flicker toward him.

“So,” you say after a moment, “You and Logan … shopping together?”

Oscar chuckles, shaking his head. “Not really. He’s just … along for the ride.”

You smile, nodding slowly. “Seems like he wasn’t thrilled about being in here.”

“Logan’s dramatic,” Oscar replies, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “He’ll get over it.”

There’s another pause, and Oscar feels the tension building again, the weight of your proximity pulling at him. He wants to ask you more — where you’re going next, when you’re leaving — but he knows he has to be careful. He can’t come off too strong. Not yet.

Instead, he lets the conversation drift naturally, keeps the tone light and friendly. But his mind never stops calculating, never stops tracking. Every time you glance at your phone, he feels a surge of satisfaction, knowing he has access to your every move.

He watches as you shift, clearly ready to leave. “I should probably get going,” you say, and Oscar’s pulse quickens. He doesn’t want this moment to end, but he nods, forcing a smile.

“Of course. I’ll see you around?”

You smile back, though there’s a touch of uncertainty in your eyes. “Yeah, sure. Maybe.”

Oscar watches as you walk away, his gaze lingering on your figure until you disappear from view. Only then does he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

He checks his phone again, and the tracking app shows your blue dot moving toward the exit. He smiles to himself, slipping the phone back into his pocket. You may be leaving now, but he’s not worried.

He knows where you’ll be.

***

Oscar doesn’t let the weeks slip by without checking your location. Even when Ollie tells him you’re swamped with studying, too busy with exams and papers, Oscar makes sure to stay in your orbit. He keeps an eye on your social media, scrolling through your updates whenever you’re too quiet. Ollie had said you’d be missing a few races, but that doesn’t stop Oscar from obsessively checking if you’ll change your mind.

When you finally show up again, Oscar knows he has to do something.

It’s a Sunday evening, post-race celebrations in full swing, and the paddock is buzzing with energy. The team has secured a decent result, and everyone’s heading out for drinks. Oscar doesn’t pay much attention to the others, though. His focus sharpens the moment you step back into the paddock. The sight of you stirs something inside him — a mixture of relief, desire, and that possessive need to keep you close.

He watches you laugh with Ollie, light and carefree, but something in him clenches tight. You’ve been gone too long. You’ve been out of reach.

Oscar walks over casually, making sure not to rush. He joins the group, slapping Ollie on the back. “Good race, mate.”

Ollie grins. “Thanks, man! Glad to see you’re joining us tonight.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Oscar replies, but his eyes are already sliding over to you. “Hey, Y/N. Long time no see.”

You turn to him, smiling. “Hey, Oscar. Yeah, it’s been a while.”

His heart beats a little faster at the sound of your voice, but he keeps his expression easy, friendly. “Missed the last few races. What, university got you too busy?”

You nod, rolling your eyes. “Exams. And assignments. It’s been brutal.”

“Well, glad you could finally escape,” Oscar says smoothly. “You deserve a drink after all that.”

You laugh. “Definitely. I’m ready to unwind.”

Oscar smiles, but it’s calculated. He’s been waiting for this, for a chance to get you alone, to push the boundaries without seeming too eager. Tonight, he thinks. Tonight is his opportunity.

The group spills out into the nearest bar, and Oscar stays close, keeping you within arm’s reach. He listens, joins in the laughter when necessary, but his mind is fixated on you. As the night wears on, he subtly makes sure your drink never stays empty.

“Here,” he says, handing you another cocktail as you chat with some of the other drivers. “Thought you might like this one.”

You accept it, smiling brightly. “Thanks, Oscar. You’re keeping track of me, huh?”

He laughs, playing it off. “Just making sure you’re having a good time.”

You sip the drink, and Oscar watches you closely. He keeps the drinks coming, letting the alcohol blur your edges, just enough to make you relaxed, to make you lean a little more into him. As the night stretches on, you’re laughing more freely, leaning against his shoulder as you talk.

At one point, Ollie comes over, ruffling your hair. “You alright, Y/N? You’re not overdoing it, are you?”

“I’m fine,” you giggle, waving him off. “Just having fun.”

Ollie frowns for a moment, glancing at Oscar. “Keep an eye on her, mate, will you? She hasn’t been out in a while.”

“Don’t worry,” Oscar says, giving Ollie a reassuring smile. “I’ve got her.”

Ollie nods and heads back to the others, leaving you and Oscar standing at the bar. You sway slightly on your feet, and Oscar catches you with an arm around your waist, steadying you.

“You good?" He asks, voice low, but there’s something possessive in the way his arm tightens around you.

“Yeah,” you mumble, blinking up at him. “Just … a little dizzy.”

He doesn’t let the moment slip. “Maybe we should get you back to the hotel. You’ve had a lot to drink.”

You nod, not protesting as he guides you toward the door, his arm still firmly around you. “Yeah, maybe that’s a good idea.”

The walk back to the hotel is a blur for you, but for Oscar, it’s calculated. Each step brings him closer to what he’s been waiting for, his mind racing as he holds you close. You’re pliant in his arms, leaning against him, trusting him to take care of you.

When they reach the hotel room, Oscar is careful. He leads you inside, gently sitting you down on the edge of the bed.

“Let’s get you more comfortable,” he says softly, pulling a t-shirt from his bag and a pair of boxers.

You nod weakly, eyes half-lidded as the alcohol takes its toll. Oscar’s movements are precise, steady. He helps you out of your clothes, taking his time to slip his t-shirt over your head, careful not to rush or seem out of place. It feels natural, almost routine in his mind.

You’re barely aware of what’s happening, muttering something incoherent as he finishes dressing you. Oscar tucks you into the bed, smoothing the blankets over you, his heart pounding in his chest. He stands there for a moment, just watching you, his mind buzzing with the sight of you in his clothes, in his bed.

It’s perfect. Exactly how he imagined.

He climbs into the bed beside you, careful not to disturb you too much. He slips an arm around your waist, pulling you close, his chest pressing against your back. You don’t stir much, just a soft sigh escaping your lips as you settle into his embrace.

Oscar lies there, staring at the ceiling, his mind racing. This is what he’s wanted — this moment where you’re completely his, where no one else can interfere, where he has you all to himself.

You’re finally here, in his arms.

And he’s not going to let you go.

***

Oscar wakes up to the soft warmth of you pressed against him. The first thing he registers is how still the room is — just the sound of your steady breathing and the faint hum of the hotel’s air conditioning. His eyes flutter open, but he quickly closes them again, pretending to still be asleep.

This is perfect. His arm is wrapped around your waist, your body tucked neatly against his, your head resting near his shoulder. The morning light filters in softly through the curtains, casting a faint glow over the room, but Oscar doesn’t move. He lies there, completely still, savoring the moment. Every beat of his heart feels like a reminder that this is exactly where he wants to be, where you should be.

He shifts slightly, making it seem like he's just repositioning in his sleep. You stir, but you don’t pull away, and that gives him an almost dangerous thrill. He lets his arm hold you just a little tighter, the curve of your body fitting perfectly into his side. He could stay like this forever, if you’d let him.

He imagines what’ll happen when you wake up. How you’ll look at him, maybe embarrassed, maybe a little confused, but he’s already thought of everything. He’s been playing this scenario in his head since last night — how to ease your mind, how to make sure you stay close to him, how to keep you trusting him.

But then you move again, more consciously this time. Your breathing changes, and Oscar can feel you tense up against him. You’re waking up.

“Mm,” you murmur, your voice groggy and confused. “Where …”

Oscar keeps his breathing steady, pretending he’s still asleep as you shift, and then — then, you freeze.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, the panic in your voice immediate. You start pulling away from him, the bed shifting as you try to get out of his grasp. “Oh my God, where am I?”

Oscar lets out a soft, groggy sound, pretending to wake up. “Huh?" He blinks, feigning confusion as he rubs his eyes. “Y/N?”

You’re sitting up now, staring at him with wide eyes, clutching the blanket to your chest. “Oscar? What … What am I doing here?”

Oscar pushes himself up slowly, still acting as though he’s just now becoming aware of the situation. “Whoa, hey, it’s okay." He runs a hand through his hair, his expression carefully crafted into one of concern. “You’re freaking out. What’s wrong?”

You look around, panicked. “This … this isn’t my hotel room. And I’m not-” You glance down at the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing, his t-shirt, and your eyes widen even more. “I’m not in my clothes. Oscar, what happened?”

Oscar frowns, as if he’s just now realizing the gravity of the situation. “You don’t remember?”

You shake your head, clearly distressed. “No, I … I don’t. I remember we were out last night, and then-” You stop, staring at him, and Oscar can see the fear in your eyes. “Did we …”

Oscar immediately shakes his head, his voice gentle but firm. “No. No, nothing happened. I promise.”

You blink, as if trying to process his words. “Then why am I in your bed? And in your clothes?”

He lets out a soft sigh, as though this situation is just as confusing and frustrating for him. “You were really drunk last night. I didn’t want to leave you alone, and you kept insisting that I stay with you. You didn’t want to be in your room by yourself.”

You frown, clearly trying to remember. “I did?”

Oscar nods, his expression sincere. “Yeah. I tried to take you to your room, but you wouldn’t let me. You said you didn’t want to be alone, and you wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Your shoulders relax just slightly, but the tension in the room doesn’t fade completely. “But … why am I wearing your clothes?”

He gives a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “You, uh, spilled your drink all over yourself at the bar. Your clothes were soaked. I didn’t think you’d want to sleep in them, so I gave you something of mine to wear. But that’s all it was, I swear.”

You stare at him for a long moment, still processing everything, but Oscar keeps his expression open, honest, as though he’s just as confused by your panic. He waits for you to respond, watching as the gears in your mind turn, trying to piece together what little you remember from last night.

“Nothing happened?" You ask again, your voice softer this time, more uncertain than accusatory.

“Nothing,” Oscar repeats, his tone steady. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I was just trying to make sure you were safe. I didn’t want anyone to take advantage of you.”

You let out a shaky breath, still looking a little dazed, but some of the panic fades from your eyes. “Thank you,” you whisper, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “I’m sorry, I just … I was scared.”

Oscar reaches out, his hand brushing against your arm in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture. “You don’t have to apologize. I get it. You woke up in a strange place, and it’s confusing. But I promise, I didn’t do anything. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You nod, though you still seem a bit unsure, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “I don’t remember a lot from last night.”

Oscar smiles softly, keeping his voice calm, comforting. “You were pretty out of it. But don’t worry, I’ve got your back.”

You glance at him, and Oscar can see the relief starting to creep in, even if there’s still a shadow of doubt lingering in your eyes. He wants to erase that, to make sure you trust him fully. He’s been so careful, so calculated.

“Do you want me to get you some water?" He asks, trying to shift the mood. “Or coffee? Might help with the hangover.”

You shake your head. “No, I … I think I just need a minute.”

Oscar nods, watching as you slowly relax, leaning back against the headboard. The panic from earlier is fading, replaced by a quiet uncertainty, but at least you’re not freaking out anymore. That’s what matters.

“Take your time,” he says softly, lying back down but making sure to keep a little more distance this time, so you don’t feel overwhelmed. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You don’t say anything for a while, your eyes unfocused as you try to make sense of everything. Oscar waits patiently, his mind buzzing with satisfaction. Everything is going according to plan.

“I’m sorry if I was a mess last night,” you finally say, your voice quiet.

Oscar shakes his head. “Don’t be. We’ve all been there.”

You offer him a small, tentative smile, and for the first time since you woke up, Oscar feels like he’s back in control. You trust him again. You believe his story.

And that’s all he needs.

***

The morning sun is gentle, casting a soft glow over the city as Oscar walks beside you toward a quaint café. The quiet hum of the streets and the casual murmur of early-morning conversations float through the air. Oscar glances at you from the corner of his eye, making sure to keep his expression neutral, though inside he’s thrumming with satisfaction. You’re here. You’re with him.

When you reach the café, Oscar pulls the door open for you, letting you step inside first. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and pastries greets you as you both head toward a small table by the window.

“This place is cute,” you say, settling into your chair and giving Oscar a small smile.

“Yeah,” Oscar replies, sitting across from you. “I come here sometimes. It’s quiet.”

You nod, glancing down at the menu, though Oscar can tell you’re still a bit distracted. Probably still processing everything from this morning. He wonders if you’re thinking about how you woke up in his bed, wrapped in his clothes. He hopes you are.

A waiter comes by, and you both order — something light, an avocado toast for you, a croissant and tea for Oscar. Once the waiter leaves, there’s a comfortable silence that settles between you, but Oscar’s mind is already moving ahead, planning the next steps.

He keeps his expression casual, focusing on his tea when it arrives, but his mind is focused on how to bring up what he’s about to say. It has to seem natural, like it’s something he’s been hesitating to share, something that’s been weighing on him. He knows how to play this. He’s been thinking about it since last night.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence, “thank you again for looking after me last night. I feel like I owe you big time.”

Oscar looks up from his tea, giving you a small, modest smile. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“No, seriously,” you insist, shaking your head. “I feel like I should make it up to you somehow. I mean, after everything …”

He glances down at his cup, then back up at you, his expression carefully calculated — just a hint of hesitation, like he’s thinking about something he’s unsure of. He’s quiet for a beat too long, just enough to make you curious.

“What is it?" You ask, tilting your head slightly, a small frown forming on your face.

Oscar lets out a soft sigh, leaning back in his chair. “It’s nothing, really. I was just … thinking.”

“About?”

He pauses, pretending to mull over his words, then looks up at you with that same hesitant expression. “Well, I was wondering if maybe you’d want to grab dinner after the next race weekend. You know, just the two of us.”

Your eyes widen slightly in surprise, but then you smile. “Oh, yeah, of course! I mean, that’s the least I can do after everything you did for me last night.”

Oscar feels a surge of satisfaction at your agreement, but he keeps his smile small, almost shy, as though he wasn’t expecting you to say yes. “You sure? I don’t want you to feel like you have to or anything.”

You shake your head, laughing lightly. “No, I’d love to. Honestly, I think it’d be fun.”

Oscar nods, letting his smile widen just a bit more. “Great. I’m looking forward to it.”

You go back to your food, but Oscar keeps watching you, waiting for the right moment. He knows you’ll push him if he stays quiet for long enough. And, right on cue, you glance back up at him, noticing the way he’s fidgeting slightly with his cup.

“Is there something else?" You ask, raising an eyebrow.

Oscar’s face shifts into something more serious, and he looks down at his tea, his fingers tracing the rim of the cup. “I … don’t really know if I should say this.”

Your expression changes, concern flickering across your face. “What is it? You can tell me.”

He waits a beat, making it seem like he’s struggling with whether or not to share what’s on his mind. Then, finally, he sighs and leans forward slightly, lowering his voice.

“I overheard something last night,” he says slowly. “At the bar.”

You frown, your attention now fully on him. “What did you hear?”

Oscar takes a deep breath, acting like he’s debating whether or not to continue. Then, he glances around the café, as if checking to make sure no one is listening, before speaking again.

“I heard Lando and Carlos talking,” he says, keeping his voice low. “About … about you.”

Your eyes widen slightly in confusion. “Me? What were they saying?”

Oscar hesitates for just a moment longer, then continues, his tone carefully concerned. “They were talking about how they both wanted to … get with you. Like, in bed.”

Your face goes still, shock settling in as you stare at him, clearly not expecting that. “What?”

Oscar looks down at his cup again, pretending to be uncomfortable with the conversation, even though he’s reveling in your reaction. “Yeah. They were making some kind of bet about who could sleep with you first.”

Your shock turns into disbelief, your brow furrowing as you try to process what he’s telling you. “No. There’s no way. They wouldn’t …”

“I’m sorry,” Oscar says softly, giving you a sympathetic look. “I didn’t want to believe it either, but I heard it. They were laughing about it like it was a game.”

You sit back in your chair, shaking your head slowly. “That’s … I don’t even know what to say. I thought they were my friends.”

Oscar reaches across the table, placing his hand gently on yours. “I didn’t want to tell you, but I thought you deserved to know. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

You’re silent for a moment, staring down at the table as you process everything. Oscar watches you closely, waiting for the gratitude to set in. He knows you’ll be thankful that he’s the one who told you, that he’s looking out for you.

Finally, you look up at him, your eyes filled with a mix of shock and appreciation. “Thank you for telling me, Oscar. I can’t believe they would do something like that.”

He nods, keeping his expression serious. “I just don’t want anyone to take advantage of you. You deserve better than that.”

You squeeze his hand gently, your face softening. “I’m really glad you’re looking out for me.”

Oscar smiles, though he hides it behind his cup of tea, taking a sip to cover the smirk that threatens to break through. Everything is falling into place perfectly.

“Always,” he says softly, setting the cup down. “I’ve got your back.”

You smile at him again, a little more at ease now, but still clearly shaken by what he’s told you. Oscar can see the wheels turning in your mind, the doubt settling in about Lando and Carlos. He’s planted the seed, and now he just has to let it grow.

“Do you want to go for a walk after this?” Oscar suggests, leaning back in his chair. “Might help clear your head a bit.”

You nod, still looking a bit dazed. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

Oscar stands up, tossing a few bills on the table to cover the check, then walks around to your side of the table, offering you his hand. You take it without hesitation, and Oscar feels a surge of satisfaction as your fingers intertwine with his.

As you both step out of the café and into the sunlight, Oscar keeps his grip on your hand firm, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. You trust him now, more than ever. And that’s exactly what he wants.

***

The restaurant is elegant but not over the top, with dim lighting that casts a warm glow across the white linen tablecloths. A single candle flickers in the center of the table, casting soft shadows on your face as you smile across at Oscar. He’s chosen the place carefully, making sure everything is just right — quiet, intimate, with a menu that he knows you’ll love.

Oscar watches you as you glance over the menu, your eyes lighting up at the descriptions of the dishes. He smiles to himself, pleased with how everything is going. He’s dressed carefully tonight — dark trousers, a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up just enough to be casual but still neat, and his hair combed back, but not too perfectly. He wants to seem effortlessly handsome, like he didn’t try too hard, even though he spent nearly an hour making sure every detail was right.

“What do you think?” Oscar asks, nodding toward the menu. “Anything catching your eye?”

You glance up, your smile widening. “Everything looks amazing. I can’t decide.”

“Take your time,” Oscar says, leaning back in his chair, though his gaze never leaves you. “No rush.”

The waiter comes by, a young guy in his mid-twenties, wearing a crisp black shirt and slacks. He’s polite, offering you both water and asking if you’re ready to order. You ask a few questions about the menu, and Oscar notices the way the waiter’s eyes keep drifting to the neckline of your dress, his gaze lingering just a second too long. Oscar feels a flicker of irritation, but he pushes it down. It’s nothing. He’ll handle it.

You finally decide on a dish, and Oscar orders something simple, letting you take the lead. The waiter scribbles down your order, his eyes darting to you again as he gives a small smile, then he turns and walks away.

Oscar’s smile tightens, but he says nothing, keeping his focus on you. “I’m glad you’re here with me tonight.”

You blush slightly, fiddling with the edge of your napkin. “Me too. This place is lovely.”

Oscar leans forward slightly, his voice lowering. “I wanted it to be special for you.”

You look up at him, your eyes softening. “It is. You’re always so thoughtful, Oscar.”

He reaches across the table, his fingers brushing lightly against yours. “I just want to make you happy.”

You smile again, and Oscar feels a rush of satisfaction. He’s got you right where he wants you — relaxed, comfortable, completely unaware of anything outside this moment.

The waiter returns with the drinks, and as he sets the glass in front of you, Oscar notices again the way his gaze drops to your dress. This time, there’s a hint of a smirk on the waiter’s lips, and Oscar feels the irritation flare up again, hotter this time.

Oscar keeps his face calm, though, his voice even as he thanks the waiter. But inside, he’s already planning. He knows he’ll have to deal with this, and soon. He won’t let anyone disrespect you, not even in the smallest way.

The conversation between you and Oscar flows easily, light and filled with laughter. He keeps his attention on you, listening intently as you talk about your week, sharing stories and little moments that make you smile. Oscar loves the way your eyes light up when you’re happy, the way your laugh makes him feel like everything is right in the world.

But every time the waiter returns to the table, Oscar feels that simmering irritation build again. The guy is too friendly, too familiar, and Oscar doesn’t miss the way the waiter’s gaze lingers on you, or the way he stands just a little too close when he pours your wine.

Oscar clenches his jaw, his hand tightening around his glass. He keeps his smile in place, but inside, he’s seething. He won’t let this go unchecked. Not tonight.

After dinner, when the waiter brings the check, Oscar immediately reaches for it, waving off your protests with a smile.

“Please, let me,” you say, reaching for your purse. “At least let me split it with you.”

Oscar shakes his head, already pulling out his card. “No way. This is my treat.”

You sigh but don’t push it, and Oscar smiles at you, his hand brushing yours as he takes the bill. “I wanted to do this for you.”

You smile back, your eyes warm with gratitude. “Thank you, Oscar. You’re too good to me.”

Oscar nods, his smile widening. “You deserve it.”

As the waiter returns to take the bill, Oscar’s expression doesn’t change, but his mind is already made up. He hands over the card, waiting for the transaction to go through. Once the waiter leaves, Oscar turns to you, his voice gentle.

“I’m just going to step out for a moment,” he says, standing up. “I’ll be right back.”

You nod, still smiling. “Take your time.”

Oscar walks away from the table, his movements calm and unhurried, but as soon as he’s out of your sight, his pace quickens. He knows exactly where the waiter will be — by the order screen near the back, where the staff places their orders.

And just as he thought, the waiter is there, inputting another table’s order, completely unaware of Oscar’s approach. Oscar’s steps are silent as he moves closer, his eyes narrowing as he watches the waiter, who is oblivious to the danger behind him.

Without a word, Oscar reaches out, grabbing the back of the waiter’s shirt in a tight grip. The waiter barely has time to react before Oscar’s other hand clamps over his mouth, muffling the startled gasp.

Oscar pulls the waiter back, dragging him through a narrow corridor toward the back entrance of the restaurant. The waiter struggles, his hands trying to pry Oscar’s fingers away from his mouth, but Oscar is stronger, his grip unyielding.

When they reach the back door, Oscar shoves it open with his foot, dragging the waiter outside into the dimly lit alley. He slams the door shut behind them, the noise echoing in the empty space.

The waiter’s eyes are wide with fear as he looks at Oscar, who finally releases his hold on the guy’s mouth but keeps a firm grip on his shirt. The waiter tries to speak, but Oscar cuts him off, his voice low and menacing.

“Don’t even think about screaming,” Oscar warns, his eyes dark with anger. “You think I didn’t notice the way you were looking at her? The way you were acting? You’re going to regret that.”

The waiter stammers, trying to back away, but Oscar doesn’t let him. Instead, he pulls the guy closer, his voice cold as he speaks.

“You’re never going to look at her again. You’re never going to speak to her again. Do you understand?”

The waiter nods frantically, his face pale. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

Oscar doesn’t let him finish. He throws a punch, his fist connecting with the waiter’s jaw with a sickening crack. The waiter stumbles back, clutching his face, but Oscar doesn’t stop. He grabs the guy again, slamming him against the wall, his voice dangerously quiet.

“If I ever see you near her again, I’ll make sure you never see anything again. Got it?”

The waiter nods again, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “I-I got it, man. I’m sorry, I swear.”

Oscar finally releases him, watching as the waiter stumbles away, his hand still pressed to his bleeding mouth. Oscar’s breathing is heavy, but his anger is starting to subside. He’s done what he needed to do. The guy won’t bother you again.

Oscar takes a moment to calm himself, running a hand through his hair to smooth it back into place. He glances down at his hands, noticing the small splatter of blood on his knuckles and quickly wipes it off on the side of his trousers. He checks his reflection in the small mirror beside the door, making sure there’s no sign of the confrontation.

Once he’s satisfied that he looks as composed as he did before, Oscar heads back inside the restaurant. He makes a quick stop in the bathroom, washing his hands and straightening his shirt, then takes a deep breath before walking back to your table.

When he returns, you’re sitting exactly where he left you, a small smile on your face as you look up at him.

“Everything okay?" You ask, your voice light and teasing. “You were gone for a while.”

Oscar smiles, sitting back down across from you. “Yeah, just ran into someone I knew. Took a bit longer than I expected.”

