The Mask Trope, and Disfiguremisia in Media
[large text: The Mask Trope, and Disfiguremisia in Media]
If you followed this blog for more than like a week, you're probably familiar with “the mask trope” or at least with me complaining about it over and over in perpetuity. But why is it bad and why can't this dude shut up about it?
Let's start with who this trope applies to: characters with facial differences. There is some overlap with blind characters as well; think of the blindfold that is forced on a blind character for no reason. Here is a great explanation of it in this context by blindbeta. It's an excellent post in general, even if your character isn't blind or low vision you should read at least the last few paragraphs.
Here's a good ol’ tired link to what a facial difference is, but to put it simply:
If you have a character, who is a burn survivor or has scars, who wears a mask, this is exactly this trope.
The concept applies to other facial differences as well, but scars and burns are 99% of the representation and “representation” we get, so I'll be using these somewhat interchangeably here.
The mask can be exactly what you think, but it refers to any facial covering that doesn't have a medical purpose. So for example, a CPAP mask doesn't count for this trope, but a Magic Porcelain Mask absolutely does. Bandages do as well. If it covers the part of the face that is “different”, it can be a mask in the context used here.
Eye patches are on thin ice because while they do serve a medical purpose in real life, in 99.9% of media they are used for the same purpose as a mask. It's purely aesthetic.
With that out of the way, let's get into why this trope sucks and find its roots. Because every trope is just a symptom of something, really.
Roughly in order of the least to most important reasons...
Why It Sucks
[large text: Why It Sucks]
It's overdone. As in — boring. You made your character visibly different, and now they're no longer that. What is the point? Just don't give them the damn scar if you're going to hide it.
Zero connection with reality. No one does this. I don't even know how to elaborate on this. This doesn't represent anyone because no one does this.
Disability erasure. For the majority of characters with facial differences, their scars or burns somehow don't disable them physically, so the only thing left is the visible part… aaand the mask takes care of it too. Again, what's the point? If you want to make your disabled character abled, then just have them be abled. What is the point of "curing" them other than to make it completely pointless?
Making your readers with facial differences feel straight up bad. I'm gonna be honest! This hurts to see when it's all you get, over and over. Imagine there's this thing that everyone bullied you about, everyone still stares at, that is with you 24/7. Imagine you wanted to see something where people like you aren't treated like a freakshow. Somewhat unrealistic, but imagine that. That kind of world would only exist in fiction, right? So let's look into fiction- oh, none of the positive (or at least not "child-murderer evil") characters look like me. I mean they do, but they don't. They're forced to hide the one thing that connects us. I don't want to hide myself. I don't want to be told over and over that this is what people like me should do. That this is what other people expect so much that it's basically the default way a person with a facial difference can exist. I don't want this.
Perpetuating disfiguremisia.
"Quick" Disfiguremisia Talk
[large text: "Quick" Disfiguremisia Talk]
It's quick when compared to my average facial difference discussion post, bear with me please.
Disfiguremisia; portmanteau of disfigure from “disfigurement” and -misia, Greek for hatred.
Also known as discrimination of those mythical horrifically deformed people.
It shows up in fiction all the time; in-universe and in-narrative. Mask trope is one of the most common* representations of it, and it's also a trope that is gaining traction more and more, both in visual art and writing. This is a trope I particularly hate, because it's a blatant symptom of disfiguremisia. It's not hidden and it doesn't try to be. It's a painful remainder that I do not want nor need.
*most common is easily “evil disfigured villain”, just look at any horror media. But that's for another post, if ever.
When you put your character in a mask, it sends a clear message: in your story, facial differences aren't welcome. The world is hostile. Other characters are hostile. The author is, quite possibly, hostile. Maybe consciously, but almost always not, they just don't think that disfiguremisia means anything because it's the default setting. No one wants to see you because your face makes you gross and unsightly. If you have a burn; good luck, but we think you're too ugly to have a face. Have a scar? Too bad, now you don't. Get hidden.
Everything here is a decision that was made by the author. You are the one who makes the world. You are the person who decides if being disabled is acceptable or not there. The story doesn't have a mind of its own, you chose to make it disfiguremisic.
It doesn't have to be.
Questions to Ask Yourself
[large text: Questions to Ask Yourself]
Since I started talking about facial differences on this blog, I have noticed a very specific trend in how facial differences are treated when compared to other disabilities. A lot of writers and artists are interested in worldbuilding where accessibility is considered, where disabled people are accepted, where neurodivergence is seen as an important part of the human experience, not something “other”. This is amazing, genuinely.
Yet, absolutely no one seems to be interested in a world that is anything but cruel to facial differences. There's no escapist fantasies for us.
