#obsessed with that sunlight touching his shoulder

[ddarkcrown]

dis boi

[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.

[slu7formen]

disarmed by desire. | luke castellan x f.r

₊˚⊹♡ luke can’t seem to get out of his head a certain someone, things become even harder when that certain someone, is an aphrodite’s daughter.

warnings: seduction, sexual tension, luke is obsessed over reader, reader’s an aphrodite’s daughter, reader has long hair (not really a warning but whatever).

reminder: english’s not my first language so I apologize for any spelling mistakes

pt2 here

Luke Castellan was obsessed with you.

No, not obsessed. He worshipped you.

He didn’t even know when it started. It was not one thing or situation that started it all, but little small things he witnessed that eventually lead to his confusing and strong feelings he wanted to desperately hide.

Being an Aphrodite’s daughter was no joke, nor was it falling for one of them. All of your brothers and sisters shared an unbeatable beauty. Each one of you is so different, but yet so similar. But the more you grew since your arrival to the camp when you were fifteen, the more you stood out to Luke’s eyes. The Aphrodite cabin girls were known for their charm, but you seemed different, less concerned with vanity and more with genuine connection.

The first flicker appeared during Capture the Flag. Luke wasn't actively participating, a rare occurrence for the camp's best swordsman. Instead, he leaned against a tree, nursing a minor but piercing shoulder wound himself, when she appeared. She wasn’t running across the battlefield like a fiery warrior, but holding a kid’s hand as he was a whimpering mess walking behind her, he sat down on a rock and she instantly attended his bloody knee.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Don’t worry” her voice had said, and the little kid almost immediately stopped sobbing. “Other kids can be mean sometimes. What’s your name?”

Luke watched, spellbound, as your nimble fingers, surprisingly calloused for a daughter of Aphrodite, expertly cleaned and bandaged the wound. Sunlight kissed your hair, turning the braids into strands of melted gold. Laughter danced in your voice, calming the kid down and blending with the clash of swords.

It wasn't just your beauty, though that was undeniable. It was the tenderness in your touch, the quiet confidence radiating from you, a stark contrast to the usual flirtatiousness Luke associated with your cabin. He quickly realized you were also one of the few Aphrodite’s daughter who had the ability of influencing others with your voice; charmspeaking.

Even when your voice didn’t resonate for him, but for the little kid you were attending, he felt undeniably attracted to your sweet melody, maybe that’s why he stared so long at you too.

Then, your eyes met his. A smile bloomed on your lips. "Need some patching up yourself, brave knight?"

His breath hitched as your eyes pierced his, a blush creeping up his neck. He stammered, "No, I'm good." But the lie tasted bitter on his tongue. He wasn't just injured physically; a new wound had opened in his chest, one caused by a flirty smile and a concern genuine enough to pierce through his thick built-up walls.

Luke's attraction to you wasn't solely physical, but he'd be lying if he didn't find himself momentarily stunned by the way you carried yourself.

He couldn't help but steal glances when you wore shorter skirts or crop tops that hinted at the toned physique earned through years of training, or when the older campers organized a secret night out at the lake in which you made sure to wear the best bikini you could find. He'd catch himself mesmerized by the way sunlight would dance on the curves of your body, sending a flicker of heat through him and his own veins. There was an undeniable beauty in your perfectly applied makeup, but it only served to highlight the mischief sparkling in your eyes and the warmth etched on your smile.

It wasn't just the jealousy your beauty ignited in other girls, or the admiration you garnered from younger campers. It was the way you moved, how confidence flowed through you like liquid gold, making even the simplest actions seem captivating. One afternoon, he saw you braiding wildflowers into your hair, your fingers moving with practiced ease, and he found himself staring with parted lips, hypnotized by the delicate beauty you created.

He started finding himself drawn to her laughter, its rich melody echoing through the camp. He'd catch glimpses of her practicing archery, her form uncannily elegant even as she sent arrow after arrow into the bullseye.

She was perfect.

His mind would try to rationalize, tell him it was the warrior in you that drew him in, the way you handled a sword with both grace and ferocity. But deep down, he knew it was more than that. It was the way your beauty existed in perfect harmony with your strength, a potent combination that left him both breathless and curious.

He wouldn't admit it out loud, not even to himself, but the truth was, Luke found himself daydreaming about brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, feeling the warmth of your skin against his fingertips as he leaned it for a kiss of your sugar lips. Something as simple as that had him zoning out of every conversation and forgetting about activities in the camp. He imagined the playful glint in your eyes when you caught him staring, the teasing lilt in your voice as you challenged him to a duel.

Until, well… a true duel emerged. Summer was just starting after all, and practice needed to be done.

Steel sang beneath the afternoon sun as their practice began. The sky was painted with orange and bright yellow colors, as your darkened figures danced around the field. Luke, known throughout camp as the prodigy at sword fighting, moved with a controlled ferocity, his blade a blur of deadly grace. But his opponent today wasn't your average camper. You wielded your sword with the effortless elegance of a former ballerina, impressive to be someone who’s main skill is not fighting, he had to admit. Each parry was a pirouette, each attack a leap defying gravity.

Sparks flew as your blades clashed, but where Luke relied on brute force, you danced around him, using your agility and unexpected angles to deflect his blows. He felt a frustrated flush creep up his neck and loudly beat inside his chest, every missed strike fueling the unspoken tension swirling between you.

Sweat already glistened on your sun-kissed skin, adding a raw allure to your perfectly applied makeup. It dripped down your collarbone and hid underneath your shirt.

Luke fought with intensity, fuelled not just by the thrill of the duel, but by the desire to impress the captivating enigma before him. You, in turn, met his ferocity with playful taunts and flirtatious dodges, your laughter tinkling in his ears.

Some campers have forgotten about their own practices, drawn to the captivating spectacle between you two. Whispers swirled about Luke's unmatched skill, your surprising prowess, and the undeniable spark crackling between you.

“Look at that” Grover shook Annabeth’s arm, eyes pierced in two shadows swiftly moving around the grass, clashing their blades with resonating grunts and heavy breaths.

“Who’s that?” Percy suddenly asked, eyes wide and parted lips hypnotized by the slender figure whose hair flew around like it had its own life.

“yn, an Aphrodite’s daughter” his friend explained. “Not bad at swords at all, though. But she’s got Luke on his nerves”

Percy nodded. “Yeah, I can tell”

But Annabeth laughed. “Not that kind of nerves. Let’s just say she’s enjoying the attention Luke gives her”

The fight went on, each passing moment stretching the boundaries of skill and endurance. Your movements were a whirlwind of elegance and precision, forcing Luke to constantly adapt, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

“Tired, hero?" you purred, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you walked around him and twirled your sword, the sunlight reflecting off its polished surface. "Perhaps a touch of Aphrodite's charm is what you need?"

Luke gritted his teeth, channeling his growing attraction into focused strikes. But despite the heat of the battle, your image kept blurring his vision - your smile, the way your hair fell around your face, how your cheeks flushed red and your glossy lips parted as you blocked his movement against you one more time. He felt his defenses crumbling, his usual stoicism replaced by a raw need to prove himself, not just as a swordsman, but as a man worthy of your attention.

“Careful, princess. Playing with fire might just burn you” he countered as he parried a particularly fierce blow, the impact sending a tremor up his arm. His voice was low enough for only you to hear.

"Oh, Luke" you laughed. “Thanks for worrying so much about me but, I know how to handle a little heat" You lunged, your blade aimed for his shoulder. He barely deflected it, the tip grazing his bicep, sending a jolt of adrenaline through him.

In a swift, mesmerizing blur, your blade danced around his, finding an opening. The clang of steel resonated as your sword disarmed him, sending his clattering to the ground. Silence descended, broken only by the ragged rasp of his breath.

He lets his knees fall to the ground, thinking you would have enough mercy for him to give him a break. But he found himself with the tip of your blade resting gently under his chin. You tapped it twice.

“Up, Castellan” you demanded. He looked up at you.

Your eyes, sparkling with both victory and amusement, held him captive. Sweat and dust smudged your face, adding a primal beauty to your already breathtaking features.

A slow smile tugged at his lips, not of defeat, but of something deeper. He lifted up his hands. "Seems I underestimated the true power of Aphrodite's daughters" he rasped, his voice husky with exertion and something else – an undeniable desire.

“Hell yes you did!” one of your sisters replied, earning a few laughs from the rest of the campers.

The small crowd erupted in cheers once the battle was determined as won by you. Luke eventually got up, sword still under his chin. He was much taller than you, to which you had to lift your own head up to fully see his face.

The roar of the crowd faded into a distant hum as Luke only focused on the heavy pounding on his chest, sword dangerously still close. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, tracing a path past the flush blooming on his cheeks.

"And it seems that our little hero falls not just to skill, but also to some… irresistible charm" you purred, amusement tugging at your lips.

Luke grinned, a touch cocky, a touch breathless. "Perhaps," he conceded, voice husky with exertion. "But I wouldn't call it defeat” he cooed as you slowly put your sword down, placing it next to you. His gaze dropped, tracing a slow path down the curve of your sweat-kissed neck, lingering on the way your shirt clung to your form. Your exposed legs shined underneath the weak sun. The air crackled with unspoken desire, the playful banter now infused with something hotter, more primal.

"Besides," he murmured, voice low and dangerous, "victors deserve their spoils, don't they?"

His words hung heavy, loaded with hidden meaning, a meaning only the two of you seemed to understand now. You felt a blush creep up your neck, surprised by the sudden shift in his usual way of being towards you. You knew he knew you flirted, that you did it with ease. But this was different. This was Luke Castellan, the stoic, the untouchable, and suddenly, he was playing your game.

"And what kind of spoils are you thinking of, big boy?" you countered, your voice barely a whisper.

Luke looked around, campers long gone, already going back to their own activities as soon as your tense situation ended.

He stepped in closer, the space between you shrinking to a charged silence. "Maybe,-" he rasped head down and still heavy breathing, "a dance with the warrior who disarmed me not just with her blade, but with her breathtaking distraction."

His eyes flickered down to your lips, the unspoken desire sparking a flame within you.

“Or maybe something a little more private, as you wish” he continued.

The world seemed to shrink to the heat emanating from your body, the intoxicating scent of wildflower and victory mingled with sweat. Your pulse quickened, a blush blooming on your cheeks.

You laughed in disbelief, smoothly placing your long hair on one side of your head, bright mane elegantly falling like a cascade without you even trying. "Bold proposition, handsome" you replied, voice barely a breath, still trying to catch it. The nickname twisted Luke’s guts, in a good way, might as well have woken up something else. "But maybe you should focus on winning a proper duel before demanding rewards"

He chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through you. "Challenge accepted, my lady” he whispered, stepping back and raising an eyebrow. "But know this; our next battle won't be fought with steel, but with wit, charm, and a touch of something… different"

You tilted your head to the side as he took his sword from the grass. "And this time, I won't underestimate an Aphrodite's daughter, or the power of warrior who knows how to play just as dirty as she fights"

This wasn't the playful banter you were used to, but you sure liked it. This was Luke Castellan, awakened, and the thrill of it was both terrifying and exhilarating.

"We shall see, Luke" you countered, your voice husky with a newfound nervousness as you pronounced his name. "We shall see."

As you turned to address a new opponent on the field, the memory of his voice, hot and suggestive against your ear, lingered on your skin. This wasn’t what you started, this was a dance of unspoken desires fueled by sweat, steel, and the awakening of a forbidden hunger in the heart of Luke Castellan. And you, the daughter of Aphrodite, were ready to play.

He couldn't help but watch you go, his heart brimming with a newfound determination. He admired your skill, your wit, your beauty, and most of all, the way you made him feel – breathless, excited, and utterly captivated. Your golden figure disappeared into a new crowd of campers looking for someone else to fight.

This was about to be one of the best summers ever.

pt2 here <3

I’m so delulu over this man istg

Currently reading PJ 3rd book :) Had to retake my lecture after I watched the show

ALWAYS OPEN FOR REQUESTS! <3

[spxllcxstxr]

Jayce Dating Someone from the Undercity • Headcanon

(Gif not mine)

Request: i would like to request jayce x fem reader headcanons with a reader who is from the undercity. -- anon

Warnings: mention of undercity judgment/bigots, mentions of scars, general anxiety, still very very cute

A.N: JAYCE!!!! 😫😫😫😫😫😫 I love him so much, I hope you all enjoy!

•

You never thought you would end up with someone like Jayce Talis. Piltover’s Golden Boy. The Man of Progress. An easily excitable man with just the biggest heart. No, you never thought you’d ever be this lucky

At first you thought he was just some privileged top sider; pretty on the outside, ugly in the inside. But Jayce wears his big heart on his sleeve. Within moments of interacting with him it was revealed to you that he was a caring individual with dreams of helping people in need. He wanted peace and prosperity for all

No matter how hard he tries, Jayce will never understand what life was like in the murky depths of the Undercity. You had friends you considered as family growing up, of course; that was the sliver of happiness you were lucky enough to have. But even then life was tough

The constant fear of something lurking behind you (or hanging above you) was one you couldn't shake even after years of living top side with Jayce. The need to check over your shoulder when strolling through the streets of Piltover and the frantic obsession with double--no, triple--checking the locks in your apartment was a necessity that was buried deep within your soul

(When you first started dating you felt immensely embarrassed by the mannerisms the Undercity ingrained into you. It took a couple dates before Jayce asked you in a hushed voice if you were being followed by a chem-baron or some other adjacent criminal. At that point you knew you had to sit him down and explain everything)

Jayce is ever so patient when it comes to you. While in the lab he wants answers and results for whatever he's tinkering with, with you he feels as if he can sit and wait forever. If you ever need to talk he’s all ears

He never made you feel stupid or insane for your habits, not even when you first told him about how you were raised. Jayce was so patient as you told him with tears in your eyes that no amount of time top side would stop the gnawing anxiety your childhood gave you. He held your hands and wiped the tears away as they ran down your cheeks. You almost made him cry, golden eyes filled to the brim with tears making them look like liquid sunlight

That's when you really knew you loved him completely, and that he had loved you too. That was your Jayce, a man who wanted to understand you and have you know every second that he had your back

Despite your differences, Jayce never made you feel less than. Being top side made you feel like you were branded with the term 'Undercity Rat' across your forehead. People would give you looks and stuff their hands deep in their pockets to grasp onto their coins tighter when you walked by. But Jayce was never like that. Maybe it was because of his close friendship with Viktor, or maybe your sweet, sweet Jayce simply wasn't born with a bigoted bone in his body

Jayce also sticks up for you and has your back if anyone makes you feel unwelcome top side. He knows you can hold your own and fight your own battles, but he can’t help but get involved and defend you. His jaw clenches and his knuckles turn white from squeezing his hands into tight fists at his sides. He just doesn’t believe that you of all people should be judged. Jayce believes that you are a kind and beautiful soul and that you deserve the world

He likes holding your hand when walking around the city, not only because he’s big on touch and displays of affection, but also to let everyone know that he loves you—no matter your background

If you have any physical scars on your body he will always lightly kiss them; showing affection is what Jayce loves doing. He wants to make sure you know that he loves every single part of you

He loves that you and Viktor become friends. You two started out with a shared bond of being Undercity street kids turned top siders. Jayce asks Viktor for advice when it comes to you, whether you would like something or if you knew what something was

All in all, Jayce just wants you to feel loved every second of every day. He has so much love for you and he wants to show it. He’s just bursting out the seams with his admiration for you. You are his everything, and he’s never afraid to show that off

•

[eiightysixbaby]

obsessed with the idea of late-summer evenings spent with eddie, when you’re sort of almost dating but not quite yet.

he borrows wayne’s truck, drives the two of you out somewhere kind of secluded. he’s packed blankets to line the bed of the truck with, he makes it real cozy for both of you once he’s parked somewhere. you sit cross-legged, knees touching shyly as he strums softly on his guitar, the trusty acoustic producing such pretty sounds.

sometimes he just plays, other times he’ll sing softly along. usually when he sings he tries to make it special, choosing something you like. he wants to impress you, wants to make sure you understand how much he likes you. he’ll learn your favorite songs on guitar specifically for nights like these, even if the music isn’t always his taste. he likes the way you smile bashfully when you recognize the opening notes to the latest song you’ve latched onto.

he’s completely captivated by the way the indiana sunsets cast you in a pretty golden-orange glow, and in these moments he doesn’t want summer to end. there’s just something about how radiant you are in the sunlight, in your shorts and your ringer tees.

it’s at the point in the year where the nights start to get chilly, and when the sun goes down he always gives you his jacket, like clockwork. it doesn’t help his pounding heart, seeing you in his clothes. even if it’s just his leather jacket draped over your shoulders, he swears it’s gonna send him into cardiac arrest one of these days.

sometimes, after sundown when you’ve folded away the blankets and packed up the guitar, he’ll insist that you stop at the diner on the way home. it’s just his excuse for more time with you, the food isn’t even that good. he pays every time, despite your protests, though he lets you plead with him for a couple minutes because you look so damn cute when you pout at him,

and when he drops you off, he walks you to your front porch, stalling the goodnight as long as he can. he knows he’ll see you tomorrow anyway — or the day after that at the very latest — but it doesn’t matter. he wants every second he can get.

he wants to time it just right, without rushing, but he can’t wait for the night where he asks you to be his, for real.