You nod, completely unaware of what just happened, and Oscar feels that familiar satisfaction settle in his chest. You’re safe, and he’s taken care of the problem.

“Ready to head out?” Oscar asks, his tone easy and relaxed.

You nod, standing up as Oscar comes around to your side, offering his arm. You take it with a smile, and Oscar leads you out of the restaurant, the cool night air greeting you as you step outside.

As you walk down the street together, Oscar keeps his pace slow, his arm securely around yours. You’re talking about something — maybe the meal, maybe your plans for the next day — but Oscar is only half-listening. His mind is still on what just happened, on the thrill of taking control, of making sure no one can touch what’s his.

And as you laugh softly at something you’ve said, leaning into him, Oscar knows that he’ll do whatever it takes to keep it that way. To keep you by his side, safe and completely unaware of what he’s willing to do for you.

Oscar guides you to the car, his hand lightly resting on your lower back as he opens the door for you. You smile up at him, grateful, oblivious to the turmoil beneath his calm exterior. As you settle into the passenger seat, Oscar walks around the front of the car, allowing himself a moment of quiet satisfaction.

Everything is going according to plan. He’s made sure of it.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, Oscar glances over at you. You’re still smiling, talking about how great the dinner was, how you can’t wait to do this again. And Oscar nods, his smile never faltering.

“We should,” he says smoothly, his hand resting on the gear shift. “Maybe next time, somewhere even nicer.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Tonight was perfect.”

Oscar’s smile widens, but there’s a flicker of something darker in his eyes. He knows it was perfect because he made it that way — because he made sure nothing, and no one, could interfere with what he wants. With what he’s claimed.

As the car moves down the quiet streets, you lean back in your seat, your head resting against the window, a soft, contented sigh escaping your lips. Oscar keeps his eyes on the road, but every so often, he glances over at you, his grip on the steering wheel tightening just slightly.

You trust him completely now. You have no idea what he’s done, what he’s capable of. And Oscar intends to keep it that way.

For now, all that matters is that you’re his.

***

Oscar leans against the wall of the Haas garage, his arms crossed over his chest as he watches you. The noise of the paddock fades into the background, and all he sees is you — on the floor, cross-legged, playing with the mechanic’s baby. The baby giggles as you wiggle your fingers in front of him, making soft cooing sounds. It’s an innocent moment, but to Oscar, it’s something far more profound. Something perfect.

He’s never seen you like this before, not with a baby, and the sight of it stirs something deep inside him. You look so at ease, so natural, as if holding a child was second nature to you. Oscar’s chest tightens, and his fingers curl into the fabric of his race suit.

The way you smile at the baby, the softness in your eyes, it’s like a revelation to him. You’re not just beautiful, not just charming or intelligent — you’re maternal. You would be the most incredible mother. His children’s mother.

His gaze sharpens, thoughts racing. He imagines you with a child of your own, your smile directed at a little one with your eyes, maybe his nose, or your soft laugh. The image is so vivid it nearly knocks the air from his lungs.

“Oscar?” Logan’s voice cuts through his thoughts, but Oscar doesn’t move. He barely registers his friend’s voice at all. His entire focus is still locked on you.

Logan follows his line of sight, sees you playing with the baby, and gives Oscar a nudge. “Dude, you look like you’re in a trance. She’s just playing with a baby.”

Oscar glances at him, annoyed. “You don’t understand,” he mutters, brushing Logan off.

Logan chuckles, shaking his head. “Right, because you’re planning your future family now?”

Oscar doesn’t respond, his jaw clenching. He doesn’t need Logan’s sarcastic comments, not when he’s this close to figuring out the next step. Logan might think he’s being funny, but he has no idea how serious Oscar is.

You’re laughing now, and Oscar’s heart skips a beat at the sound. It’s soft, melodic, like music in his ears. He pushes off the wall, slowly making his way over to you, his eyes never leaving the scene in front of him.

When you notice him approaching, your face lights up, and you wave him over, holding the baby’s hand and waving it in his direction. “Oscar, look! Isn’t he adorable?”

Oscar forces a smile, trying to keep his composure. “Yeah, he’s cute.”

But inside, his thoughts are racing. He wants this — you with a baby. He wants it all. The perfect little family. And now, he knows what he has to do.

He crouches down next to you, his knee brushing against yours as he watches you interact with the baby. For a moment, he lets himself imagine what it would be like if this were your life together. The three of you, the baby on your lap, the two of you sharing quiet, intimate moments like this.

“You’re really good with him,” Oscar says softly, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

You smile, shrugging modestly. “I’ve always loved kids.”

Oscar’s mind whirs at that, his grip on the baby’s toy tightening slightly. Of course, you love kids. You’d be the perfect mother. It’s meant to be.

The baby’s mother, the mechanic’s wife, calls for her child, and you gently pass him over, giving him one last little pat on the back. As the baby is carried away, you let out a soft sigh, as if you’re reluctant to part with him.

Oscar takes this moment, leaning in just a little closer. “I was thinking …” he begins, his tone casual but carefully measured. “Summer break is coming up soon.”

You turn to him, eyes bright with curiosity. “Yeah?”

Oscar’s heart pounds in his chest. He needs to do this right, to make it seem like it’s just an innocent suggestion, a sweet idea. “What if we spent it together?" He pauses, gauging your reaction before adding, “In Australia. You’ve never been, right?”

Your eyes widen in surprise, a smile slowly spreading across your face. “Australia? Really?”

Oscar nods, trying to seem nonchalant, though inside, he’s anything but. “Yeah. I thought it’d be fun. You could meet my family, see where I grew up. We could spend some time away from all … this." He gestures vaguely to the chaotic paddock around you both.

You bite your lip, clearly considering it. “That sounds amazing, but … I don’t want to intrude.”

Oscar shakes his head quickly, his hand lightly brushing yours. “You wouldn’t be intruding. I want you to come. It’d be good for us to … you know, spend some real time together.”

You smile again, softer this time, and Oscar knows he’s got you. “Well, if you’re sure …” you say teasingly, “I’d love to.”

Oscar’s stomach flips with triumph, but he keeps his expression calm. “Great. I’ll book everything.”

As you turn back to watch the baby being carried away, Oscar’s mind races ahead. This is the next step. Australia, away from everyone else, where he can have you all to himself. Where you can start to see what he already knows — that you’re meant to be together.

It’s perfect. The perfect plan, the perfect timing. And now, with you agreeing to spend the summer with him, he’s that much closer to making his vision of your future a reality.

He leans back slightly, his eyes still fixed on you, his thoughts dark and consuming. Soon, everything will fall into place. Soon, you’ll be his in every way that matters.

“Can’t wait for the summer,” you say softly, more to yourself than to him, but Oscar hears it loud and clear.

Neither can he.

***

The villa Oscar books for the two of you is perfect, nestled quietly in the Australian countryside, far from any distractions. When he pulls up the driveway, gravel crunching under the tires, a satisfied smile creeps onto his face. It’s isolated but cozy, with a large deck that overlooks the rolling hills and eucalyptus trees. The soft hum of cicadas fills the warm air. It’s idyllic, exactly how he planned it.

"Wow, Oscar, this place is gorgeous," you say as you step out of the car, your voice laced with awe as you take in the view.

Oscar watches you, the way your eyes light up, how the sun catches your hair. He’s made sure everything is flawless for you. He nods, placing a hand on your back as he leads you toward the entrance. “I thought it’d be nice to get away from everything for a bit. Just the two of us.”

You smile back at him, clearly touched. “It’s perfect. I can’t believe you planned all this.”

Inside, the villa is just as stunning. Open spaces, large windows, and soft, neutral tones. The light pours in, casting everything in a warm glow. You wander through the space, touching the countertops, trailing your fingers over the smooth wood of the dining table. Oscar stands back for a moment, watching you, his mind already working through the next phase of his plan.

You head toward the bedroom, your suitcase rolling behind you, and Oscar follows. The room is simple but elegant, with a large bed draped in white linen, soft and inviting. As you start unpacking, Oscar moves toward the bathroom, scanning the space. It’s spotless, the sink gleaming under the lights, and there’s a large bathtub near the window with a view of the surrounding hills.

You join him a moment later, setting your toiletry bag on the counter. “I’m going to hang up my clothes,” you say, smiling before walking back toward the bedroom.

Oscar watches you go, the soft sound of your footsteps fading as you head down the hall. He lingers for a moment, standing by the bathroom counter. His gaze shifts to your toiletry bag, eyes narrowing as he sees a small white case tucked inside.

Your birth control pills.

His chest tightens. He wasn’t sure how he’d handle this part of the plan, but seeing them now, sitting right there in the open, brings a wave of certainty over him. This is his opportunity.

He reaches out, fingers brushing the plastic case. Slowly, carefully, he lifts it out of the bag, opening it to reveal the small circular array of pills. His mind races. The thought of you — of having you, completely — pulses through him like an electric current. He knows what he needs to do now.

With a glance over his shoulder to make sure you’re still in the other room, Oscar pulls out his phone. He quickly searches online, tapping through a few sites until he finds exactly what he’s looking for: placebo pills. They look identical to your birth control, but they won’t do anything. His fingers hover over the screen for a moment before he places the order, ensuring express delivery to the villa.

Satisfied, he slides your pill case back into the drawer, just as you return, holding up a shirt on a hanger. “What do you think? Dinner tonight, maybe?”

Oscar turns to you, his face the picture of calm, though inside his heart races with excitement. He smiles, closing the distance between you with a slow step. “Sounds perfect,” he says, his voice smooth and easy. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

You roll your eyes playfully, hanging up the shirt in your closet. “We’ve just arrived, Oscar. Don’t start flattering me already.”

He chuckles, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom, watching you organize your clothes. “Can’t help it.”

You don’t notice anything amiss, your attention fully on arranging your wardrobe, humming softly to yourself. Oscar stays silent, observing, letting the moment stretch out. He feels the weight of the decision he’s made pressing against his chest, but there’s no doubt in his mind. This is the next step. It’s necessary.

As you finish, you turn to him, smiling as if the whole world is right, as if you’re in the safest, most perfect place possible. “What’s the plan for today?" You ask, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Oscar takes a seat beside you, his arm draping over your shoulder casually. “We could explore a little, go for a walk. Or,” he pauses, gauging your reaction, “we could just stay in, relax. I thought we could take some time to enjoy this place.”

Your smile widens, and you lean into his touch. “I think staying in sounds nice. We have all the time in the world to explore, right?”

His heart flutters at that, the way you’re already so comfortable with the idea of just being with him, no distractions, no one else. He tightens his grip around your shoulders, pulling you closer.

“Exactly,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple. “Just the two of us.”

The rest of the day is quiet, peaceful. You spend time lounging on the deck, sipping wine as you both talk about everything and nothing. It feels natural, easy, like you’ve always been meant to share this space together. But all the while, Oscar’s mind never strays from the thought of those pills in the bathroom drawer. He feels like he’s already set the wheels in motion, that soon enough, you’ll be his in every possible way.

That night, after dinner, you slip away to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Oscar lies back on the mattress, listening to the sound of water running, imagining you in there, preparing for another quiet night together. When you return, you crawl into bed next to him, curling up at his side.

Oscar wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer, the warmth of your body against his. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, murmuring goodnight. But even as your breathing evens out and you drift to sleep, his mind remains sharp, clear.

In a few days, when the pills arrive, he’ll make the switch. He knows it’ll be seamless — you’ll never suspect a thing. And soon, everything will be exactly as he’s imagined it.

As you sleep peacefully beside him, Oscar stares up at the ceiling, his hand resting lightly on your hip, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips.

He’s already won half the battle.

Now, all that’s left is for you to realize that you were always meant to be his.

***

The days leading up to the switch are torturous for Oscar. Every moment you spend together is perfect, but the anticipation gnaws at him. He’s careful not to show it, though. He keeps his composure, never letting his eagerness slip through the mask of calm he wears so well.

The placebos arrive in an unmarked package, just as discreet as he had hoped. It’s delivered while you’re out on a walk through the woods that surround the villa, and Oscar snatches it up from the front porch the moment he hears the delivery truck pull away. He tears it open, heart pounding as he examines the pills inside. They’re identical to the ones in your birth control case — down to the last detail.

Perfect.

Oscar wastes no time. He takes the package to the bathroom and carefully opens the drawer where you keep your toiletries. Your pill case sits innocuously at the back, just as you left it. His hands are steady as he opens it, methodically replacing each of the active pills with the placebos. When he’s done, he closes the case, tucking it back into the drawer with everything in its place. He steps back, his reflection in the mirror looking back at him with a calm satisfaction.

This is it.

When you return from your walk, flushed from the exertion and the crisp air, Oscar greets you with a warm smile. “How was it?" He asks, brushing a loose strand of hair from your forehead.

“Beautiful,” you reply, eyes bright. “I found this little trail that leads down to a stream. We should go there together tomorrow.”

“Definitely,” Oscar agrees, his hand resting on the small of your back as you head inside. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it here.”

“Of course,” you say, leaning into him as you head to the bedroom to change out of your walking clothes. “It’s perfect.”

Oscar follows you, watching as you strip off your jacket and fold it neatly over the chair. You’re so trusting, so unaware of the plans he’s laid out so carefully. He feels a surge of affection for you, so strong it almost makes him dizzy. You’re his now — completely and utterly his.

The days pass slowly, agonizingly so, as Oscar waits for the right moment. He’s patient, though, ensuring that everything goes according to plan. He doesn’t want to rush this — it has to be perfect.

Finally, when he’s sure your body has flushed out the effects of the real pills, Oscar makes his move.

It’s a quiet evening. The two of you have had dinner on the deck, the sun setting in a blaze of color over the hills. Now, you’re inside, the warmth of the fire in the living room wrapping around you both as you sit on the couch. You’re leaning against Oscar, your head resting on his shoulder, a soft sigh escaping your lips.

“I’m so glad we’re here,” you murmur, your voice sleepy and content. “I don’t ever want to leave.”

Oscar presses a kiss to the top of your head, his hand gently stroking your arm. “We don’t have to think about that yet. We’ve got plenty of time.”

You smile, closing your eyes as you nestle closer to him. “I know.”

He waits until you’re almost drifting off before he shifts, turning slightly so he can look down at you. “Come to bed,” he says softly, his voice low and coaxing.

You nod, letting him guide you to the bedroom. The atmosphere is thick with unspoken anticipation, and Oscar’s pulse quickens as he watches you undress, slipping into the nightshirt you keep at the villa. You’re unaware of the intensity of his gaze, too caught up in your own sleepy haze.

Oscar follows suit, stripping down to his boxers before joining you in bed. The sheets are cool against his skin, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. He reaches for you, pulling you close, his hands sliding over your hips, your waist.

You respond to his touch, a soft murmur escaping your lips as he presses his lips to your neck, trailing kisses down to your collarbone. There’s something different about the way he touches you tonight — more deliberate, more possessive. But you don’t question it, you trust him completely.

Oscar’s heart races as he continues, his hands exploring every inch of you, his lips following the path they trace. When he finally enters you, it’s with a sense of completion, like he’s claimed something that was always meant to be his. He moves slowly at first, savoring the moment, letting the reality of it sink in.

He watches your face, the way your eyes flutter closed, your lips parting as you breathe out his name. It’s intoxicating, seeing you like this, knowing that he’s the only one who’s ever seen you this way, and soon, he’ll be the only one to ever see you carrying his child.

The thought pushes him over the edge, and he starts to move faster, more urgently, his hands gripping your hips as he drives into you. The intensity of it makes you gasp, your fingers clutching at the sheets beneath you.

“Oscar,” you moan, your voice shaky with pleasure.

He groans in response, leaning down to capture your lips in a fierce kiss. He can’t get enough of you, can’t hold back the possessiveness that wells up inside him. He knows he’s on the edge of losing control, but he doesn’t care. This is what he’s wanted for so long, and now that it’s finally happening, he won’t let anything ruin it.

When you reach your climax, Oscar follows shortly after, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he lets go. For a moment, the world narrows down to just the two of you, the sound of your breathing the only thing that matters.

Afterward, as you lie beneath him, your chest rising and falling with the effort of catching your breath, Oscar places a soft kiss on your lips, then another on your neck. His hand trails down your stomach, lingering there, his fingers brushing over your skin with a possessive gentleness.

He moves lower, his lips following the path of his hand until he reaches your stomach. There, he presses a lingering kiss to the soft skin, his heart pounding in his chest.

He pictures it — your stomach rounding, growing with the child he knows will come. It’s only a matter of time now. He’s ensured it.

“You’re going to be the most amazing mother,” he whispers against your skin, his voice barely audible, but filled with a deep certainty.

You don’t hear him, your body already drifting into the blissful haze of sleep. But Oscar stays there for a moment longer, his lips pressed to your stomach, a satisfied smile curving his lips.

He slides back up beside you, pulling you into his arms, your head resting on his chest. As you sleep peacefully against him, Oscar’s mind races with thoughts of the future. A future where you’re his in every way. Where you carry his child, where you’re bound to him forever.

And now, that future is within reach.

Oscar tightens his hold on you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, his heart pounding with a mixture of possessiveness and triumph.

It’s all falling into place.

Everything is perfect.

***

Oscar watches you with keen eyes, every small movement, every shift in your expression. He’s noticed it for a few days now — the way you’ve seemed off. Tired. Nauseous. He’s careful not to say anything too soon, not to make you suspicious, but inside, he knows what’s happening.

He’s known this moment was coming.

It’s Saturday morning at the track, and the rest of the team is bustling around, preparing for qualifying. But you’re sitting on a bench just outside the Haas garage, head in your hands, looking pale. Oscar walks over, his face the perfect picture of concern.

“You okay?" He asks softly, crouching down beside you.

You look up at him, your skin a little clammy, eyes filled with discomfort. “I don’t know. I feel … really off. I’ve been sick a few times this morning.”

Oscar frowns, tilting his head like he’s puzzled, but inside, he’s practically buzzing with excitement. “You’ve been sick? Maybe we should get you checked out, just in case.”

You wave him off, trying to be nonchalant about it. “I’m sure it’s nothing. I probably ate something weird.”

Oscar shakes his head. “No way. You’ve been feeling off for days now." He stands up, offering his hand to you. “Come on, let’s go to the track physician. Better safe than sorry.”

You hesitate, but Oscar’s insistence wins out. With a sigh, you take his hand, letting him guide you across the paddock toward the medical facility. He walks with purpose, every step bringing him closer to what he’s been waiting for — the confirmation of what he already knows.

The doctor on duty takes you both into a small examination room, where you explain your symptoms. Oscar stands beside you the entire time, holding your hand, his face a mask of supportive concern.

“We’ll need to take a blood sample,” the doctor says after you’ve described everything. “Just to rule out a few things.”

Oscar squeezes your hand as you nod, clearly exhausted. “It’ll be quick,” he murmurs, his voice soothing, though his mind is racing. This is it.

The blood test doesn’t take long, and the doctor steps out of the room to analyze the results. You sit back on the exam table, shoulders slumped, looking more tired than ever. Oscar watches you, his heart racing, anticipation curling in his chest.

When the doctor finally returns, holding a clipboard with the results, Oscar straightens, his expression carefully composed.

“Well,” the doctor begins, glancing between the two of you, “the results came back, and … it looks like you’re pregnant.”

There’s a beat of silence.

You stare at the doctor, completely shocked, the color draining from your face. “I’m what?”

“Pregnant,” the doctor repeats gently. “The hormone levels are consistent with early pregnancy.”

Oscar does everything he can to keep his face from breaking into a smile. He squeezes your hand a little tighter, playing the role of the supportive boyfriend. “Pregnant?" He echoes, making sure his voice sounds as surprised as yours.

You’re still staring at the doctor in disbelief. “But … that can’t be right. We’ve only been together a few months. I’ve been on the pill.”

The doctor gives you a sympathetic look. “No birth control is one hundred percent effective. It can happen.”

You sit back, stunned, your hand instinctively going to your stomach. “I-I can’t believe this.”

Oscar pulls you into his side, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Hey, it’s okay,” he whispers, his voice gentle and calm. “We’ll figure this out.”

But you’re shaking your head, your voice rising with panic. “Oscar, we’ve only been together for a few months. I don’t even know if … if I’m ready for this.”

Oscar feels a flicker of annoyance at your hesitation, but he quickly buries it. He can’t push too hard yet. Instead, he plays the role of the comforting partner, holding you tightly as you freak out. “I get it,” he says softly. “This is a lot to take in. But we don’t have to make any decisions right now.”

Your eyes are wide and frantic as you look up at him. “I’m not sure if I can do this. I don’t even know if I want to keep the baby.”

Oscar’s stomach twists at your words, but his face remains calm, his hand still gently stroking your back. “Hey, don’t say that yet,” he murmurs. “Let’s just take a breath, okay? You’re overwhelmed right now, and that’s normal. But we’ll figure this out together. I’m here with you, no matter what.”

You look up at him, your face filled with uncertainty. “But, Oscar … this changes everything. I’m not ready to be a mom.”

Oscar gives you a soft, understanding smile, though inside he’s desperate to steer this conversation in the right direction. “I know you’re scared, and that’s okay. But I promise you, we can handle this. You don’t have to do it alone.”

Your breath hitches as you look at him, conflicted. “I just … I didn’t expect this. We’ve barely been together long enough to-”

“To plan something like this, I know,” Oscar finishes for you, his voice gentle. “But things happen, and sometimes life surprises us. And, if I’m being honest … I think you’d be an amazing mom.”

You blink at him, taken aback. “You really think that?”

Oscar nods, his expression sincere. “I do. You’re kind, you’re caring, and you have so much love to give. I’ve seen the way you are with Ollie, and even with the team. You’re a natural caretaker.”

You bite your lip, clearly wavering. “But, Oscar … what if I’m not ready?”

Oscar tilts his head, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “No one’s ever really ready. But I know you, and I know that if you decide to keep this baby, you’ll be incredible. And I’ll be with you every step of the way. We’ll figure it out together.”

Tears well up in your eyes as you listen to him, his words hitting you in all the right places. Oscar can see that you’re close to giving in, so he presses on, his voice steady and reassuring.

“I know it’s scary, but think about it. We could be a family. A real family. And I want that with you more than anything.”

You look down at your hands, silent for a moment, your mind clearly racing. Oscar watches you closely, his heart pounding in his chest. He knows this is the turning point.

Finally, you let out a shaky breath, glancing up at him with tear-filled eyes. “I … I don’t know, Oscar. I need time to think.”

Oscar nods, giving you a soft, understanding smile. “Of course. Take all the time you need. But just know that whatever you decide, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You nod slowly, wiping your eyes. “Thank you. I just … I don’t know what to do.”

Oscar pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly, his heart swelling with satisfaction. “We’ll figure it out,” he whispers into your hair. “I promise, everything’s going to be okay.”

As he holds you, Oscar’s mind races, already planning the next steps. He’s not worried. He knows that, in the end, he’ll convince you. You’ll keep the baby, and everything will fall into place just as he intended.

For now, he’ll play the role of the supportive boyfriend, the one who’s always by your side, helping you through the uncertainty. But inside, he’s already won. You’re pregnant, and soon enough, you’ll realize that keeping the baby is the only option.

Oscar holds you a little tighter, hiding the small, satisfied smile that threatens to break through. Everything is going according to plan.

***

Oscar has always been patient. He’s learned that rushing things can cause cracks, slip-ups, room for doubt to creep in. And now, more than ever, he needs you to trust him, to believe that he’s on your side. The next few days are critical, and he knows it.

You’ve been quieter since finding out about the pregnancy. The nervous energy that used to make you light up around the paddock has been replaced with uncertainty. Oscar notices how you touch your stomach absentmindedly when you think no one’s looking, like you’re still trying to wrap your head around the reality growing inside you.

But Oscar sees this for what it is: a fragile moment where you’re caught between indecision and the life he’s planned for you both. He just needs to tip the scales, to show you that there’s only one real choice. And he has the perfect opportunity in mind.

It’s the Thursday before race day, and the paddock is bustling with the usual pre-race chaos — engineers, media personnel, drivers darting between garages. His PR officer, Helen, has brought her baby girl to the paddock today. Oscar has seen her cooing at the mechanics, her little girl bundled in pink, giggling at all the attention. It’s perfect.