You see this over and over, at some point it feels like the same story with different names attached.
The only way a character with a facial difference can exist is to hide it. Otherwise, they are shamed by society. Seen as something gross. I noticed that it really doesn't matter who the character is, facial difference is this great equalizer. Both ancient deities and talking forest cats get treated as the same brand of disgusting thing as long as they're scarred, as long as they had something explode in their face, as long as they've been cursed. They can be accomplished, they can be a badass, they can be the leader of the world, they can kill a dragon, but they cannot, under any circumstances, be allowed to peacefully exist with a facial difference. They have to hide it in the literal sense, or be made to feel that they should. Constantly ashamed, embarrassed that they dare to have a face.
Question one to ask yourself: why is disfiguremisia a part of your story?
I'm part of a few minority groups. I'm an immigrant, I'm disabled, I'm queer. I get enough shit in real life for this so I like to take a break once in a while. I love stories where transphobia isn't a thing. Where xenophobia doesn't come up. But my whole life, I can't seem to find stories that don't spew out disfiguremisia in one way or the other at the first possible opportunity.
Why is disfiguremisia a default part of your worldbuilding? Why can't it be left out? Why in societies with scarred saviors and warriors is there such intense disgust for them? Why can't anyone even just question why this is the state of the world?
Why is disfiguremisia normal in your story?
Question two: do you know enough about disfiguremisia to write about it?
Ask yourself, really. Do you? Writers sometimes ask if or how to portray ableism when they themselves aren't disabled, but no one bothers to wonder if maybe they aren't knowledgeable enough to make half their story about their POV character experiencing disfiguremisia. How much do you know, and from where? Have you read Mikaela Moody or any other advocates’ work around disfiguremisia? Do you understand the way it intersects; with being a trans woman, with being Black? What is your education on this topic?
And for USAmericans... do you know what "Ugly Laws" are, and when they ended?
Question three: what does your story associate with facial difference — and why?
If I had to guess; “shame”, “embarrassment”, “violence”, "disgust", “intimidation”, “trauma”, “guilt”, “evil”, “curse”, “discomfort”, “fear”, or similar would show up.
Why doesn't it associate it with positive concepts? Why not “hope” or “love” or “pride” or “community”? Why not “soft” or “delicate”? Dare I say, “beauty” or “innocence”? Why not “blessing”? “Acceptance”?
Why not “normal”?
Question four: why did you make the character the way they are?
Have you considered that there are other things than “horrifically burned for some moral failing” or “most traumatic scenario put to paper”? Why is it always “a tough character with a history of violence” and never “a Disfigured princess”? Why not “a loving parent” or “a fashionable girl”, instead of “the most unkind person you ever met” and “total badass who doesn’t care about anything - other than how scary their facial difference is to these poor ableds”? Don’t endlessly associate us with brutality and suffering. We aren’t violent or manipulative or physically strong or brash or bloodthirsty by default. We can be soft, and frail and gentle and kind - and we can still be proud and unashamed.
Question five: why is your character just… fine with all this?
Can’t they make a community with other people with facial differences and do something about this? Demand the right to exist as disabled and not have to hide their literal face? Why are they cool with being dehumanized and treated with such hatred? Especially if they fall into the "not so soft and kind" category that I just talked about, it seems obvious to me that they would be incredibly and loudly pissed off about being discriminated against over and over... Why can't your character, who is a subject of disfiguremisia, realize that maybe it's disfiguremisia that's the problem, and try to fix it?
Question six: why is your character wearing a mask?
Usually, there's no reason. Most of the time the author hasn't considered that there even should be one, the character just wears a mask because that's what people with facial differences do in their mind. Most writers aren't interested in this kind of research or even considering it as a thing they should do. The community is unimportant to them, it's not like we are real people who read books. They think they understand, because to them it's not complex, it's not nuanced. It's ugly = bad. Why would you need a reason?
For cases where the reason is stated, I promise, I have heard of every single one. To quote, "to spare others from looking at them". I have read, "content warning: he has burn scars under the mask, he absolutely hates taking it off!", emphasis not mine. Because "he hates the way his skin looks", because "they care for their appearance a lot" (facial differences make you ugly, remember?). My favorite: "only has scars and the mask when he's a villain, not as a hero", just to subtly drive the point home. This isn't the extreme end of the spectrum. Now, imagine being a reader with a facial difference. This is your representation, sitting next to Freddy Krueger and Voldemort.
How do you feel?
F.A.Q. [frequently asked questions]
[large text: F.A.Q. [frequently asked questions]]
As in, answers and “answers” to common arguments or concerns.