[rinsoap]

SONGS THEY LOVE TO MAKE OUT TO!

✿²˖ ࣪ ➣ includes : suna rintaro. iwaizumi hajime. atsumu miya.

note : me after incorporating my music hyperfixation into all my works. also can u tell im so obsessed with all of these men's arms n hands.

SUNA RINTARO: REDBONE BY CHILDISH GAMBINO

makeouts with suna are always distracting you. this night was no different except for the fact that you're on the floor. well, you're sittting on the rug beside his bed that's pushed up to the wall. he's sitting against it, and you're in his lap facing him. you're on your phone, not paying attention to the boy directly in front of you, too busy trying to instruct one of your project partners on how to use microsoft. suna is not usually jealous. who cares if someone's into you? it's not like they have a chance. you never entertain them anyways. he just misses you. he was out of the city for a week for an away game, and he's hardly kissed you since he left. he's had awaken, my love! by childish gambino playing for a while now, head lolling back on the bed, bored out of his mind. "babyyyy" he hums in complaint after you giggle at your phone. "hold on rin, i'm almost done... god these people are so stupid, i swear i'm literally carrying this project" you roll your eyes as your fingers fly across the screen, the tapping filling the silence until your boyfriend groans and brings his head up to look at your pretty face. the intro of redbone kicks in, and his mind starts racing, thinking about all the times he's kissed your lips to this song. his hand snakes around your waist, and you feel his thumb start tracing hearts into your skin. "you're too pretty to be worrying about school," suna pouts, "you should pay attention to... other things..." his suspicious trail off causing your eyes to flick to his face, but before you could find his eye contact, he was planting kisses onto your neck. "rin," you whine, winding up to tell him off, but he makes his way up to your jaw, grinning against your cheek when you catch his eye. "rin i can't..." you sigh, incredibly receptive to his touch despite your words, dropping your phone still open on your messages to wrap your arms around his shoulders. "you just look so beautiful, can’t stop myself," he mumbles before pressing his lips against yours, hands making their way to hold the dip between your jaw and neck. you lean into his desperate kiss, and when your fingers carress the nape of his neck, you feel him smile. "missed you so much baby"

IWAIZUMI HAJIME: NIGHTS BY FRANK OCEAN

makeouts with iwaizumi always start out polite. it's always just one kiss, something casual, until he starts getting needier. you had dragged your boyfriend into another late afternoon nap, him shirtless, and you wearing one of his faded graphic t-shirts. you're woken by the sunlight beaming through iwaizumi's ineffective blinds. his arm is lazily holding you and he's laying on his stomach, you're on your back. you place your hand on his forearm and hum along to the end of hold on by the internet. you had forgotten you put on a playlist. you hear iwaizumi grunt and you giggle. "you awake finally?" he teases, turning on his side to face you and you do the same. "take a guess, genius" you quip back and he tsks. he doesn't say anything though, chest to chest and noses touching, he just stares into your eyes. sometimes he wakes up with you next to him and he is baffled at how he managed to pull someone as gorgeous as you. his eyes only break from yours to flick to your lips, and you can tell he's trying to be discreet by the way they immediately dart back. the song changes, and you both smile at each other knowingly. you were about to exclaim that he should just kiss you, but he interrupts that thought to oblige, and your face goes hot. his kisses still gave you butterflies despite being with him for so long. you kiss him back, matching the way he deepens it, hands over your hips as he pulls you onto him. you gasp at the sudden nature of it, and he grins against your mouth. you break free and move your hands from the sides of his face to his bare chest, but he pulls you closer to kiss up your shoulder and your collarbones and ultimately brings you back to kiss him. as the beat switches, his strong arms hold you tighter, closing whatever distance the two of you might have had before. he groans in your mouth when your hands tangle in his hair, tugging on it slightly when he quietly mumbles, "i love you". he could kiss you all day if he could, and he acts like it.

MIYA ATSUMU: ONE NIGHT ONLY BY SONDER

makeouts with atsumu are intense and frequent. he loves pda, he's the type of guy to use any excuse to show off his girl, and is that such a crime?! he needs to stop kissing you at parties though, i fear you've become that couple. you were both a little tipsy, and when atsumu drinks, he can't take his hands off of you. so when he started kissing on your neck, you rushed him to the bathroom to avert everyone's eyes from the pda. you shut the door behind you, and atsumu quickly takes the opportunity to close the distance between you two until he had you pressed against the door. "oh, hey," you say with a sarcastic smirk that he matches. "hi baby," he bites his lip, looking you up and down and then back to your eyes, "you look so fucking good... i couldn't stop looking at ya, princess" he knows he's not subtle. your heart beats to the bass of the song playing through the door as he cups your cheeks in his big hands. he leans in to kiss you fervently, leaving you breathless and almost as needy as him. his hands thread through your hair and yours do the same as he nips at your lips playfully. you giggle and he pulls back just enough to speak, resting his forehead on yours. "you're so perfect" is all he says before he starts peppering you face and neck with soft kisses, working his way up back to your lips to capture you in a kiss much more intense comparatively. his hands roam your back, and you melt into his touch as the two of you intertwine. the world fades away, it's just you and him and the song. "hey are y'all done in there or what?" osamu knocks irritably, gladly interrupting you much to both of your displeasure. you laugh, and atsumu rolls his eyes. "yeah yeah whatever," he calls out, planting one last kiss on your cheek before you drag him out of the bathroom, "this will be continued later, promise you baby" he's so corny

[papayadays]

🧸 + denial. realization. obsession. + lando (maybe a little friends to lovers 🤭)

a/n: ohhh maddie i love your brain!! (oops i kinda went overboard for this)

you and lando had known each other for what felt like ages. the two of you had gone to the same country club when you were younger, both of you often following your parents. you instantly hit it off, becoming buddies as you wandered around the country club together.

since then, you and lando had become fast friends normally, staying close despite lando making it into formula 1. you still kept in touch as much as you could with countless facetimes, online games, and texts about each other’s day. you often couldn’t go to races, having been busy with work; however, when max and the rest of lando’s friends in quadrant decided they were going to go watch lando race, an invitation was extended to you.

you were hesitant at first, knowing the expensive lounges they were going to choose, but max said that he’d pay for it. (which meant that lando would pay for it, most likely) so now, you were getting out of the car, heading towards the track. you and ria were laughing about something when some teenage girls tapped you on the shoulder. “excuse me, are you lando’s girlfriend?”

your eyes widened with surprise, shaking your head. “no, i’m a close friend of his,” you answered. glancing up, you expected ria to be just as surprised as you were, but she gave you an amused smile.

“that was odd,” you commented to her, walking towards the mclaren garage.

“right, odd,” ria murmured, but it was almost a half-hearted agreement.

you were about to respond when you heard a voice behind you call your name. spinning around, you saw lando, who had a look of surprise on his face. “you’re here!” he grinned, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you in a tight hug. lando nuzzled his face in your hair as he spoke. “i didn’t know you were coming, but i’m so glad you’re here.”

“glad to be here, lan,” you beamed. you both pulled back, maybe a bit reluctantly, and turned back to the rest of the group, who gave you the same amused glance ria had. but to add to that, the mechanics in the garage also shared a similar expression that you couldn’t decipher.

“this your girlfriend, norris?” one of the mechanics asked, chuckling. lando’s eyes changed into something veiled, something you couldn’t place. “you two make a good couple.”

“thanks, she’s one of my best friends,” lando responded, throwing an arm around your shoulder. you nodded, smiling at him, though something in your gut twisted at his words. best friends, that’s what you and lando were, so why weren’t you happy with that?

but. wait.

lando had said thanks to the compliment about being a good couple. and he hadn’t necessarily said you weren’t a couple. your mind was reeling with the implications, heart fluttering at the thought that maybe you liked him. what made it more suspenseful was that he quite possibly felt the same.

“hello? you good?” lando laughed, waving a hand in front of your face as you blinked. “spaced out, huh?”

you chuckled, though somewhat nervous, and tugged at his hand. the surprise and faint hope in his eyes wasn’t lost on you. “wanna go for a quick walk?” you suggested. “my brain’s a little busy.”

lando quickly nodded, hand on your waist as he guided you out into a quiet area in the paddock. with your newfound epiphany, you were paying attention to every single detail. had lando always put his hand on your back? when did he start? did his touch always make your heart flutter?

“are you okay?” lando asked softly, eyes seeming green in the sunlight.

“i’m fine,” you replied. “it’s just…” you trailed off, not brave enough to voice your hopes about something that could change your friendship.

“just what?” lando questioned, scrunching up his nose in confusion.

“everyone’s been asking me if i’m your girlfriend lately,” you started.

“is it bothering you? i could-”

“lando, no, it’s not that,” you said, cutting him off. “but i was thinking. if you’d ever thought it about. us dating, i mean.”

lando glanced at you, surprise in his expression as he took a step towards you. “i do think it about it,” he nodded. “every time i look at you.”

your jaw dropped at the revelation, and you mentally kicked yourself for being so stupid. he had had feelings for a while now? and you had still maintained that you were friends? “what if,” you started, “we could tell people that it was true?”

lando’s mouth curled up into a grin, arms wrapping around your waist. “is that what you want?”

instead of answering him verbally, you pulled him down, smiling as you kissed him.

[aemondsbabe]

Duty & Sacrifice | Claimant Pt 2

summary: your wedding to jace will happen whether you and aemond like it or not; even still, you know where you truly belong

pairing: dark!brother!aemond x sister!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dark aemond, threats against jace, jace slander do not come at me you were warned, blood purest aemond like he's voldemort coded idk he loves that valyrian o neg, breeding kink, fingering, unprotected sex, piv sex, biting, brief hand on neck, possessive aemond, obsessive aemond, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 3.7k

a/n: big thank you to @rabbit-hearted for sending a request for more dark!aemond! i hope you enjoy!! dark aemond was a bit toned down in this one but he (and the reader) will be going unhinged psycho in part 3 uwu

gif creds to @aemondtargaryensource

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🔪read part 1 here!

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“Oh, you look absolutely beautiful, Princess,” your lady’s maid coos over your shoulder while she finishes tying the laces at the back of your gown, eliciting a chorus of echoing hums and titters of agreement from the other women fluttering about your chambers. 

“Thank you, Kella,” you murmur, meeting her gaze in the mirror, your lips stretched into a thin, tight smile. Even in your periphery, the sight of the ivory dress makes your stomach turn and twist into barbarous knots and you quickly glance away. You try to ignore the pang of guilt that eats at your heart as you keep your eyes trained on the shelves beside the mirror, silently reciting the name of each book stacked on them over and over again, anything to keep your mind occupied. 

It only halfway works, just as it had every time before – every other time you stood in this exact same spot as the tailor measured and fitted your dress, as you discussed hairstyles with your maids, as you chose jewelry with your mother. Helaena had spent weeks, hours upon hours, sewing bead after bead into the alabaster fabric, creating intricate patterns of florals giving way to flames, and you could hardly bring yourself to look at it. 

If I don’t look, it’s not real. If I don’t look, it’s not real, the words, foolish as they were, echoed in your mind for the millionth time as your maids added final touches to your outfit – sliding your feet into shoes and clasping on various ornate jewels. 

“Should we finish the hair first or get the cloak on first?” You hear one of your lady’s maids ask another, somewhere off to the side. 

“Mm, I think the cloak,” another one answers; you can hear the doors of your wardrobe being pulled open, “Her tiara may get snagged otherwise.”

Glimmers of red from the small garnet gemstones decorating your gown create bloody splotches in your periphery as morning sunlight filters through your windows; your mind begins to wander again despite your best efforts and crimson quickly gives way to hues of sapphire. Absent-mindedly, you dig your nails into your cuticles as you recall that night. The events play out behind your eyes like they have time and time again in the weeks between then and now – the pin-pricked chill you’d felt from his gaze, the way his whispered promises made your heart ache with a confusing whirlwind of longing and dread, the way his hands had felt against your skin. The sound of your blood pumping wildly in your veins drowns out any other noise as his voice echoes in your head. 

“Prove your devotion to me, my Strong girl,” he had commanded, directing your attention to the hilt of his dagger. And you had, the memories of it make you shiver even now. 

You had.

But it didn’t matter because here you are, clad in an ivory gown that may as well be a death shroud for all the joy it brings you.

“Princess?” A little gasp falls from your lips as you’re hoisted out of your reverie and your eyes finally focus on Kella standing before you, matching cloak in hand. 

“My apologies,” you say, managing a little chuckle, “I’m not sure where my head was at.” 

“No trouble, Princess,” Kella smiles, waving a hand dismissively, “I’m sure you’re eager to get the day started, marrying a prince and all.”

“Eager, yes,” you sigh, forced smile falling flat the second she looks away. The back of your throat tightens when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror and, for the umpteenth time today, you try desperately to ignore the urge to run – to sprint all the way to the Dragonpit, mount Silverwing, and go. Instead, you swallow down the sick feeling in your gut and compel yourself to be still as Kella drapes the cloak over your shoulders, the red silk underlining enveloping you in a sanguine veil. 

Just as she’s about to fasten it to the little ties at the shoulders of your gown, the doors to your chambers bang open, causing both of you to jump as your heads whip toward the sound of the noise. 

“Prince Aemond,” Kella says breathlessly, draping the cloak over an arm and curtsying politely. 

“Get out,” he murmurs lowly, violet eye not moving from yours as he stands at the doorway, arms tucked behind his back, “I wish to have a moment alone with my sister.” Your heart hammers so wildly that you’re amazed the sound of it doesn’t echo off the walls – that it doesn’t burst in your chest. 

You don’t miss the uncertain glances your maids give one another, though they ultimately nod their heads. A small chorus of, “Yes, your highness,” rises around you as they scurry from the room; Kella quickly drapes your cloak over the back of your vanity chair before leaving as well, the doors to your chambers closing behind her. 

Aemond quickly locks them, the barest hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips for a precious second as he does so, before turning to you. Your brows furrow as nervousness builds within you, nails digging into your cuticles as you desperately study the neutral expression on his face as he stalks toward you. 

“Don’t you look breathtaking, sweet sister,” his eye sweeps over your form as he speaks and you feel as if every ounce of air is pressed from your lungs when he gently grasps at your chin, angling your face up toward his when he comes to a stop before you. 

“How did you get in here?” You question, hating how feeble your voice sounds, how your heart slows the second he touches you. Your question is a valid one, though – your mother had taken great caution in the weeks following the night of your betrothal feast to keep you and your brother as separated as possible. 