Oscar knows you well enough to understand how much you adore babies, how your heart melts when you see them. He watches you now, standing with Ollie near the Haas garage, glancing over at Helen and the baby every few minutes. Your face softens just a little when you hear the baby laugh. This is his moment.

Oscar approaches, casual but calculated, making sure his timing is perfect. He greets Ollie with a quick nod before turning his attention to you, his expression warm but with an undertone of concern.

“You okay?" He asks softly, as though the question has been bubbling beneath the surface for days.

You glance at him, clearly caught off guard by his directness. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just … still thinking about everything.”

Oscar nods, as if he’s been expecting that answer. “I know it’s a lot to process. But you don’t have to do it alone, remember?”

You smile faintly, grateful for his support but still unsure. “I know. I just — I don’t know what the right thing to do is.”

Oscar’s eyes flicker toward Helen and her baby, who’s now being bounced on the hip of one of the mechanics. He lowers his voice, leaning a little closer to you. “Maybe it would help to talk to someone who’s been through it?”

You follow his gaze, and Oscar can almost see the gears turning in your mind. Helen has always been someone you admired — successful, balanced, managing motherhood while working in the high-stakes world of Formula 1. Oscar knows exactly what he’s doing.

You hesitate, but then nod. “Yeah … maybe.”

Oscar smiles softly. “Come on,” he says, taking your hand gently, leading you toward Helen. “It might help.”

As you approach, Helen looks up, her face lighting up when she sees you both. “Hey, guys! How’s it going?”

Oscar is quick to respond, his voice easy and natural. “We’re good. Actually, we were just talking and thought maybe you could give some advice.”

Helen shifts the baby on her hip, curious. “Oh? What about?”

You glance at Oscar nervously, but he squeezes your hand, silently encouraging you. You take a deep breath, then speak. “I, uh … I just found out I’m pregnant.”

Helen’s face softens immediately, her maternal instincts kicking in. “Oh my God, congratulations! That’s amazing news.��

You give a weak smile, still overwhelmed. “Thanks. I’m just … I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”

Oscar watches as Helen’s expression shifts, empathy in her eyes. “I totally get it,” she says, adjusting the baby in her arms. “I felt the same way when I found out I was pregnant. It’s a huge change, and it can be scary. But honestly? It’s the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done.”

You blink, processing her words, while Oscar fights to keep the smile from creeping onto his face. Helen’s doing exactly what he hoped she would.

“You really think so?" You ask, your voice soft, tentative.

Helen nods firmly. “Absolutely. I mean, yeah, there are tough days, but … when you look at them, when they smile at you, everything just clicks. It’s like … it doesn’t matter if you felt unprepared or scared before. Once they’re here, they become your whole world, and you can’t imagine life without them.”

Oscar’s heart races as he watches you absorb every word. He knows Helen’s words are planting seeds, shifting your perspective, just like he planned.

You glance at the baby, who’s now chewing on her fist, babbling happily in Helen’s arms. A small smile tugs at your lips, the first genuine one Oscar’s seen in days.

“She’s beautiful,” you whisper, almost to yourself.

Helen grins, brushing a hand over the baby’s soft curls. “Thank you. And you’ll have your own little one soon enough. Trust me, it’s the best thing in the world.”

Oscar feels a surge of triumph. Helen’s done the heavy lifting, nudging you closer to the decision he’s wanted all along. But he knows he needs to seal the deal, to make sure you’re not left with any lingering doubts.

As Helen’s attention shifts back to the baby, Oscar leans in toward you, his voice low and intimate. “You’d be such a great mom,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on yours.

You look at him, your eyes still filled with uncertainty, but there’s something else there now — hope. “You really think so?”

Oscar nods, his expression earnest. “I do. I know it’s scary, but … you have so much love to give. And we’ll do it together. You won’t have to do it alone.”

You take a deep breath, and Oscar can tell that you’re on the edge, teetering between fear and the future he’s painting for you both.

Helen’s baby lets out a little giggle, and you glance down at her, your smile widening just a bit. “She’s so happy,” you say softly.

Helen beams, rocking her baby gently. “She is. And yours will be too.”

Oscar can see it now, the way you’re starting to picture it in your mind. The future he’s carefully crafted. You, holding your own baby, happy, content, and completely his.

He tightens his grip on your hand, his voice barely above a whisper. “We can have that. A family. If you want it.”

You close your eyes for a moment, taking it all in, before finally nodding. “Maybe … maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.”

Oscar’s heart soars. This is it. You’re giving in.

Helen smiles warmly at you both. “You’re going to be amazing parents.”

Oscar squeezes your hand one last time, his voice soft and filled with promise. “We’ll make this work. I promise.”

You look at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Okay,” you whisper. “Let’s do it.”

Oscar leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his heart racing with satisfaction. He’s won. The future he’s dreamed of is now within reach. You’re keeping the baby, and everything is falling into place.

As you stand there, watching Helen and her baby, Oscar’s mind is already racing with plans. He’ll make sure everything is perfect for you, for the baby. He’ll protect what’s his, no matter what.

For now, though, he lets himself savor the victory, pulling you closer to him as you both watch the baby in Helen’s arms. His plan is working. You’re his, and soon, you’ll be tied to him forever.

And there’s nothing anyone can do to change that.

***

Oscar has been preparing for this moment for weeks, rehearsing the conversation in his mind over and over. He knows Ollie is protective of you — he’d have to be, considering the nature of the F1 paddock and all the people who swarm around it. Telling him that his older sister is pregnant, and not just pregnant but with Oscar’s child, needs to be handled delicately.

The three of you are sitting in a private corner of the hotel lounge, post-race celebrations buzzing in the background. You’re perched nervously on the edge of your seat, fidgeting with your hands, while Oscar sits beside you, his arm draped protectively around the back of your chair. Ollie is across from you both, tapping his fingers on the table, clearly sensing that something is off.

Oscar shoots you a glance, his expression gentle but encouraging. This is the moment you’ve both been preparing for, but he knows how nervous you are. He watches as you take a deep breath, gathering the courage to speak.

“Ollie,” you begin, your voice shaky. “There’s something we need to tell you.”

Ollie’s fingers stop tapping, his eyes narrowing slightly as he leans in. “What is it? You’re acting weird.”

Oscar watches you hesitate, your eyes flickering between him and Ollie, before you finally blurt it out. “I’m pregnant.”

Ollie blinks, his expression blank for a moment as the words sink in. Then, like a storm rolling in, his face darkens. He stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor as he glares at Oscar.

“What the hell, Oscar?” Ollie’s voice is low, sharp, and full of anger. “You got her pregnant? Are you kidding me?”

Oscar stays calm, his expression composed as he raises his hands in a gesture of peace. He expected this reaction. Ollie’s protective streak runs deep, especially when it comes to you. But Oscar knows how to diffuse the situation.

“Take a breath, Ollie,” Oscar says, his voice steady, almost soothing. “I know you’re upset, but we didn’t plan this.”

“Upset?” Ollie repeats, incredulous. “You put my sister in a position like this! She’s not ready for this, she’s still in school, she-” He stops, running a hand through his hair, clearly trying to control his temper.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, looking down at your hands, and Oscar squeezes your shoulder lightly, as if to remind you that he’s got this. He turns his attention back to Ollie, making sure to keep his voice calm and measured.

“Ollie, listen,” Oscar starts, “this wasn’t something we expected, but we’re dealing with it together. I love her. We’re going to make this work.”

Ollie shakes his head, pacing in front of the table now, his hands clenched into fists. “You love her? That’s supposed to make this okay? You barely even know each other, and now she’s pregnant!”

Oscar watches him carefully, knowing that pushing too hard could make things worse. Instead, he opts for a different angle. “Ollie, I get it. I understand why you’re upset. But think about this for a second. You’re going to be an uncle.”

That makes Ollie stop in his tracks. His eyes widen, the anger momentarily fading as the weight of that reality hits him. “An uncle?”

Oscar nods, taking the opportunity to soften the conversation. “Yeah. You’ll be an uncle. This baby is going to have an amazing family. You’re part of that.”

You finally look up, your voice soft but steady as you speak. “I know this isn’t what any of us expected, Ollie. But Oscar’s been really supportive. We’re figuring it out.”

Ollie glances at you, his expression conflicted. The anger is still there, but it’s mixed with something else now — worry, concern. He drops into the chair again, rubbing his hands over his face.

“And you’re sure this is what you want?" He asks, his voice quieter now, directed at you.

You nod, though the uncertainty is still clear in your eyes. “I … I think so. I don’t know what the future looks like, but I know I want to try.”

Ollie sighs, leaning back in his chair, his eyes flicking between you and Oscar. “This is insane.”

Oscar leans forward, his voice firm but gentle. “I know it’s a lot, but we’ll handle it together. You don’t have to worry about her, Ollie. I’ll make sure she’s taken care of.”

Ollie shoots him a hard look, the protectiveness still lingering. “You’d better.”

Oscar knows this is the best he’s going to get right now. He doesn’t push further, letting the conversation settle as Ollie processes the news. He can sense that Ollie’s anger is starting to fade, replaced by concern and the inevitable acceptance of what’s happening.

After a long silence, Ollie exhales heavily and looks back at you. “I just … I don’t want you to regret this. You’ve got so much going for you, and I don’t want anything holding you back.”

Oscar watches as you reach across the table, placing your hand on Ollie’s arm. “I know. And I don’t want to give up on anything. But I’ll make it work. I have to.”

Ollie’s jaw tightens, and he glances at Oscar before nodding slowly. “Alright. But if he screws up, I’m coming after him.”

Oscar can’t help but smile, though he keeps it in check. “Fair enough.”

The tension in the air starts to lift, though it’s clear that Ollie still isn’t entirely on board. But Oscar knows he’s planted the right seeds. Ollie will come around eventually, once the idea of being an uncle starts to sink in.

As the conversation shifts back to less intense topics, Oscar keeps an arm around you, quietly basking in the victory. He’s one step closer to securing the future he’s been carefully crafting, and no amount of Ollie’s protective nature is going to stand in his way.

Later, as you and Oscar leave the lounge, you let out a long breath, clearly relieved. “That went better than I expected,” you say, glancing up at him.

Oscar smirks, pulling you closer. “Told you it would be fine.”

You smile softly, leaning into his side. “Thanks for being so calm. I don’t think I could’ve handled that without you.”

Oscar presses a kiss to the top of your head, his heart racing with satisfaction. “I’ll always be here for you.”

As you walk together through the hotel lobby, Oscar’s mind is already moving to the next step. Ollie might have accepted the situation for now, but Oscar knows he’ll have to be vigilant. There’s always the risk of someone getting too close, of people questioning the choices you’re making.

But Oscar’s in control. He always has been.

And soon, the world will see the perfect life he’s building for you both.

You and him. And the baby.

Everything is going according to plan.

***

Oscar steps out of the McLaren motorhome, adjusting the collar of his team polo as he scans the paddock. The sun is out in full force today, casting a bright glare across the asphalt, and the usual buzz of race day preparations hums in the air. But none of that holds Oscar’s attention for long, because across the way, standing near the Haas garage, is you.

And standing too close to you — way too close — is Charles.

Oscar’s eyes narrow as he watches the scene unfold. You’re smiling, one hand resting protectively on your belly — his baby growing inside you — and Charles is standing right in front of you, one hand outstretched and resting on the curve of your stomach.

Oscar’s stomach turns. His grip on the phone in his hand tightens, knuckles whitening as a sharp wave of possessiveness surges through him. He has to stop himself from marching over there and ripping Charles’ hand off you, from doing something that will draw attention — something that will make everyone realize exactly what Oscar is capable of.

Instead, he breathes deeply, trying to keep his expression neutral. He has to remind himself that he’s in public. Eyes are everywhere. The cameras, the fans, the team members — all watching, all waiting for something interesting to happen.

He forces himself to move, walking toward you and Charles with a calm, measured pace. His heart pounds in his chest, though, each step building the tension in his body. He focuses on keeping his breathing steady, on not letting the mask slip.

When he’s close enough, he hears Charles chuckling. “Look at that — he’s going to be a strong one, huh?” Charles says, his voice too cheerful, too familiar for Oscar’s liking. He’s looking down at your belly like he’s allowed to touch, allowed to share in this intimate moment.

Oscar feels his blood boiling. He doesn’t get to touch you. He doesn’t get to touch either of you. But Oscar keeps his smile in place, just another teammate stopping by for a chat.

“Hey, mate,” Oscar greets, his voice smooth and even, though it takes every ounce of self-control not to shove Charles away from you. “What’s going on here?”

You smile up at him, that soft, radiant smile that’s been a constant source of comfort for him since you found out about the pregnancy. You’re glowing, your hand gently covering Charles’ as if this is the most natural thing in the world.

“Oscar!" You say, your voice light and warm. “Charles was just saying hi to the little one.”

Oscar steps closer, closing the distance between you and him, subtly edging Charles out of the space between you. He places his arm around your waist, pulling you gently but possessively toward him. “Yeah, I see that,” he says, keeping his tone casual, though his eyes flick to Charles, warning him without words.

Charles, ever oblivious, laughs and steps back, giving Oscar a friendly clap on the shoulder. “She’s going to be a great mom,” Charles says, oblivious to the dark thoughts simmering beneath Oscar’s surface. “It’s crazy how fast time’s flown, huh?”

Oscar’s smile feels forced, tight. “Yeah. Crazy.”

You glance between the two men, clearly sensing the tension but not fully understanding it. “Oscar, everything okay?" You ask, concern flickering in your eyes.

He turns to you, softening his expression, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Yeah, of course. Just checking on you.” His hand moves to your belly, where Charles’ had been moments before, as if to reclaim what’s his. The small life growing inside you is his — yours and his alone.

“Little one’s been kicking up a storm today,” you say with a grin, your excitement spilling over. “I think he’s excited for the race.”

Oscar can’t help but smile at that, but it’s a thin veil over the possessive rage still bubbling inside him. He doesn’t want anyone else touching you, touching *his* baby — especially not Charles Leclerc. But he can’t show that. Not here. Not now.

Charles, still blissfully unaware of the dark cloud brewing in Oscar’s chest, gives you a nod and a charming smile. “I should get going — need to check in with the team. But hey, take care, yeah? If you need anything, just let me know.”

Oscar tightens his grip on your waist, resisting the urge to tell Charles where he can shove his offer. Instead, he keeps his smile in place, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes as he watches Charles walk away. “Will do, mate,” he calls after him, his voice cold despite the smile still painted on his face.

Once Charles is out of earshot, Oscar turns to you, his hand still resting on your belly. He can feel the tiny kicks against his palm, and for a moment, the tension eases, his possessiveness giving way to something deeper — something almost tender.

“I didn’t like that,” he says quietly, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

You tilt your head, confused. “Didn’t like what?”

“Charles touching you like that,” he admits, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your stomach. “It’s … it’s personal. It’s us, you know? It’s our baby.”

You give him a soft smile, clearly not understanding the full weight of what he’s saying. “Oscar, he was just being friendly. He’s excited for us.”

Oscar’s jaw clenches, but he forces himself to relax. You don’t get it. You don’t see what he sees. “I know. I just … I don’t want anyone else touching you like that. It doesn’t feel right.”

You laugh lightly, brushing it off as if it’s nothing. “You’re being silly. I think it’s sweet that people care.”

Oscar doesn’t push the point further, but inside, the possessiveness flares again. It’s not sweet. It’s not okay. No one else should be touching you or the baby. That’s his job. Only his.

“Just … humor me, okay?” Oscar says, pulling you closer, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I’m protective. That’s all.”

You smile up at him, leaning into his embrace. “Okay, I’ll humor you.”

Oscar holds you close, his mind spinning with a hundred different thoughts. He can’t stop thinking about Charles’ hand on your belly, about how wrong it felt to see someone else so close to what’s his. He knows it’s irrational, knows he’s being possessive — but he can’t help it. You and the baby are his world now, and the thought of anyone else being a part of that world fills him with a dark, burning need to protect.

Later, as the day winds down and you’re resting in his arms in the McLaren motorhome, Oscar watches you sleep, his hand resting gently on your belly. He can feel the occasional flutter of movement beneath his palm, and for a brief moment, the possessiveness fades, replaced by something softer.

But it doesn’t last. His mind drifts back to Charles, to the way he’d smiled at you, the way he’d touched you so casually. He knows it was innocent, knows that Charles doesn’t mean any harm — but that doesn’t matter. Oscar can’t shake the feeling that something is going to go wrong, that someone is going to come between him and the perfect life he’s building.

And Oscar won’t let that happen.

He’ll protect you, protect the baby — at all costs. Even if that means keeping everyone else at arm’s length. Even if that means doing things you’ll never know about.

As he presses another kiss to your belly, Oscar makes a silent promise to himself: nothing and no one will ever come between him, you, and the life he’s built for you.

No matter what it takes.

***

Oscar lounges on the sofa of the McLaren motorhome, glancing at you as you sit across from him, absentmindedly scrolling through your phone. Your belly has grown even more prominent, the bump of his baby pushing against the soft fabric of your dress. It’s been months now since you found out, and you’ve settled into the rhythm of being an expecting mother. But Oscar’s mind has been churning with a new idea, a plan that’s taken root and refuses to let go.

He watches you with a calculated calmness, waiting for the right moment to broach the subject. He knows it won’t be easy — you’re close to your family, to Ollie, to the life you’ve built in England. But that’s exactly the problem. Too many people are around you, too many influences that could pull you away from him, from the control he’s worked so hard to establish.

He clears his throat, catching your attention.

“You know,” he begins casually, leaning back in his seat, “I’ve been thinking a lot about the future. Where we’re going to live once the baby’s here.”

You glance up at him, eyebrows raised in mild curiosity. “Yeah? I figured we’d stay in England. It’s where my family is, after all.”

Oscar offers you a soft, understanding smile. He knows that’s what you think — what you *want*. But he also knows how to twist things to get what he wants.

“I get that,” he says, his voice soothing, almost coaxing. “But … have you thought about Australia?”

Your brow furrows in confusion. “Australia?”

“Yeah.” Oscar shifts in his seat, turning his body more toward you, his expression serious yet gentle. “I mean, it’s where I grew up. It’s a beautiful place, and I’ve been thinking … maybe it’d be the best place for us to raise the baby.”

You blink, clearly caught off guard. “Oscar, Australia’s … it’s literally halfway around the world. My family’s in England, Ollie’s in England. It would be so far from everyone.”

He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your hesitation falter. “I know, I know. But think about it, yeah? It’s quieter there. Less scrutiny. The media’s insane in Europe, especially around Formula 1. I don’t want our child growing up under that spotlight. In Australia, we can give them a normal life, a childhood without all that pressure.”

Oscar knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s playing the long game, planting seeds of doubt about staying in Europe. You’ve always been a private person, and he’s using that to his advantage, framing it as a way to protect your future family from the public eye.

You hesitate, biting your lip as you consider his words. “I mean, I get that, but … it’s still so far. I don’t know if I’m ready to leave everything behind.”

Oscar’s expression softens, and he reaches out to take your hand, his thumb stroking over your knuckles in a comforting gesture. “I’m not asking you to leave everything behind. We’ll visit England, see your family whenever you want. But living in Australia, it’d be different. Safer. More private. You’d love it there. The beaches, the space … you wouldn’t have to worry about paparazzi or people prying into our lives. We could be … just us.”

He pauses, letting his words sink in, knowing you’ll start to picture it — the idyllic life he’s painting for you. Away from the madness of the racing world, away from anyone who might interfere.

You’re quiet for a moment, your gaze dropping to your growing belly, your free hand resting protectively over it. Oscar knows what you’re thinking — that you want what’s best for the baby. That’s the key to this, the hook he needs to sink deeper.

“And think about how amazing it’ll be for the baby,” Oscar continues, his voice low and persuasive. “Growing up near the ocean, in a place where they can run around, be free … It’s the kind of childhood I had, and I’d want that for them. Don’t you?”

You look up at him again, and he can see the conflict in your eyes. You want to say no — you want to stay in England, close to your family — but he’s making it so hard for you to argue. He’s painting Australia as this perfect haven, a paradise for your future child.

“I don’t know, Oscar …” you murmur, still uncertain.

Oscar tightens his grip on your hand slightly, leaning closer. “We’ll make new memories, new traditions. You’ll have me, and I’ll have you. We’ll build a life together there. You know I’d never let anything happen to you. I’ll protect you and the baby no matter where we are.”

He watches as your resolve begins to waver. He’s close now — so close to getting exactly what he wants. He just needs to push a little further, to make you believe that this is what’s best for both of you.

“I understand it’s a big decision,” Oscar says softly, his tone almost pleading now, though it’s all part of the act. “But this is about our future, about what’s best for our family. I know you’re worried about being far from everyone, but you’ll have me. I’ll always be there for you, every step of the way. And we can still visit whenever you want.”

You sigh, looking down again, your mind clearly racing with everything he’s said. Oscar waits, letting the silence stretch, knowing that you’re weighing your options. He can almost see the gears turning in your head, the way his words are slowly but surely pulling you toward the decision he’s been pushing for all along.

“I’ll think about it,” you finally say, your voice quiet.

Oscar suppresses the smile that threatens to break across his face. He doesn’t want to seem too eager, doesn’t want to tip his hand just yet. Instead, he nods, giving you a gentle, understanding look.

“That’s all I ask,” he says softly, leaning over to press a kiss to your forehead. “I just want what’s best for us.”

Later that night, as you sleep beside him, Oscar lies awake, staring at the ceiling with a satisfied smirk on his face. He knows it won’t take much longer. You’re already halfway convinced — soon, you’ll be fully on board with the idea. Once you start picturing the life he’s promised you, the isolation won’t feel like isolation at all. It’ll feel like safety.

He imagines it now — just the two of you and the baby, tucked away in some quiet corner of Australia. No one else around to interfere, no family to pull you away from him. It’ll be perfect. You’ll be his, completely and utterly his, with no one else to cloud your judgment.

Oscar’s hand moves to your belly as you sleep, gently resting there as he feels the faintest kick from the baby inside. His baby. The life he’s created with you.

You won’t be able to say no for much longer. He’s made sure of that.

As the days go on, Oscar continues to drop little comments here and there, always steering the conversation back to Australia, to how perfect it’ll be for the baby. He shows you pictures of the beaches, talks about the schools, the parks, the quiet suburbs where you could raise a family. Each time, you seem to soften a little more, the hesitation in your eyes fading.

It doesn’t take long before you’re the one bringing it up.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” you admit one evening as you sit together in your shared apartment. “About Australia. Maybe … maybe it could be a good idea after all.”

Oscar hides his smile behind a sip of tea, nodding as if he’s only just considering the idea himself. “I’m glad you’re open to it. We’ll take it one step at a time, okay? No rush. But I really think it’s the best choice for our family.”

You nod, your hand resting on your belly as you stare out the window, lost in thought. Oscar watches you closely, his mind already racing ahead to the future he’s carefully crafted.

Soon, he thinks. Soon, you’ll be in Australia, far away from anyone who might interfere. And then you’ll be his — completely and utterly his.

Just the way he’s always wanted.

***

Oscar watches as you grip the edges of the hospital bed, your face contorted in pain, beads of sweat forming on your forehead. He stands at your side, holding your hand in his, gently rubbing circles on the back of your hand. Every contraction seems to hit harder, your body tensing with each one. But despite your discomfort, despite the way you call out for your mother between sharp breaths, Oscar keeps his expression calm. He’s been preparing for this moment for months, knowing exactly how he wants it to unfold.

“No one but me,” he had told the hospital staff when they asked for the permitted visitors list. “Just me. She’ll be fine with just me.”

And here you are, just as he’d planned — alone with him. No family, no distractions, no one to pull your attention away. Oscar had made sure of it. He knows you’re vulnerable right now, and that’s exactly how he needs you to be.

Your grip tightens around his hand as another contraction hits, and you let out a soft, pained sob. “I need … I need my mum,” you whimper, your voice broken by the intensity of the pain.

Oscar leans in closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his tone soothing and soft. “Shh, love, I’m here. I’ll take care of you. You don’t need anyone else, okay? Just focus on me.”

You look up at him with tear-filled eyes, your breathing ragged, but you nod, too exhausted to argue. Another contraction rolls through you, and your body tenses again, your grip on Oscar’s hand becoming almost crushing.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Oscar coos, running his fingers through your hair to calm you. “I’m right here. Just keep breathing, yeah?”