“Actually they want to hide their facial difference” - your character doesn’t have free will. You want them to hide it. Again; why.
“They are hiding it to be more inconspicuous!” - I get that there are elves in their world, but there’s no universe where wearing a mask with eye cutouts on the street is less noticeable than having a scar. Facial differences aren’t open wounds sprinkling with blood, in case that's not clear.
“It’s for other people's comfort” - why are other characters disfiguremisic to this extent? Are they forcing all minorities to stay hidden and out of sight too? That’s a horrible society to exist in.
“They are wearing it for Actual Practical Reason” - cool! I hope that this means you have other characters with facial differences that don’t wear it for any reason.
"It's the character's artistic expression" - I sure hope that there are abled characters with the same kind of expression then.
“They’re ashamed of their face” - and they never have any character development that would make that go away? That's just bad writing. Why are they ashamed in the first place? Why is shame the default stance to have about your own face in your story? I get that you think we should be ashamed and do these ridiculous things, but in real life we just live with it.
"Now that you say that it is kinda messed up but I'm too far into the story please help" - here you go.
“[some variation of My Character is evil so it's fine/a killer so it fits/just too disgusting to show their disability” - this is the one of the only cases where I’m fine with disability erasure, actually. Please don’t make them have a facial difference. This is the type of harm that real life activists spend years and decades undoing. Disfiguremisia from horror movies released in the 70s is still relevant. It still affects people today.
"But [in-universe explanation why disfiguremisia is cool and fine actually]" - this changes nothing.
Closing Remarks
[large text: Closing Remarks]
I hope that this post explains my thoughts on facial difference representation better. It's a complicated topic, I get it. I'm also aware that this post might come off as harsh (?) but disfiguremisia shouldn't be treated lightly, it shouldn't be a prop. It's real world discrimination with a big chunk of its origins coming out of popular media.
With the asks that have been sent regarding facial differences, I realized that I probably haven't explained what the actual problems are well enough. It's not about some technical definition, or about weird in-universe explanations. It's about categorizing us as some apparently fundamentally different entity that can't possibly be kind and happy, about disfiguremisia so ingrained into our culture that it's apparently impossible to make a world without it; discrimination so deep that it can't be excised, only worked around. But you can get rid of it. You can just not have it there in the first place. Disfiguremisia isn't a fundamental part of how the world works; getting rid of it won't cause it to collapse. Don't portray discrimination as an integral, unquestionable part of the world that has to stay no matter what; whether it's ableism, transphobia, or Islamophobia or anything else. A world without discrimination can exist. If you can't imagine a world without disfiguremisia in fiction... that's bad. Sad, mostly. To me, at least.
Remember, that your readers aren't going to look at Character with a Scar #14673 and think "now I'm going to research how real life people with facial differences live." They won't, there's no inclination for them to do so. If you don't give them a reason, they won't magically start thinking critically about facial differences and disfiguremisia. People like their biases and they like to think that they understand.
And, even if you're explaining it over and over ;-) (winky face) there will still be people who are going to be actively resistant to giving a shit. To try and get the ones who are capable of caring about us, you, as the author, need to first understand disfiguremisia, study Face Equality, think of me as a human being with human emotions who doesn't want to see people like me treated like garbage in every piece of media I look at. There's a place and time for that media, and if you don't actually understand disfiguremisia, you will only perpetuate it; not "subvert" it, not "comment" on it.
I hope this helps :-) (smile emoji. for good measure)
Mod Sasza
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Beyond Boundaries - Oscar Piastri (PART TEN)
Masterlist
IM SO SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT. My health has just been crap, had two hospitalizations for my chronic illness that got a flare up, but I'm back to writing now, with a long chapter!
↳pairing: oscar piastri x female!norris!reader
↳word count: 6K
↳chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine
↳chapter warnings: friends to lovers, brothers teammate trope, angst, bestfriend!reader, fluff, tortuously slow smut scene, seduction, smut, 18+ (MDNI!), handjob (m!&f! receiving), oral (f!receiving), making out, dirty talk, sub!oscar, dom!oscar, switch!oscar
↳series summary: Since Oscar joined McLaren as your brother’s teammate, you two have quickly become best friends. Recently promoted to be Oscar’s physiotherapist, you both relish the opportunity to spend more time together. However, as the new role brings you closer, you both realize you might be feeling more a little more for each other than just friendship
Oscar and Lando walked into Zak's office, the atmosphere immediately feeling thick with an unspoken tension. Zak stood by the window, looking out over the track before turning to face them with a serious expression.
"Take a seat, both of you," Zak said, his tone firm but not unkind. Oscar could feel his stomach twist with apprehension, Lando beside him shuffling awkwardly in his chair.