He chuckles as he tilts your face to the side, exposing your neck. “Someone may have delivered an anonymous tip to Cole informing him of a supposed smallfolk revolt brewing in Flea Bottom,” you don’t miss the twitch of a victorious smile on his lips, “Of course, the Gold Cloaks had to attend to it – we wouldn’t want anything ruining such a… joyous day. Once they were gone, it was easy enough to slip from the Sept and make my way back here.”

“You’ve been planning,” his eye stays fixed on the ruby necklace clasped around your neck as you speak, though he hums in acknowledgement at your words. After another few seconds of heavy silence, you cannot help but huff and jerk your chin from his careful grip, “Did you come here to merely ogle at me or do you need something?”

“Mm,” he hums, narrowing his eye for just the barest of seconds, “There is something I need indeed, Strong girl.”

“Don’t call me that!” You snap, the little huff of laughter he gives only makes you more agitated. He turns his back to you and stalks over to your vanity; it’s only then that you see he’s holding a small box behind his back, “What is that?”

“Only a little wedding present,” Aemond drawls, violet eye meeting yours in the mirror as he runs his fingers over the soft ivory silk of your cloak; his nose twitches in disgust, the most subtle of movements that you’re sure only you are able to spot. 

“Can… can I see it?”

Another twitch of his lips, a little pulling at the corners, just enough for you to know he’s satisfied about something, makes your heart squeeze in your chest. Whatever game he’s playing at, whatever imaginary battle he’s thought up in his mind, he’s winning. 

Am I even fighting back? Do I want to?

Silently, he makes his way back over to you, each heavy step a nail in your proverbial coffin. He’s standing before you again, long hair spilling over the shoulders of his tunic like a pearlescent waterfall, held back from his face by two thin braids that join in the back. 

Finally, he opens the box, carefully sliding the lid off. Your lips part as you stare down at the contents, eyes as wide as the moon as it feels like all the air has been sucked from the room. 

“I had it made by the finest craftsman in the city,” he murmurs, eye gleaming with pride at your stunned reaction, “Do you like it, little one?”

“I… Aemond, I…,” you stammer, at a loss for words as you look over the necklace resting on a bed of soft cloth. Made from a breathtaking assortment of pearls, the attention to detail is immaculate; each milky white stone is threaded onto a fine silver chain, all leading to a gleaming deep blue sapphire in the center, framed by the figure of a small silver dragon. “I-It’s gorgeous, brother, I… thank you.”

“You deserve only the best,” he purrs, watching closely as you reach up and carefully run your fingers over the glittering stones, “Shall I put it on you?”

“I already have a neck –” You start, only for a loud gasp to rip itself from your throat as Aemond tears the ruby necklace from you, the delicate gold chains easily snapping and sending dozens of tiny rosy stones clattering to the floor. All you can do is gape at him, one hand grazing against the place on your neck where the necklace once sat. 

Meanwhile, your brother’s violet eye merely follows a few of the stones as they skid across the stone floors. “Pity,” he tuts, stalking around you like a lion would its prey before stopping behind you and meeting your gaze in the mirror. 

“Do you have any idea who that necklace bel–”

“I don’t give a shit about who it belonged to,” he hisses, reaching over your shoulder and grabbing your jaw, forcing your head to turn back enough to meet his heated stare, “All that matters is that you belong to me, not some sniveling fucking bastard who shall only bring you ruin.”

He stares at you for a second more as if trying to drive the point somehow further into your heart before finally releasing your chin, smirking at the little shiver that runs down your spine when he skims his fingers over your neck. 

Your eyes flutter shut as he delicately sweeps the hair away from the back of your neck before pressing a soft kiss there, only to trail more down the crook of your neck and shoulder; time seems to slow for a moment while you savor the feel of his lips against your skin and your chest tightens when he groans. 

He huffs when he straightens back up, like being apart from you, even if only by a few scant inches, is painful – a feeling you know all too well. Opening your eyes, you watch as he carefully clasps the sapphire necklace around your neck. The larger middle stone sits perfectly at the base of your neck, the rich blue hue sparkles beautifully against your skin. 

“Flawless,” he says lowly, gently kissing just below your ear before trailing his eye up to the floor-length mirror the two of you stand before, hands resting on your waist, “We look perfect together, don’t we, little one?”

Automatically, you nod your head, unable to separate your gaze from the mirror. He’s right, he always is. The two of you simply fit together – perfect compliments of the other. 

He smiles lazily over your shoulder and pulls you closer against him, relishing in the small gasp that leaves your lips as his length presses against you, already half-hard and wanting. “Yes, you and I were meant to be together,” he breathes, slowly pulling up the skirts of your gown, “You may be marrying that traitorous little cunt, but you’ll belong to me soon enough, sweet sister.”

Your brows furrow at that and you start to question him, ask what exactly he means, but before you can utter a word, a feeble, stuttering moan is wrenched from your lips instead. Aemond holds you steady, keeping one hand firmly around your waist, as the other fits itself between your thighs; you’re helpless to do much else than watch yourself fall apart in the mirror as his lithe fingers slip through your already drenched center.

A pleased hum reverberates against the side of your jaw as he presses soft kisses against your neck, ravenous eye glued to your chest as it rises and falls with sharp pants, your breasts heaving beneath the bodice of your wedding dress.

“Promise me you won’t let him touch you,” your brother growls, swirling his fingers around your already aching pearl with practiced ease, “Swear to me that I am the only one who will ever claim you, sweet girl.”

“A-Aemond, I…,” you gasp, already having to fight through the fog in your mind to remain upright, much less speak, “Brother, please!”

“Swear it!” He snarls, biting harshly at your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark. 

“I promise, I promise!” You quickly concede, the truth willingly spilling from you. You did not want anyone else, you never had – your gaze had been firmly set on Aemond for as long as you could remember. Your heart had soared with hope when Aegon and Helaena’s betrothal was announced, only for those hopes to be squashed when you were all but promised to Jace not too long after Aemond’s eye had been taken – doomed to a marriage built on regrets. 

Your older brother had felt the same from an earlier age still, always doting on you, even as a child. He loves Helaena, yes, but his heart had only been yours. His screams still echo in your mind – the only time he’d ever raised his voice at your mother, when he’d stormed into her chambers as soon as Aegon had taunted him with news of the raven from Driftmark. 

But it was the same each time, excuses of repairing relations and making amends, commands for you and Aemond both to grow up – to make sacrifices for the realm. 

Was I ever more than a lamb raised for slaughter? That question has kept you up for more hours than you care to admit. Now, watching in the mirror as a man who is not your betrothed brings you to heel on the morning of a day you have mourned for years, the dam inside you finally bursts – you are tired of bowing to duty. 

“Aemond, please!” You gasp, nearly crying as the fog in your mind finally lifts, “Please, take me, please!”

He pauses at that, the fingers on your aching bud stopping as his eye flicks up to yours. His eye is studying, calculating while he looks over you — there is a terrible relief in being finally, truly seen. “Is that what you wish?” He hums, chuckling when you pant as his fingers circle your dripping entrance, “To be filled with me, little one?”

You’re nodding before he’s even finished the question, desperate whines spilling from you as he slips his hand from between your legs, only long enough to loosen the ties at the front of his trousers.

“I’ll breed this sweet cunt,” he grunts, the arm around your waist moving to hook securely around your chest while the other grabs at his length, positioning it at your entrance as you hold your skirts out of the way in a trembling grasp, “Give you a pure Valyrian babe, just as you deserve.”

All of the air is knocked from your lungs as he pushes into you, spearing you on his cock in one swift motion. Your fingers abandon your skirts to instead claw helplessly at the arm draped over your chest, knees nearly buckling as Aemond pauses long enough for you to adjust. 

“Gods!” You whimper as he sets a punishing pace from the outset, though the harsh thrusts feel like paradise after being deprived of his mere presence for so long. Your head droops forward as he snakes a hand around your hip to begin rubbing at your pearl yet again, lucid enough to know that the two of you are operating on borrowed time. 

“You have always been mine, all of you,” he gasps, watching as your bodies writhe together in the mirror. After a moment, he growls and grabs at your neck, forcing your head up until your eyes meet his. “That’s it, sweet girl,” he praises, leaning forward to kiss and nip at your neck and shoulder, “You’re mine, you’re mine…”

You nod as best you can as he chants the words again and again like a prayer, pushing his length in and out of you in time with each one, until your mind is nothing but a cacophony of mine, mine, mine. 

“I-I’m, Gods, I’m – Aemond!” You all but sob, the knot in your stomach that had been pitifully winding itself for weeks finally about to unravel as your cunt tightens around him, his grunts and growls in response only pushing you further to the end. 

“Do it,” he commands, redoubling his efforts on your bud, his other hand scrambling frantically to grasp at your stomach, “Let go and I’ll breed you, I’ll give you a babe, our babe, little one. Let go for me, let go.”

His muttered command sends shivers down your spine and you’re powerless to do much else other than obey and your eyes squeeze shut and your lips part as a harsh, shuddering cry is knocked out of you; fire seems to ignite every cell within you as you pulse around his length. Your knees buckle when your high washes over you, Aemond’s grip around your waist the only thing keeping you upright. 

“Good girl, good girl,” he murmurs, the sound of his voice just barely cutting through the rush of blood in your ears. A handful of thrusts later and he stills against you, growling and squeezing you to within an inch of your life as he fills you, cock twitching. 

You both still for a moment, harsh pants filling your chambers as you catch your breath. You whine when Aemond finally pulls his softening length from you, though he shushes you sweetly before leading you to your vanity chair and sitting you down. 

“I don’t want to marry him,” you whisper suddenly, sniffling softly as tears sting the back of your eyes, “I don’t w-want to, Aemond, I –”

“Shh, shh,” he says softly, gently cupping your cheek and angling your face up toward his, “There’s nothing we can do to change today, as much as it pains me. Were it possible, I would gut him in the Sept and stake my claim to you then and there, Gods be damned, I –” 

He pauses, cutting himself off with a harsh sigh, “I will have you, I swear it. I will not fail again.” 

Were it any other time, the dark shadow that lingers behind his words would give you pause, would frighten you as they have before. 

Now, though, they settle over you like a warm blanket – there is a safety in this fear. Aemond, for all his faults, is nothing if not determined. 

Whatever surety had settled within you only an hour before is swiftly and sharply pushed from your mind as you exit the carriage and climb the many steps up to the doors of the Great Sept of Baelor, unsteady even with Aegon at your side. 

By the grace of the Gods, Aemond had managed to slip from your chambers, and supposedly from the Red Keep, unseen by all except your lady’s maids, and they had all been sworn to secrecy long ago. Once he had gone, they filed back in and had blessedly made no mention of the intrusion as they bustled about you yet again – quickly braiding your hair through the prongs of your tiara and securing your cloak to your shoulders. 

They knew better than to ask about the sapphire clasped around your neck, or about the mess of rubies on the floor.

Your eldest brother, however, had not been so forgiving; his dark eyes had narrowed the moment you were seated together in the carriage. “Today, sister? Really?” He had teased, a dangerous spark in his eyes.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you had grumbled, clenching your legs together as you sat. 

“Hm,” he hummed, chuckling softly, “Maybe I’ll soon be mother’s favorite after all.”

“We stand here in the sight of Gods and men to witness the union of man and wife,” the septon’s booming voice fills the Sept as you stand together with Jacaerys, your hands in his, “One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

You try your hardest to keep your eyes trained to his, to keep your lips crooked into a smile, but all you can focus on is the two stares practically searing your flesh. 

Alicent’s face swam in your vision, the way her cheeks had paled when she had caught sight of the jewelry clasped around your neck, at the guilty look in your eyes. You can feel hers boring into you now and you have no doubt her jaw is clenched, her fingers bloodied and raw. 

The other stare makes your skin prickle, much as it did on the night of your betrothal feast. You keep inwardly scolding yourself, again and again, as your eyes lock with Aemond’s every few seconds as he stands at the base of the steps to your side. 

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity,” the septon continues, gesturing to you and Jace, “Look upon one another and say the words.”

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger,” you recite together, all the while you desperately try to ignore the hollow, aching pit slowly opening itself in the very center of your chest.

“I am hers and she is mine,” Jace murmurs, dark gaze fixed solely on yours as he squeezes your hands, a terrible longing in his stare, “From this day, until the end of my days.”

“I am his and he is mine,” you say, each word feeling like a knife being twisted in your gut, “From this day until the end of my days.”

The septon gestures once more for the two of you to step closer together; it takes all of your restraint not to gasp when you feel a rivulet of Aemond’s spend leak down your thigh as you do. 

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” Jace says softly. His warm hands cup your cheeks before he leans in but when your lips touch, all you see is sapphire.

thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)

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[moonstruckme]

Hi lovely!! I hope you’re having a superbly wonderful week so far! I’m absolutely obsessed with all your whimsical!reader works, and I was wondering if you’d be willing to write another with tasm!Peter? I just love the dynamic of someone as scientifically minded as him with someone more celestial-oriented and he never makes her feel dumb or silly or anything and supports her ugh they’re precious <3 you’re precious too <3

Thank you for requesting angel! You're the most precious <3

tasm!Peter Parker x whimsical!reader ♡ 539 words

“This is your life line.” The touch of your fingertip is light enough to tickle. Peter shivers, but you’re too focused to notice. “It doesn’t have any breaks in it, which means you’re dependable and you have strong, healthy genes.” 

Peter hums. “Do you think it’s accounting for the spider genes, or just mine?” 

You nod. “I think you had good genes before that, but it may have gotten deeper over time.” 

“Yeah?” Peter doesn’t doubt that the lines on his palm have changed over time. He thinks it’s for different reasons than you do, but that’s okay. 

“Mhm.” 

“Show me another one.” 

You smile, and it feels like sunlight shining down on his palm. “I was going to. You’re in such a rush.” 

“Well, I’m learning about my fate and everything.” He bumps the top of your head with his nose. “It’s urgent stuff.” 

“This,” your index finger tickles across the top of his palm, “is your heart line.” 

Peter peers at it. “It’s short.” 

“That’s okay. It’s going towards your middle finger, which means you’re passionate. That seems right.” 

“Does it?” 

You hear the smile in Peter’s voice and look up to give him one of your own. “I think so,” you say in that soft, easy way of yours. “You’re very romantic. And see, it breaks into two at the end, which means you put others before yourself. That sounds a lot like you.” 

Peter admires your concentration. Your lashes screen your eyes as you inspect his palm, your features relaxed but lips still curved with the echo of a smile. 

“It’s mostly straight,” you muse, “which I think indicates that you’re content in your relationships.” 

“You don’t say,” Peter hums. “I wonder why that might be.” 

You laugh as he grabs you around the middle, pulling you close and planting a firm kiss on the top of your head. 

“I don’t need my hand to tell me I’m happy, you weirdo.” 

“I’m just telling you what it says,” you defend yourself. 

“Let me see yours.” He sits you between his thighs, leaning over your shoulder. 

“You won’t know what it means, though.” 

“You can tell me. C’mon, gimme. ‘Nless you have something to hide, huh?” 

You relinquish your hand to him, letting him smooth his thumbs over the canvas of your palm. You lean your head into his. 

“Oh,” says Peter. “Hmm. I see. This is very good.” 

“Peter.” Your voice is warm with fondness. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“I know it’s pretty. It’s a very, very nice line.” He brings it to his lips. “It probably says something about you being sweet, and romantic, and having an okay-looking boyfriend who loves you a lot.” 

You turn your face towards him, your nose to his cheek. “Those aren’t the sorts of things it tells you. And you’re more than okay-looking.” 

“Pretty sure I’m reading it loud and clear, sweetheart. You sure you’re the one who knows how to do this?” 

“I think so,” you say. Your lips part contentedly when Peter finds them with his own, soft and pliant to his touch. 

“Guess I just have natural instincts for it, then.” 

It’s his favorite feeling, your smile blooming against his. “Maybe so.” 

[dixonsbrat]

could you write some fluff abt swimming with corio in the lake??