But you don’t want him. In your pain, your instincts scream for your mother, your family, someone familiar, someone who can offer the kind of comfort Oscar can’t. You cry out again, calling for your mum between sobs, but Oscar remains firm.

“They’ll be here soon,” he lies, keeping his voice steady and reassuring. “They’re probably just waiting outside. You’re doing amazing, love.”

He knows they aren’t waiting outside. In fact, they’d been turned away hours ago, when they tried to come into the hospital. The nurse had explained there was no one on the visitor list, and hospital policy couldn’t allow them in without prior approval.

Oscar had made sure of that.

He tightens his grip on your hand just enough to remind you he’s there, that he’s the one you need right now. You’re too distracted by the pain to notice the way his eyes flash with quiet satisfaction as he watches you, completely dependent on him.

Time drags on, the hours blurring together in a haze of contractions, pain, and soft words of comfort from Oscar. Every time you cry out for someone else, he’s there, gently pulling you back to him, reminding you that he’s all you need.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the moment arrives. The doctors and nurses rush into the room, preparing for the delivery. Oscar moves to your side, his heart pounding with anticipation. You’re so close now, so close to giving him exactly what he’s been waiting for.

The baby — a boy, as the ultrasound had shown — arrives with a loud, piercing cry. The doctors place him in Oscar’s arms for a brief moment before they clean him up, and Oscar’s eyes widen with awe as he looks down at the small, wriggling form in his hands. This is it. His son. His family.

You’re exhausted, barely able to keep your eyes open as the nurse finally places the baby — Marcus, as you’d both agreed to name him — into your arms. You look down at him, your face softening despite the exhaustion, tears of relief and overwhelming love in your eyes.

But it doesn’t take long before you glance around the room again, your expression shifting to one of confusion and worry. “Where’s my family?" You ask, your voice weak and hoarse. “Why aren’t they here?”

Oscar’s jaw tightens, but he keeps his expression neutral. He had hoped you’d be too exhausted to ask questions, but it seems he underestimated your attachment to your family. He can’t have that right now — not when everything is so perfect.

“They’ll be here soon,” he lies again, reaching out to stroke your hair. “It’s probably just a mix-up with the hospital staff. I’ll check with the nurse, okay? You rest.”

You nod, your eyelids drooping as the exhaustion takes over. Oscar leaves the room briefly, finding a nurse at the front desk.

“Can you check if her family tried to visit?" He asks, feigning concern. “She’s worried they haven’t come yet.”

The nurse looks at the computer and frowns. “Actually, her family did come earlier, but they were turned away. No one was on the permitted visitors list.”

Oscar fakes a look of surprise, widening his eyes just enough to make it convincing. “That’s strange. I thought I gave you their names. Must’ve been a system error. Can we fix that now?”

The nurse nods, typing a few things into the system. “I’ll add them to the list. They should be able to visit soon.”

Oscar thanks the nurse before heading back to your room. You’re still holding Marcus, staring down at him with a soft, tired smile. Oscar watches you for a moment, taking in the sight of you holding his child, and a surge of possessiveness rushes through him. You and Marcus are his now — completely his.

“Everything okay?" You ask when you notice him standing there.

Oscar nods, putting on his best apologetic expression. “It seems like there was a mix-up. The hospital must’ve forgotten to put your family on the list, but it’s fixed now. They’ll be able to visit soon.”

You look relieved, though still exhausted, and you nod, your focus shifting back to Marcus. “I just … I really wanted them here,” you say softly, tears forming in your eyes again.

Oscar moves to your side, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pressing a kiss to your temple. “I know, love. But I’m here, and so is Marcus. That’s all that matters right now, yeah? We’re a family.”

He can see the conflict in your eyes, the tug between wanting your family’s presence and the reality of the situation. But Oscar is there, steady, calm, always the one you can rely on. He knows you’ll lean on him because right now, you need him more than anything.

The hours pass, and the nurses eventually let your family in to visit. Your mother rushes to your side, tears streaming down her face as she embraces you and gazes down at Marcus. Ollie lingers at the door, his expression a mix of concern and relief. He approaches slowly, giving Oscar a stiff nod before focusing on you and the baby.

Oscar watches the scene play out, but there’s no sense of relief or joy for him. Not like you or your family feel. Instead, a simmering frustration bubbles beneath his calm exterior. This moment was supposed to be his. He’s worked so hard to keep everyone else at bay, to make sure he’s the only one you rely on.

But he knows this is just a temporary interruption. Soon enough, your family will leave, and it will be just the three of you again — just the way he’s planned it. And when that happens, Oscar will make sure to remind you of just how much you need him, how much you depend on him. You and Marcus are his now, and he won’t let anyone else get in the way.

For now, though, he smiles politely at your mother and nods at Ollie’s stiff greeting, playing the part of the loving partner. But deep down, he knows this is only the beginning. You’re tied to him forever now, and there’s no escaping that fact.

He’ll make sure of it

***

Oscar stands at the foot of the hospital bed, watching you cradle Marcus in your arms. It’s the first time you’ve breastfed him, and he can see the amazement in your eyes as you watch him latch on. The room is quiet, a soft hum of hospital equipment in the background, but all Oscar can focus on is the scene before him — so intimate, so perfectly aligned with what he’s envisioned for the two of you.

You look up at him, a gentle smile on your lips, and Oscar’s heart swells. This is exactly how he imagined it: you, completely absorbed in the role of a mother, with Marcus depending on you for everything. He’s been planning this moment for months, knowing that once Marcus arrived, you’d be even more vulnerable, even more open to the suggestions he’d plant.

Oscar moves closer, sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes fixed on Marcus. “He’s perfect,” he says softly, reaching out to stroke Marcus’s tiny head. “You’re perfect.”

You glance up at him, your smile widening as you adjust Marcus in your arms. “I can’t believe he’s ours,” you whisper, your voice filled with awe. “I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

Oscar nods, his heart racing as he senses the timing is right. The maternal glow on your face, the way you look at Marcus with such pure love — it’s the perfect moment to begin planting the seeds of his next plan. He needs you to be fully committed, fully dependent on him, and the best way to do that is to convince you to give up the last bit of independence you have left.

“You know,” Oscar begins, his tone gentle and thoughtful, “watching you with him, seeing how natural you are, it makes me think …”

You look up at him, curious. “Think what?”

Oscar hesitates, making sure to choose his words carefully. He wants to come off as caring and considerate, not pushy. “It makes me think that maybe … maybe you should consider focusing on being a mother full-time, at least for a while.”

He watches your reaction closely, sees the brief flicker of uncertainty in your eyes as you absorb his words. You’ve always been committed to your studies, passionate about your career path. But Oscar knows the pull of motherhood is strong, and with Marcus here, he’s certain he can sway you.

“I don’t know, Oscar …” you start, your voice trailing off as you look down at Marcus again. “I’ve worked so hard to get where I am. I still want to finish my degree, get my career started …”

Oscar nods, feigning understanding, but he can sense that you’re already starting to waver. “I get that, love. I really do. But think about it — Marcus needs you. Being a mother is a full-time job, and you’re so amazing at it already. Why not give yourself the chance to focus on that? At least for the first few years.”

He sees the conflict in your eyes, the way you’re torn between your love for Marcus and your commitment to your studies. Oscar leans in, taking your free hand in his, squeezing it gently. “You don’t have to decide right now. But I just want you to know that I’m here to support you, whatever you choose. And if you decide that being there for Marcus is what you want, I’ll do everything I can to make sure you’re taken care of.”

You bite your lip, your eyes drifting back to Marcus, who’s still contentedly nursing. “But what about my degree? My career? I don’t want to give up on everything I’ve worked for …”

Oscar nods again, his expression soft and understanding. “You wouldn’t be giving it up. You’d just be … putting it on hold for a bit. You can always go back to it later, when Marcus is older. Right now, he needs you. And I think you’ll find that being with him, watching him grow, it’ll be just as fulfilling — if not more — than anything else.”

You’re silent for a moment, your gaze focused on Marcus, who’s now dozing off in your arms. Oscar watches as your resolve begins to weaken, the reality of motherhood settling in. He knows how to play this — how to make you feel like it’s your decision, even though he’s guiding you every step of the way.

“I don’t know,” you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just … so much to think about.”

Oscar leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Take your time. But just know that whatever you decide, I’ll be here to support you. And I think … I think you’ll make an amazing stay-at-home mum. Marcus is so lucky to have you.”

You smile softly, your eyes still on Marcus, and Oscar knows he’s almost there. The idea is planted, and now all he needs to do is nurture it, give you just the right amount of encouragement until you convince yourself it’s the best decision.

Over the next few days, Oscar continues to drop subtle hints, making sure to praise your natural instincts as a mother, emphasizing how important it is for Marcus to have you around full-time. He brings up stories of children who thrive when their mothers are present in their early years, subtly playing on your fears of missing out on crucial moments in Marcus’s life.

Each time you hesitate or express doubt about putting your studies on hold, Oscar is there with a reassuring word, a gentle touch, always reminding you that you’re making the best choice for your family. He paints a picture of a perfect life — just the three of you, with you at home taking care of Marcus, while he provides for you both. He makes it sound so easy, so right.

And slowly, you start to come around to the idea. Oscar can see the change in you, the way you begin to talk about your studies less and less, focusing instead on Marcus and his needs. You start to picture the life Oscar is suggesting, and with each passing day, you grow more comfortable with the idea.

Finally, one evening as you’re both sitting on the couch, Marcus asleep in his bassinet nearby, you turn to Oscar with a sigh. “I’ve been thinking about what you said,” you begin, your voice thoughtful. “And … maybe you’re right. Maybe it would be best if I took a break from school, at least for now. Marcus needs me, and I don’t want to miss out on anything.”

Oscar’s heart leaps with satisfaction, but he keeps his expression neutral, nodding as if he’s simply supporting your decision. “I think that’s a great idea, love. You’re doing what’s best for Marcus, and that’s what matters most.”

You smile, a weight seemingly lifted off your shoulders now that the decision is made. “I’ll talk to the university tomorrow, let them know I’m taking a leave of absence. It’ll just be for a little while, until Marcus is older.”

Oscar nods, but he knows that by the time Marcus is older, he’ll have found new ways to keep you at home, new ways to ensure you remain dependent on him. For now, though, he’s content with the victory. You’re his, and now, more than ever, he’s succeeded in making sure that you and Marcus are firmly under his control.

As the days turn into weeks, you settle into your new routine, fully embracing your role as a stay-at-home mother. Oscar continues to play the part of the supportive partner, always there to help, always there to encourage you, but deep down, he knows he’s won. You’ve given up your independence, your dreams, all for him and Marcus.

And as you sit in the nursery, rocking Marcus to sleep, Oscar watches you from the doorway, a smile playing on his lips. Everything is falling into place, just as he planned. You’re exactly where he wants you — where you belong.

***

Oscar’s thumb traces the smooth, cold metal of the new lock on the front door, his lips curving into a satisfied smile. The locksmith had come earlier that day, installing the deadbolt exactly as Oscar had instructed — one lock that could be opened from the inside and out, and another that could only be controlled from outside the house. The installation was quick, professional, no questions asked.

Perfect. Just what he needed to ensure everything stays the way it’s supposed to.

Oscar takes a step back, admiring his handiwork. He can already hear the faint cry of Marcus from the nursery, but he doesn’t rush. Instead, he takes his time, testing the locks one more time, ensuring they click smoothly into place, unyielding and firm. He turns the key in the new deadbolt, hearing the satisfying clunk as it slides home, securing the door.

He had been thinking about this for weeks, ever since Marcus’s birth — how to make sure you both were safe, how to keep the outside world from intruding on the life he’s so carefully constructed. The isolation of the villa was good, but it wasn’t enough. He needed to know that when he left, you and Marcus wouldn’t — couldn’t — go anywhere without him. This was his way of protecting what was his.

He turns around and sees you standing in the hallway, Marcus cradled against your chest. There’s a slight frown on your face, your eyes moving from the front door to Oscar, confusion etched in your features.

“Oscar,” you start, your voice tinged with concern, “why did you change the locks? The old ones were fine.”

Oscar smiles, the kind of smile meant to reassure you, to make you feel silly for even asking. He steps closer, reaching out to gently brush his fingers along Marcus’s tiny head, his heart swelling with pride at the sight of his son.

“It’s just a precaution, love,” he says smoothly, his voice soft, as if it’s the most reasonable thing in the world. “You know how I am — I just want to make sure you and Marcus are safe.”

You shift Marcus in your arms, still frowning. “But the old locks were fine, Oscar. We’ve never had any problems with them. This feels … excessive.”

Oscar’s smile doesn’t falter. He’s prepared for this, already has his response ready. He lets out a soft chuckle, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “It’s not excessive, it’s just being cautious. With everything that’s going on in the world, I want to make sure that nothing can get to you two while I’m not here. You know how much you and Marcus mean to me.”

You bite your lip, still uncertain, but you nod, seeming to accept his explanation. But then, as Oscar expects, you ask the question he’s been waiting for.

“Okay … but can I have a key? Just in case?”

Oscar’s smile tightens just a fraction, but he quickly recovers, shaking his head as if it’s a silly request. “You don’t need one, love. You never leave the house without me anyway, and I don’t want you to have to carry around another useless thing for no reason. I’ll always be here to lock and unlock the door for you. Besides, you have Marcus to worry about — you don’t need to stress about something like this.”

He sees the hesitation in your eyes, the way you’re weighing his words, trying to decide if he’s being reasonable or if there’s something more to it. Oscar’s heart races, just a little, as he watches you deliberate. He knows he needs to tread carefully, to not push too hard, too fast. He’s been so meticulous about everything so far, and he can’t afford to slip up now.

Finally, you sigh, the tension in your shoulders relaxing as you nod. “Okay … I guess that makes sense. It’s just … it feels strange, not having a key to my own house.”

Oscar leans in, placing a soft kiss on your lips, his hand resting gently on Marcus’s back. “It’s our home, love. And I’m just doing everything I can to keep it safe. You trust me, don’t you?”

You nod again, more firmly this time, and Oscar feels the knot in his chest loosen. He’s won this round, just like he knew he would. You’re so easy to convince when he plays his cards right, when he makes it seem like everything he does is for you, for Marcus. And in a way, it is — just not in the way you think.

Over the next few days, Oscar watches you closely, noting how you seem to adjust to the new locks without much fuss. You don’t ask for a key again, and Oscar doesn’t bring it up either, content to let the matter settle. He continues to be the perfect partner, the doting father, always there to unlock the door for you, to lock it behind you when you come home. You don’t even notice the second lock, the one that only he can control.

Oscar feels a deep sense of satisfaction every time he turns the key in the lock, knowing that he’s the only one with that power. It’s a small thing, but it gives him the control he craves. With you and Marcus safely inside, he knows that nothing can touch you — no one can take you away from him.

It’s a few weeks later when you finally bring it up again. You’re sitting on the couch, Marcus asleep in his crib, and Oscar is reading through some emails on his phone. You’ve been quiet all evening, and Oscar notices the way you keep glancing at the front door, a thoughtful expression on your face.

“Oscar,” you say after a while, your voice soft but firm. “Can we talk about the locks again?”

Oscar looks up from his phone, his expression carefully neutral. “Of course, love. What’s on your mind?”

You shift in your seat, tucking your legs under you. “I’ve been thinking … I know you want to keep us safe, and I appreciate that, but … I don’t like not having a key. It makes me feel … trapped.”

Oscar’s heart skips a beat, but he keeps his face calm, collected. “Trapped? Love, you’re not trapped. You’re safe. There’s a difference.”

You shake your head, your brows furrowing. “I know, but it just … it feels wrong, Oscar. What if something happens? What if I need to get out, and you’re not here? I don’t want to be completely dependent on you to leave the house.”

Oscar sighs, setting his phone down and turning to face you fully. He knows he needs to tread carefully here, to make sure you don’t start questioning things too much. “Love, nothing’s going to happen. You’re not trapped. You can leave anytime you want, with me. I’m just trying to protect you and Marcus. Isn’t that what you want?”

You frown, clearly torn, and Oscar leans in, taking your hand in his, squeezing it gently. “I know it feels strange, but it’s for the best. Trust me, okay? I wouldn’t do anything that wasn’t in your best interest.”

He sees the conflict in your eyes, the way you’re struggling to accept his explanation, but he knows how to handle this. He’s done it before, and he’ll do it again. He needs to keep you close, to make sure you don’t start thinking too much about the things he’s done, the things he’s planning.

Finally, you sigh, your shoulders slumping in defeat. “Okay, Oscar. I trust you. I just … I don’t want to feel like I’m a prisoner in my own home.”

Oscar’s heart races as he pulls you into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You’re not a prisoner, love. You’re safe. And that’s all that matters.”

You nod against his chest, but Oscar can feel the tension in your body, the way you’re still uneasy. He knows he needs to be careful, to make sure you don’t start questioning things too much. But for now, you’ve accepted his explanation, and that’s enough.

As you settle back on the couch, Oscar’s mind is already working, planning his next move. He knows he can’t afford to slip up, can’t afford to let you see the cracks in his facade. Everything has to be perfect, controlled. And with the new locks in place, he’s one step closer to making sure you and Marcus are his forever.

The days pass, and Oscar continues to play the role of the perfect partner, the devoted father. He’s always there to open the door for you, to lock it behind you, to reassure you that everything he’s doing is for your safety. You stop bringing up the locks, and Oscar can see that you’ve resigned yourself to the situation, accepting it as just another quirk of his overprotective nature.

And that’s exactly what he wants. To make you believe that everything he does is out of love, out of concern for your well-being. To make sure you never question the real reason behind his actions.

One evening, as you’re getting ready for bed, Oscar watches you from the doorway, his heart swelling with satisfaction. You’ve fallen into the routine he’s set for you, the life he’s created. You don’t even notice the subtle ways he’s tightening his control, the way he’s slowly but surely cutting you off from the outside world.

You’re his. And with each passing day, Oscar feels more confident in his ability to keep you that way.

As you climb into bed, Oscar follows, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close. You sigh, content, and Oscar can’t help but feel a deep sense of satisfaction. Everything is falling into place just as he’s planned.

You’ve become so accustomed to his presence, so dependent on him, that the thought of challenging him barely crosses your mind anymore. It’s exactly what he wanted — what he needed. To have you close, to keep you safe, to make sure no one could take you away from him.

“Goodnight, love,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your temple.

“Goodnight, Oscar,” you murmur, your voice soft and sleepy.

As you drift off, Oscar remains awake, staring up at the ceiling, his mind already working through the next steps. He knows he needs to maintain this control, to keep reinforcing the life he’s built for you both. The locks, the isolation, the little things that keep you tethered to him — they’re all part of the plan. A plan that’s working perfectly.

He watches you sleep, his hand resting on your stomach where Marcus used to be, now flat and smooth once again. The house is quiet, peaceful, just the way he likes it. Everything is in order.

And it will stay that way, Oscar vows to himself. He’ll make sure of it. Because you and Marcus are his. And nothing — no one — will ever come between you.

As the night wears on, Oscar finally closes his eyes, a small, satisfied smile on his lips. He’s won. And tomorrow, he’ll wake up and do it all over again, ensuring that every day you’re reminded of just how much you need him. How much you love him.

Because that’s what he’s always wanted: to have you, to keep you, to make sure you’re his forever.

And in this house, behind these locked doors, he knows that’s exactly what you’ll be.

***

Oscar’s been planning this moment for weeks, every detail carefully mapped out in his mind. The proposal has to be perfect, not too over-the-top, but intimate, something that will make you feel loved and cherished. He needs to make sure you say yes — though, in his heart, he already knows what your answer will be.

It’s a quiet evening, the kind you’ve come to expect from your life with Oscar. Marcus is finally asleep after a long day, and you’re sitting on the couch, your legs curled up underneath you, reading a book. Oscar watches you from the kitchen, leaning against the counter, a glass of wine in his hand. You look peaceful, content, and it fills him with an overwhelming sense of satisfaction.

He walks over to you, setting his glass down on the coffee table before sitting beside you. You look up, smiling, and he returns it, but there’s something more in his eyes tonight — an intensity that you’ve seen before, though it’s hard to place exactly when.

“What’s on your mind?" You ask, setting your book aside.

Oscar takes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You,” he says simply, his voice soft but firm.

You tilt your head slightly, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Me? What about me?”

He shifts closer, his free hand moving to cup your cheek, his gaze never leaving yours. “I’ve been thinking,” he starts, his tone low, “about how lucky I am to have you in my life. How much you mean to me, to Marcus. And how I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Your breath catches, your eyes widening slightly as his words sink in. He watches the realization dawn on you, and it only fuels his resolve.

“Oscar …” you start, but he gently presses a finger to your lips, silencing you.

“Let me finish,” he says, and you nod, your heart pounding in your chest.

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box, and your eyes flicker to it, widening even more. He watches your reaction closely, gauging every emotion that flits across your face.

“I want to make sure that you know just how much I love you,” he continues, opening the box to reveal a simple yet elegant diamond ring. “I want to give you my name, to make you mine in every possible way.”

Your eyes are locked on the ring, your hand trembling slightly in his grasp. “Oscar, I-”

Before you can finish your sentence, Oscar slips off the couch and onto one knee in front of you, holding the ring up to you, his eyes filled with a sincerity that makes your heart ache.

“Will you marry me?" He asks, his voice steady, though inside, his heart is racing.

For a moment, there’s silence — a heartbeat of hesitation that Oscar hadn’t anticipated. But then, your eyes meet his, and he sees the answer in them before you even say the words.

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, Oscar, I’ll marry you.”

The smile that breaks across his face is one of triumph, of victory. He slips the ring onto your finger, the diamond catching the light, sparkling as brightly as the tears in your eyes. Oscar rises to his feet, pulling you into his arms, holding you close, feeling the way your body fits perfectly against his.

“I love you,” he whispers into your hair, his hands trailing down your back, memorizing every curve, every inch of you.

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice choked with emotion, your arms tightening around him.

Oscar pulls back slightly, just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that have spilled over. He leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss, one that seals the promise you’ve just made to each other.

As he pulls away, resting his forehead against yours, Oscar can’t help but imagine the future he’s been dreaming of — the future he’s been working toward all this time. A wedding, a family, a life together that no one can touch or take away from him.

He envisions you walking down the aisle, your dress flowing around you like a dream, your hand resting protectively over a small bump. His second child. Another piece of him that will forever bind you to him. The thought sends a thrill through him, and he can’t wait to set the next part of his plan in motion.

But for now, he’s content to hold you close, to bask in the glow of your acceptance, your trust, your love. Because soon, you’ll be his in every way that matters, and nothing will ever come between you again.

As you settle back into the couch, your head resting on his shoulder, Oscar’s mind races with possibilities, with the steps he’ll take to ensure that this future — his future with you — will be everything he’s ever dreamed of. He places a hand over your stomach, just imagining the bump that will soo. grow there again, and a smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

He can almost see it now — the two of you, standing at the altar, and when you look at him, you’ll have that same loving expression you’re wearing right now. But there will be more — something deeper, something that binds you together in a way that no one can break.

And when you say “I do,” Oscar knows that it will be forever.

Because he’s planned it that way.

And Oscar always gets what he wants.

[tnt-kokoo]

Siblings talk

Part two of the chigiri series

paring: Chigiri Hyoma × fem!reader

summary: A girl with a fear of boys is new to the school and her class. As Chigiri sees her he falls head over heels inlove with her but doesn't know just yet the reason for her fear, as well as y/n not knowing the 'pretty girl' she was talking to was actually a boy.

warnings:

masterlist part one ; part three

After school Chigiri could only watch as you keep talking to the girls and completely ignore the guys and even go as far as to walk away (respectfully). He then couldn't help but think about the fact that he lied to you about being a girl. If some people from class tell you the truth, he would not ONLY be called a liar but also a pervert for making you think he was a girl.

Who knows what people will think about, hearing he lied about that.

But what was the red head gonna do now?? It seemed like no one even muttered a word to you about his secret yet but he couldn't keep this up for so long now, could he?

He needed someone's advice and he knew just the right person.

____________________________________________

Opening the front door quickly, he took his shoes of and ran upstairs towards the door he knew all to well (from the outside, he wasn't allowed to enter the room).