Zak took a deep breath, folding his arms. "Alright, boys, let's cut straight to the chase. Oscar," he began, locking eyes with the young driver, "you need to watch out for your image. I understand things happen—you're young, life's fast, and sometimes emotions get the best of you. But kissing someone in public that you're not publicly dating, especially when that someone is a co-worker... it's not a smart move."
Oscar opened his mouth to speak, but Zak held up a hand to stop him. "The media's already catching on. Whispers are starting to circulate, and we need to get ahead of this before it turns into a full-blown story."
Zak walked around to the front of his desk, leaning against it. "That's why we've discussed the subject within the team and have a proposition for you" he started, taking a breath "The idea is to put you in a publicity stunt—a fake relationship with a girl. Someone from outside the company, someone who can help steer the narrative away from... well, from the internal complications."
Oscar blinked, feeling a mix of surprise and disbelief. "A fake relationship?" he repeated, his voice almost a whisper.
Zak nodded. "It's the best way to simmer down the talk. Give the media something else to focus on. You don't have to like it, Oscar, but it's probably what's best for now. We can't afford any distractions right now."
Oscar nodded gently to his words, before Zak spoke up again "Or is there anything that we should maybe know about? Something more to the whole ordeal?"
The young Australian swallowed audibly, getting a little nervous "N-No, it's fine"
Lando noticed that Oscar didn't know what to say, visibly uncomfortable about it "He already got the lecture from Sophie" he said, taking a deep breath "I'm pretty sure he's aware that it was a very stupid mistake"
Zak wordlessly agreed with Lando, so he continued on without more lecturing words. He looked at Oscar "So, what do you say?"
Lando shifted in his seat "Before he answers that, uh, why am I here, exactly?" he asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.
Zak turned to him, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Ah, well. We kinda had a similar proposition for you as well. If you'd both agree, we would set yours up in about 2 weeks after Oscar's"
Lando's eyes widened. "What? Why?"
Zak chuckled softly. "Come on, Lando. You haven't exactly been subtle with your... escapades with Daniel." Zak's tone was light, but his expression remained serious. "You've been trying to be, but it's starting to look pretty obvious."
Lando flushed, glancing sideways at Oscar, who raised an eyebrow, slightly amused.
"I'm not against it," Zak continued, "Not at all. But you need to think about what you're doing. If the media catches wind of it... if anything goes wrong... it'll bite you in the ass, hard."
Lando sighed, running a hand through his hair. "So, you want me to fake-date someone too, just to throw them off?"
Zak nodded. "Exactly. We need to control the narrative before the narrative controls us."
Oscar exchanged a glance with Lando, both of them feeling the weight of Zak's words settle on their shoulders.
"Understood," Oscar finally said, his voice steady. "I'll do it if it's necessary."
Lando hesitated for a moment, then nodded as well. "Yeah... me too. Whatever it takes."
Zak smiled, clapping his hands together. "Good. Glad we're all on the same page. Now, let's get to work."
"So, any details on how we're supposed to do this then? Like, for how long? And what do you expect from us regarding those girls?"
Zak looked at the two boys "Well, at least a month, I guess. I think that'll do to simmer down the suspicions "We'll find a girl for you that looks a little like Y/n, just so people think that the girl in the press picture was that girl"
Oscar nodded, shifting awkwardly in his seat, not really knowing how to act about this.
"From there we want to start with her joining you in the paddock during a race. Maybe hold her hand, give her a kiss, pretending to be subtle, while you actually just want the cameras to catch on to it" Zak explained, leaning back in his chair "Just do couple-like stuff with her. Share a picture of you both on social media, or don't. That's up to you. After a month, you can just give a short explanation on your social media about how you were dating, but mutually decided to break up and are better off as friends"
Lando shook his head "Do you have any idea how complicated this sounds?" he explained "I'm a formula 1 driver, not an actor. How do you expect me to fake being in love with someone?"
Zak sighed "I understand, Lando. You both don't have to do this if you really don't want to, but we all think it might be the best way to fight off the suspicions, in both of your cases"
Oscar shifted his eyes from his lap back to the man in front of him "So you even want us to kiss the girls in question?" he asked
"I'm not forcing you into anything, but I think we both know that the media will have a hard time believing that you're dating someone if you refuse to kiss them"
Later that day
Oscar was sprawled out belly down on his bed in his hotel room, replaying the conversation in his head over and over again. Lando was lying on the couch opposite Oscar’s bed, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.
“Fucking hell, mate,” Oscar muffled into his pillow, his voice heavy with frustration. “How am I even supposed to tell her this?”