𖥔 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𖥔

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 ; you and coriolanus decide to visit the lake.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 ; coriolanus snow x fem!reader, nothing that i can think of, some kissing and a lot of fluff.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ; 1.1k .ᐟ

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ; was obsessed with the lake scene and had to recreate my own

with each breath, the worries and burdens of living in the districts seemed to melt away, replaced by a sense of peace that settled deep within your soul. the warm air filled your lungs as you inhaled deeply, both invigorating and calming at the same time. there was nothing quite like the peaceful embrace you felt walking through the woods, offering you solace in its own unique way, letting you feel its energy. 

the clearing was bathed in a bright glow, sunlight filtering through the gaps in the high trees that surrounded, while birds chirped their melodious tunes in the background. they were all that could be heard, other than the low trickles of water from the lake, and the crunching of leaves beneath your lover’s feet as he finally met your side. 

you turned towards him, your heart filling with anticipation and excitement as he closed the distance between you. the affectionate smile on his face mirrored the feelings coursing through your own veins.

“it’s so beautiful out here,” you hum, taking in another deep breath and letting your senses fill with that of the earth.

coriolanus wraps his arm around your shoulder, a sense of warmth and comfort. his closeness brings a small smile to your face, and you rest your head against his side as he breathes a soft “yeah.”

your heart flutters as his gaze locks with yours, drawing you in like a magnet. as the sunlight illuminates his features, casting a heavenly glow upon his face, you find yourself captivated by his radiant presence. his eyes, like vibrant gems, sparkle with a warmth that touches your very soul. 

you could get lost in them – in him – forever. 

scrunching your nose up at him, you give a playful push and head towards the start of the dock, dropping your bag packed with necessities for the day as you do. he follows in your footsteps, kicking off his boots and removing his socks swiftly, all while keeping his eyes fully trained on you. 

there was a boyish grin on his face, something you didn’t see often, but when you did, it filled you with the most unruly butterflies. it made you wish you could see it more, while breaking your heart a little bit at the same time that you didn’t. 

you waste no time in removing your own items of clothing and letting them fall to the ground in a messy pile, leaving coriolanus as you wait in the middle of the wooden path for him to meet your side once more. 

standing there, you can’t help but feel a sense of gratitude for these stolen moments of bliss. in a world that often felt overwhelming and suffocating, being able to share these memories with him feels like a precious gift.

you remember the countless secret rendezvous, the stolen glances while he was on duty, and the hidden touches that were filled with a mixture of excitement and fear. your love, forbidden by the laws of the capitol, had never felt so important. the mountains in the distance stand tall and proud, reminding you that there is so much more to this world than just constraints and limitations. the open field beyond the water stretches out endlessly, just like the endless possibilities that awaited. it was humbling to remember just how small you really were in the world. 

yet, at the same time, as coriolanus meets you again, his arms reaching to wrap around your chest, you can’t help but feel like you were right where you were meant to be. 

with that thought in mind, you take his hand, intertwining your fingers together, and let him take the lead the rest of the way, until your toes hang over the edge of the dock. he looks down at you, that same boyish grin still present, and gives you a wink before the two of you jump off the ledge.

as you hit the cool water, you feel exhilarated, a wave of freedom washing over you. the splashes and ripples create a symphony of sound that echoes in your ears, and as you resurface, you’re immediately greeted by coriolanus’ beaming smile. 

in the midst of the shimmering waves, you catch each other’s gaze and laughter bubbles up from within you both as you playfully splash water at one another. there’s a shared child-like joy that comes out of the friendly competition, but ultimately coryo is the one to give in, raising his arms up to surrender. 

your laughter fades away with the wind, leaving you both in a comfortable silence. a silence that doesn’t need to be filled, nor do you want it to be. the two of you meet in the middle, your legs guiding you to wrap about his waist, as his hand meets the side of your face. 

you lean into the touch, and despite the cool water, you can still feel the warmth of his palm against your skin. his fingers gently stroke your cheek, tracing invisible patterns, and his touch lingers for a moment, filled with tenderness. you close your eyes, wanting to savour the intimacy of it. “you know,” he murmurs, his voice filled with a mixture of affection and what you could only pinpoint to be mischief, “i never expected to find someone like you in my life.”

you open your eyes to meet his gaze, a soft smile playing on your lips. “i feel the same way,” you admit. “i never could have imagined that i’d fall for someone like you, and yet here we are.”

coriolanus' gaze grows tender as his eyes bore into you now. “we may be different, but that’s what makes us so perfect for each other.”

a surge of emotions courses through you like a tidal wave and your lips finally meet. the sensations that had built up inside now overflow, causing you to release all inhibitions. the kiss becomes a catalyst for the intense feelings you were harbouring for the boy before you. 

his hand gently grazes the back of your neck and shivers rolls down your spine. the kiss deepens, filled with desire, longing, a reassuring promise that no one could ever break you apart. 

reluctantly, you have to pull away, the need for oxygen playing an undeniable factor. you don’t move far, your foreheads lingering together as your chests heave, and you catch your breaths. you smile, your heart racing, as you reach out to brush your fingers against his cheek now. you both stay in the water for a while longer, enjoying each other’s company and the tranquillity of the lake. 

there was an enigmatic force that kept pulling you together, and you may not know what the future held or where life in panem would take you both, but one thing you knew for sure was that coriolanus was yours, and you were his. 

[itaipava]

— little moments of f1 boys yearning for their best friend.

˒ ⌕ LANDO NORRIS

it’s the middle of the night and you’re lying side by side in bed. you told a joke that he didn’t find that funny, but he can’t help but laugh next to you while you’re laughing so hard at your own humor. he stops laughing for a bit and looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen - because you are. moonlight enters the room, shining on your chin, lips, and cheeks, and a soft, joyful glow shines in your eyes. he feels this need to run his fingers along the contours of your face, in a light and gentle caress, but he resists. and yet he can’t help but think that maybe he loves you, with all his heart, even if you have a weird sense of humor sometimes.

˒ ⌕ DANIEL RICCIARDO

it’s a little too early in the afternoon to be drunk but here you both are. you’re sitting on the couch and he’s not certain when you got close but his breath hitches ever so slightly when you lean your head against his shoulder and he shifts a little so that he can place a hand on your back; an almost-hug. you’re saying something and your breath is warm on his skin and perhaps it’s the influence of the alcohol but he’s overcome by a burst of a certain something in his heart. he pulls you closer and when you start to move away, he doesn’t let you go and he says ‘stay.’ and you do. for a minute. then two. then time doesn’t matter anymore.

˒ ⌕ CARLOS SAINZ

it’s when you ask him to turn his face away so you can change your shirt; you already have a beautiful and trusting intimacy, so you trust him enough to do something like this around him. he turns around, but when he turns to you again, he takes a little of your body away while you lower your shirt, putting it on completely. his breath hitches in his throat as an insatiable desire surges within him; the desire to touch you. he wanted so much to be able to explore every little part of your body, know the story of every scar or spot, worship your body as if that were the last thing he would do in his life. he looks away quickly but that image will stay with him forever.

˒ ⌕ CHARLES LECLERC

it’s the middle of the night and you’re lying side by side in bed because the movie is too boring and each other’s features are so much more interesting. you talk about anything that comes to mind as you trace light patterns on the bed between the few inches between the two of you. he loves hearing you talk, he really does, but right now he can’t hear you. he is so hypnotized and obsessed with you; it’s like you’re holding the stars as he walks through the clouds. his eyes shine like never before and he feels lost when you smile as you continue talking, completely oblivious to the effect you have on him.

˒ ⌕ LEWIS HAMILTON

sitting on the balcony, the two of you are talking. you ask him if he could go anywhere right now, where would he go? and he thinks, perhaps to a little cottage in the countryside where it’s peaceful and the days slow and sweet; or perhaps a bustling city that never sleeps, with its neon lights and people from all walks of life; or perhaps a picturesque town where culture comes alive and and every building whispers an ancient history. and he looks at you because you’re there with him everywhere he goes; lying on the grass next to him; going out for a dinner in a fancy restaurant together in the busy city; sitting in a little café in an old city… he wants to let you know but instead he jokes, his voice light, his face holding a ghost of a smirk, ‘anywhere away from you,’

˒ ⌕ OSCAR PIASTRI

the sun is about to set and he sits beside you on the floor. as the movie plays on his laptop, he watches it while listening to you talk about your day. at one point, he glances at you and it’s supposed to be a glance but the sunlight is on your skin and he can’t seem to look away. seeing your questioning face at him, he tears his eyes away from you, back to the screen. and the two of you watch the movie quietly while this feeling he isn’t brave enough to name swells in his heart.

˒ ⌕ MAX VERSTAPPEN

when others are superficially talking about people they find hot, he never joins in the conversation and if you’re there, he glances at you a little too often. if someone asks him to describe his ideal type, his mind goes to you immediately as he describes your qualities. in a room full of people, he always finds himself wondering where you are as his eyes look around, the smitten smile on his face when you lock eyes from across the room.

[k2padfoot]

Shadows of the Past

Rafe Cameron x Y/n

summary: After escaping an abusive ex, you find love and safety with Rafe, your best friend turned boyfriend. When your ex’s obsession escalates into violence, Rafe does what he has to, to save you.

warnings: TW!! Domestic violence, violence, fights, blood, lots of angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, soft rafe.

notes: yall this is a long one, i should’ve made it two parts but oops! i promise it’s worth it<3

You stared out the window of your condo, watching as the rain tapped rhythmically against the glass. The mug of tea in your hands had gone cold, forgotten in your grip. Across the room, Rafe moved easily in the kitchen, his voice filling the space as he hummed some tune he’d probably heard on Spotify earlier.

“Found them!” he called out, holding up the coffee filters he’d been hunting for.

You smiled despite the weight in your chest. Rafe’s presence was a warm blanket on a freezing night—comforting, grounding, and so unlike the chaos you’d known before. Being with him was the first time in over a year you felt like you could breathe, even if it was still shallow at times.

He turned, coffee filters in hand, and grinned at you. “What are you thinking about over there?”

You blinked, quickly forcing a wider smile. “Nothing. Just tired.”

He frowned slightly, walking over and sitting next to you on the couch. His arm draped over your shoulders as he studied you with those piercing blue eyes. “You sure? You’ve been kinda quiet today.”

“I’m fine, Rafe,” you assured him, leaning into his touch. “Promise.”

He didn’t look entirely convinced, but he didn’t push. That was something you appreciated about him, Rafe always gave you the space to open up on your own time. You’d never felt pressured, never felt the looming weight of expectations. It was so different from what you’d known before.

Your ex, Jack, was charming at first, in the way that all toxic men are. He’d swept you off your feet with grand gestures, sweet texts, and a charisma that felt like sunlight after years of loneliness. For a while you thought you’d found everything you ever wanted.

But the cracks began to show. Slowly at first—a comment about the way you dressed, a critique of how you spent your time. Then came the accusations, the jealousy that lurked behind every question, and the sharp words that cut you down whenever you didn’t comply. But the worst part came when his anger turned physical. No matter how hard you tried to avoid conflict—carefully choosing your words, keeping your tone soft, doing everything you could to keep the peace—it was never enough. The smallest mistake, the slightest misstep, would ignite a storm. And once his temper reached that breaking point, you knew you’d bear the brunt of it.

By the end, you were a shadow of yourself, constantly walking on eggshells, wondering how to avoid setting him off. Even after you’d finally found the courage to leave, Jack hadn’t made it easy. He’d called, texted, begged for forgiveness, and then turned cold when you didn’t respond.

It took months before the calls stopped and even longer before you felt safe again. And after months of constructing walls around your heart, letting Rafe in was nothing short of terrifying.

Rafe had been a part of your life for as long as you could remember—your best friend, your rock, the one person you could always rely on. But then came Jack. Jack saw what you and Rafe had, the unshakable bond, the quiet understanding, and he couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand him.

So, out of fear, you drifted away. You stopped hanging out with Rafe, stopped calling him, stopped being his friend.. But not because you wanted to, but because Jack made sure you felt you had no choice.

And when you finally broke free from Jack, Rafe was there. He didn’t question you, didn’t get angry or demand explanations. He didn’t judge you for pulling away. Instead, he met you with patience and understanding, quietly reminding you why he had always been the one person you could trust.

He was everything Jack wasn’t. Rafe never raised his voice, never made you feel small. When you told him about your hesitancy to date again, he’d nodded, saying simply, “Take your time. I’ll be here.” And he had been.

You’d let him in, piece by piece, until it felt natural to have him in your life. He made you laugh, made you feel like you were worth something. He’d brought light into the dark places you thought would never see the sun again.

That light, however, had begun to dim in the last few weeks, ever since Jack resurfaced.

It started with the texts. You didn’t recognize the numbers, but the messages were unmistakable:

I miss you darling.

We really need to talk.

You can’t ignore me forever.

At first, you’d brushed it off. Blocked the numbers and pretended it was nothing. But then you started seeing him.

The first time was outside your work. You were on your way out of the office, when you spotted a familiar figure across the street. Jack leaned casually against a black car, his eyes locked on you. Your heart stopped, and for a moment, you considered calling someone—Rafe, maybe, or your coworker Liz. But you didn’t. Instead, you ducked back inside and pretended to be busy until he left.

The second time was worse. You were at the grocery store, balancing a bag on your hip while fumbling for your keys, when you felt it, that prickling sensation on the back of your neck. Turning, you spotted the black car parked at the end of the lot. You couldn’t see inside, but you didn’t need to.

The worst part was how easily you fell back into old habits. You locked yourself in your condo, closed the blinds, and tried to convince yourself it was nothing. And when Rafe came over later that night, you acted like everything was fine.

“Good day at the work?” he’d asked, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Yeah,” you lied, your smile forced but convincing enough.

You hated lying to him. Rafe deserved the truth, but you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him. The thought of dragging him into Jack’s mess made you sick. So you kept it to yourself.

Even when Jack showed up at your office.

You were alone, finishing some paperwork when the chime above the door rang. Your stomach dropped as Jack strolled in, his eyes scanning the room before settling on you.

“Hi darling,” he said, his voice calm and casual. “Long time no see.”

“What are you doing here?” you demanded, gripping the desk to steady yourself.

“I just wanted to talk,” he replied, taking a step closer. “You’ve been ignoring me.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” you said, your voice shaking.

His expression darkened, but before he could respond, Liz walked in. Jack’s mask slipped back into place, and he gave you a pointed look before turning to leave.

You thought about telling Rafe that night. You almost did. But the words caught in your throat, and you convinced yourself it wasn’t worth worrying him.

It wasn’t until the night Jack broke into your condo that you realized you couldn’t keep hiding.

The sound of the window sliding open woke you instantly, the rush of cold air sending a chill down your spine. At first, you thought it was a dream, but then you felt Rafe stir beside you.

“What was th—” he mumbled, his voice groggy but alert.

You both turned toward the window, your heart stopping when you saw the shadowy figure climbing inside.

“Stay here,” Rafe ordered, his voice sharp as he slid out of bed.

But you couldn’t move, frozen as Rafe crossed the room. The intruder froze, too, his eyes meeting Rafe’s before narrowing.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Rafe muttered, his voice low and furious.

It was Jack.

Before you could process what was happening, Rafe lunged. The room filled with the sound of fists colliding, furniture scraping against the floor, and Jack’s muffled curses.

“Rafe, stop!” you cried, scrambling out of bed to grab your phone and call 911.

Rafe didn’t stop until Jack was slumped against the wall, clutching his face.

“Why the fuck is he here?” Rafe demanded, turning to you.

Your mouth opened, but no words came out.

“Y/N,” he pressed, his voice softer now. “What the hell is going on?”

And that’s when you broke. The tears came fast and uncontrollably, and before you knew it, you were spilling everything. The texts, the car, the nights you’d spent too afraid to sleep.

Rafe listened in silence, his jaw tight and his hands curling into fists at his sides. When you finished, he shook his head.

“You should’ve told me,” he said, his voice steady but filled with something dangerous.

“I didn’t want to drag you into this,” you whispered.