Bargening into the room his eyes searched for the only person who was able to help him,

his sister.

"I NEED YOUR HEL-"

"Get out." She said before Hyoma could even finish his sentence.

Without thinking he closed the door right after and went back onside like it was in his muscle memory.

He realized what he did and opened the door again and this time without the intention to get out again without the assistance of his sister.

"Didn't I just tell you, to get put? Don't make me repeat it again, Hyo." She said in a sassy way. That's what makes the two so similar.

"Please.. I've made a big mistake and I NEED your help." Hyoma said in a pleading voice. His sister looked at him for a second thinking whether to help or not. But she decided for the first option.

"What happened." She asked after noticing the younger seemed to still be fidgeting and anxious.

____________________________________________

"So let me get it straight. You fell inlove, she thought you were a girl and then instead of correcting her you agreed?"

"Yea"

....

The older sister started laughing while the red haired boy couldn't help but be embarrassed.

"STOP LAUGHING"

"I am sorry, but it's just so funny seeing you not correct someone on missgendering you, little brother..." She started and her laughing got quieter until she continued on a more serious tone, "But it's kind of sad if I am honest. I mean she must has a reason why she is avoiding guys and while you're making her think you're a girl, she could get seriously hurt or afraid of you when she realizes you aren't a girl."

With a sigh Hyoma knew he had to tell you the truth even if you would avoid him.

With that new idea he went in his own room to do his homework since it's late now. Walking through the door of his own room now, he could see the darkness from outside the window and with that he sat down on his chair and started his school stuff.

Halfway through he got a message from an unknown number.

'Who-'

Unknown

'Hey Chi, it's me Y/n'

'I got your number from a classmate'

'Wanted to ask if you wanna show me around after school tomorrow??'

Seeing you use a nickname on him made his heart swell and texting back he didn't even seem to remember what he promised himself. He quickly changed your name and texted you back.

Chigiri

'Sure y/n'

'Any special places you wanna go to?'

Y/n

'hmmm'

'how about the beach side of Kagoshima?'

Chigiri

'sounds like a plan then, n/n' *deleted*

'sounds like a plan then'

The boy smiled at his phone as the girl he liked texted him a good night.

That night he went to sleep with a smile on his face.

____________________________________________

ᯓᝰ: Okokkk part two is doneee and I also searched everywhere where ethe blue lock boys are from and I saw a reddit post saying he was from Kagoshima 😭😭 I hope it's true

also I didn't check for mistakes, sorry

[galvanizedfriend]

Klaroline WIP Wednesday

This is my humble contribution to this wip Weds! It's a tiny little snippert from the next chapter of Speed Dating, which has been sitting untouched for way too long. Genuinely hoping this might give me the will to keep going because I am this 🤏 close to the finish line (before editing starts and the finish line gets away from me again but shhhh, we're not going there yet).

--

She doesn't see Elijah again for the next two days. Whatever he's in town for, he either glides around the apartment like a ghost or their schedules are totally at odds. If not for the extravagantly fancy woolen overcoat by the door and what she has quickly learned is a very particular brand of moodiness for Klaus, she would've thought he'd already left.

It's probably for the best, considering the horror of that first meeting, but curiosity is an unscratchable itch. Elijah has intrigued her for years, more so than any of Klaus’ other siblings. Putting a face - well, a little more than a face, really - to the person is a given, but she can't help the desire to dig deeper. It’s in her nature to be nosy. About him, about Klaus, about the whole family. 

Despite the fact she's lived with one and been friends with another for years, the Mikaelsons remain a mystery to her. The more she knows, the more confusing it gets. Nothing about them seems to make much sense, and Caroline hasn't even decided if that's a super-rich, children of the 1% thing, or if the Mikaelsons are especially wacky even among their peers.

After two days, though, she's just about lost hope of bumping into Elijah again. She doubts he'll be staying for much longer, especially with Klaus' cordial show of hospitality. Not that Elijah seemed bothered - being rude to siblings for no apparent reason seems to be one of those things that are normal by Mikaelson standard. It's just how they operate.

She's just back from a shift at the hospital, idly scrolling through her Instagram while she waits for the microwave to deliver her sad leftover dinner. Bitterly, she realizes it has been months since she last updated her feed. Her last photo is with Tyler, for crying out loud. Should she even keep it there? What's the etiquette for when you break up with someone for no earth-shattering reasons, the relationship just fizzling out and running its course? Is it rude to delete all evidence of him from her social media records? Is it expected? Will he be upset? Has he deleted her from his social media? 

In fact, now that she thinks about it... Is Tyler even seeing anyone?

"Huh," she mumbles to herself, fully internalizing in that second how truly messy her life has become that she hasn't even cyber-stalked her ex to know what he's been up to since they broke up. That's a whole new level of rock bottom unlocked, right there.

"Miss Forbes?"

Caroline nearly drops her phone when she looks up to find Elijah standing by the kitchen door. She swears to God the man is unnaturally feline; she didn't even hear him approach.

Unlike in their first encounter, he's now fully clothed and, unsurprisingly, he looks just as good as he did without a stitch on. Maybe better. His suit looks as though it was sewn directly onto his body by an Italian master tailor. The range of that man.

"Hey!" She cringes at her high pitch, standing up straight. 

His smile is affable as he steps further into the kitchen. "Do I interrupt?"

"What? No. I was just scrolling."

Caroline feels suddenly very self-conscious of just how crazy frumpy she must look standing in front of Elijah. The man is a poster boy for wellness and prosperity, while she is... Well. Not.

Suffice to say she's wearing a Timberwolves t-shirt from her long-gone cheerleading days in high school with at least five visible holes on it.

"I've been meaning to apologize for that horrid incident the other day," he starts. Caroline wouldn’t have brought the incident up, assuming he would rather forget it ever happened, but if it causes him any measure of discomfort to have been butt naked in front of a complete stranger, he does not show, which - now that she thinks about, is something else that feels very Mikaelson-esque. They do all seem to be incredibly comfy in their own skins. "Niklaus warned me that you would be home soon, but my despair for a proper shower was stronger than caution. I should've been more careful."

"You don't have to apologize. It's fine. It was nothing." That would've been a good place to stop. A very mature and dignified let's leave it at that and never mention it again. But her stupid mouth just keeps going. "I see naked people all the time at the hospital. It's totally unremarkable." Elijah's eyebrows inch upwards into a mildly curious expression. "I don't mean that you are unremarkable!" she corrects, and then, getting immediately horrified at the implications, adds, "You're not - I mean, you're ok, you're - obviously. Not that I was looking, I wasn’t - I just mean - You know what? I'm just gonna shut up now." She snaps her lips sealed, half-wishing that a hole would open underneath her feet and suck her into the magma of the earth.

[aaronstveit]

i would loooove to hear more of your director's commentary about deep end! <3 not sure how much you can say without spoiling but did you make a lot of changes from the original draft? and are there any scene that didn't make it into the final fic? thank youuu <3

omg hi anon this question made my entire day <3333 gonna answer beneath a read more as always because when talking about deep end i am this trc meme

okay so firstly! i wrote deep end 3 times. the original draft had a final wordcount of 126,978 words. the middle draft had a final wordcount of 175,065 words. the final draft's wordcount is not finalized yet because i am still editing & still adding one scene to the epilogue, but obviously we've already surpassed the first draft's wordcount, so that's fun.

as you can see, about 50k words were added in the middle draft! there are a lot of reasons for this. chapters 8 & 9, as well as about half of chapter 10, did not exist in the original draft. i added them during rewriting because i felt we hadn't spent enough time with enjolras & cosette.

combeferre and éponine were almost nonexistent in the original draft. not just as a couple, but individually as well. every single grantaire & éponine scene was added in the middle draft, and most of enjolras & combeferre's scenes as well.

i actually didn't cut any full scenes out! there were quite a few though where i started writing a scene, realized it was wrong, and erased what i had written and started over. for instance, this bit in chapter 18:

in the original draft, i tried writing enjolras turning to grantaire at this point and saying, "I think I'm in love with you," before cosette answered the door. obviously, i ended up deciding against this, mostly because i decided the kiss scene would pack more of a punch if enjolras realizes he's in love with grantaire right when he's in the middle of their argument.

i also deleted soooooooooo many arguments. this is probably surprising considering how often they argue in this fic, but at least once a chapter i really had to stop myself and say, okay no this is getting unhealthy. i enjoy writing arguments too much apparently - which is good for writing exr, but only to a certain extent.

originally, grantaire was not going to have a sister. it genuinely did not even occur to me until chapter 11 (which was chapter 8 at the time), but once it did occur to me, i couldn't not do it. his grief plotline became way too dear to me way too quickly.

the biggest changes i made during writing all had to do with reordering events!! originally, karaoke happened somewhere around chapter 8. i ended up moving it wayyyyyyyyy back because i felt like their flirting was out of place so early in the story.

i also moved enjolras' arguments with cosette and grantaire to an earlier point than i originally intended. at first, i thought they were going to happen around the second-to-last chapter, but i moved them forward a lot earlier because i thought more work needed to be done with enjolras.

the chapter that underwent the most changes from the middle draft to the finished draft is chapter 24. obviously i can't say just yet what those changes are, but i'm really really happy with how that chapter turned out and i hope you all will be as well <3

several of my personal favorite scenes in this fic are actually cannibalized from something i tried writing and gave up on a few months ago. marius getting mugged in chapter 4, the hamlet conversation in chapter 7, and enjolras tending to grantaire's broken nose in chapter 14 were all taken from the same abandoned wip.

as for some more random tidbits that i find fun:

a fun fact for everyone is that cosette did not pull the phrase "who has a flag where he should have a heart" out of thin air! she takes this from courfeyrac in chapter 13:

which is why courfeyrac winces when enjolras says it in chapter 19:

also in chapter 19, enjolras means to say that Train to Busan is his favorite horror movie ending. i didn't just choose that because i love that movie (although i really really do) but because. well. i'm not going to spoil the ending for you if you haven't seen it, but... it was very deliberate is all i'm saying.

i really cannot overstate how much of this fic only exists because of cossette notebookmusical. for starters, i only even attempted writing it because she said "jamie if you don't write this." she also got to spend months listening to me bitch about it and receiving so many horrible snippets from the original draft so coco, if you're reading this, thank you from the very bottom of my heart 🫶🏻

more specifically, the entire beginning sequence of chapter 17 with grantaire staying the night at enjolras' apartment was inspired by cossette! i was asking her for situations to put the blond man in and one of her ideas was that he loses his keys. so everyone say thank you cossette!

also the bit in chapter 19 where enjolras thinks about combeferre a psychology minor is the worst thing to ever happen to you was added after i said something to cossette and she said something along the lines of, "would you like to elaborate on that?"

the ending bit of chapter 23 is also inspired by and written for cossette. you'll see what i mean in a few weeks.

there are a lot more bits and pieces inspired by things that cossette has said and done, or added just to make her laugh, but if i listed all of them i would be here forever. just know that this entire fic is cocoservice and it is only because of cossette that it exists at all <333333

there is also a collection of scenes i'm considering writing as "bonus content" for when the fic is fully posted - mostly scenes that already exist, but from another point of view, and a few that are only mentioned in passing.

okay i'm cutting myself off now because this is a lot of yapping even for me but you may always ask more if you're so inclined <3333 thank you sm for asking i had so much fun answering this! i really can't tell you how much it means to me not only that you're not only reading but also enjoying it so much that you're asking about it like... this is literally a fic writer's DREAM. thank you so so so much <3333

[littlecatfishgoddess]

Your last post, about edging and sending, is so fucking evil. You probably don't even have a clue. That happened to me with another Domme. I thought it was just a fun way of combining gooning and financial domination. It was so much worse. It nearly ruined my life. The denial kept me wired constantly. Could only sleep for an hour or two at a time, before I would wake up horny and confused. I would hold off and tell myself not to send today. But the arousal would keep building. Then I would suddenly see something that triggered me and I say to myself "I'll just send $1 a bunch of times. Just keep sending till I reach the edge." Of course, after stopped, I was even more insanely horny and desperate than before. And much more likely to do it again a few minutes later.

Gradually it started feeling lame, but by that time I already spend a few 100s and I did not want to cum and quit. I was "invested" in it. However, the edges were hard to get and less satisfying than ever.

I started sending $5 sends instead. That made it more intense. I'd send 6-7 times and get to the edge that way. But one time I accidentally double tapped and typed $55.

Instead of deleting the extra digit, I froze. Something in my head told me: "Fuck! If I sent $55 that would be so FUCKING INTENSE!". I was still stroking while thinking this and that didn't give me time to think clearly. At that point, either I would stop or press the the "pay" button. Fuck CA, I hate that app. Ruined my life.

I hit pay.

A flood of adrenaline hit me like a brick wall. I was sweating, heartbeat fast like crazy, couldn't breath. What the fuck did I do? I payed $55 just to stroke my cock a couple of times. Fucking idiot.

I literally threw my phone away from me. I was pissed at myself. What a fucking waste of money!

But my cock was throbbing so hard. Instant edge. Had to stop in fact, but it was like I stayed on the edge for a good ten minutes after, without touching.

Looking back it was such a rush. I don't think anything could beat that. Except there was something that could.

I forced myself to get up and do other things and clear my head. Swore never to do any of that shit again. Domme shrugged and told me to go ahead and take a break.

Jerked off like a maniac and came 9 times in 2 days. I thought that was the end of it.

Next week, I was back. Same rules. No touching unless I am actively sending. No orgasms only edging. She said "you will be a mindless ATM". I actually thought that was hot. Fucking moron!!

I thought this time I'd be more careful. Keep the sends small. Be cool. Just a hot way to make the edge more intense. Wasn't working though. I mean it worked just enough to keep me hooked, but not enough to give me any lasting satisfaction.

I would start with $5 sends. Between typing the numbers, choosing the recepient, pressing pay (fuck the shape of that pay button is still branded in my mind's eye), hit confirm a bunch of times, I could stroke for maybe 10 seconds before it was time to stop... or send again.

Of course I needed to do it again. After the third or fourth time, things would start get going. By going I mean, the voice in my head would start saying: "double it, it will make it so much more intense! Do it, I dare you!" I would try to argue, resist, but then something else would happen. I'd started spacing out.

Probably because of sleep deprivation, or all the hypno stuff I watched for years, I started getting in the habit of basicaly trancing out. Fuck, I wasn't even looking at porn. It was just an app with numbers, and I was jerking off to it while my mind would go blank. I would quickly turn into a fucking zombie. And soon I'd send $10 a couple of times. Instant rush, but not enough to get to the edge. Then I'd send $20. I could not stop myself. I had to continue and gradually send more until I reached the edge. I tried to stop before I reach the edge a few times, but it did nothing for me. Worst than nothing, it was like I wasted the opportunity and money for no reason. No, I HAD to get to the edge.

Long story short. I ended up with a routine. Wake up in the middle of the night. Start stroking and sending $5 dollars. Then start doubling till I reached an edge. Each edge would end up costing me $400 to $1000. I would edge fall asleep. Wake up an hour later, do it again. 3-4 times a night and more during the day. And the "sessions" would only take a minute or two. It was fucked. I was fucked. I was so so fucked. I still am. I am so fucking triggered right now just writing this. I want to do it again. But I am broke and that's the only thing keeping me from relapsing. I have to cum 3-4 times a day just to keep myself from spiraling. Lost over 30K I think and I hate myself. This fucking ruined my life. I will NEVER be able to have normal sex. I will always crave to chase that thrill. Nothing else comes even close. It's like jerking off at the edge of a cliff with a gun pointed at my head. Gooning is a joke compared to the massive dopamine hit I got from this. This shit should be illegal.

You probably won't post this, but you should go fuck yourself for posting about this stuff. I pray to god nobody else ever tries it.

lol... that's hot.

Anyway: Send

[rockitmans]

Blaine Anderson Vs. Valentine's Day (4/14)

Summary: Blaine drunk posts on his Instagram asking for a date for Valentine's Day. He gets one.

Notes: Written for the @klaineccfanficlibrary Valentine Challenge. Today's song is I'll Never Not Love You by Michael Bublé

Be sure to also check out the collection on AO3 and Stick Season by @blurglesmurfklaine I'm finding it so fun to write as part of a community event. Seeing other people post theirs really keeps me on track. And all the lovely comments of course!