Lando chuckled lightly, trying to lighten the mood. “I guess using words would work,” he sassed, earning a glare from the Australian driver.
Oscar rolled his eyes before grabbing the nearest pillow and launching it across the room. Lando puffed out an exaggerated “Ooff,” then tossed the pillow back. “Hey! I was just trying to diffuse the tension.”
Sitting up against the headboard, Oscar sighed deeply. “I know, but I honestly don’t know how to break it to her.” His voice softened as he admitted, “I know it’s weird talking about this since she’s your sister and all, but I honestly don’t want to hurt her.”
Lando offered a sympathetic smile, sensing the weight behind Oscar’s words. “It’s okay, I’m fine with talking about it. I know you mean well,” Lando reassured him.
Oscar’s shoulders slumped as he pulled his knees toward his chest. “It’s just… I felt like things were finally going in the right direction. And now this shit happens. You know how much that sucks? I thought I finally had a chance to win over the girl of my dreams.” His voice trembled slightly, the frustration clear in his tone. “And now I have to pretend I’m in love with some random girl and kiss her in public… with her right there.”
Lando noticed the glint of emotion in Oscar’s eyes, his usually calm and collected friend on the verge of tears. “I honestly don’t know what to say. It just sucks so much,” Lando admitted, sounding defeated himself. “Maybe you can just tell Zak you don’t want to do it if it makes you feel this bad.”
“I’m not doing this for me,” Oscar mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m doing this for her. I don’t want her career to be ruined because of me.”
Lando sat up, his tone more serious now. “It’s not your fault, Osc. It takes two to tango.”
Tears started to fall down Oscar’s cheeks as he shook his head. “It is my fault. I should’ve suppressed my feelings. I shouldn’t have bothered her with them. She’s my best friend, your sister, and my damn trainer.”
“Look, Osc,” Lando said gently, "Osc, your her best friend as well, you're her client, you're her brothers teammate. She’s just as responsible as you are. It’s not all on you.”
Oscar’s voice cracked. “I just don’t want people to think less of her. I don’t want the press to call her a gold digger or say she’s using me. If fake dating some random model stops all this crap, I’ll do it.” He rambled on, not realizing how much he was pouring out his heart. “You know, if the drama would be just about me, the decision would be easy. I wouldn’t even consider the PR stunt, I couldn’t care less about my career when it cones to her. Hell, I’d even quit racing for her. She's all I think about. When I close my eyes, all I see is her. Lando, I am so in love with her it hurts”
Lando’s eyes widened, the weight of Oscar’s confession hitting him hard. After a brief pause, he spoke softly. “Mate, you’re not going to lose her over this. I know she’s not going to think less of you or let this ruin things between you. I mean, it’s obvious you care about her so much, and even if you’re not officially dating… it’s there. Anyone can see that. You should go for it.”
Oscar shook his head, his expression filled with uncertainty. “But I don’t want to risk her losing her job because of this.”
Lando leaned forward, his tone thoughtful. “But what if people don’t react the way we think? What if… instead of weird reactions, people actually love seeing you two together? A lot of drivers get shipped with each other, and the media loves my sister. Why wouldn’t they love you two together? Maybe we’re afraid of reactions that won’t even be there.”
Oscar hesitated, his brow furrowing. “But… we’re not even dating, Lando. I don’t even know what we are. We don’t have a label or anything. It’s all so uncertain.”
Lando grinned slightly. “Mate, the only reason you two aren’t official is because of your jobs and what other people might think. But even a blind person could see how in love you both are. You’re holding back for the wrong reasons. Don’t let that stop you.”
Oscar looked down, his emotions swirling inside him. “I just… I don’t want to make things worse for her.”
“Talk to her,” Lando urged. “She’ll understand. She’s smart, and she knows this whole fake relationship is just business. Nothing between you and that random girl means anything. It’ll be over before you know it.”
Oscar remained quiet for a moment, processing everything. “I’ll talk to her,” he muttered, his voice wavering with uncertainty.
“And don’t give up on her,” Lando added with a soft smile. “You care about her more than anyone else. My sister deserves someone who loves her as much as you do, and I know you’ll treat her well. Don’t let this fake PR crap get in the way of your own happiness.”
Oscar nodded, still uncertain but feeling the weight of Lando’s words sink in.
“If you need me to talk to her too, I will,” Lando offered. “A brother-sister chat might help clear her mind. Just keep communicating with her, Osc. You’ll get through this.”
The two drivers continued discussing the situation, with Oscar ultimately deciding that, for her sake, he didn’t want to risk going public yet. But he knew Lando was right—she would understand. It wasn’t ideal, and it sucked for both of them, but they had to keep talking, keep trusting each other.