“That’s not your call,” he said, stepping closer and cupping your face in his hands. “You’re mine, Y/N. No one’s gonna hurt you while I’m around. You hear me?”

You nodded, tears streaming down your face as the distant wail of sirens grew louder. Regardless of what just happened, you felt a flicker of hope. Because with Rafe by your side, maybe, just maybe—you weren’t as alone as you thought.

Rafe had been relentless in his efforts to keep you safe since the break-in. Every morning, he was parked outside your place before sunrise, his truck rumbling softly as he waited to drive you to work. Even if you told him you could handle it, he didn’t waver.

“No chance,” he’d said the first time you brought it up. “I’m not letting you deal with this alone.”

You tried to argue, but his resolve was unshakable. He made sure to stay involved in every part of your routine: texting you during your shifts, picking you up without fail, and spending every night either at your place or having you stay with him.

At night, he held you close, his warmth and steady breathing lulling you into the first semblance of peaceful sleep you’d had in weeks. But no matter how safe you felt with Rafe, a part of you couldn’t shake the fear that Jack was still out there, lurking in the shadows.

And you were right, Jack wasn’t gone.

You saw him again a week later.

It was during your shift, just as you were finishing up with a client. When you glanced up at the window, your stomach dropped. Across the street, parked under the dim glow of a streetlight, was the black car.

You couldn’t see his face, but you knew it was him. The way the car sat idling, its headlights off, was enough to send a chill down your spine.

You stepped back from the window, your hands trembling as you tried to focus on anything but the car. The rational part of you screamed to call Rafe, but you didn’t. He’d been doing so much for you already—driving you everywhere, checking in constantly, ensuring you were never alone. You didn’t want to be a burden.

You convinced yourself it was fine. Jack wouldn’t try anything again. Not after what Rafe had done to him that night.

But the sightings continued.

Every few days, the black car would appear, parked across the street from your work or down the block from your condo. And the texts—always from new numbers—started up again.

You can’t hide from me Y/n.

I’ll make you see that we belong together. You’re mine, don’t forget that.

Each time, you blocked the number and deleted the messages, determined not to let him win. You told yourself that ignoring him would make him go away. That he’d get tired eventually.

You didn’t tell Rafe about any of it. He’d done so much already, and you couldn’t bear the thought of adding to his worries. Besides, you convinced yourself that Jack was just trying to scare you. He wouldn’t actually do anything.

You were wrong.

It was a Thursday night when everything changed.

Rafe had called earlier to tell you he’d be late. He rarely stayed late at work, always finding a way to pawn off extra shifts or swap with a coworker. But tonight, it wasn’t possible.

“I’m so sorry, babe,” he said over the phone, frustration heavy in his voice. “I tried to get out of it, but I’m the only one here tonight.”

“It’s okay,” you reassured him. “I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry.”

“I don’t like leaving you alone,” he muttered.

“You’ve already done so much for me, Rafe,” you said softly. “It’s one night. I’ll lock all the doors and windows, and I’ll be asleep by the time you get here. Promise.”

He sighed heavily. “Alright. But I’m calling you as soon as I leave work, and you better pick up.”

“I will,” you said with a small laugh.

After hanging up, you went about your nightly routine, double-checking the locks and closing all of the blinds. By the time you stepped into the shower, you felt more relaxed, the hot water washing away the stress of the day.

But you failed to notice the bathroom window was left unlocked.

It was nearly 12:30 a.m. when the loud bang jolted you awake. You sat up in bed, your heart racing as you strained to listen. For a moment, all was silent. Then you heard it, the creak of a floorboard just outside your bedroom

Panic gripped you as the door swung open, revealing Jack.

His face was contorted with fury, his eyes wild as they locked onto you. “Get up,” he hissed, stepping closer.

You froze, your body paralyzed with fear.

“Get up!” he snarled, his voice rising. “Or I swear, I’ll kill him. I’ll find Rafe and I’ll kill him.”

The mention of Rafe sent a jolt through you. Your mind raced, trying to figure out what to do. Jack was bluffing—you were sure of it. But the rage in his eyes made you hesitate.

Slowly, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, your hand brushing against the lamp on your nightstand.

Jack was too focused on his anger to notice as you gripped the base of the lamp. Summoning every ounce of courage, you swung it with all your strength, the sound of glass shattering filling the room as it struck his head.

He stumbled back, clutching his face, but his fury only grew.

“You stupid bitch,” he growled, lunging at you.

He grabbed you by the arm, throwing you to the ground with a force that had your head cracking against the floorboards. He straddled you, his fists colliding with your face in a brutal rage.

“You think you can just leave me?” he spat, his voice venomous. “You think you’re safe with him?”

The blows left you disoriented, pain radiating through your body. But the adrenaline coursing through you gave you enough strength to knee him in the balls.

Jack let out a guttural cry, rolling off you, and you scrambled to your feet, desperate to escape.

But he was faster.

His hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking you back down. This time, he wrapped his hands around your neck, his thumbs pressing hard against your windpipe.

“You really fucked up darling,” he hissed, his face inches from yours.

You clawed at his hands, gasping for air as the world around you began to blur. Your vision darkened, and in that moment, you accepted death.

Then the door burst open.

Rafe stood in the doorway, his face a mixture of shock and fury. In an instant, he was across the room, ripping Jack off of you with a strength you’d never seen before.

“You’re never gonna lay a fucking hand on her again,” Rafe growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Jack barely had time to react before Rafe’s fist connected with his face. The room filled with the sound of flesh hitting flesh as Rafe unleashed his rage, pummeling Jack with a fury that left you trembling.

“Rafe!” you croaked, your voice hoarse from the assault. “Stop! Please!!”

Rafe froze at the sound of your voice, your cry cutting through his rage like a blade. His fist hovered in the air, knuckles already raw and bloodied, as his gaze shifted to you. Jack lay crumpled and unmoving on the floor, but Rafe didn’t look back at him again.

He was at your side in an instant, his eyes wide and frantic as he took in your bruised and battered face. “Y/n,” he breathed, his voice trembling. “Are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay.”

You tried to nod, muttering out a faint, “Yeah,” as tears streamed down your cheeks. But your body felt weak, your vision blurring at the edges. Rafe’s hands cupped your face, his thumbs gently brushing away your tears as he rambled.

“I’m so sorry. This is my fault—I should’ve been here,” he choked out. His voice cracked with guilt as he frantically looked over your injuries. “I should’ve protected you.”

You tried to shake your head, your lips parting to reassure him. “It’s not your fault, Rafe—”

But the words barely escaped before the room started spinning, the world growing dim. You slumped against him, your body going limp as unconsciousness took over.

“Y/n?” Rafe’s voice was high-pitched now, panicked. “No, no, no. Stay with me!” He shook you gently, his hands cradling your lifeless form as tears filled his eyes.

The sound of sirens outside grew louder, but Rafe barely registered it, too focused on you. “Come on, baby, open your eyes,” he begged, his voice breaking. “Please don’t leave me!”

When the paramedics rushed in, they had to forcefully pull him away from you. “Let us work!” one of them barked, but Rafe fought against their hands, unwilling to let you go.

“She’s not breathing right! Help her!” he shouted, his voice raw with fear.

The medics worked quickly, loading you onto a gurney and securing you for transport. Rafe followed close behind, ignoring their attempts to hold him back.

“You can’t ride with her,” one of the paramedics said firmly, blocking his path. “We need you to stay here—those hands need treatment too.”

“I don’t give a shit about my hands!” Rafe yelled, his voice thick with desperation. “She’s all that matters!”

Eventually, he relented enough to follow in his truck, but the second you arrived at the hospital, Rafe was back by your side. He pushed past nurses and doctors, ignoring their protests as they wheeled you into the emergency room.

“Sir, you need to wait outside,” one of the doctors said sharply, stepping in his path.

Rafe didn’t listen. “Is she going to be okay? Please just tell me she’s going to be okay!”

“She’s critical,” the doctor replied, moving swiftly. “She might have a brain bleed. We need to get her into surgery now.”

The words hit Rafe like a punch to the gut. He froze, his hands trembling as he watched them wheel you away.

One of the nurses gently guided him back, urging him to sit. “We’ll keep you updated, but you need to let them work.”

For the first time since the nightmare began, Rafe let himself collapse into the nearest chair. His bloodied hands hung limp at his sides, his mind consumed by a single thought: you had to be okay. You just had to be.

The bright lights of the hospital waiting room buzzed softly above him as he sat, motionless. The metallic scent of his own blood clung to his hands, but he didn’t care. Nurses had already tried to approach him, insisting he get his knuckles cleaned and bandaged, but he’d waved them off every time. His focus wasn’t on himself, it was on you.

The minutes crawled by, turning into hours, and every horrible possibility ran through Rafe’s mind. What if the surgery didn’t work? What if you didn’t wake up? What if he’d walked in just a second too late? His jaw clenched as he fought against the rising tide of guilt and fear.

“Rafe.”

The familiar voice pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts. He looked up to see Sarah standing in front of him, her face a mix of worry and determination. She’d clearly rushed to get there, her hair pulled into a messy ponytail and her expression urgent.

“Hey,” she said softly, sitting down beside him. Her eyes flicked to his hands, which were still caked in blood. “Have you let anyone take care of those yet?”

He shook his head, barely acknowledging her question. “I don’t care about my hands, Sarah,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

“I know you don’t,” she replied gently, “but you can’t sit here like this. Let me get someone to clean them up. I’ll wait with you for Y/n—okay?”

Rafe hesitated, his gaze flicking toward the double doors that led to the surgical unit. He hated the idea of leaving for even a second, but Sarah gave him a look that told him he didn’t have much of a choice.

“Fine,” he muttered, standing reluctantly as Sarah called over a nurse. While the cuts on his knuckles were cleaned and his hands were wrapped, he sat in silence, his jaw tight. Even Sarah’s presence wasn’t enough to soothe the storm in his mind.

When they returned to the waiting area, Rafe fell back into the same chair, his hands now bandaged but his heart just as heavy. Sarah sat beside him, offering quiet reassurance while they waited.

Hours passed. Each tick of the clock on the wall felt like a punch to his chest. He barely moved, barely blinked, until a figure in scrubs approached. He didn’t even register their presence until Sarah nudged his arm gently.

“Rafe,” she said softly, “they’re here for Y/n.”

His head shot up, his back straightening so quickly it made Sarah flinch. “What? How is she? Is she okay?” he asked, his words tumbling out.

The doctor gave him a kind but measured look. “She’s stable,” he began, his tone professional. “She did have a brain bleed from the impact to her head, but we were able to relieve the pressure, and the surgery was successful. She also sustained a broken nose, a fractured eye socket, and significant bruising across her body. Her face will remain swollen and bruised for at least a week, but the discoloration and swelling will subside over time. The rest of the bruises should fade in the next week or so as well.”

Rafe’s heart pounded as he processed the news, a flood of relief mixing with a lingering dread. “She’s going to be okay?”

“Yes,” the doctor assured him. “She’ll make a full recovery. However, she won’t be awake for the next 10 to 12 hours as she recovers from the surgery. You’re welcome to sit with her, though.”

Rafe didn’t even wait for the doctor to finish before he asked, “What room is she in?”

The doctor gave him the room number, and Rafe stood immediately, turning to Sarah. “Thank you for coming, Sarah,” he said, his voice softer now. “You can go—I’ll let you know as soon as she wakes up.”

Sarah hesitated, clearly reluctant to leave him alone. But she saw the determination in his eyes and nodded. “Okay. Call me if you need anything,” she said, squeezing his arm before heading out.

Rafe made his way to your room, his heart pounding as he stepped inside. The sight of you hooked up to monitors, your face swollen and bruised, nearly broke him. He pulled the uncomfortable hospital chair closer to your bed and sat down, his eyes fixed on you.

For the next eleven hours, Rafe didn’t move except to use the bathroom. He ignored the stiffness in his body and the ache in his hands, his sole focus on you. Each beep of the machines was a small reassurance that you were still here, still breathing.

“Come on, baby,” he whispered at one point, his voice raw. “Wake up. Just wake up.”

The room was silent, except for the hum of the machines and the occasional murmur of nurses outside. And though exhaustion pulled at him, Rafe tried to stay alert, to make sure he could see your eyes open again.

When your eyes finally fluttered open, a low groan of pain escaped your lips as the harsh fluorescent lights overhead pierced through your disoriented state. Every inch of your body ached, a deep, relentless pain that made it hard to focus. But amidst it all, one sensation stood out—a warm, familiar hand clasped tightly around yours

You didn’t have to look to know whose hand it was. It was Rafe’s.

Turning your head slightly, you let your gaze drift toward him. He sat slumped forward, his exhaustion etched into every detail of his face—the disheveled hair, the dark circles under his eyes, the vacant, almost numb stare he had fixed on your joined hands.

You gave his hand a small, deliberate squeeze, and his head snapped up instantly, his blue eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, his expression froze, a mix of disbelief and relief washing over him.

“You’re awake?” he breathed, his voice trembling before it turned into an almost frantic exclamation. “Oh my god, you’re awake!”

He practically leapt out of the chair, his hands cupping your face with a gentleness that contrasted with the desperation in his movements. His eyes searched yours, as if trying to convince himself this was real. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m so fucking sorry. I should’ve been there—”

“Don’t, Rafe,” you cut him off, your hands reaching up to cover his still resting on your face. Your voice was soft but firm, even as tears blurred your vision. “It’s not your fault. You saved me, Rafe. I’m here because of you. Don’t you dare blame yourself for a second.”

His eyes glistened with tears he couldn’t hold back anymore. “I was so scared, Y/n,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “I thought—God, I thought I was going to lose you.”

“I know,” you whispered, your own tears slipping down your cheeks now. “I know, baby. But I’m okay, and it’s all because of you.”

Rafe leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was tender yet filled with an aching intensity. It was a kiss of relief, of longing, of all the pain and love he couldn’t put into words. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice steady this time. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Rafe,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, but the weight of your words clear.

Moments later, the doctors came in to explain your condition. You listened as they laid out everything: the brain bleed they had successfully treated, the broken nose, the fractured eye socket, the extensive bruising across your body. You nodded along, but it was Rafe who absorbed every word like his life depended on it. He asked questions, made notes in his mind, and ensured he knew every detail about what your recovery would entail.

When the doctors left, Rafe stood silently for a moment before moving toward your bed. Carefully, he adjusted the wires and tubes connected to you, making room for himself to climb in beside you. He wrapped an arm gently around you, mindful of your injuries, and pulled you close. For a long time, the two of you stayed like that, the steady rhythm of his breathing grounding you.

Eventually, you broke the silence, your voice tentative. “Rafe… what happened to him? To Jack?”

Rafe tensed at the mention of his name, his jaw tightening as he exhaled slowly. His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from your face as he met your gaze. “The cops brought him to the hospital after… after I dealt with him,” he said, his voice calm but edged with anger. “Once he was stable, they took him straight to the station. But you don’t need to worry about him anymore. Ward made sure they threw the book at him. He’s not getting out anytime soon.”

Relief washed over you, and you nodded, your gaze drifting away as your mind tried to process everything. Rafe noticed the shift in your demeanor, his hand gently tipping your chin so you’d meet his eyes again.

“He’s not going to hurt you again, Y/n,” he said firmly, his voice steady and filled with conviction. “I promise. Never again.”

“I know,” you replied softly, offering him a faint smile before settling against his chest once more.

After a moment, Rafe spoke hesitantly, “I had cleaners go through your condo—it was such a mess. And Sarah’s ready to pack up your things whenever you say the word… I mean, if you want to come stay with me. But if you don’t, that’s totally okay too, I just—”

“Rafe,” you interrupted, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the pain, “I’d love to come stay with you.”

Relief flooded his face as he nodded. “Okay. I’ll let Sarah know.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence after that, broken only by the faint hum of the machines. After a while, you tilted your head to look up at him.

“Rafe?”

“Hmm?” he hummed, his fingers brushing gently over your cheek.

“Thank you. For everything. I know this probably isn’t what you signed up for when you asked me out, but… I’m so grateful you’re still here.”