Read on AO3 or below

~~~~~~

He can't just leave it like that. Hi. What was he thinking? He quickly taps out a follow up without letting himself doubt it too hard. 

Blaine: Bold tactic to assume that poem would get my attention and not just end up being deleted

He immediately throws his phone face down on his bed and paces around the room several times, trying to breathe. He can do this. He can talk to other humans. Even ridiculously gorgeous ones that for some reason seem interested in him. 

Barely a minute passes before his phone chimes and he tries to tell himself to be chill and not answer straight away but the anticipation is killing him. He grabs his phone. 

Kurt: And yet here you are. Interesting. 

God. He actually answered. And he's so cool . It's going to take him less than thirty seconds to realise how lame Blaine is. Blaine doesn't have game. He doesn't usually even realise when people are into him. He's fallen into every relationship he's had so far fully because the other person has spelled it out to him. 

This was clearly a mistake. A horny error in judgement. He's half tempted to just delete the app right now and pretend this never happened. The Philippines is nice this time of year.  

But then his phone chimes again and Blaine grins stupidly as he reads the message. 

Kurt: It was a gamble. I'm happy it paid off. 

Blaine: Well. It was helped by the fact that I am very interested in these claims that you can pick me up. 

Kurt: Oh no. That was my roommate's suggestion. She's going to be insufferable now. 

Blaine: Your secret's safe with me

Kurt: Thanks. But she's also much cooler than me if I'm being honest. I may prove to be a disappointment. Flirting with strangers on the internet is all fun and games until they actually reply 😅

Blaine blinks. He hadn't thought about it that hard, but if he had, he would have assumed that this was going to turn into sexting, getting off, and then mutually agreeing to never speak of it again. Or at least he assumes that's the way this sort of thing goes. He doesn't really know. 

But maybe that isn't what this is. Interesting.

Blaine: And do you make a habit of flirting with strangers on the internet?

Kurt: I want to be really smooth and be like 'only the cute ones 😉' but fuck it. No I don't usually. I'm like an honest to God Broadway romantic. I need at least dinner before I can consider getting my dick out. 

Kurt: And I realise a simple no would have sufficed 

Blaine huffs out a laugh. Okay. Definitely not sexting then. He's kind of relieved. It would have just been a way to let off steam after the emotional bomb that was Sebastian's betrayal. He hasn't really had time to sort out his feelings about Sebastian yet. Sam's solution to the problem was to get him spectacularly drunk and there's been little time for introspection since then. And that's mostly been on purpose.

He knows if he starts to think about it, it will bring every scrap of his hard earned self worth under a magnifying glass. He'll sort through all his insecurities for the reasons why Sebastian might have cheated and probably invent some new ones just for fun. He doesn't want to be terrified to love again. He doesn't want to lose his ability to love quickly and generously and all in. He doesn't want this to break him. 

And right now that means chatting to a cute guy that doesn't want to just get off with him. And regardless of anything else, it will be a funny story to tell Tina later. 

Blaine: Ah yes that well known Broadway hit, "Dinner for dick." We all know it

Kurt: Say what you like about Barrett Wilbert Weed but she smashed that one

Kurt: Listen you don't have to keep talking to me. I understand my mouth was putting out checks that my ass can't cash. Literally. 

Blaine: I want to keep talking to you. A gorgeous guy that's into Broadway and fashion? Maybe that wish journal I kept when I was thirteen really did have magical powers after all

Blaine: Although I'm still not a superhero so perhaps not 

Kurt: I never had a wish journal but I did have a hope chest. I cut up magazine pictures to compile my perfect man and it obviously looked outlandish and not like you at all

Kurt: But I am pretty sure I made my perfect man a musician 

Blaine: Well thank God I have that going for me at least

Kurt: You have a lot more going for you than that

Blaine: And I thought you said you didn't flirt with strangers on the internet 😉

Kurt: You're right

Blaine gets a jolt in his stomach, terrified that Kurt is about to promise to cut out the flirting or even stop talking to him all together. But then the next message comes through.

Kurt: Maybe we should become not-strangers so I can flirt with you without fear 

Blaine bites his lip against a smile, feeling the flush creep all the way to his ears. Who even is this guy?

Hopefully he's going to find out. 

Blaine: Sounds perfect 

[crockettmarcel]

thank you to my beloved @terramous for helping me with this !! I literally couldn't have finished it without you <3

wc: 3498 warnings: alcohol, roofie, emetophobia (brief)

also available on ao3

Crockett rubs his eyes as he looks down at the screen in front of him. He’s been working on this essay for almost six hours today, and he’s not even halfway to the word count. Every paragraph he writes gets deleted less than a minute later, and at this point, he’s convinced he doesn’t even know how to string a sentence together anymore. 

He glances down at the clock in the bottom corner of his laptop screen. 01:02. His whole body aches from exhaustion, and if it weren’t for the fact that this essay is due at nine a.m. today, he’d have been in bed over three hours ago. The way it’s going though, he can only see himself finishing it if he pulls an all-nighter.

There’s a bag of coffee beans in one of his desk drawers — Robusta espresso beans, Sarah had emphasised when she gave them to him — and for the first time, they actually sound appealing. Most of the time, Sarah’s caffeine addiction concerns him, but not tonight. He leans down and pulls the drawer open. The beans are sitting in a ziplock bag on top of a stack of notebooks he has yet to make use of, and when he lifts them out, he quickly reads the instructions written in thick black marker on the front of the bag. 

5x every hour to stay up all night! enjoy :•) 

Sarah’s handwriting is small and neat, almost font-like, and he admires it as he pulls the bag open and grabs a couple of beans. They don’t smell particularly strong, and he pops them in his mouth before he can change his mind. Just as expected, they’re bitter, worse than the singular cup of black coffee he tried at Nat’s insistence way back in freshman year, and he has to resist the urge to spit them out. He’s happy with his mocha frappuccinos, or preferably, a can of Red Bull. Bitter coffee beans aren’t ideal, but needs must.

He finishes chewing and swallows, then grabs the half-empty water bottle from his desk and chugs it, desperate to get the taste out of his mouth. Sarah didn’t specify if you had to eat all five beans in one sitting, or if it was five over the course of an hour, and he hopes it’s the latter. He’s not sure if he can cope with another three right now. 

The bright white of his near-empty Word document stares defiantly at him, and he takes a moment to consider whether he can hand in the worst essay he’s ever written and still pass this class. He thinks so. After popping a piece of gum in his mouth and taking one last sip of water, he starts typing again. 

The vibration of his phone is all the distraction he needs after 35 badly written words. For a second, he considers ignoring it, but when he looks over to see who’s calling, he decides the essay can wait. Sarah Reese, the screen reads, and something in his gut tells him he needs to answer.

Buzzing with his own newfound and potentially caffeine-related anxiety, Crockett presses the green answer button and quickly presses the phone to his ear. 

“Reese?”

“You’re not Nat.” The voice on the other end is almost giddy with barely contained laughter, but definitely Sarah. Crockett can’t think of the last time he’s seen her crack a smile, let alone laugh through gritted teeth on a midnight phone call. “Who is this?”

“Sarah, it’s Crockett. Did you mean to ring me?” 

“I tried everyone else,” Sarah trails off, taking her words with her. “I thought maybe Nat would answer. You’re not here.”

He frowns and clears his throat. “I am, I’m right here, Sarah. What do you need?” 

“There’s something-” A giggle. “There’s something really wrong with me.”

That piques Crockett’s interest, immediately pulling him worlds away from his current studying session. He’s absolutely not finishing this essay in time. “What do you mean?” 

“You were pre-med, right?”

“Yeah, for like two weeks three years ago,” he says. “What’s going on?” 

“I can’t walk right.” 

“What do you mean?” Crockett repeats. He feels like he’s getting nowhere with this conversation, and as much as he wants to help Sarah, he’s not sure how, when she won’t give him a coherent answer to anything he asks her.

“Like, my feet won’t work.” 

“Is it numbness or a prickling feeling?” Crockett asks, pulling from the small amount of medical knowledge he’s gained from binge-watching all of Grey’s Anatomy. Two weeks of pre-med did almost nothing for him.

Another giggle. “Numbness.” 

“How much have you had to drink?” 

“Two screwdrivers.” 

Crockett wracks his brain. Orange juice and vodka. Even considering the liquor, two drinks wouldn’t have been enough to get Sarah this drunk, especially not to the point where she couldn’t walk properly. 

“Reese,” he says. “Sarah, are you sure that’s all you had to drink?” 

“Mmhmm,” Sarah hums. Crockett can hear the sound of what he assumes is a party in the background of the call. 

“Do you need a ride home?” He asks.

“I- I think there’s something wrong with me,” Sarah says again, ignoring his question. 

“Is there someone you can stay with until I get there?” 

“Mm,” a pause, “I don’t think so. I called- I called everyone. No one answered.” 

“Okay,” Crockett grabs his keys, his phone still pressed to his ear. “Sarah, can you tell me more about what’s going on? Where are you?” 

There’s the noise of something smashing in the background of the call, a glass, or maybe a window? “Oh, fuck,” Sarah says.

“Fuck?” Crockett echoes, putting on a hoodie. “What happened?” 

“That looked like a really expensive vase.”

“Are you hurt?” 

“No.”

“That’s good. Where are you?” he tries again. 

“The party. I don’t know… I don’t know where. Ava drove us. Her friend’s party.” 

Crockett presses his phone to his ear with his shoulder while he pulls on his sneakers. “Her sorority friend?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” He finishes lacing up his shoes, then stands, quickly saves his poor attempt at an essay, and then grabs his water bottle. “I know where that is. I’ll be there soon, yeah? Just stay somewhere safe, please. Try and find a bathroom or something.”

“Are you going to hang up now?” Sarah asks, her voice small and shaky. It’s a stark contrast to the giddy and giggling Sarah he’d been talking to minutes earlier. 

“Not if you don’t want me to,” Crockett promises. Regardless of Sarah’s opinion, he doesn’t feel comfortable hanging up the call. At least like this, he can monitor Sarah’s condition. 

He leaves his room, stopping briefly in the kitchen to fill his bottle up for Sarah, and all the while, he keeps talking to her, asking her whatever questions he can think of. When he gets to his car, he puts the phone on speaker and lets Sarah’s voice fill the small space. She’s not making much sense, but as long as she’s still talking, he can ignore the anxiety gnawing at his stomach.

There’s almost no traffic on the drive to the sorority house, and he makes it there in just under fifteen minutes. Sarah speaks to him the whole time, and when he finally pulls up outside the house, he has a good enough idea of where she is. A pink bathroom, upstairs I think, she’d said. I can see the backyard. There are fairy lights in the trees.

“I’m outside now, okay?” He tells her. “It’s going to be loud inside, so I don’t know if I’ll be able to hear you, but I’m not hanging up. I’m just going to put my phone in my pocket for a bit.”

“I’m in the bathroom.”

“I know, Sarah. I’ll be there in a minute. Just hang on.”

He marches up the garden path and inside the house, pushing through crowds of drunk college students painfully unaware of their surroundings, and just as he reaches the bottom of the stairs, someone taps him on the shoulder. 

“Crockett?”

He turns to see Ava standing in front of him, brows furrowed in a deep frown, and clutching a red cup like her life depends on it. 

“What are you doing here? I thought you had to study.” She has to shout to be heard over the music, and she’s slurring her words a little. Not the way Sarah was though, so Crockett guesses she’s okay.

“I’m looking for Sarah. Have you seen her?”

She shrugs. “Not since we got here. There was some guy hitting on her though, so I don’t know. Maybe she went to get laid.”

Crockett swears under his breath. “Okay, whatever, thanks.” He starts up the stairs, then turns back around to get Ava’s attention again. “Turn your fucking phone on.”

Part of him hopes she’ll follow him upstairs, but when he looks back from the top, she’s lost somewhere in the crowd. If he’s being realistic, she’s most likely refilling her drink somewhere, or hitting on an unsuspecting sorority girl with a name like MaKaylynn.

There are three bathrooms on this floor, and he tries them all with no luck. He finds nothing in the first one, and after what he witnessed in the second one, he wishes it had been empty too. Or that people knew how to lock a door. The third one was more promising — two girls comforting their crying friend, who then all offered to help him find Sarah — but he politely declined. This would be easier if he wasn’t dragging three drunk girls around with him.

It’s quieter up here than downstairs, so once he’s left the girls and their friend behind, he takes a moment to check his phone. His stomach drops when he sees that the call has ended, and when he tries to call Sarah back, there’s no answer. He should have got here faster.

He rushes up the next flight of stairs, and after once again being greeted by nothing but beer-soaked tiles in the first bathroom he gets to, he twists the doorknob of the second one, only to be met with resistance when he tries to push the door open. He looks down and there’s a black Converse blocking the door. Even in the dim lighting, he can make out scribbles on the rubber toe — planets and stars and a tiny, scarily realistic frog — but he doesn’t let himself relax just yet.

“Reese?” He asks carefully. The shoe moves back. 

“Kett,” Sarah slurs. 

Bingo.

He pushes the door open to reveal Sarah sitting on the tiled floor, crammed between the toilet and the bathtub. Her knees are pulled up to her chin and her mascara runs in dark trails down her face. 

“How are you doing?” he asks, slipping into the small room.

“Everything’s spinning,” Sarah mumbles, pressing her forehead to the lid of the toilet, her flushed skin bright against the porcelain. Her hair is up in two little buns on the top of her head, but they’re starting to come undone, revealing the blue streaks hidden inside. That was Ava’s doing, if Crockett recalls correctly, and involved a lot of alcohol and ruined clothes. “I think I just want to sleep here, please.” 

“Not an option. I’ve come to take you home.” He extends a hand with his water bottle to Sarah and she takes it eagerly, popping the top and taking a sip. 

“Thanks,” she says.

“Do you think you can stand?” 

Sarah shakes her head, and her buns bounce slightly. There’s vomit on her black tank top, and her knees poke through the holes in her jeans. She must have been cold getting here. Frilled black socks peek over the tops of her Converse, and when she’s had most of the water, she hands the bottle back to Crockett and pulls at the frills. “No, I can’t.”

Crockett nods. “Can you tell me what you’re feeling?”

Sarah swishes the words around her mouth, feeling their weight and shape. “Feet are numb, hands too.”

She keeps playing with the frills of her socks, and Crockett watches the way she stares at her hands, as if they’re not quite part of her. Her eyelids are half-shut, and there are curls plastered to her forehead with sweat. The rest of her exposed skin is covered with a light sheen of it. He needs to get her out of here.

It’s not easy, but he somehow manages to help Sarah to her feet, only for her knees to immediately buckle and send her faceplanting into his chest. He instinctively wraps his arms around her to hold her up. 

“Whoa,” Sarah gasps, her hands fisting in the material of Crockett’s hoodie. 

“You okay?” Crockett asks. 

Sarah pulls her head back to look up at Crockett, her eyes wide. “I really don’t feel good.”

“I know, I know. I’m going to get you home now, okay? Just hold onto me.” He helps her move so that she’s walking almost fully supported by him, and just before they leave the room, he glances over his shoulder to look out the window. Sure enough, there are fairy lights on the trees outside, just like Sarah had said.

They manage to get all the way downstairs without incident, albeit slowly, but when they get to the foyer, Sarah asks if they can stop. She’s leaning more heavily on Crockett by this point, and her face is an even scarier shade of white than when he found her. 

“We’re almost at the car now, I promise. Just out the door and then a little down the sidewalk.”

She mumbles something that Crockett doesn’t quite catch, then pulls away from him to throw up on a nearby plant. She manages to avoid getting it on herself this time, and as much as Crockett is relieved, he can’t help but feel bad for whoever will have to clean it up. 

At least it won’t get in his car.

“I think I’m good now.” She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, then tries her best to get back to him. She’s falling over her own feet without his support, so he quickly reaches out an arm for her to take. “Thank you.”

“Did you have a jacket or anything?” He asks once they’re moving again. She shakes her head. “Okay, hold on.”

They stop again, this time right by the front door, and he carefully helps her sit down on a windowsill. “It’s cold out, y’know,” he says, pulling his hoodie over his head. She needs this more than he does; he can cope in just a t-shirt.

She gets it on without any help from Crockett, and just as they’re about to start moving again, a voice from behind catches Crockett’s attention.

“Kett! You found her?”

It’s Ava again, and this time, it’s his turn to frown. 

“Yeah, no thanks to you.”

“God, sorry.” She peers down at Sarah. “She looks like shit.”

“Of course she does. Someone put something in her drink.” His voice is harsh, and it catches Ava off-guard. 

“That’s not very nice,” Sarah mumbles. 

“Are you sure?” She tilts her head to one side as if to get a better look at Sarah, and when Crockett nods, she begins to chew nervously on her bottom lip.

“She’s had two drinks, Aves. This is not what two drinks do to a person.”

“I didn’t- I had no idea.”

“Of course you didn’t. Maybe if you’d answered your phone, you would have.”

She stutters out an attempt at a reply, but he simply ignores it and chooses to focus instead on getting Sarah up and walking again. When they get to the front door, he looks back to glare at Ava, then pulls it open and ushers Sarah out into the cold winter night. 

Just as he promised, it’s only a short walk to the car, and Sarah almost collapses onto the back seat. Crockett helps her with her seatbelt, and before long, they’re on the way back to the dorms. Sarah sits with her cheek pressed against the cool glass of the window, and she just watches as the lights of the city flash past them.

“You okay back there?” Crockett asks, looking at her through the rearview mirror. “I can take you to the emergency room if you want.”

“Mm. I just need my bed. I’ll be okay in bed.”

He frowns but accepts her decision. She seems okay, all things considered. “Fine, but I’m spending the night. I don’t want you choking on your own vomit.”

She smiles a little and nods. “Whatever you want, Kett.”

Neither of them speaks for the last part of the drive, but when they get to a red light that seemingly won’t change, Crockett takes the opportunity to put some music on. There’s an album Sarah made him save on Spotify, by a band he’s only vaguely heard of, and he finds it and puts it on shuffle for her.

“Lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off. Nice.”

“What?” He glances down at his phone. “Oh. The song.”

For the next few minutes, they listen to Sarah’s music — Panic! At The Disco, Crockett’s phone tells him — until they finally pull up outside their dorm. Crockett turns the music off, much to Sarah’s dismay, and then they once again begin the process of trying to get her to walk without falling over. Fortunately, there’s an elevator in the building, so they don’t have to even think about attempting four flights of stairs together. Sarah sits on the floor the whole way up, with her legs spread out in front of her. As they near the fifth floor, Sarah starts taking her buns out, and by the time the door opens, her curls once again frame her face, and she’s holding a handful of hair ties and bobby pins.

They live in the same apartment, so it’s only the key to her room that they have to worry about. It’s in one of her jeans pockets, and when she eventually manages to get it out, she fumbles with it as she tries to put it in the lock. Her hand-eye coordination is limited, though, and when she finally gives in and lets Crockett do it, she simply tells him that her hands are still numb. 

“I want to sleep,” she says, leaving Crockett’s side to stumble over to her bed and lie down. “Bedtime.”

“Sarah, you can’t sleep in jeans, and there’s puke on your shirt. You need to change.”

She frowns. “Can you help? I can’t…” Her voice trails off, and she waves her hands at him. Numb.

“If you really want me to, yeah.”

He makes his way over to the bed, and they slowly begin the delicate task of undressing and re-dressing her, starting with her shoes, which he unlaces and sets down by the door, before moving onto his hoodie. He drapes it over the back of her desk chair, then asks if she needs help with her top or jeans. She nods yes, so he goes back to take over what her body won’t let her do. He unbuttons and unzips her jeans, but she’s able to wriggle them off on her own, and he puts them on the chair as well. The tank top slides off as well, instead of being pulled over her head, and Crockett tracks down her laundry hamper to place it inside. 

“Can you do your bra?” He feels weird even offering, but he knows she probably won’t want to sleep in it.

She shakes her head, then pulls herself upright. “I need a shirt. Lemme…” She reaches under her pillow and grabs a giant University of Chicago t-shirt. “Okay. No peeking.”

She turns slightly, then pulls the t-shirt on so it’s around her neck and waits for him to sit next to her. His fingers are careful and delicate, and he tries his best to make sure he’s only touching the bra itself. 

“I thought you got all the girls,” Sarah says, grinning. “Shouldn’t this be easy?”

“Shut up.” His voice has a playful tone to it, and Sarah laughs a little. “There.” 

Crockett’s not sure how she manages it, but she puts her arms through the sleeves of the t-shirt, then after a few seconds of adjusting and moving her arms around in ways he doesn’t really understand, she hands him the bra. He puts it on the chair with the other clothes.

“Do you want pants?”

“No pants. Just sleep. Need to sleep.”

She pulls the covers back and climbs underneath, then motions for Crockett to join her. “Shoes off, please.” 

“I don’t know about this, Reese.”

“Chill,” she says. “Nothing’s going to happen. Just sleep. Get in, unless you want the floor. It is not comfy.” She giggles a little. “Not comfy.”

He sighs, then gives in and unlaces his shoes.

[nemiepaezgavira]

Loving Your Everything

Chapter 1

"One can only look past someone's flaws for so long, and trust me on this, you'll soon grow tired of him too", I said, looking straight into my soon-to-be-married best friend's eyes.

Amanda rolled her eyes. "Not again with this this bullshit", I could see this was starting to get to her nerves. "You're my best friend, Mandy, and the last thing I want for you is to be trapped in a marriage where you WILL eventually lose interest and be miserably stuck in", I insisted. "Look, Kaden isn't like other guys, he's different", Amanda said, her eyes sparkling with love as she spoke about him. "You said the same for Wes, Bjorn, Norman, Sander and who else? Basically all your exes", I said, trying to make her see sense. It wasn't like I disliked Kaden, it was just thart i couldn't imagine Amanda being married to a guy she'd met, 8 months ago.

"Just stop looking at him like my fiance and look at him as your friend for a second. He's kind, loving, and is okay with every single one of my flaws. He's the one, I know it,so please trust me on this one, okay?"

I sighed. "You better not come to me after your fights though, I don't want to hear no stories about your 3 hour fights and what he said about your mother". "I won't", Amanda said, smiling ear to ear.

I so wanted to be happy for her. I knew what I was saying was hurting her, but I simply couldn't help it, and I cursed myself for it. Just because two messed up people in my life couldn't make their marriage function normally, didn't necessarily mean every other couple in the world was destined for the same. And with the wedding date drawing closer, the sooner I'd get it into my thick head, the better. 

"Hey! Watch it!!", Amanda shouted, pulling me out of my thoughts . I looked looked up from my smoothie to see a guy being chased down the street by a mob of girls. "Some Pop Star?", I asked, taking a sip. "Seems like it, look they ruined my outfit", Amanda groaned, showing me the coffee stained skirt. "I'll go to the washroom, wait for me and don't leave without me", She said, quickly getting up and rushing inside the cafe. "You're driving, so I haven't got much choice", I mumbled, pulling out my phone. There were 6 messages from my parents asking when I'd come home. I huffed. There was no way, I'd ever return to that hellhole.

I deleted them, just as another message popped up. "William", I groaned, opening the text to see a screenshot of a section of yet another fight he'd had with his girlfriend.

*you never learn, and this is on you, I'm not helping you anymore*

I angrily typed and hit send.

William was the first person I'd met in Spain, who wanted to be my friend from the get go, but it may have had something to do with me finding him knocked out by his girlfriend after a fight, behind the dumpster of the cafe where we worked.

*Babe, don't do this to me, not right now* He wrote back

*I don't care, I've told you to get over with that abusive psycho for weeks now"

*Fine, we'll see about it later, but can you please come over? My nose is bleeding like it's on a period, bring some tampons for it*

I groaned heavily. "What's up?", Amanda asked, wiping her skirt with a tissue, the stain almost invisible. If there's something special about that girl, it's the fact that she cleans up better than any professional cleaner in the world. "William", I stated, picking up the shopping bags. "Not again", She replied, throwing her head back in exasperation. "That's William for you",I sighed, paying the bill. "Chop chop, let's get moving".

William's relationship with Lily had been a topic for eye rolling and constant groaning for the longest time. She was wild, he was calm and it seemed as like, though they both knew they weren't good for each other, they kept getting back for more. The toxicity of their relationship could be smelt from miles away. Lily wasn't necessarily a bad person, but she had this victim mentality which she'd use to abuse people around her and then make them feel bad for somehow "crossing" her, in the first place.

"Stay here, I'll get them", Mandy said, parking the car in front of a pharmacy and getting out.

At this point, everyone around Will and Lily knew about them and their hardcore toxic love. This only made things worse because it seemed like they enjoyed the attention and worried calls they'd receive. They were equally destructive for each other yet refused to separate.

"Okay, band aids, bandages, antiseptic cream, cold pack, antiseptic wipes, anything else I'm missing anything?"

"His mom's number on speed dial in case it's more serious than he's leading on"

"I mean, how do the first aid items get over so fast? it's like he's fighting a bull every day or something"

"Isn't he?", I said, a smile threatening to break out.

"Ridiculous, but we're his only surviving friends so", Amanda stated, looking into my eyes dead serious, before we both broke out in peals of uncontrollable laughter.

[emilythezeldafan]

Waiting In The Wings [Hello Puppets]

Warnings: abuse alluded to, feeling overshadowed, I got kinda lazy LMAO, ignoring the fact puppets kinda need human hosts to get around and do this shit. Might delete this and redo it later honestly smh.

@graceandtheidiotsquad

@ anyone

"BELLA!" The Ballerina Marionette was distracted from her thoughts by the rather loud voice of the resident artist who she happened to share a room with. Great. She really didn't know if she wanted to see him right now - not that she had anything against him, no, she loved him like a brother - albeit a slightly annoying one - she just...didn't feel her best today. And getting near deafened wasn't exactly helping. Using a hand to push back her curtain, she greeted Nick with a tilt of the head. "...Hello, Nick."

"Is something wrong?" Of course, he would notice something wrong when she didn't want him to. "There's nothing wrong." The reply came out shorter and more impatient than she intended it to, she could try leaving, retreating back behind her curtain as she usually did when faced with confrontation, but Nick was a persistent one, when he wanted to be. "Are you su-"

"I'M FINE, NICHOLAS!" The Ballerina yelled, immediately feeling guilty - she knew how Nick could get when someone raised their voice at him, although she had yet to discover why. "...If you're really determined to find out what's the matter with me, I suppose it's your right to know. I don't know how to say this...so I'll just have to do it your way." The Marionette inhaled, and started to...sing?

"Guess we all are born with parts to play

Some of us are stars, and some are just in the way

I know I was meant for glory

But that's never what my story brings

And yet I keep on waiting..."

She took a breath, not that she even needed to breathe, and continued.

"When you have the passion and the drive

You expect your moment center stage to arrive

I show up with heart ablazing

Ready to achieve amazing things

But I'm left waiting in the wings...."

"....Is this how you really feel?" Nick was...shocked to say the least, he'd had no idea what Bella was feeling this whole time.

"I hear my cue, and yet I'm kept there waiting

Know what to do, and still I stand there waiting

It's always someone else who sings

While I'm left waiting in the wings

And so I keep on keeping on....

My chances come and then I blink and they're gone

Always overlooked unfairly

While pretending that it barely stings

But it stings, yes, it stings....!

And I'll shed no tears, I'll only keep on waiting

If no one cheers, well, I can keep on waiting

Who cares how loud the silence rings

You'll find me waiting in the wings..."