“Yeah, it sucks,” Lando sighed, “but you’ll figure it out. You always do.”
Oscar smiled "Enough about me now, what about you and Danny, are you okay?" Oscar then asked.
Lando nodded "It sucks of course, but I think it's for the best, you know. Danny will understand. He knows how this world works" he explained, playing with the string of his hoodie as he spoke "Besides, Danny is well aware of my feelings for him. Things have been going steady between us for a while now, it's just that we both aren't really in the mood to drop the 'We are both bisexual and dating our former teammate' bomb, yet. So if this is the solution for us to continue under the radar a bit more, then I'm sure he's fine with it"
"That's good to hear" Oscar replied, a soft smile sporting his face.
"So, you're not grossed out about me dating a dude?" Lando asks, a little nervous, even though deep down he knew the answer.
Oscar shook his head immediately "Why would I be? Wouldn't make a difference if it were a boy or a girl, now would it? As long as the person makes you happy, I'm fine with anything" he says with a smile
"Besides, it was quite obvious you were into both men and women from the start. I think everyone within McLarens has the suspicion" Oscar chuckles.
A few hours later
Oscar had invited you to his hotel room for a cozy movie night before the chaos of race weekend officially began. That’s how you found yourself now, nestled comfortably in his arms on the soft bed, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. The movie was playing, but neither of you was really paying attention. Instead, your focus had shifted to the weightier topic Oscar had brought up—one that hung in the air between you both.
He’d already explained the situation. Told you what Zak had proposed. He’d kept the details brief, just covering the essentials. There was going to be a PR relationship—a fake one—with another girl. Zak thought it was best for both your images, and Oscar had agreed, reluctantly, explaining that there didn’t seem to be much of a choice in the matter. He looked torn as he spoke, clearly not on board with the idea but unsure of any other way forward.
You weren’t happy with it either, though deep down, you’d expected something like this. The media had been buzzing for days, and the rumors surrounding you both were becoming harder to manage. Agreeing to the plan felt like the safest route for now, despite the unease that settled in your chest.
Oscar sighed softly, his breath warm against your hair. “But… what about us, though?” he asked, his voice laced with hesitation.
You lifted your head slightly, meeting his eyes. “What do you mean?”
He averted his gaze for a moment, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I mean, I’d understand if you didn’t want to… try things with me anymore. If you have to watch me kiss someone else, even if it’s fake. I can imagine you wanting to call it quits.”
You could feel the vulnerability in his words, his uncertainty over how you felt. Slowly, you removed yourself from his embrace and shifted your position, climbing onto his lap so you could face him directly. His wide eyes followed your every movement as you settled on top of him.
"It’s not like you're kissing her by choice,” you said softly, your hand lifting to cup his jaw. Your thumb traced the sharp line of his jaw, and you leaned in closer, lowering your voice to a teasing whisper. “I'm assuming she's not the one making you feel like this, now is she?”
Without waiting for an answer, you leaned down, your lips brushing against the side of his neck in a slow, deliberate kiss. The moment your lips touched his skin, Oscar let out a soft, guttural groan, the sound almost desperate as his hands instinctively gripped your waist. Encouraged by his reaction, you trailed your lips higher, finding the sensitive spot just beneath his ear. You pressed a soft kiss there before sucking gently, enough to elicit another quiet sound from him, a mix of pleasure and restraint.
“You can fake date her all you want,” you murmured, your lips brushing his skin as you spoke. “But as long as I’m the one making you moan at night, none of it matters.” You continued to kiss along the curve of his neck, your lips slow and purposeful, savoring every inch of his skin.
Oscar’s breathing grew heavier, and you felt the tension in his body as his hands tightened their grip on your hips. His heart was pounding beneath your palm as you slid your hand over his chest, feeling the erratic rhythm beneath his shirt. You let your fingers trail down, tracing the defined lines of his torso through the fabric, your touch feather-light and teasing. It riled you up to see how sensitive Oscar is to your touch. How you can make him tremble with something as little as a kiss and a few words. You absolutely loved it.
“I know it’s me who makes you feel like this,” you whispered seductively, your voice barely above a breath as your lips moved closer to his ear again. “I’m the one who gets you like this, aren’t I?”
Oscar whimpered softly in response, his breath catching as your hand slipped under the hem of his shirt, your fingers grazing the bare skin of his abdomen. He was trembling now, his body betraying how deeply your touch affected him.
“I want to hear you say it,” you murmured, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Tell me, Oscar. Tell me how I make you feel.”
His response was almost immediate, though his voice was strained, barely able to form words through the haze of desire. “You… you make me feel… so good,” he groaned, his voice laced with need. “No one else—no one makes me feel like you do.”