Rafe’s eyes softened, his thumb tracing small circles on your cheek. “Don’t thank me, baby. I’d do anything for you. And I’m not going anywhere. I love you—all of you. There were moments I didn’t think you’d wake up, and just the thought of losing you…” He trailed off, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t ever be without you.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek, and you reached up to brush it away before smiling faintly. “I love you too, Rafe. So, so much.”

He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, holding you as if he’d never let go. And you knew he wouldn’t. You knew you’d be okay with him by your side.

[the-desilittle-bird]

Hi, still madly in love with your stories.😍

Can I request a Daemon Targaryen x Reader?

He and Viserys never fought but he lives on dragonstone and still goes fighting on the Stepstones.

He marries a non-targaryen, like she has red or brown hair, and has three or four children with her that they all have the targaryen looks.

On Driftmark or kingslanding when they visit people gossip about the difference between Rhaenyra boys and Daemon childrens, Viserys finally open his eyes and punish her. Maybe even makes Daemon his hand.

Alicent children are not mean like the show, they get along with their uncle

You decide as always the ending. I trust you! 😉

AN- Guess who is back from the dead??? It’s MEEEE!!!!! Hehehehehehehe. Sorry guys but I will be trying to reply to all the requests and fulfil them. Just have patience with me 🥹

Also I made the reader a Stark 🐺

Thank you for reading and Enjoy!

True Targaryens

Daemon Targaryen x Stark!Reader

Tag list - @minaxcarter, @eliseline, @blackhoodlea, @little-moonbeam-666, @neenieweenie, @omgsuperstarg, @avalyaaa, @shopping, @bbgmonsay, @michelle-26, @krokietinio, @hc-geralt-23, @chevelledahuman, @thekayarlene, @narcy, @helloitsshitzulover, @muushwrites, @daringboba, @bi2simps, @issybee0611, @yariany02, @agathe, @5moremin, @candypurplebutterfly, @saraelizabeth26, @moon-light1415, @targaryenmoony, @stargaryenxshelby, @instanbul, @shine101, @hyacinthus007, @mcam623, @eudximoniakr, @carissa_griffin7777, @marvelescvpe, @severewobblerlightdragon, @deltamoon666, @thatgirlthatreadswattpad, @ultrav0lence, @savagemickey03, @sunmoon-01, @literishdegree99, @watercolorskyy, @Lady-Juliettes, @cherryaemond, @chaotic-fangirl-blog, @nats-whore

Summary - (Pretty much the request)

Warnings - None

“My beloved wolf,” Daemon’s pur made her smile as she looked up from her current embroidery. The squeals of their children echoed around them while the Rogue Prince settled beside his wife, his hand curling around her shoulder while he nuzzled his face in her long, brown hair.

He was obsessed with her hair, always nuzzling or touching in one way or another. His obsession translated to some… rougher treatment to her hair in their bed chambers, but that was a story for other times.

“My love.” The squeal of their youngest made the couple turn their attention to him, his bright silver hair shone under the sunlight but while eyes crinkled as he laughed heartily when his little dragon nuzzled his head to his size.

Daemon smiled, chuckling aş heartily watched his four children laugh and play together, much like his own childhood that he spent in King’s Landing and Dragonstone with his brother, Viserys.

“They are growing so fast,” his wife comments wistfully, watching them with a dreamy smile. He only nods, his fingers rubbing circles on the skin of her shoulder. “Indeed, wife.”

Her skin flushed red at his term of endearment, still not used to his open adoration. Her gaze flickered to her husband’s face, watching the sunlight highlight his features in the most beautiful way. He appeared younger when he was here, in Dragonstone, away from the politics of King’s Landing and from the fighting in Stepstones.

“My prince, my princess.” They looked up to find a guard, who bowed before informing them of the mishappening in Driftmark. Lady Laena Velaryon had commanded her dragon, Vhagar, to burn her when the complications of childbirth kicked in.

The former lady Stark sighs. She did not know Lady Laena personally, but she had lost her mother in childbirth and being a mother herself, she was aware of the pain and suffering it brought— even if all her children came easily.

“We need to pay our tribute,” she whispered gently, making Daemon nod before he commanded the guard, “prepare for sailing to Driftmark.”

“Brother!” There was no limit to Viserys’ happiness at seeing his younger sibling and his not-so-little family. The brown haired lady stood by her husband’s side dutifully with a small smile, one hand curled around the shoulder of her eldest, Aegon, while another sat comfortably in the crook of Daemon’s elbow.

Saera, Daemon’s only girl, stood with an elegance that reflected her mother’s. Her own silver hair curled into a Northern design, adorned with small pearls. Her deep crimson dress brought out her hair and highlighted her developing curves.

Daeron and Rhaegar were twins, opposite to each other in personality yet they looked almost the same, except for their eye colour. Daeron spotted the lavender of the Targaryens while his brother had inherited the dark hues of the North.

“Your graces,” their mother dipped in a curtsy, her eyes crinkling at the sight of her once beloved friend and the Queen, Alicent Hightower. The second Queen mirrors the smile, “Princess.”

“How your family has grown,” Viserys remarks, shaking Aegon’s hand, patting Saera’s hair affectionately before smiling down at the twins. “The Princes and Princess has grown significantly since the last time you all visited,” Alicent agrees with a smile, hugging her best friend and sister-in-law.

“I don’t see your children,” the she-wolf said, looking around to spot her niece and nephews. “They couldn’t wait to meet their cousins,” Alicent informed, before gesturing to the shore where Laena’s last rites were to take place. “It was hard to ask them to stay there while we welcomed you.”

“Can we go now? I wish to meet Aemond,” whined Saera, tugging gently on her mother’s gown, who laughed in response. “Of course, my dear.” She turned to look at her husband, whose face had hardened.

“Let’s go.” And indeed, they proceeded to the shoreline while Daemon’s wife tugged him away from the rest, smiling mischievously. “Don’t look so grim at the mention of Aemond.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “She will not marry anyone until she is thirty.”

His wife snorts in response, nodding mockingly. But all the teasing and joy evaporated when they saw Rhaenyra and her children, who were rumoured to be the sons of Ser Harwin Strong. At first, the Lady Stark had dismissed them as rumours but now, seeing them with her own eyes, she couldn’t deny the truth that glared upon her. Her own children with Daemon looked more Targaryen than Rhaenyra’s.

And by the looks of the whisper that followed the arrival of Daemon’s family, everyone had noticed the remarkable difference in the younger generation. While Jace and Luke looked nothing like a Targaryen, Daemon’s four children were the spitting image of their house.

“Aunt Stark!” The said woman turns and is instantly hugged by her niece, Helaena. Her fingers slip into the silver strand as she kneeled beside the princess, greeting her with a big smile and a kiss on her forehead.

“Helaena! How you have grown!” From the corner of her eyes, she saw Aemond engulfing Saera in a hug, both of them chuckling. Maybe Daemon’s wish of his daughter not marrying soon would remain only a wish.

The entire time the rituals went on, they could hear the whispered words, pointing out the differences. Flickering eyes of the nobles and the judgmental gaze glaring at the Velaryon— or rather, the Strong —boys. Even Viserys watched with melancholy eyes as Daemon’s blood greeted Rhaenyra’s.

Whispers continued even in the meeting after the rituals, people proclaiming Daemon’s children as ‘True Targaryens’ while Rhaenyra had diluted her blood with dead Strong.

The summon from the King was startling, calling a gathering of his family in the throne room. He stood on the raised dias, his gaze cold and posture rigid as he waited for everyone to arrive.

Alicent stood to his left, along with her children. Her gaze calculative and questioning as she looked at her father, the Hand, who was equally unaware.

Daemon and his family arrived early, standing on the left of the King. They were all equally unaware but quite unaffected by the sudden summons.

Rhaenyra and her boys were the last to arrive. Laenor nowhere in sight.

“I have summoned you all here because today, I have recognised my mistake.” The King’s eyes flickered over everyone before he looked at his wife. “You have time and again, tried to make me see the truth but I was blindfolded by my love. But now I see.”

He turned to Daemon. “Your children with Lady Stark— a Non-Valyrian woman —appear more Targaryen than-” he looked at Rhaenyra and her boys “- your sons with Ser Laenor. For years, I have defended you! For years, I bent the law! And how did you repay me?”

Viserys stepped down the dais, glaring at his only child. “One was a mistake, two might be coincidence, but THREE children?! All with brown, curly hair and features that resembled not their supposed father but the Commander of the City Watch?”

Rhaenyra flinched, taking a step forward while she pushed her two children behind her. “Father-” “No! Do you take me for a fool? Or a blind?” He sneered while tears gathered in the corner of his eyes. “I, Viserys of House Targaryen, First of his Name and King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, banish Rhaenyra Targaryen and her children from my court.”

The silence was deafening, as if everything stopped. Slowly, Rhaenyra’s eyes widened as she turned to ask for help, but no one replied, too astonished to react.

“And I name Daemon Targaryen the new Hand of the King.” The loudest gasp came from the wife of the new Hand, who turned to gauge her husband’s reaction. But Daemon was shocked, too shocked to even nod or bow. His eyes flickered between his brother and a surprised Otto before a smirk appeared.

With proud strides, he approached Otto with one of his hand stretched out. “I assume you have something of mine.” If looks could kill, Daemon would have died that day. Begrudgingly, the former Hand of the King placed the badge in Daemon’s extended hand, bowing to the King before stomping away.

Once the door shut behind the former hand, the Prince turned to his brother with slightly wide eyes. The King only nodded with a smile that covered his whole face.

“To new beginnings.” Viserys said.

Daemon only nodded, repeating the words while looking at his wife, the biggest grin in place.

“To new beginnings.”

[sincerestlove]

My Angel (Part 2) - R.G.

hello hello! so sorry i've been gone for a while - kinda lost inspiration and energy to write, but i wanted to put this out! so here is part 2 :) let me know if you'd like part 3, which will likely be the last part.

Pairing: Regina George x Reader

Warnings: None; possessive Regina, oblivious, gay and pining Y/N, jealous and kinda crazy/obsessed Cady

hope you enjoy!

~

The next few weeks passed without much incident. Regina and I had been spending more and more time together, just the two of us - going shopping, trying new restaurants, sleeping over at her house. Some days, they almost felt like real dates.

Almost.

Halloween was coming up soon, and of course Regina decided to throw a party for our entire class. I was currently in Regina's room getting ready for said event - we only had a few hours before people would start showing up.

Regina looked gorgeous in her angel costume, finished with large, feathered wings. The costume was ironic, given her nickname for me.

Regina easily somehow convinced me to dress up in a matching devil costume, adorned with plastic horns and a pointy tail. I felt way out of my comfort zone in the outfit, but Regina insisted that I "looked hot", so I kept it on. Obviously.

Regina decided to do my makeup on top of it all, reassuring me that it wouldn't be too much, just a little to match the costume. I, once again, agreed, sitting in front of the vanity as she leaned over me. Her face was so close to mine, I could see the pretty colors of her eyes swirling together and the faint dusting of freckles on her cheeks. She looked absolutely breathtaking. I could feel my heart restricting in my chest by simply looking at her.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Regina teased, a smirk resting on her painted lips. I felt myself blushing, clearing my throat awkwardly.

"Nothing, I just...your eyes are really pretty."

Regina smiled, flashing her white teeth at me. "Aw. Thanks, angel." She leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to my cheek, lips lingering for a few moments. "You're sweet."

I don't think I could've been any redder.

Regina finished my makeup in silence, tongue poking out from between her lips as she concentrated. After a handful of minutes she was done, leaning back to let me see myself in the mirror. It actually looked really natural, which I was happy about. Looking closer, I noticed a bright red lipstick mark on my cheek. "Leave it. Looks cute on you."

I nodded shyly, smiling to myself as Regina turned around, cleaning up her room a bit, as people were going to start arriving soon. Not that anyone was going to come up here. If anyone did, she would actually throw them out her window. "You ready to go downstairs?" She glanced over at me, ensuring that my costume sat in all the right places.

"Yeah, let's go."

As we made our way down, Gretchen and Karen were already here, waving at us excitedly. They both looked super cute in their costumes.

"Hi, Y/N! You look so good!" They complimented me sincerely, moving to fix my hair a little so it fell just right over my shoulders. I looked around for Regina, but she had already left the room, finishing last minute touches on decorations and food prep.

"So...cute lipstick mark." Karen teased me playfully, fingers poking into my sides. Gretchen smirked. I rolled your eyes at the pair's teasing, hand instinctively moving to touch the mark, making sure not to smear it.

"Yeah, yeah, shut up, you two." I flipped them off jokingly, allowing them to drag me into the living room to set up the playlist for the night.

As the sunlight disappeared, people began flooding into the house, music pulsing through the speakers. I still hadn't seen Regina since earlier, a sad pang thrumming in my chest. I was sure she was just being a good party host, but another part of me felt like maybe she didn't want to spend time with me.

Karen made sure I had a drink in my hand to sip on throughout the night, and after a good while I felt myself start to loosen up a bit. Karen pulled me into the middle of the room, dancing to a song I had heard on the radio a few times, but couldn't possibly name.

It felt nice to relax and have fun for once, not thinking about schoolwork or responsibilities. The song was almost over, when I faintly heard someone calling my name. I looked around confused, until my eyes landed on someone in an actual scary looking costume. The girl waved at me, taking out her fake teeth to smile at me.

It was Cady.

Yikes.

I waved back reluctantly, turning my back on her to see Karen already cringing. "Why is she here?" She whispered-yelled. I shrugged, genuinely not knowing. Regina definitely didn't invite her. Karen continued, "You should be careful, Y/N."

I looked at her, confused. "Why?"

"'Cause she has a huge crush on you."

I laughed nervously, glancing over my shoulder to see Cady trying to push her way through the crowd toward me. Fuck. "Really?"

Karen nodded, eyes looking at me with sympathy. "Be careful, okay? I'll be right back, Gretchen is bitching about Jason again. He brought some other girl with him." I didn't want her to leave me alone, but I reluctantly let her go, hoping that I could get away before Cady reached me.

I couldn't.

"Y/N, hi!" I turned around, almost jumping out of my skin at Cady's costume. She looked even scarier up close, dark makeup and fake blood all over her face.

"Hi, Cady."

"Wow, you look great tonight." Her eyes wandered along my body, an immediate feeling of discomfort rushing through my veins. I didn't like the way she looked at me.

"Um...thanks. Your costume is...cool."

Cady lit up excitedly, smiling from ear to ear. "Really? You think so? I actually made it myself." I nodded at her ramble, glancing nervously around the room to see if I could spot Regina. I didn't see her or her gigantic wings anywhere.

"Do you want to dance? I love this song." Looking back at Cady, I noticed she had moved closer to me. I stumbled backwards in shock, apologizing to a girl from my Geography class that I bumped into.

"Oh, uh...I was actually just going to use the bathroom. I'll...be right back." Shooting her a nervous smile, I shoved my way through the crowd, thankfully close to the stairs. I made my way up and into Regina's room, breathing a sigh of relief as the door shut behind me.

Was she always so...weird?

"Hey, angel." An unexpected voice spooked me, looking over at the bed to see Regina sitting comfortably on it, eyebrows raised at me curiously. She must've noticed my anxious state because she stood up and walked over, cupping my face in her hands. "You okay?" I nodded, falling into her arms, almost knocking her over.

I just needed her comfort right now. The interaction with Cady left a bad taste in my mouth, not to mention what Karen told me about her.

"What happened?" Regina questioned, quickly taking me into her embrace, her feathered outfit tickling my cheeks. I shook my head, not wanting to talk about it just yet.

"I couldn't find you." I decided to say, nestling further into her warm arms. The blonde cooed at me, running a hand down my back soothingly.

"I just needed a break from all the chaos, so I came up here for a bit." She sighed, resting her cheek on the top of my head. "I didn't think so many people would show up."