"I was never meant to be a star. I mean, look at me- you're the showman, the one who catches everyones' stare. ...I'm just there." Bella sighed, turning to go back behind her curtain, but Nick grabbed hold of her arm. "....For once, I don't know what to say. I had no idea you felt this way. I never meant to make you feel second rate. Without you, this place would probably be torn apart by hate." Truthfully, he felt guilty. Sure, he knew he was amazing he hated himself, even though Mortimer didn't seem to think so, but he never meant to make anyone feel like they were inferior! That wouldn't be very nice of him at all.

"....If you start self-blaming, I'll slap you." She weakly chuckled, breath still shuddering slightly - feeling at least a little better - enough to notice something. "...What happened to your face? I'm pretty sure that wasn't there before." ...There was a crack on his face. Not unlike the ones running across her body, and something about it being there made her feel slightly sick.

"Nothing." The answer came quickly. A little too quickly. "...I'm going to find out one way or another." An overdramatic sigh.

"...It was Mortimer."

[bruxbea]

@ndostairlyrium tagged me once upon a time but I keep deleting the result because it feels more like Dragon Age than not...which is probably fine tbh: Snippets from Lark under the cut:

“Wouldn’t it be funny if we managed to scale all this just to find there’s actually a path up the opposite direction…? That can only happen to us so many times right?” "And if you had just loaned me your doublet, captain portal wizard wouldn't have slapped my boob by way of introduction. MANY things about today could have gone differently yet here we are~"

“I assume like most cases this can be solved with a combination of enthusiastic wiggling and just a dash of creative vaulting~“

“Not sure if it means anything but I’ve actually been sleeping *better* since being kidnapped by a space mollusk and being held at knifepoint by said Vampire so-“

“Wyll even with horns you’re still the most air-quotes “in the box” one of this group, just breathe and be glad you’re not climbing trees as a lemur. Sorry “Lemure”….wait, I think I’ve misunderstood something-”

“Sure, I may be a Druid but this entire lot can bite me running…” “If experience has taught me anything in life, it’s how to recognize when and where one should be polite. Auntie Ethel positively screams “behave in this house or I will kill you” so let’s just go with it for now. I’m also almost positive she’s a bog witch at minimum so take that with grain of salt…or a brick if you’re brave-”

“...I woke up one morning to discover what I thought to be a snake nailed unceremoniously to the door of the room across from me… The fear that crept up my spine was quickly overtaken by pain as I realized it was in fact the remnants of a tiefling’s tail- my tail…cruelly and brutally severed near the base to be affixed to the door by a sharp bit of metal jammed through its spade…any love I held for the Gate died that day, as well as my ability to sleep fitfully if alone…

“ He may be a little…catty…but I know all too well what it’s like to go multiple days at a time without eating. No one should have to suffer through that, regardless of origin. If it helps him stave off starvation then I see no problem. Even arseholes need to eat. Wait-“

“Harhar indeed, there’s what, seven of you lot all together but NOT ONE of you thought to mention ‘Lark darling, dearest wellness dealer and usually not combative songstress who keeps us all alive and fit, you’re currently only equipped with a stick of cured meats and doing Jack all in terms of damage, maybe back off a bit-“ I mean really! “Shadow Cursed Lands or no, it’s been a few days since we supped together and I don’t want Stari to have to bite through grime or whatever other “Thisobaldian horrors” might have accrued on my person since the last time I bathed-“ “I find it the very definition of rude that we take one afternoon to ourselves to become reaccustomed to city life, maybe enjoy the circus…see the ocean…only to wind up tits deep in raptors and disembodied clown bits…and they weren’t even the sexy kind…”

“Please let them have hot water, clean towels…and cake…I don’t know if I’ve ever had a cake that wasn’t second hand come to think of it…”

“Can we just…take a moment to appreciate how absolutely abysmal the chances of that working in our favor actually were…? Are we to say a prayer, possibly leave a coin…? Maybe we offer them Gale’s underthings, I’m not entirely sure what we should do in this instance truth be told-”

“To be perfectly honest? Not to give everything away Orin, but holding an innocent child at knife point is comparatively tame compared to some of the shet I’ve seen Lae’zel pull when threatened-”

“This outfit cost more coin than I possessed in the last two years combined…wearing it feels like I’m breaking the law somehow-”

[rosepetalsthings]

Regarding the Dtblr, Let👏🏾Your👏🏾Voice👏🏾Be👏🏾Heard👏🏾 Rant if you gotta, your followers gotchu

My followers trying to encourage me to be mean on main 😂

This is gonna get long and very stream of thought so gonna add a read more for once. This is a rant so it's mostly just gonna be my annoyance at everything. And the meanest I'm likely to get on this blog.

Look... I really really dislike how some of the old blogs left, and how they are perpetuating a lot of misinformation, and frankly a misinterpretation of what has actually happened. I can get leaving, but stop acting as if anything has been fucking confirmed as real. Or that her word is more reliable than dreams when both of them have, frankly, fuck all to show us.

The most she has is that Dream and her have communicated before. And the way people talk about it makes it sound as if dream went out of his way to go find her and message her. When literally every Instagram dm is dry as fuck and NEVER initiated by him.

Then if we go with snapchats are real, what do we have? Only a few saved convos, no context behind any of them, and messages that could be interpreted a whole number of ways depending on what the context we're missing is. And you cannot tell me that if you were introduced to the messages by themselves with no context, you would even slightly jump to sexting or grooming. Hell, she had to show a seperate screenshot of one of the compliments, which might I remind everyone we were just criticising the validity of taking a picture of a screenshot with your phone.

What does it take for some people to fucking think for a second about what is being presented to us??? Instead of flying right off the handle and immediately condemning everyone that doesn't come to the same worse case conclusion as you???? "Oh we left so everyone else must have too or there too busy defending dream" like fuck off. There's more nuance to what's happening then you care to admit or look into because you don't want to confront the idea of dream in your head, good or bad, with the real life human being.

And THEN you get the fuckers who outright believe just anything they hear because why not. "Oh but he confirmed the flirty messages!" Actually that was one of the things he said an outright statement on! And it was that he didn't!!

Or the person who somehow added an extra person to the mix, and then just fully believed without any critical thought that Amanda was telling the truth about dream deleting evidence and that's why she cant show us the proof she definitely has :( or definitely doesn't because she went between having hard evidence and nothing at all so fucking quickly. (At the same time can people stop acting as if everything she says clears dreams name???? Like as much as she isn't doing herself any favours there's nothing here that definitely proves she's lying, just that what she's presenting us deserves scrutiny)

Or fucking everything to do with the techno mermorial.

there are people so fucking convinced that they've pretty much stated that it doesn't actually matter how it shakes down legally, cause clearly he can just hire better lawyers then her and buy her to be quiet :( completely misrepresenting what's actually happening and how a court case (or settlement, which also is not this big evil thing. Most things don't reach a court). Like don't be so fucking close minded that you'll shut out anything presented to you because he has more money so clearly he's just bought everyone off

And then when confronted with the fact that they overeactted and behaved horribly they say "well I'm not defending a potential abuser and clearly my thing isn't as bad as that but I'm sorry I guess :/ "

Or the talk on "iT's NoT tHe AgE gAp It'S tHe PoWeR iMbAlAnCe" like okay then hope you were real fucking critical of purpled dating a fan then. Or is not actually about the power imbalance? Because power imbalances is not a fan and a cc talking??? Like if it's the potential age gap then just say it!!!!! Stop just saying power imbalance as if it's at all at play here from what we've been shown.

And like half of them won't even look into it more. That this is the reality they've settled with because it's easier to deal with posting breakup lyrics, and posts about how you can't trust men then to confront the fact that this isnt a black and white issue and at this point there is no hard line in the sand everyone must follow or else theyre a horrible person.

it is fine if you leave, it is fine if you think that messaging fans at all is bad (although maybe examine why you think that about this but for nothing else), or if you think that talking on snapchat is bad (which I really disagree with, but youre allowed your opinions), but don't act as if any more than that has been confirmed, or saying if you don't leave or if you remain neutral than you're clearly a bad person. Fuck off

[strangelysamantha]

bittersweet ☆

possessive!rafe x plus!sized reader.

warnings: crazy rafe, possessive and obsessive behavior, swearing, underage drinking, reader gets hurt, physical fight, ect.

words: 2,167.

summary: you went to a local party by the beach when rafes unstable side peeked out. jj maybank finds you alone, and decides to talk to you. rafe gets possessive and upset, thinking that jj was hitting on you.

request?: no :)

a/n: i’m working on requests but since my computer is down it’s taking longer because i hate typing on my phone especially because tumblr always deletes what i’ve written. i’m hopeful that my computer will be fixed by tomorrow, until then i’ll try and produce a few stories since i’ve been MIA for a few days. remember to like and comment if you enjoy this! <3

my masterlist

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“please just come with me.” rafe frowned as he sat on your porch pleading to you, telling you why you should go to a beach party with him. “why rafe?” you frown, not in a partying mood. instead, you would much rather stay home and do a movie marathon. “please baby, i swear i’ll make it up to you.” you roll your eyes at his begging. “fine, but only because you are so cute.” his eyes sparkle as a smile lifts on his lips, you pull him into a quick kiss.

you walk back inside to get dressed for the bonfire. rafe was wearing blue and orange, and you wanted to match him. so, you grabbed a pair of dark blue ripped jean shorts, and an orange v-neck. you apply some perfume and jewelry before putting on some shoes. just as you were finishing up, rafe walked into your room smirking. “awh, you wanted to match with me.” he smiled. despite you knowing his look was filled with adoration you couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable under his long glance. “obviously, don’t you want people to know i’m yours?” you question him, waiting for his response. “well, matching clothes won’t change anything. everyone already knows.” you nod smiling before pulling him into a kiss.

once you pull away from the kiss, he grabs your hand and leads you to the car as he drives to the beach. his hand finding its way on your thigh; gripping it tightly. while he drove to the beach, you paid close attention to your phone, checking social media for any major updates. rafes grasp on your thigh loosened as the car came to a halt. you were parked on the beach, the sun was already setting.

you both exit the car, rafe swiftly moving from his side of the car to yours. “thank you for coming with me.” his hand finds yours, pulling them together. “of course, i love hanging out with you.” he lets go of your hand, and moves his arm to hold closely around your waist. the two of you begin to walk towards the already drunken teen filled beach.

you frown at the amount of trash that litters the sand. you stay close to rafe, as he approaches topper and kelce. “hey guys.” you say to them to make conversation. they nod in your direction, acknowledging you before their attention turns towards rafe again. you don’t pay any mind to what the boys are discussing. after a while you become bored, so you slowly slip out of rafes arm to go get a drink. “i’m going to go get a drink, do you want one?” you ask rafe, and he glances at you smiling. “yes please, thanks baby.” you lean in for a quick kiss before leaving to go get drinks. you weren’t a heavy drinker, always scared of what you would say or do under the influence, so you grab yourself a water and grab a beer for rafe.

you return to the spot you were in earlier, but it’s now vacant. rafe, topper, and kelce all leaving you behind. you frown, looking around for them but coming up short. you had no idea where they could be since this beach was huge. you don’t bother wasting your time looking for them, instead you start to head for the bonfire.

you weren’t surprised that rafe had left you all alone. this always happened. he would beg you to go to something, just to abandon you half way through it. it didn’t bother you, it just worried you, scared of what he was doing without you.

once you arrived at the bonfire, you decided to down the drink once made for rafe, the beer stinging your throat. you drank three more chugs before drinking water as well. it doesn’t take long for the alcohol to come into effect. you knew it had clouded your judgement when you were laughing at jj maybanks jokes of all people. “i’m telling you, these people were fucking crazy.” you giggled as he made exaggerated reactions. “you’re telling me! that sounds scary as fuck. i wouldn’t have survived.” he shook his head looking down at you, “i’m sure you would have figured something out.” you nod at him.

“have you seen those dudes since?” you ask, intrigued by his story. “actually, yeah. their story isn’t the brightest… sheriff told me that they-” his voice cut off as he made a slicing noise above his throat. your eyes widened in shock. “oh my god! really??” you grab his arm, “what if they came back for you! bro no way…” your heart rate quickens at the thought of evil men chasing random kids. “no, i know right, scary as shit. i guess it’s bittersweet because they died, but now they aren’t after us anymore.” he shrugs, sipping his red solo cup. “i guess. it’s still scary. so many people are unexpectedly dying nowadays, i definitely-” you were interrupted as rafe put an arm around you, eyeing jj up and down.

“continue baby, what were you saying?” rafe asked, smiling at you for a split second before it disappeared when his eyes focused on jj again. “oh we were just talking about bad men, and how this town is scarier than it used to be.” he nods at you. “jj what are you doing talking to my girl?” jj stands up straighter, “why do you care? do you own her or something?” rafe scoffed, “yes.” the confusion on your face was evident and jj was quick on acknowledging it. “oh really? by the look on her face, she doesn’t agree.” he glances at you, but you have quickly recovered. “what are you talking about maybank?” you interrupted the two immediately not wanting a fight to break out. “i was just talking to jj because he had a funny story. it wasn’t anything like that, i swear babe.” you words slurred together and it was evident you weren’t in the right headspace.

rafes eyes widened as he fully realized that you were so intoxicated that you had no idea what was going on, “what the fuck maybank? you got her drunk for what? you trying to fuck her?” jj couldn’t believe rafes nerve. “one, she was drunk when she came up to me, and two, i don’t need to fuck her, i already have.” your heart dropped at jj's confession.

“maybank, do you want to take that back?” you could tell rafe was trying to give jj a chance to redeem himself before all hell breaks loose. your hand tightened on rafes bicep trying to get him to move on, but he wouldn’t budge. “can't take back what’s already happened.” jj shrugged again, smirking.

rafe was the first one to throw a punch, you stumbled back as he had pushed you away. with your luck, your head had landed right against the beverage table, scratching the side of your face from your temple to the side of your cheek. you hiss in pain, moving your fingers to feel it. when you retreat your hand you see it covered in blood. you groan in pain, hissing as the cool air makes it sting.

you clumsy stand up, looking ahead to see rafe and jj were still fighting. “rafe!” you weakly call out, but he was stuck in his own little bubble as he pounded his fists against jjs face. you stumble away, walking far from the beach. you were too tired to even try to process what was going on. the yelling behind you quietly faded as you made your way farther along the beach.

not even a minute later you hear rafe running after you. “what rafe?” you ask, but your back is still turned to him. “baby, please just- i’m sorry okay. i, i don’t know. i was just scared he’d take you from me. i don’t want to lose you, you are all i have. you mean too much to me for some pogue to take.” his rambling only pissed you off more. “rafe, please. i have a headache, all i want is to go home.” you frown.

his eyes moved from the sand up to your face, surprised by the huge gash on your face that was oozing blood. “baby?! who did this to you?” you couldn’t contain your anger any longer. you used all your strength, pushing his shoulders back. “you did! you fucking asshole.” the fact that he didn’t even budge from the push you sent his way, pissed you off even more. “baby, i, you know i would never do anything to intentionally hurt you?” your silence only scared him even more.

“baby, i wouldn’t- i didn’t mean to hurt you.” his breathing was heavy as the realization hit him. he had undeniably hurt you, and he had undoubtedly lost you. “no, because this can’t be happening. i can't lose you. baby, i- it was an accident. please, you gotta understand i didn’t want to hurt you, it was just jj fucking all over you, and the way he tried to claim you, saying he already had you, it just- the anger i couldn’t even hold myself back.” you nod at his words. “rafe i understand that. i, just. i don’t want this. do you think i want you to assault every guy who even looks at me? it makes me feel like shit. do you know how shitty it makes me feel? that you think i would chose anyone else when i have you. it hurts to know that you think i’m not loyal enough.” you frown, tears easily falling out of your eyes.

“baby- it’s not you i’m worried about.” you nod, “i know… it just doesn’t feel that way.” he goes to speak again but you quickly interrupt him. “can we please continue this at your house? my head seriously hurts.” his eyes soften, his hand cupping your cheek. he hesitated before he pulled you into a kiss, when you kissed him back he could feel his smile come back. “rafe.” you say again, before pointing to your head. “right baby, i’m sorry. let's go.” you nod.

he walks you to his car, opening the door for you before you hop in. he puts your seatbelt on for you. his protective side shining through once again. he walks around, before hopping in himself. he starts the car. “seatbelt…?.” you question. he laughs quietly. “of course, baby.” you nod as he puts his seatbelt on. his hand reached for your thigh again, before he drove the two of you to his house.

when you arrived, your head was pounding. you could feel it throbbing, the blood dripping onto your orange v neck. you frown at the sight. the two of you walk inside, and he immediately pulls you into his room, placing you on the edge of his bed. he runs to his bathroom grabbing a table cloth and the first aid kit.

he opens the first aid kit, placing it beside you. he takes the wet washcloth, wiping away the blood. after cleaning it, he added antibacterial cream, and then covered it in gauze. he kissed the bandage covering it before walking to his closet.

“here. wear this, and i’ll wash your t-shirt.” you nod, “thank you rafe.” he turns around and you swiftly change your t-shirt. he turns around, his heart hammering inside his chest, still scared about where you stood.

“rafe. i don’t want to lose you. i love you a lot, but i don’t want to continue this if every time a guy looks at me funny, you beat him up. i appreciate you protecting me, but they aren’t worth it.” he nods, soaking up every word. “if you can promise me that you won’t fight random people anymore, then i think we can work this out, and work through this.” he smiles softly, “is that a deal?” you ask. “of course baby. i promise i won’t fight anyone unless they really deserve it.” you roll your eyes, “fine. that’s good enough; but please, let’s hope it doesn’t get too bad.” he laughs, “let’s hope.” you grab his hands, realizing they were quite bruised. “let’s ice these.” he follows you to the kitchen, as you prepare an ice pack.

once the ice pack is ready, you place it on one hand, the other is intently grabbing your thigh. “baby you don’t have to do all this.” he reached for the ice and you lightly pushed his hand away. “you fixed me up, let me fix you up.” he sat back and watched as you cared for his bruises. rafe was glad he didn’t lose you, and he was glad you were still there with him. having you so close to him made him realize he couldn’t sacrifice anything to lose you. he kissed your bandages once more before you two prepared for bed and started to comfortably cuddle together.

[americaswritings]

Invisible

Warnings: Angst, Insecurity & Self-doubt, Language

Summary: The reader stays with Tom and his friends during quarantine. To protect her from media and fans, the reader can’t been seen in any social media posts. It leads to her feeling more and more lonely and isolated until she can’t take it anymore.

Words: 2.6k 

Pairings: Tom Holland x reader

A/N: I wrote this when Tom hosted the marvel pub quiz, but completely forgot to post it!

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"That's it. Thank you for joining and taking part in the quiz! I hope you had as much fun as we did and don't forget to post your answers using the hashtag massive marvel pub quiz so we can find your answers easier. Stay safe and healthy. Bye guys!"

You watched as Tom's face disappeared and the live stream ended.

But the excitement that you had felt when you had first heared of the idea of a marvel quiz was gone. Now you just felt empty. And alone.

You knew that you were overreacting, after all Tom and the others were just a few rooms away, but you couldn't help and feel left out. Again.

You weren't invited to join the live stream in the first place so why join them know?

You knew that Tom only wanted to protect you and himself by keeping you out of the public's eye. If they found out that a female in his age was spending the time during quarantine at his house, they would go wild. You could already imagine the headlines that would follow.

After all Tom had exerperienced how far his ‘fans’ and the media would go when a photo of him and Olivia had gone viral.

Only a few blurry images and both Tom and Olivia had been attacked for weeks, even so far that the girl had to make her instagram private, yet the hate comments never stopped.

And Tom knew that he would never risk the chance of you having to read through pages of hate comments of people that didn't even know you. Because if they did, they knew they could never hate you.

You were kind and loving and you cared a little too deeply.

Tom still remembered when you had called him crying, because you didn't feel confident enough to go out after some girls in your class had made it their mission to target all your insecurities and make mean comments whenever you passed them.

He still remembered the anger and hate he felt inside of him when he listened to your sobbing and how the girl's words had gotten to you, to the point you even believed them.

So when you had moved in with him and the boys, he had decided to keep you out of everything that could reveal to the world that you were living with them. You had agreed without a second doubt, because in that moment it seemed the only rational and responsible thing to do.

Now you weren't so sure anymore, because it hurt so much to be invisible every day. You had gotten used to the fact that you could only watch their instagram stories, live streams and tik toks without being able to join them. But what hurt you even more were the little things.

"Hey y/n, could you leave the room for a sec? You are always in the background of the video!"

A second often turned into hours and soon you found yourself retreating to your room more and more to avoid having to leave and get hurt again.

Yesterday you had decided to do a little game night and you felt so carefree that you came to the conclusion that you were being ridiculous and should rather enjoy the time with them instead of obsessing over your feelings. But then you had laughed over something that had been said and Tom has sighed, dropping his phone.

"Great, now I have to delete that, because you were laughing in the background", he stated, clearly frustrated and you felt heat rushing to your cheeks.

"I'm sorry", you mumbled but it sounded more like a question than a sincere apologzy, because really, what where you even apologizing for? Harrsion had leaned over to get a better look at Tom's phone. "That would have been a great post, mate!"

You adverted your eyes, starring at the table and analysing the natural pattern of the wood to try and distract yourself from the embarassment and the tears that had filled your eyes. "I know right", Tom sighed again and you crounched down in your seat even more.

"I will do that again now so you have to be completely quiet now y/n, got it?

You wanted to scream at them, because you weren't dumb and yet they were treating you like a child that had misbehaved and was now lectured. But you only gulped and nodded, fearing that if you said something, your voice would break and reveal how hurt you really felt.

While they recorded the story again, you listened to their loud laughter as you fought back the tears.

Eventually you excued yourself, mumbling something about having a headache, but you doubted that they even noticed.

Now you could hear them laugh again and even though Tom's laugh was one of your favorite sounds, it now cut deeper into your heart like a knife. 

You were still staring at your phone screen where you saw photos of answer sheets already popping up. You had gotten around 20 answers right, but you didn't feel proud.

When Tom had told you about the marvel quiz you had been beyond excited. Since you could remember you loved the marvel movies. Your rooms had been filled with posters and other merchandise and your friends only rolled their eyes when you suggested to watch a marvel movie during your movie nights.

You had build your knowdlege over the years and loved to challenge Tom, who thought of himself as a big marvel fan as well, regarding who knew more about the marvel cinematic universe.

So when he came up with the idea of a marvel live quiz, you insisted to take part and therefore hear the questions for the first time during the stream so you had the same chance as everyone else.

But as soon as Harry and Harrison had joined the live stream your enthusiasm had faded. They were having so much fun and you were sitting in your room, all on your own. The familiar feeling of loneliness and self doubt had accompained you the rest of the live stream and now that it had ended you just wanted to crawl under the covers and weep into your pillow.

Maybe you were clingy and needy and overthinking again, but you couldn't help the overwhelming sadness and you began to doubt if staying with Tom was a mistake and if your friendship meant more to you than the others.

Maybe you should pack your things tomorrow and tell Tom that you needed to go home. He would understand if you claimed to miss the comfort of being at your home but then again, you would be even more lonely.

Frustrated you threw your phone on the nightstand and quickly changed into your pajamas before crawling into bed.

In the darkness of the room the disappointment felt even more overwhelming and you grabbed onto your pillow for comfort.

A knock made you freeze and your heart started pouding in your chest. You prayed that the person would leave you alone and go away if you pretended to be asleep so you stayed silent.

"Y/n?"

It was Tom's voice.

"We want to watch a movie. Wanna join us?"

You knew that he wouldn't go away until the got an answer so you dismissed your plan and braced yourself to speak.

"No, I am tired, but thanks." You hoped that Tom didn't notice how nervous you sounded and after an agonizing moment of silence you could hear him mutter an "okay" and walk away.

Did you imagine it or did he sound disapppointed? Now feeling guilty too, you covered your face in your hands in frustration.

Why did everything have to go wrong?

And wait...did you still have your make-up on?

You let out a sound of frustration when you realized that you had to get up again to wipe off your make-up. You had applied it because you wanted to feel your best during the quiz you had been so excited for, but now it meant walking all the way to the bathroom.

Which meant leaving your room again.

You slowly opened your door, peeking out to check if the corridors were empty. You proceeded to tiptoe to the bathroom and closed the door behind you while relief flooded you. You really didn't want to meet anyone now, not when you felt like breaking into tears every second.

When you looked into the mirror and began to wash your make-up off, you allowed yourself to let the tears flow. A few sobs escaped your mouth, but the bathroom was far enough from the living room so they wouldn't be able to hear you.

Without the make-up on, you felt a little more relaxed and you couldn't wait to get into bed again.

But when you reached your room without running into anyone on the way, you were more than surprised to see that once you had closed the door and turned around, you weren't alone.

Tom was sitting on your bed, looking up at you when you entered the room.

You could conclude from the frown that covered his face that you looked as horrible as you felt. Your eyes were probably still puffy and red from the crying and your hair was in a messy bun.

"Tom?", you stuttered, too shocked to come up with something that would save you from this conversation. "What are you doing here?", you added, hating how weak your voice sounded.

His frown grew even deeper and he mustered your apperance, hurt visible in his eyes.

"You were so excited for the quiz so when you didn't leave your room I grew worried", he explained while you akwardly stood next to the door, leaving as much space between the two of you as possible.

"Oh that- I just didn't feel good so I decided to sleep early today", you tried to brush it off, but you knew that Tom would not fall for it.

"Why have you been crying?"

His question was acommpanied by a stern gaze and you couldn't help feeling guilty and ashamed.

"I- I wasn't", you stuttered, but it didn't even sound believable to your own ears. Tom raised his eyebrow, but when he saw how uncomfortable you looked his features softened.