You smiled at his confession, your lips curving as you kissed his jawline, slowly making your way back to his lips. Your fingers slid up his chest, your nails lightly grazing his skin, drawing more breathy moans from him as you continued your slow, torturous seduction.
When your lips finally met his, you kissed him slowly, deeply, your tongue teasing his as your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently at the strands. The combination of your touch and your kiss had him whimpering beneath you, his hands pulling you closer as if he couldn’t bear to have any distance between you.
“You might have to kiss someone else in public,” you whispered against his lips, pulling back just enough to speak, your eyes dark with desire. “But I know I’m the one who gets you like this. I’m the one who makes you feel good.”
Oscar groaned again, the sound desperate as his hands moved to your thighs, squeezing softly. His breaths were ragged, his body trembling beneath you, the tension between you both thick enough to cut through. He was completely at your mercy, lost in the slow burn of your teasing.
Your lips trailed back to his neck, and you could feel his pulse racing under your tongue as you kissed along the column of his throat, sucking gently on the skin as you moved. His chest rose and fell rapidly beneath you, each gasp and moan a testament to how much he was losing control under your touch.
“Tell me what you're thinking, baby” you whispered, your lips brushing against the sensitive skin just beneath his jaw. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
Oscar's breath hitched, his voice barely more than a strained groan. “I want you... to touch me,” he whimpered, his desperation raw. “I need you. Please.”
Your heart raced at his words, and you pressed a lingering kiss to his lips again, your hand sliding down his chest, savoring the way his body shuddered beneath your touch. You could feel the heat between you building, the anticipation thick in the air as you took your time, savoring every moment of his response.
He was yours—every groan, every shiver, every whispered confession. And you weren’t done with him yet. You loved the dynamic between Oscar and you. How one day Oscar could be the dominant one, but could switch to being completely at your mercy the other moment.
Your lips curved into a smile, savoring the power of his plea as you moved your hand slowly across his chest, teasing him further. "You've got to be more specific, Osc" Your lips pressed softly against the spot just below his jaw. “Tell me where you want me to touch you"
Oscar hesitated, his hands instinctively moving to guide yours lower, but you pulled away just enough to stop him. “Nuh-uh,” you tsked softly, a playful smirk on your lips. “I need you to tell me. Use your words.”
His breath hitched, and he swallowed hard, his hand dropping back onto the bed in defeat. He tried to stifle a whimper, but you could feel the need pulsing through him. Your fingers traced a slow, deliberate path down his torso, ghosting over the fabric of his shirt and sending sparks of sensation through his body. You paused just above his waistband, feeling the tension radiating from him, but deliberately avoided the spot you knew he was craving.
“Do you want me to touch you here?” you asked, letting your fingers trail along his hip before moving back up to his stomach. His muscles tensed under your touch, a soft groan escaping his lips.
You chuckled softly, your lips trailing to his ear as you whispered, “Or here?” Your hand moved to his chest, fingertips tracing circles around his nipples. Oscar bit his lip, his breath catching in his throat as his hips shifted beneath you, desperate for more. But you stayed teasing, your hand wandering, purposefully avoiding where he needed you the most.
"Tell me," you murmured again, pressing a kiss just beneath his ear. “Tell me what you want.”
Oscar whimpered, his voice strained and breathless. “I want… I want you to touch me,” he stammered, the words faltering as if he couldn't quite bring himself to say them fully. There was a part of him still clinging to the last shred of control, though deep down, he knew how much he craved letting go. The truth was, he loved this—loved you taking charge, more than he ever dared to admit. His body betrayed him, responding so eagerly to your dominance.
His eyes fluttered shut, his head falling back against the pillows as you continued your slow, deliberate torment. Every brush of your lips, every whisper of your touch, sent a fresh wave of electricity through him. He gripped the sheets beneath him, knuckles white, his body trembling under the weight of his need. The intensity of his desire threatened to overwhelm him, and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to ask for more, savoring the sweet torture of your control.
You smiled against his skin, your lips brushing his jawline as you murmured, “Touch you where, Osc? Tell me exactly where you need me.”
He groaned in frustration, his body writhing beneath yours, aching for release. “Touch me… there. Please,” he whispered, his voice so raw it sent a surge of heat through you. “I need to feel your hands around my dick.”
A low hum of satisfaction left your throat as you finally let your fingers slip lower, teasing the waistband of his joggers, the heat radiating from his body pulling you in closer. “Good boy,” you purred softly into his ear, your breath warm against his skin as your lips trailed along the curve of his neck, planting a lingering kiss that sent shivers down his spine.