I scoffed at her, fingers digging into her sides playfully. "You're the most popular girl in school, of course everyone is going to show up to your party, Gina." The vibrations of her laugh reverberated through my chest, causing me to smile.

"Yeah, well, the only person who I actually wanted to come to this stupid party was you."

I blushed at that, looking up at her to see that she was already looking down at me. Comfortable silence filled the air around us both for a few minutes. "Why are you so nice to me, Gina?" I asked her softly, only a little bit scared of her answer.

The blonde paused, just looking at me. There was something in her eyes that I couldn't quite place, but it made my heart skip a beat. Several beats, actually. "Because you deserve it." She said it as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

For some reason, the response made tears well up in my eyes. The sight made Regina's heart melt, her hands reaching up to gently wipe the dampened skin, careful not to ruin my mascara. "How about we go finish the rest of this party, and you can stay over? I promise not to hog all the blankets this time."

"Yeah, I'd like that."

~~~

You smiled softly, boldly taking Regina's hand in yours for once, the pair of you making your way back downstairs. You weren't paying attention to anyone but Regina, never taking your eyes off of her, bright smile never leaving your face.

So much so that you didn't notice Cady lurking in the foyer, eyes filling with hate at the sight of you with Regina.

She left the party without another word, stealing one last glance at you. It should've been her holding your hand. Not Regina.

~~~

"Fuck, I am exhausted." Regina groaned tiredly, flopping into the large couch at the front of her room.

I followed suit, falling face first onto her bed, feeling my own tiredness lingering deep in my bones. The two of us, along with Gretchen and Karen's help, managed to push the last few stragglers out the front door. I made sure to call the two girls an Uber home, ordering them both to text once arriving back at home. Regina dragged me to her room once the house was locked up, the pair of us exhausted by the events of tonight. 

Clean-up was a problem for the morning.

"Y/N, you need to take that makeup off."

I grumbled in protest, feeling way too comfortable on the massive bed, the sheets flooding my senses with Regina's scent. "C'mon, sit up. Let me take it off."

"Fine." I complained, but did as she asked, sitting up on the edge of the mattress. Regina was already waiting, looking at me with soft eyes. She could tell how tired I was, my eyes blinking slowly. Luckily I had already changed into a pair of her sweatpants and t-shirt. 

"I'll be fast, I promise." The blonde assured and moved to carefully straddle my legs, gripping my chin in her left hand, makeup wipe in the other. I was far too tired and far too drunk to actually realize that she, Regina George, who I had a big, fat, lesbian crush on, was actually sitting on my lap, gently wiping the makeup off of my face.

"There, see? Done." She kissed my forehead sweetly, adjusting some pillows to allow me to fully lay down while she finished getting ready for bed. I wasn't sure how much time had passed, but the lights turned off eventually. The bed dipped beside me, Regina scooting closer to my side. She pulled me closer, adjusting me so that my head rested on her chest. Near her boobs.

Her boobs.

"G'night, Gina." I mumbled into her shirt, flinging a leg to wrap around her hips.