"Hey, you can talk to me, you know that right? Whatever it is, you can tell me and we can figure this out together." His voice was so gentle and caring that tears filled your eyes again and you silently cursed yourself for being so emotional.

You didn't want to cry in front of Tom. It would not be the first time and when it had happened he had always managed to make you feel better and put a smile on your face again, but you also knew the shame that would follow afterwards.

You didn't want him to think that you were too sensitive.

But the tears weren't only a result of your hurt, no, anger was building inside of you at his words. "Really Tom, really?", you snapped and he flinched in surprise.

"Are you sure you want me to talk to you? Maybe someone is filming an instagram story and I could be heard in the background so I should just say nothing at all. Or even better, why don't I just leave the room so there is a lesser chance that I could ruin your precious masterpieces by just existing."

Tom's eyes had widened at your outburst and you actually felt bad for a second, but then you remembered the many occasions he had made you feel like you weren't good enough and the anger came back.

"You know what? I think it would be best if I just went home. I am done being treated like an outsider and being blamed for everything I do!"

Tom had jumped up from the bed and was crossing the distance between the two of you with large steps, but you raised your hands before he could come closer to you.

"Y/n I am so sorry", he stumbled over his words, desperately trying to find the right words. "I didn't realize- I never would have..." Frustrated he ran a hand through his hair.

"Listen, I screwed up! I didn't realize that my behaviour- that I was hurting you and I am so sorry! I just wanted to protect you and now I am the one making you feel this way. Fuck, I am so sorry!"

His words seemed geniune and your heart ached to step forward and pull him into a hug, but you knew that you could not forget so easily.

"I didn't think that this was so important to you. Why didn't you say anything?" He was rubbing the back of his head, seemingly tensed.

"I don't care much about not being in the stories Tom. But it really hurt whenever I am send away so you can film together or when I am told to shut up so I can't be heard while you all have fun together”, you explained, trying to keep your vice even.

“I just feel like I am a burden to you and if you don't want to spend time with me that's fine I guess but I would appreciate for you to tell me that so I can stop trying and just go home."

"No, no, no it's not like that I swear!” Tom seemed desperate again, articulating with his hands to underline his words.

“I miss spending time with you, I really do and it was stupid of me to let myself being dragged into this whole instagram thing!

You know I am normally not the person to care much about posting, but I thought now that everyone is stuck at home, I could make my fans happy and distract them from the situation by sharing more of my life. I should have never put them before you and I am truly sorry!” You could see the regret clearly in his eyes as he took in a deep breath. 

“Please don't go."

You were biting your lip as you were trying your best to stay calm and not break into tears. You had imagined confronting Tom and letting all your anger and hurt out, but now that he stood in front of you with his eyes full of hurt and regret and his pleading words for you to stay, your anger vanished.

"Are you sure?", you asked him in uncertainty, because you knew you couldn't bare if nothing would change. But Tom desperately nodded. "I am. Tomorrow I am going to post a photo to let my fans now that I am taking a break from social media!"

He looked so determined, so sure, that a warm feeling filled you. "You would do that?"

"Of course! I want to make it up to you and besides I was not lying when I said that I miss spending time with you”, he stated, stepping a little closer to you when you didn’t protest anymore.

“You were so distant the last days and I didn't know what to do, so I thought that I should give you space. Seems like that is the last thing I should have done", he sayed with a sheepish smile covering his face.

"Sorry for being so caught up in myself. I should have said something earlier too", you admitted, a small smile forming on your lips, when you felt the burden fall off your shoulders.

"Hug?", Tom suggested and you didn't have to think twice about it.

When he wrapped his strong arms around you, you realized that going back to your place would have been a mistake. Because at some point your home hadn't been a place anymore. Instead it had become a person and you didn't plan on letting go any time soon.

----

Tags:

PERMANENT: @fairytalesforever @hamartocado @capkilljoy​ @choke-me-sweet-pea @sleepinginthegarden7 @thenoddingbunny-blog @ttalisa​

TOM HOLLAND: @mbsgr​ @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory​ @fairydustparker​ @its-the-unknownspideywrites​ @tomhollanders2013​ @hollandsmiss​ ​ @100kindsofblake​ @popluckbih​ @quaksonhehe​​

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[delicrieux]

—MAKE YOU SAY “OH” EXTRAS: TINDER

extra meaning non-canonical occurrence; can be placed anywhere in the “make you say oh” timeline after couple (cha. 14) and before the final “oh”. 

pairing—corpse husband x f!reader warnings—tinder profiles, tw: men, swearing.  word count—2.6k. format— written. ─── ❥ req by nonnie​:  y/n makes a youtube vid/live stream where she's just swiping through her tinder acc and corpse literally blocks her lmao

author’s note—akldsljfs this was such a funny idea i could not not write it lmao

ultimate masterlist. myso masterlist

You have pulled the biggest brain move by setting up both a facecam and a screen recorder on your phone. All is beautifully displayed and visible during the stream. Your fanbase is particularly intrigued on what exactly are you planning on doing today, seeing as your tweet of “strea” had been a bit vague, if not downright ominous. No emojis. No elaboration. You couldn’t even be bothered to finish the word. Truly, a mystery. Everyone tuned in and are currently waiting with bated breath.

A few of your fans must sense upcoming doom because the overall mood in the chat turns from optimistically intrigued to...evil. It’s an entity all on it’s own now, clawing at you through the screen with various renditions of laughter and devil emojis. A few eggplants thrown in there for good measure, accompanied, naturally, by the scandalous water drops. At first the common consensus is that you’re biting the bullet and going through your camera roll on stream. Definitely an idea worth considering, though you frankly don’t know what lies at the start of the 11k photograph journey, and you are afraid to check in public. Could be a harmless meme, could be a salacious pic you had saved of an OF star. It’s really a gamble. Either way, you would definitely get banned. You might still get banned. Why do you insist on doing shit like this?

Because it’s funny. Because you’re kinda stupid. Because it’s just so absolutely laughably easy to do.

A smile quirks your lips, and while it is not explicitly smug, the look in your eyes sure is, “Greetings,” You utter lowly, dimming the lights--the budget for this stream! Ugh, you went all out, “my children.”

mother i crave violence

sensing evil energy rn!!

i do not claim the energy in this video for myself or anyone else watching this 💖💖

^with peace and love shut the fuck up

“I know y’all lowkey hoes-” Upon your words the chat splits into two: one side eagerly agrees (even shares a few OF accounts! How helpful, supporting small businesses!), whilst the other feverishly insists on innocence. You make a face stuck somewhere between offended and bewildered, “Now c'mon now-I know you. I know you all. We’re the same, don’t-what was that?”

You try to scroll back to the comment but it’s loss in the sea of incoming messages, “I swear to God I just saw-”

Corpse_Husband: i love late night streams it’s not like i have anything better to do.

“COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORPSE!!!!” 

rip headphone users

i cant feel my face when im with you by the weeknd but instead of face its my fucking ears

yall think full vol on pc is better?my parents woke up 😭😭😭😭

To think he’s spending his last waking moments for today with watching you (he probably still would have anyway, because you do not posses an ounce of shame or self-control and pester him relentlessly)! It makes your heart sing, and suddenly, a traitorous, fun hating idea barges it’s way through the crowd of incoherent buzzing and states: don’t do this. For some reason it also has the voice of Rae. As if that would work in guilt-tripping you- Rae never succeed, and her fictitious rendition in mind won’t fare much better either.

Still, you thought about it. That must count for something. Corpse will understand, won’t he? Why don’t you want to upset it in the first place? Men look so funny when they lose their shit, like hello, don’t you have anything better to do? But the image of Corpse just sitting there, hurt, distraught, leaving you on seen because he’s in his sad boy hours leaves a sour taste in your mouth. 

queen rly went from  🥺😊 to 😕 u ok bbgirl?

Corpse_Husband: no pouts cutie

akjdjoeijdfse cUTIE??? deadass boutta r.i.p.

Well that succeeded in eliminating everything from mind, doubts included. If this was an anime, the scenery would shift into something roseate, with flowers and bubbles and sparkles all around you along with a halo or two. Alas, not an anime, rather reality. The led-lights, however, seemingly possessing a will of their own, slowly turn from deep violet to pink. You smile brightly, like the absolute dumbass you are, and you are met with a ray of heart and blushing emojis. You are just so cute, a real cutie! Still in your disguise adorable state, you swipe your finger on your phone screen, the grin never leaving your lips.

There, among the plethora of apps, nestled sits a red square with a white fire plastered on it. The delicate calligraphy on the bottom reads: TINDER.

The mood changes once again- you’re giving the roaches emotional instability by how quickly everything flips over- and the chat spams eggplants vigorously; some, of course, bravely fight against the thirst.

nooooooo i thought y/n is gonna stream in a god honoring way!!!

^pack it up girl defined

“So, Charlie and I-” You note a few awfully curious comments and squint, “-yes, we talk a lot. Charlie is a really good friend of mine. We’re best friends. Brothers. Sisters. Cousins. The whole fucking family tree-no, that sounds weird. Delete. Anyway, Charlie, being the absolute fucker he is, said, hey, you know what would be funny? And I was like, nooo, what would be funny, Charlie? And he says to me, he says, says, making fun of men on Tinder. And if y’all need any more proof that Charlie and I are platonic soulmates, then dunno, my children, my roaches, I dunno-I dunno what more to give you.”

You can’t be bothered reading the comments, there’s too damn many. You also need to save your reading comprehension for the actual bios. It has a time limit, that darn thing. 

“Okay, so I made a profile earlier, but I hadn’t swiped on anyone yet-” Despite the fact, Tinder helpfully informs you that already 99+ people have swiped right on you, “So, this is me,” You show the pictures you have of yourself, and damn, not to be a conceited narcissist, but you look really good. Like if you saw yourself on Tinder, you’d super like instantly. “Uhm, so, my bio-my bio says: let’s sauce in the tub together, ya dig? splishy splashy, giggle giggle.” 

i cant believe we are witnessing y/n trying to form a coherent sentence live 

shes trying give her time

ya dig??? y not capeesh

what scene from the godfather is this lol?

“My anthem, is,” You laugh, covering your lips with your hand, “Corpsie, this is form you-” Proudly, you show that indeed, Corpse’s E-GIRLS ARE RUINING MY FUCKING LIFE is listed as your anthem on Spotify, “Hehe.” Yes, you say that aloud.

Corpse_Husband: you’re killing me Corpse_Husband: thanks baby Corpse_Husband: now delete tinder ❤︎

You ignore his last quip, deciding it’s finally time to get this show on the road, “Right, let’s do this shit. I’m not actually going to swipe on any guys that look, uh, decent? Yuck, can’t believe I just said that, uhm, because I-because I feel like some actually deserve a chance with someone? I don’t wanna get anyone’s hopes up, as I am currently in a long distance relationship with Chrollo. So I’m just gonna swipe on, like, frat boy assholes. Because I don’t care if I hurt their feelings. Quite frankly I don’t think they possess them in the first place.”

The chat voices their agreements. With the ground rules set, you, giddy, click on the first profile.

Does Tinder know what you’re doing, your plan? The FBI agent watching you through your phone must be working overtime, bless his heart. They must, because the the first guy to meet you is named Jason, and there he is, blond hair and blue eyes, holding up a fish the size of his torso. Marginally adequate in looks, pretty good muscles. A solid 7 bordering on 8. He’s the same age as you, 15 miles away, and he studies at some college you don’t care enough to look up. Bio reads:

I like to drive fast. Fishing is my passion, but if you can’t catch me by the ocean, you’ll catch me catching waves, bro! Love a good gym date. You do squats, and I’ll keep a close eye to make sure you’re doing it correctly ;) You probably saw me at a party. Leader of the The Phi Kappa Psi. I’m a Gemini, if that matters lol.

You, of course, read it aloud, dramatically; provide some constructive criticism-he seems nice, but he’s a Gemini, so naturally, you can’t trust him at all! Also, that gym date session leaves little to be desired. With your rant done, you swipe right, and shocker! (not), it’s an instant match.

“Okie, I still wanna swipe of some profiles, so I’ll see what he’ll text later-” For a second you wonder the legalities of this stream, but you’re having too much fun to think of it further, “guys, I won't get sued, right?”

NOW she considers it

well....

if you do, we’ll kickstart your lawyer dw <3

Onto the next profile. Kevin, 25, is seen fixing his car- or, you assume he’s mid-fixing it, you don’t really know why else he’d hold a wrench and be covered in oil. He’s shirtless, and the caveman part of your brain echoes something closely resembling AWOOOGA!, but...but!...blonde hair, blue eyes. You pout again, “I don’t...I don’t really like blond boys, ya know? With the blue eyes and all, it’s just not my thing, uhm, unless it’s like-like...Armin from Attack on Titan. Else I don’t care.”

Onto the bio:

You have to treat a car like you treat a woman: go on long rides, take the lead, but most importantly, keep her oiled up 😜 

“What the fuck did I just read?”

The chat is equally confused. You swipe right anyway- another match. Too easy.

The stream continues without incident for a solid thirty minutes- all of your matches, expect a few that genuinely looked like normal dudes that really couldn’t write a decent bio to save their lives, had been blond hair blue eyed gym rats with ranging forms of misogyny. Some opened with asking for nudes out right, some asked about your day first before asking for nudes. You prefer the former. Straight to the point! You admire the gall. 

But then, down the forty-five minute mark a profile popped up that made you still by your phone, your smile dying as your eyes bulged. Dear God. Lord in heaven. Who is this demonspiit lookalike and why is he so fucking hot? The neck tats, the skateboard, the clothes- holy shit, you gotta close your mouth before some drool dribbles out.

No bio, just his name, Tyler, and that he’s 23.

“He boutta be 23 in me.” You mutter, swiping right with lightning speed.

WHAT DID SHE SAYYYYY?????????

tyler is y/ns karma for relentlessly mocking that one guy that had a whole ass list on what his “female” partner should be

^he deserved it and also tyler seems like a typical fuckboi y/n grow a braincell

look at mom 🥺 her eyes are sparkling

It wasn’t a match right away. You somehow expected as much, but it still upset you. Simp behavior, pathetic. The stream continued bravely, and when Tyler messaged you a simple “yo” you totally didn’t sequel. You didn’t manage to text him back on stream: texting all those guys that you didn’t really find all that attractive was easy, but this...You’re a sucker for a man who radiates red flag energy. His whole profile is a red flag. He might just be a red flag himself.

What can you do? Suddenly becoming color blind is not easy. Once the stream ends, you unmatch with everyone expect Tyler. He you chat with for a bit, but a sudden craving for different company makes you abandon him, too. You don’t feel too heartbroken for him- you’re certain there’s already too many girls in his dms. You wish them luck.

Happily, you delete Tinder. You go to Twitter, notice you’re trending again- look at you go! Queen shit- and as you compose a thank you tweet, something strange happens. You go to text Corpse, but when you click on his profile you grow cold.

YOU’RE BLOCKED. You can’t follow or see @/Corpse_Husband ‘s Tweets. 

...Pardon? You hop onto Instragram and-also blocked. Seriously? And you thought you’re one petty bitch. Corpse is seriously prissy about everything. Damn, if he didn’t like your stream, he could’ve just said so. Didn’t need to, like, block you from his internet existence. So not cool.

You try texting him but no text go through. Well how will you let him know you deleted Tinder just like he asked? You relieve your frustrations by punching your pillow a few times. Later, you apologize to her, you didn’t mean to hurt her, it’s not her, it’s you. Fuck, 5 minutes of exile and you’re already loosing your mind.

“Raeeeeeeeeeeee!” You whine loudly. It’s roughly 2am now, but you don’t care. You’re too heartbroken to care. There’s a thump from her room, but nothing else, “Raeeeeeeeee!!!” You wail, wallowing in self-pity on your bed. You hear a very loud, very annoyed sigh from her room, followed by angry marching. Your door is abruptly thrown open, and in the dim, colorful light you see her scowl.

“What?” She grits.

“Can you please tell Corpse to unblock me from everything?”

“What did you do now?”

“I made fun of men on Tinder.”

She pauses, “...That doesn’t sound so bad.” She surmises, voice laced with suspicion, “What else?”

“...There was one really hot guy that I kinda sorta talked to after--”

“Y/n.”

“-But I totally deleted Tinder and honestly he was pretty boring, so, like, uhm, please?”

She sighs, the servery of which implies she is holding the weight of the world on her shoulders, and instantly you know that you won. She taps away at her phone, “You owe me one.” She states, and before you can reply, she exits your room and slams the door behind her.

Grinning, you text his phone again. The message goes through, oh gosh, you’re so relieved you feel like crying. This has been, officially, the worst five minutes of your life.

You Y DID U BLOCK ME LOSER!!! MAJOR LOSER ALERT!! I DELETED EVERYTHING IT WAS A JOKE r u still mad at me? y u always mad at me i never do anything:(

my husband You’re my baby, how do you think I’ll react when I see you publicly simping for some asshole on Tinder?

Oh no, he used the words, he delivered the killing blow. You’re finished. Your heart can’t take such a workout. 

Not that you would ever admit it to him, though!

You hehe ur jellyyyy u always dis jealous hehe?

my husband Not jealous.

Yeah, you might not be the brightest tool in the shed, but even you know that’s a lie. You send him an array of kissy emojis that he doesn’t have the decency to reply to. Then, completely unprompted and dead serious, you send him a simple voice memo, saying: “You really have nothing to worry about, you know? You’re my favorite, Corpsie.”

He responds via text, reiterating that he’s not fucking jealous and that he just doesn’t like when you show such outward interest in anyone but it’s not like he cares or anything. It’s just really, like, weeeeird to see his baby simping for another man like that totally ruins the whole dynamic!!! It was only natural that he should block you on every social media platform, including his personal number (which, like, was completely necessary! Doesn’t matter that his viewers can’t see it, it’s gotta be super believable!), and inform his followers of that, because it’s all a joke, like, for the dynamic, that Youtube grind, you know? Ya dig? No personal feelings were involved at all. He totally wasn’t upset that you found someone else cute, no way!

my husband I’m not jealous. Lol.

You ik u repeated tht like 50 times  u trynna convince me or??? lmao

my husband No comment. ...You don’t actually talk to anyone else like we’re talking, right?

You no one else calls me their baby if thts wat ur wondering at least not to my knowledge lol im all urs

my husband That makes me very happy to hear:)

Yeah, it makes you very happy, too.

hope you liked it!! xx

[thebeautyoffanfics]

WAAAH I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THE REQUEST TT^TT TO THE ANON WHO WISHED FOR THE TERU X READER, ANGST TO FLUFF, HERE IT ISS;; I'M SO SORRY;;;;;

teru minamoto x gn!reader

a/n: thank you so much for being patient and understanding, though I’m still so sorry for how long this took;;!! It really does mean a lot, so truly- thank you for that, and for the encouragement <3! But!! Of course, I’m a bit of a sucker for angst to fluff, tho I don’t write it too often, so I hope it turns out alright! Thank you so much for requesting, and for your encouragement!!! <3 <333

warnings: self deprecating thoughts..?

word count: 1,848

Your eyes drifted around the room. Person to person, conversation to conversations. Yet, you sat at your desk, lunch in front of you, completely alone. You had a boyfriend, yes, but you didn’t even know where on earth he could be… no, he usually sat with you during lunch. However, today he walked up to you, announcing that he had to attend to something during lunch. He asked if you could eat your lunch without him today, and… well, who were you to say no?

The bell rang, and your lunch remained barely touched. You were sure you wouldn’t have been so dramatic normally- however, it felt as if Teru was practically avoiding you at this point. In fact, it almost felt like he was ditching you for someone else. The thought was enough to make you feel nauseous- both because of it being unpleasant, and because you felt bad for simply thinking it. Teru was a good person. You wouldn’t have fallen for him if he wasn’t. Still, he was only human… and, in your head, there were many other humans out there much more fit for Teru. She was one of them.

Her hair flowed alongside her. Her skin was practically flawless. Her teeth weren’t crooked, and her smile was… frankly, flawless. Good grades, good body, good personality. A lovely match for the prince of the school. A princess suited just for him.

Yet, he seemed to stick with the… well- what was the opposite of a princess? A… troll? You did suppose that, compared to someone like that, a troll was a fair enough comparison. Nothing but a creature in the face of such beauty.

The worst part, you were sure, was the fact that Teru did spend time with her. In fact, you were confident that she “needed him” for something during lunch, causing him to miss out on yet another thing. As if grabbing his attention after school during club activities wasn’t enough. As if going to him constantly to ask for help on things you were positive she was perfectly good at. Her grades were nearly as good as his… was it because he helped her? In that case, why were your grades still lower…? Teru helped you study plenty of times- and, while your grades did get better, you were sure you couldn’t get all 99s and 100s. It was impossible for someone who couldn’t be any form of royalty.

You leaned over, placing your lunch back into the box, then shoving the box into your bookbag. Once you sat up, the classroom door was pushed open- as it usually was. It was right after lunch, after all. However, when you saw two familiar people step in, you began to wish that the door never opened. If only it had been locked- if only someone got distracted. If only you looked down just a bit longer. But, it was done- there was no going back, no need to go back, on such a tiny detail.

In stepped the “Princess”, the “Prince” following her- he even held the door open. It was a basic act of chivalry, yes, but the lack of it around you only made him that much more like a prince… Yes, he wasn’t kind to just you. He treated everyone with kindness, as a normal person should. That little act shouldn’t have made you feel that twinge of jealousy- of doubt- spark in your mind.

“(Y/N), were you able to enjoy lunch?” Teru asked, taking a seat next to you. At least he was still acknowledging you.

“Mmh… I’m not really hungry, haha.”

His eyebrows furrowed slightly, concern crossing onto his beautiful features.

“Are you feeling alright? I don’t want you to wind up hungry later…”

Of course, the concern on his face was no longer in your direction- his expression changing slightly as the unfortunately familiar girl called his name. Though she spoke to him, his eyes drifted in your direction several times.

“Teru, I was wondering if you could let me borrow your notes from second hour? The teacher was speaking so fast, ahaha~. I don’t know how you keep up, really!”

“Oh? Of course, I don’t mind. If you’d please return them when you’re done though,” Teru spoke, grabbing a notebook from his bag, then handing them to her. He’d surely let you borrow his notes too, so… she wasn’t special. Though it was a bit surprising that someone that bright couldn’t keep up with the teacher’s far-too-fast method of teaching. When you opened your mouth to make a comment you already knew you shouldn’t, the teacher entered, as if prompting you to keep your emotions in check.

The rest of the day passed nearly the same as the first half did. Teru’s attention constantly elsewhere, though he did seem to at least try to keep it on you. Hey, you were used to that much… everyone wanted his attention. You couldn’t be the one to deny them of it. Yes, it was normal. That’s what you told yourself, as you stepped into the hallway, making your way towards the student council room. Finally, you’d have a chance to be with Teru, no one out to beg for his attention. Well- Akane would be there, but- honestly, you were plainly aware of his… distaste towards your boyfriend. Really, you didn’t mind it. At least it was someone not trying to take any attention you got at school away from you.

“Yeah! With the way that girl seems to be all over him! I think they’re dating?”

“No, no, isn’t he dating (Y/N)?”

“I think he was? But, he doesn’t really seem to spend as much time with her, you know.”

You shut your locker, the sound echoing much louder than you thought you intended. The conversation ceased, as the two engaged in it glanced in your direction, one muttering some profanity under their breath. Still, you picked up your bag, not wanting to drag two strangers into your personal business. All you had to do was establish that you were the one dating Teru, right? And the first step was… making sure Teru still wanted to date. Despite how you tried to calm and reassure yourself as your legs carried you quickly to the school council room, you could feel a mix of frustration, fear, sadness, and insecurity bubbling up in your stomach. Why was he spending so much time with her? Was she better than you? Did he like her more than you? Of course, how could someone like him choose you…? If you were in his shoes, you were sure you’d pick the other girl…

Soon, you stood in front of the room. Though you reached for the doorknob confidently at first, you froze once your hand was about to rest on it. Nerves were practically eating at you, your heart racing so quickly that you felt dizzy. Heck- when was the last time you were this nervous? When was the last time your emotions ran this rampant?

Gathering your emotions as best as you could, you opened the door.

“(Y/N), good afternoon,” Teru greeted, giving you his usual, sweet smile. Did he smile at the other girl like that?

You didn’t want to lose that smile…

“Teru,” You muttered, voice cracking a bit as tears finally filled your eyes. Instantly, those smiling eyes of his were filled with concern. He was so easily concerned for you. Did he worry for her that easily?

“(Y/N)? What happened-? What’s wrong?” He questioned, standing up and rushing over towards you. Once you noticed that Akane hadn’t arrived yet, Teru reached behind you, one arm resting on your shoulder as he locked any potential intruders out. He knew you wouldn’t want anyone to bother you, if something was upsetting you enough to cry like this in front of him.

“Teru, do you still want to be with me?”

“What? (Y/N), of course-” “Be honest, Teru. If you don’t wanna, then don’t lie to me, please. I understand. I’m not as pretty as her- and I’m not as smart, I know. And she’s popular, like you. And she can talk to people easily, and she’s fit, and thin, and she’s got a pretty, normal smile… a-and I know I’m nothing like her, so I understand. She and I are complete opposites, Teru, so I’m positive she’s more your type.”

“(Y/N), calm down,” Teru spoke, both of his hands now resting on your shoulders, thumbs moving comfortingly. “I don’t know who you’re talking about, but I assure you-”

“You’ve been skipping on things we’ve done since we became friends to spend time with her, Teru. Just today, the two of you spent time together during lunch-”

“Her? (Y/N), darling, you’re joking.”

Your eyes filled further with tears, as you shook your head in frustration. “I’m not joking, Teru!”

“(Y/N), please, sweetheart. Calm down, let me explain, alright? Here, let’s sit down?”

Teru led you to a chair, sitting you in it carefully, then crouching next to you, his hands holding both of yours.

“She’s just trying to get some extracurricular things done, relating to her education. Yes, when she needs help, which I’ll admit has been frequently lately, I told her to go to me. I wasn’t expecting her to need this much help, but I didn’t want to go back on my word. Here, if you’d like, I’ll explain to her that I’m a bit too busy to help all the time. I’ll get Akane to step in a bit, is that alright?”

You sniffled, thinking about what he said. Still, as you processed it, you nodded. Poor Akane indeed, but… you felt slightly relieved.

“Next, you know you’re more my type than anyone, (Y/N). Really, sweetie, I only show her basic human kindness. Even when she gets irritating… with you, I never feel annoyed or irritated. Plus, I can actually express how I feel around you- listen, would I admit to anyone else that I find one of our classmates annoying at times?”

“I’m sure you’d tell anyone how you felt about Akane,” You joked lightheartedly, laughing to yourself. Teru’s slight smile grew to a grin, as he closed his eyes.

“Mmm, maybe? But he’s a different story. Still, I love you, (Y/N). You’re plenty smart- and, if you don’t think so, then who cares? Your lack of confidence in yourself means I get to help you study- and you always end up doing just fine. You’re more than plenty gorgeous- I love everything about you. Your smile, your hair, your skin, your body type, anything and everything. You’re perfect, (Y/N). Perfect for the world, and absolutely perfect for me.”

This time, when you felt your eyes get watery, they weren’t tears of sadness or worry. When you hugged Teru, sniffling lightly once again, he could feel you smile against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry for assuming things, Teru-”

“Ah-ah. No need to apologize, (Y/N). Really, you have no reason to apologize… you’re fine, darling.”