The blonde laughed lightly, holding me closer to her. "Goodnight, angel."

~~~

I woke up to a loud bang on the front door.

It startled me awake, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes to glance at Regina's large wall clock. The time read 1:23am. The house fell silent again, until the same loud bang resonated through the house. I could hear it even with Regina's bedroom door closed.

Speaking of, the blonde was still fast asleep beside me, arm slung around my shoulders. I gently removed her arm, slipping out of bed to go investigate the noise.

Was this a really stupid idea?

Yes.

But, I was also nosy and had a strong urge to protect Regina from anything and everything.

I grabbed my phone and put it in my pocket, moving slowly toward the door. I spotted Regina's old softball bat sitting in the corner of the room, decided that would be a good enough option to arm myself with.

The front door banged again. Fuck.

I took one last glance at Regina's bedroom door, choosing to keep it open. Gripping the cold metal bat between my hands, I descended the stairs, eyes flicking back and forth in case I spotted anything out of the ordinary.

"Open the door!" A loud, slurred voice yelled from the other side of the front door, my eyebrows furrowing at the sound. The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn't quite place it.

"Helloooo?" The person called out again, fist pounding incessantly on the wood. Taking a step to the side, I peeked out the side window, stomach sinking through the floor once I saw who it was.

They were still clad in their Halloween costume, hair messy and eyes looking scarily glazed over. I don't even know if they realized where they were right now.

It was Cady.

My heart rate sped up, hoping and praying that she would just leave. "Y/N," She sing-songed, the sound sending an uncomfortable chill up my spine. "I know you're in there. I can smell that bitch all over you."

Bitch? Was she talking about Regina?

Cady laughed, sounding way past drunk. She was nearly falling over onto the pavement, knocking over the potted plants in the front yard. "Come out here, Y/N. You should be with someone better. You should be with me."

I took a deep breath, willing myself to speak. "Get the hell out of here, Cady. You're drunk." The redhead just laughed, moving back to lean against the door. She kicked it a few times, the sound making me jump.

"Let me in, Y/N. You can come home with me instead. That bitch doesn't even like you. She's just using you for attention - you follow her around like a lovesick puppy." Cady hiccuped before continuing. "She keeps you around just to make herself feel better. She doesn't give a fuck about you. You think I didn't see you two holding hands at the party? That meant nothing to her, just like you mean nothing to her."

I don't know why I was so emotional, but Cady's words stung my heart deeply. I began to question if what she was saying might have some truth behind it. Did Regina really not like me? Was she just using me all of this time?

The silence that filled the home was deafening. So much so, that I began to cry, sliding to the floor of the foyer. The softball bat clanked onto the marble floor, pulling my knees up to my chest like a child. I didn't know what was wrong with me, but every ounce of emotion that I had been holding in, seemed to all pour out at once. My feelings for Regina, my fears about how she felt for me and Cady being a total stalker weirdo, all coming out right now. So very timely. I'm sure all of the alcohol I had wasn't helping. 

Cady continued drunkenly yelling for me outside - I had to cover my ears to try and drown it out. I wasn't sure how long I was sitting there, but eventually, I heard footsteps running downstairs. Regina entered the foyer, a frenzied look on her face. She was looking for me, but kept her eyes on the door for a beat. "Y/N? Where are you?" She called out, eyes alert and quickly scanning the room. They landed on me curled up on the floor, tears streaming down my face. The blonde rushed over, hands resting on my shoulders. "Hey, hey, it's okay, I'm here. What is going on? Who the hell is that?"

Before I could even say anything, Cady pounded on the front door. "The queen bitch is here! Regina George!" Regina's eyes steeled, turning to face the noise. She grabbed the bat in her hands, standing up and marching over.

"Gina, don't!" I cried, fear bubbling up in my chest for her. I didn't know if Cady had some kind of weapon or something that could possibly hurt Regina. Just the thought of that terrified me.

The blonde stopped in her tracks, glancing over her shoulder at me. She sent me a reassuring, confident smile, that sent flutters in my chest. "Don't worry, angel. I've got this. I won't ever let anything happen to you." She gripped the bat tighter, flipping it in her hands. "Plus, that bitch made you cry. She's not getting away with that."

Without wasting another moment, she swung the door open. I scrambled to my feet and followed closely behind her, peeking around the door to see Cady, completely wasted. It was almost scary. She didn't look like a human being.

Regina fully squared her body to the redhead, raising the bat over her head. "Get. The. Fuck. Off. My. Lawn."

Cady simply laughed, acting as if she had no regarding or understanding of the situation. She was just talking out loud and to no one in particular. "Look here, one and all! The bitch is acting tough!" Cady turned to Regina, a scary looking smile on her face. "You don't deserve Y/N. Give her to me."

Regina's brows furrowed, eyes darkening - there was a look on her face that I'd never seen before. Regina looked genuinely scary. "Give her to you?" The blonde stalked closer, looking even taller than she actually was. Even from here, I could see the vast height advantage that Regina had over Cady. "Y/N is not my, or anyone's, property." Regina spat, moving closer with each sentence. Cady's face was slowly changing, her glazed eyes beginning to realize the grave mistake she made and who she was standing in front of. "She does not belong to me. She chooses to be here, she chooses to be around me." Cady began to walk backwards, almost tripping over the shrubs scattered across the lawn. 

"Me. Not you. You want to know why? Because I appreciate her, I adore her, I would to anything for her, I treat her with the respect that she deserves. You could never give her that." The blonde didn't stop advancing. "You think I haven't seen how you look at her? Like a fucking piece of meat?" She was in Cady's personal space now, stopping directly in front of her face. "You don't know a god damn thing about me, or her, or our relationship. You will never hold a flame to that. Ever." Regina clenched her hands, knuckles nearly white around the bat. "If I ever see you near me, Y/N, or my home again, I will fucking kill you. Don't speak to her, don't look at her, don't breathe the same air as her. You don't deserve to." Regina simply pointed in the opposite direction of the house before speaking one final sentence, voice dripping with venom. "Get. The. Fuck. Off. My. Lawn. Before I call the police and ruin your entire life."

Cady, with the fear of God in her eyes, stumbled off in the direction Regina pointed, thankfully not turning around or stopping. I let out a deep sigh of relief I hadn't realized I was holding, running out into the yard to Regina. She stood there with her shoulders slumped, breathing heavily. The bat slipped from her hands and fell onto the grass. "Gina!" I called out to her, nearly football tackling her to the ground. Luckily she steadied me, holding me snug to her own body.

She was shaking.

"It's okay, Gina. She's gone. It's over."

The blonde broke out into a sob, gripping onto my arms tightly, as if I would disappear. "I was so scared, Y/N. I woke up and you were gone. I heard the banging, and I thought the absolute worst." She cried into my hair. I rubbed circles into her back soothingly, reassuring her that I was safe, nothing happened to me, and everything was fine. I don't know how long we were standing there, holding each other.

It was something we both needed, I think.

"Come on. Let's go inside." The blonde nodded in agreement, taking my hands as we walked inside, together. Regina triple checked that the front door was locked before guiding us both upstairs and back into bed.

~

this is the end of the main storyline! i have a part 3 basically ready to go, which is basically just a time skip of y/n and regina's relationship.

i will be working through the rest of my asks in my inbox before opening requests back up again!

thanks again for reading! it means the world to me!

[solarisfortuneia]

— 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬.

and the smell of camphor dancing in the wind.

✦ info: he didn't know he'd lose you so soon. (come back, please. even if it is just for five more minutes.)

✦ featuring: alhaitham.

✦ warnings: angst, character death (reader), heartache, 1.2k words, somewhat proof-read.

✦ notes: i cried so goddamn hard writing this. why is my first work after hiatus pain. why did i pick up the angst wip. but!! i'm writing again, so that's good. (more notes at the end.)

he didn’t know that it was your last day together. 

he didn’t know that the smile you gave him that afternoon, your eyes sparkling like sunlight upon the serene waves of the ocean, would be the last he’d ever see. that the playful light in your gaze would fade so very soon, slipping through his fingers like sand.

he didn’t know that last night would be the last time he held you close while you drifted off to sleep. he didn’t know that today would be the last time he’d wake up with you.

he didn’t think he’d lose you like this. 

he didn’t think he wouldn’t be able to save you from that blow. 

“please, please,”  he begs, both to you and to whatever force that is just barely holding you together. “just stay with me for five more minutes, please. until i can get you somewhere.” 

the rain soaks him to the bone, clothes and hair sticking to his skin. your lips stay motionless, eyes shut.

“wake up, please,”  he bargains. “you can have all the five minutes of extra sleep you want later, i promise. just—”  his vision blurs, and something shines on the ground before it is gone, swallowed by damp earth, lost amidst drops of falling rain. 

desperately, he tears off parts of his traveling cloak to staunch the bleeding. deep inside, he knows it is futile. he knows your wound is too great. he knows what lies ahead. but he cannot help but press the cloths to your wound and pray. 

please, please tell me it’ll be okay. 

please stay with me, beloved. i’ll read you all the books in the world. i’ll sleep in with you everyday, even if we end up whiling away our time. 

please. stay. stay with me. i can’t lose you yet.  

“— just wake up, beloved.” 

by some miracle, your eye flutters. just a bit. just enough to set hope ablaze, just enough for the grip on his heart to loosen a tiny bit. he buries his face in your shoulder, resting his head against your neck, uncaring of the blood that stains his clothes. your blood. on his clothes. his hands. everywhere. 

no. no. this can’t be happening.

he feels you strain beneath him, your unwounded arm gently, weakly brushing his back. he jolts upright, eyes trained on your face. you send a frail smile his way. he clasps your face softly as you nuzzle into his palm.

“alhaitham—” 

his full name. archons, how long has it been since you called him that?  

“— take good care of yourself, okay?” you tell him, chest heaving, your fingertips touching a tear on his cheeks. “i love you. so much.” 

those are the last words he hears fall from your lips. he presses a kiss to your forehead, to your eyelids, and to your cheeks and to your lips, over and over and over until he feels your breath slow, hoping they’ll say what he knows he cannot manage to choke out.

i love you. 

he stays there next to you for who knows how long, holding you until the rain slows and a faint rainbow smiles in the sky.

until he can’t smell camphor anymore.

—

every person has their curiosities. 

they’re just the little traits that set them apart from others, the things that make them tick just a little bit differently, the things that make them, them.

for instance, someone may be obsessed with collecting tiny furniture, while another eats the crusts off their sandwich before actually consuming it. someone may have an affinity for the most niche aspects of linguistics, while another can accurately predict the next raindrop that slides down a window pane.

after all, no two people are exactly alike, are they?

alhaitham knows he’s got his fair share of these curiosities himself. his aversion to soup and all things that resemble it, to name one. and with you, he’d noticed two things. 

number one: the scent of camphor that seems to linger on every inch of your person. 

he’d caught whiff of it almost immediately the first time you met. you were but one of his juniors in the akademiya, filled with bright-eyed curiosity and anxiety to match. you had tripped over a stair and bumped into his table in the library, bringing the mountain of books in your arms crashing down.

and with subsequent coincidental meetings, he learnt that the subtle scent of camphor dancing in the air meant you weren’t far away. 

you were, unfortunately, one of the poor souls who seemed to be cursed with constantly recurring minor illnesses, and almost always walked about with a stuffy nose. and so, you always carried a small disc of camphor in a handkerchief, as well as in your pocket.

you swore up and down, left, right and center that sniffing the vapors helped make breathing easier.

‘it’s my grandmother’s remedy, alhaitham! camphor always works wonders. well, that and eucalyptus oil.”

alhaitham may not know the validity of your claim or the legitimacy of the cure, but he knew to never, ever question a grandmother’s remedy. that, and he’d much rather refrain from starting a back-and-forth about something so small.

and number two: your neverending pleas of different variations of ‘just five more minutes!’ 

“five more minutes, ‘haitham. please.” you’d whine grumpily when he woke you up to start your day. “let me sleep in for five more minutes.” 

“five more minutes, habibi,” you’d ask when he put down the story you’d requested he read out to you before bedtime. “read me the part where she finds the music box?”

“five more minutes, baby,” is what you’d tell him when he asks how much longer you’d take getting ready. “you can’t rush perfection!”

those five more minutes were never five minutes long. 

but he’d always, always indulged you and those pleading eyes of yours. as stoic as he appeared to be, you lived in his heart. of course he could never deny you anything under the sun.

—

alhaitham remembers that silly little song you sang over and over, the one you’d learnt from a kid in the bazaar. he’d taken you to see one of nilou’s performances, and, friendly soul that you were, you’d struck up a conversation with some of the eager audience members before the play. 

“oh, how i wish i was a bird flying free,

i’d see the world, every mountain and every sea!

oh, how i wish i was a cloud in the sky,

wouldn’t you like to wave to me as i pass by?”

you’d hum that rhyme on every idle afternoon.

loss is inevitable. he knows that, with how logical and rational and straightforward he is. he’d lost his parents, but he was far too young to remember. he’d lost his grandmother, but she passed in her sleep of old age, serene and wise.

but you? he didn’t think you’d leave him this soon. a singular wish sits in his soul, making its home in his bones. 

a wish that you’d come back, somehow. 

he wishes you gave him five more minutes, just as he always did.  but he knows that you could’ve given him five more hours, five more days, five more years and five more decades and it would still not be enough time spent with you. 

a blue feathered bird comes to perch on his shoulder, interrupting his musings just as he raises his face to the sky. he sees the heart shaped cloud that floats idly above sumeru city.

 he thinks of the rhyme again, and something in him tells him to wave. and so he does. a scent so familiar lingers, faintly brushing his nose in the wind that picks up.

“alhaitham, it's time to go.”  kaveh calls his name softly.

 alhaitham doesn't move. “five more minutes,”  he says, echoing your favorite phrase. “i smell camphor in the breeze.” 

✦ extra notes: my alhaitham characterization for this fic stems from how i believe that when alhaitham is attached, he's attached. so i focused more on that, and less of all that rationality and whatnot. this one loves deeply, yk?

that camphor thing is a real grandma remedy in our household (my mom would tie some in a hanky and put some under my pillow and still to this day reminds me to do it when i'm sick) which is what originally sparked the idea for this

when i'd initially started this wip, i didn't expect it go this way. usually i write with my brain, but i think i wrote this one with my fingers working faster than i can think hsjhsj so sorry if it's kinda out of place lmao but yk what? i'm happy with it still even though i feel like it doesn't have my usual quality.

thanks for reading.

[simp-ly-writes]

My Love Mine All Mine

─────── · · Skyfall (pt.2)

Pairing: Alexander "Jackal" Duggan x Fem!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: Alex had stayed in your apartment, he stayed in your heart, in your mind and took over every aspect of your life. So much so that you feel empty at his lack of presence after weeks... but is the "Jackal" every truly gone?

─ · · TAGS: second person perspective used, female-pronouns used, depictions of blood, gore, guns, and violence, usage of pet-names (ex. love, sweetheart, etc) swearing, fluff, HEAVY angst, hurt/comfort, dark romance, mentions of stalking , threats, and obsession.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 3,226 | PART ONE

─ · · A/N: This gets... kinda dark... hope you all enjoy lol

─────── · ·

You new that the Alexander you grew up with, played with, fought with (and bullied), was not the same man that was currently waiting for you in your bed. But you could see glimpses every time you touched and saw him smile.

Sighing and pressing your forehead against the wet tiled wall, you let the shower head rain down on the scalp, soothing your on-coming headache. You watched as the blood dripped off your hands, the stains on your tiles removed and sanitized before you shut off the water and stepped out onto them.

Patting yourself dry, you took a look through your smoky mirror and looked down to see parts of what looked to be prosthetics in your trashcan... what the fuck kinda job has Alex gotten himself into... and did I even wanna know? You thought to yourself before putting on your pyjamas and throwing your scrup's into the washing machine as your haired dried.

Checking the clock in your kitchen, it was nearing 4:00 AM as you groaned and started to pick at your salad before a voice was calling from the bedroom... it was like work never left you as your few minutes of sitting had you now rushing to the bedside.

"Is everything okay?" You ask, flinging the covers off and searching for any changes, you pick up his chin, inspecting his eyes and feeling around his head before shaking your head as he smiles, "It's been 10 minutes."

"Oh fuck off, Alex. I'm eating. You're a grown man, just wait," you lecture him, throwing the covers back on and shutting off the light. You feel his stare as you leave, stomping back and reheating the kettle again. You watch as it bubbles as you stretch out your back and shoulders. Tonight is going to be a LONG night....

Getting into bed beside Alex felt like deja vu from the sleepovers you could have at his house in order to escape your family... it felt natural how his arm snuck about your head and the way that your fingers intertwined with one another.

"Do you love me?" Alex asks, catching you off-guard. You contemplate your answer, your head not sharing what your heart speaks, "yes." He sighs out contently, "I love you too."

You listened to his breaths even out as you laid there awake... waiting for what you did not know but you stared at that rifle in your hallway, discarded in favour of... you. The metal gleamed in the moonlight, capturing its cold essence that had you shivering underneath the blankets. "Go to sleep, love," a groggy tone called out from behind you, a kiss being planted to your shoulder that has you forcing yourself to relax. Who am I laying beside?

─────── · ·

When you have woken to the sunlight coming through your sheer blinds and a record being played in your living room, you were rising in a moment, forgetting to place your slippers on as you padded your way down the hallway and towards the kitchen where an Alex was cooking eggs and pouring out coffee.

"Morning, sleepy," He teased, picking up a mug and giving to you. You warmed your hand, closing your eyes to feel the smoke upon your face before bending to look around your old friend, the dishes were done... "Thank you, A. You didn't have to do those, I mean you are injured," you say, giving him a pat on the arm before gently shoving him away to finish the cooking.

─────── · ·

By the time your done and turning back around, the sniper rifle is disassembled all across your dining table as you place plates around its pieces. Looking at the various compartments as Alex cleans them, you take a seat across from the man, watching quietly as you sip your drink and cross your legs.

"You'll need to take another dose of pain relievers with your meal in the next half hour," you say as he only nods, continuing his... work. "Alex," you call out softly, this time he looks at you, eyes waiting as they dip towards your lips and up again.

"Yes, love?"

"I...hm, why come to me now?" You ask, foot tapping underneath the table, anxious for a proper answer. You watch his nose wiggle slightly as he stares at you, "don't lie to me, Duggan."

"I wasn't planning on it," he tries to gaslight you. "Bullshit," you call out, "I know you, Alex. If you like that fact or not. And I know when and how you lie no matter what fucked up shit you put yourself through to end up like this at my doorstop. So I'll ask you again, why. are. you. here?" you ask more coldly this time, eyes sharp and cutting through the masks he tries.

He sighs, setting down the muzzle in his lap, "I knew that you could... help. I have been keeping tabs on you, making sure your safe-"

"And why wouldn't I be?" you say with a glare, "I know the profession I choose has its faults, but what are you not telling me, Alexander?"

"I just need to know it for my own sanity. I need to know where you are, who you're seeing, what you're doing day by day," He says- you start feeling sick, that coffee rising up in your throat- burning. "My work... it does not work out for people who know any part of me and I know that you know the most... and I know that I don't have it in my to remove you so I must watch instead."

"Remove me?" you raise your voice slightly, standing, chair screeching against the wooden floors, well there goes my security deposit... Alex continues, disregarding your statement.

"But thats not your question, what is it I do? Well I am a contractor. I take a job, whatever it takes, and provide my services in exchange for cash." You slowly blink, walking further and further away as he looks more comfortable and confident in his seat- as if he has you right where he wants you.

"And that involves, a gun and being shot at?" you counter, hands shaking as that little boy running around your mind blends in with your darkest of thoughts. You can feel his blood dripping down your arms again, feel his kiss on your neck.

"Yes," and with such a simple word it can have you falling over and coughing, gripping your shirt. Alex stands, walking over and crouching, rubbing your back. For a minute you accept the soft touch before shoving him away.

"You could ruin my career, fucking everything I've worked for if you're seen with me! You kill people for money!" your mind swirls with all the news articles and announcements that play in the lobby. You grip your head, everything I worked for, gone. You look up with dead eyes mirroring his own cold and calculated ones. "Yes. I kill people for money. But I also protect. That's why you are going to help me and make sure I'm not seen," Alex tells you, hands gripping the knees you bring up to your chest. You nod watching as he smiles, "thank you, love." You now hated that word.

"Now, where's those meds?" He helps you to stand, following behind you and moving into the bathroom, deja vu again... as he sits on the bathtub, throwing his head back with a glass of water before you check his stitches and clean up the minor cuts across his hands.

He watches are yours tremor still, he holds them, bringing them to his face as silent tears stream down your cheeks. He shushes you, pulling you closer, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. "Everything's going to be fine, just let me do everything and you, take care of me."

─────── · ·

Your morals were out to kill you, was all you could think while running around your usual shift as you treated the never-ending wave of patients and their problems. Your eyes burned from your unrestful sleep, your heart hammered in your ears and you stumbled into the break room and crashed against the table. You should have not taken that call-in...

You took an oath to helping the people, to helping the public and providing care and assistance. But that oath was coming after you as you entered back into your apartment as Alex was holding a plank with his shirt off. "You know what I'm going to say," you begin, slamming the door closed and kicking your boots off.

Alex doesn't even look your way, just staring at an imaginary dot, his form unwavering. You scoff yet your eyes still check his side, wincing at the bead of sweat that nears your work, infection! screaming in your ear as you head towards the shower. "Can I join you?" Alex is drying the sweat off his chest, smiling down at you. "No."

───���─── · ·

As time would go on and until Alexander was fully healed. You had made zero progress on understanding any more details to his work as he somehow knew everything about you, ordering in your favourite take out, knowing just how you liked the bed made and just the right ways to hold you after work.

You felt pathetic in his touch, you knew what those hands did, what they were coated in as he played with your hair and kissed your temple with a smile. You hated the way you started to relax into his embrace and how a small part of you looked forward to his company at the dining table but that was just it... company, that you desired...

So the hurt you felt for loosing yourself combined with the lingering loss of his presence as you had not seen Alex in weeks. The last moment you shared together cuddling in bed before a kiss was planted to your forehead and he was gone, not a trace of himself left in your apartment.

Taking a day off at work, you decided to treat your own loneliness as you put on your eye-liner and flattened your dress against your form with a sigh, breathing in your perfume. All you needed to do was forget it ever happened, pretend it was all in your imagination...

You had lived without Alex for nearly three decades... the rest of your life could be a walk in the park if the guy you were meeting up with tonight clicked. James Ferdinand Vanderbilt, He was an art auctioneer and philanthropist, charming you with his smile and words when attending one of your hospitals charity auctions.

He was well-off, could support you and a future family. He was estranged form his family, building a name for himself and his own business and had multiple college educations. Locking the door behind yourself and calling for a cab, you looked out the window, skies were clear with a light wind, the long daylight hours offering its light as kissing of warmth against your face as you closed your eyes. Whatever happens tonight happens...

─────── · ·

Arriving to the venue, James was already waiting outside for you as he placed a kiss to each of your cheeks. You smiled, holding his arm as you both walked into the restaurant and got lead upstairs to a private table. "Thank you for organizing this, James," you say sitting down as he pushes you towards the table before taking off his jacket and letting it hang off the back of his chair.

He pulls his sleeves up to his forearms as you view the tattoos on display, a symbol of a snake in a circle sparks a memory you can't seem to remember as you smile at one another. "It is really no worries, I wanted us to have privacy and you some peace. I know how hard your profession works." you nod and smile before turning your head down to the menu, James orders you both a bottle of wine to start as you make small talk.

Sharing favourite vacations, movies, and things you like to do in your spare time. You find James to be a bookworm and surprisingly, an ex-military officer as he points to his tattoo. "I thought I had seen that symbol before," you extend your hand, hovering over the ink as he chuckles. "Got family or friends in there now?"

You pause for a second, your smile wavering as he takes your hand, eyes soft, "you don't have to answer that, sorry that was rude of me. I have a few... friends deployed right now is all. Its hard, I know," he says as you nod again, not finding the right words before he thankfully moves conversation on. Yet a little birdie keeps pecking at your head, telling you that something is not quite right as the meal progresses.

You take a look out the window, squirting through the sunbeams glare. "Everything alright there, love," your head snaps over at the last word before you settle your features. "Sorry, thats what my... ex used to call me."

"I am really making a fool out of myself tonight, I do apologize-"

"No! Its me, I'm sorry about this all. My minds just elsewhere with work and-"

"Its mutual then?" He offers with a hand as you grab it and laugh softly, "yes, mutual fault." You both continue to dessert as you try bites off of each others plates. You have been enjoying yourself, watching as Jame's eyes have not left your face the entire time, your cheeks warm from the booze in your system.

"I don't want tonight to end," James starts to say as he picks of the bill and offers you his coat. You shrug it over your shoulders, bringing to stand, "who's saying it-" but before you can finish your sentence you hear a scream, ears ringing as glass shatters, and then your realize that scream is coming from yourself as James lies head down on the table, a bullet through the side of his head.

You rush over to his side, looking over the scene and feeling around his head. His blood is bleeding all over your hands, covering your dress and skin... he's not going to make it, as you scream from an ambulance to be called. he's not going to make it, you feel his last breath against your arm.

You cry, shaking, confused, scared. You turn to look outside the window yet can't see anything. A voice screams out to you, everyone is running outside the restaurant. You rip your dress and run, nearly falling down the stairs, knocking your head against a wall before kicking off your heels and making a dash for the back exit

Your vision is blurry as you run through the narrow space and off onto the street. Cars are swerving, trying to get out of the way as blaring lights come crashing onto the scene. You look like an absolute mess, you can feel the blood staining and hardening against your skin, forming gloves that you cant remove as you scratch at them and sob.

You fall to your knees at the corner of the road, you shake your read, James, James, James, you say on repeat before being picked up. You thrash, scream as a voice calls out to you in an even tone, "Hey, love. Shhh, it's alright, its over now. We can go home, the job is over. Thank you for being so good, thank you, my love," they speak into your ear as they dash with you in their arms, an officer points you both in the direction to medical staff.

You feel him nod and as soon as their head tips back to the crowd, you are being turned in the opposite direction. You feel overwhelmingly tired as you grip their shoulders, feeling a suit underneath your fingers tips. "James?" you call out only to hear a scoff, "Alex." the voice tells you off that has your mind jumpstarting.

"Put me, the fuck, down, Alexander Duggan." he hisses, "shut up, don't say anything."

"I'll fucking scream your name out for everyone to hear!" you threaten, being carried into another alleyway you recognize to be behind your apartment building.

"I would love that on any other occasion, love. But not when I'm trying to remove myself from a scene," Alex retorts. Entering through the shipments door and taking the cleaners elevator before setting you down on your feet, keeping an arm around your waist as you place your spinning head against his shoulder with a groan. He unlocks your apartment, you can't be bothered to know how he got a key and bolts the door behind you both before carrying you to the tub.

The Irony, you shake your head, looking down at your hands before Alex grips your chin, forcing you to look upwards. "No," he commands you, "don't look," he says before kneeling before you and helping to wash off what remains on your arms. You silently cry as he shushes you. "You're alright now, all safe. I could not believe it was you with my target. I swore that if I had known, I-I would have waited-"

"waited," you whisper. "yes, waited, love."

"Don't call me that," you spit out.

"But it is what you represent to me," Alex explains, now wipeing down your face and examining where the glass shards cut you. A part of him looks physically pained seeing you wounded. "Are you hurt?" you ask, mind on auto-pilot with the question.

"Not physically," he explains before grabbing your medical kit. "I can do it myself-"

"No. Let me do this... please," please? You think to yourself, as you watch his cold eyes stare and dress your face and hands. His touch on you if feather-light as if worried of damaging you anymore, like he hand't damaged you before. "okay," you whisper, feeling him kiss your forehead, "thank you." You shiver.

─────── · ·

You lay there in bed, staring up at the ceiling fan, unmoving, unfeeling. You hear Alex speaking to someone over the phone followed by a dozens zeros and a "...job well done." You stare, not even looking as Alexander walks back into the room in new clothes, a bouquet of flowers by your beside as he crawls into be beside you.

You feel numb... had already called in to work telling them you were taking an extended leave and left it like that... the news would be covering the "developments" of your story but you would be the only one in the world force with this truth that came into the form of kisses down your neck and curly hair tickling your cheek.

The truth whispers into your ear like a vow as you tilt your head towards the window and look outwards to the world, "Let the sky fall, when it crumbles, we will stand tall, face it all together." Yet his words contrast the melody playing through your apartment from the stereo in the living room.

You close your eyes, becoming enveloped by the darkness as their arms surround you...

"'Cause my love is mine, all mine I love mine, mine, mine Nothing in the world belongs to me But my love, mine, all mine Nothing in the world is mine for free But my love, mine, all mine, all mine.."

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: I have another Jackal fic coming out soon! (thank you for the ask ;) )