Oscar’s reaction was immediate—his whole body tensed beneath you, hips instinctively jerking upward, desperate for more contact. The sound of your praise hung in the air between you, its effect unmistakable. He let out a soft, strangled groan, the sound thick with need, as if those two simple words had unlocked something deep inside him. His eyes fluttered shut, his lips parted in a breathless moan, and his chest rose and fell in uneven, rapid breaths.
You could feel him twitch beneath your touch, the heat and anticipation rolling off him in waves. The mere sound of your voice calling him a 'good boy' had clearly struck a chord, one he was too overwhelmed to put into words but too aroused to hide. A thin bead of precome slicked against your fingers as you brushed over him, his body betraying just how much he enjoyed the praise—more than he would ever dare to admit aloud.
His hands fumbled for something to hold onto, gripping the sheets beneath him as he squirmed under your touch. “Fuck…” he whimpered, his voice breaking. His reaction was so visceral, so raw, that you could feel how much control he was fighting to keep, how much he craved your touch
Your hand stayed teasingly light, fingers barely grazing him as you moved lower, your touch enough to make him throb beneath you, every sensation amplified by the tension in his body. You smiled against his neck, savoring how easily you could make him come undone with nothing but your touch and your words.
“You like that, don’t you?” you whispered, your lips brushing against the sensitive skin of his ear. His answer came in the form of another groan, his hips bucking once again, leaking more in response to your gentle touch, his desperation growing with every passing second.
The flush on his skin deepened, the way his body reacted betraying the depth of his desire. You could feel the tremble in his thighs, the way his breathing hitched each time your fingers brushed over him, how his whole body seemed to lean into every touch, silently begging for more.
“I bet you love hearing that,” you murmured, fingers curling just enough to give him a hint of pressure, your words laced with amusement and seduction. “Admit it, Oscar. You like being called a good boy, don’t you?”
He let out a shaky breath, his body jolting at the words, unable to hold back any longer. “Y-yeah,” he breathed, his voice strained and trembling, so close to unraveling completely under the weight of his need. He pressed his head back into the pillows, overwhelmed by the sensations flooding through him, his body a live wire of sensitivity.
“Good boy,” you repeated, the words rolling off your tongue like honey as your hand moved just a little firmer, eliciting a strangled moan from Oscar that sent a fresh wave of heat through you. The way he responded to you was intoxicating, his body fully under your control as he writhed beneath you, craving every touch, every whisper, every teasing word.
He couldn’t help it—he twitched again in your hand, the dampness of his arousal slick against your fingers as he leaked more precome, his desperation making it clear just how much he wanted to give in. The pleasure was almost too much for him to handle, his body caught in that sweet spot between torture and ecstasy.
And you weren’t done with him yet.
Your lips found his neck again, trailing soft kisses along his skin, whispering between each one, “See? No random girl could ever make you feel like this… right, Osc?”
He whimpered in response, his breathing ragged as he squirmed beneath you. “No… only you,” he groaned, his hands gripping your waist as if he needed something to anchor him in the storm of sensation you were unleashing on him.
You smiled, savoring his surrender, your fingers stroking him slowly, deliberately, drawing out every sound he made. His body trembled beneath you, each moan and whimper fueling your teasing touches as you kissed along his jawline, down to his collarbone, then back up to his ear.
“Are you thinking about that girl you have to fake date now? Thinking about if she's pretty, if she could make you feel like this too?” you teased softly, your voice dripping with seduction as your hand tightened just slightly around him.
Oscar shook his head, his voice barely a whisper. “No… never. Just you.”
You kissed him deeply then, your tongue slipping past his lips, slow and sensual, tasting the desperation in his breath. His hands gripped you tighter, pulling you closer as though he couldn’t get enough. His heart was racing, the pulse of his need pounding through him as your hand continued its slow, torturous rhythm, bringing him closer and closer to the edge.
“You’re mine, Osc,” you whispered against his lips, your hand quickening its pace ever so slightly. “No matter who you have to pretend with, it’s me who makes you feel this good, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he whimpered, his voice barely coherent as he bucked against your hand, his body trembling with anticipation. “Only you… please…”
You grinned, knowing how close he was, and kissed him once more, slowly, deeply, savoring every moment of his unraveling. "That’s right. I’m the one that makes you feel like this. No one else.”
Oscar’s moans grew louder, his body trembling beneath your touch as you finally gave him what he’d been begging for, his breaths coming in short gasps as he lost himself completely in you. Every groan, every whimper, every desperate plea filled the air between you, his pleasure so intense it left him barely able to form words.
As you kissed along his neck again, you took his hands in yours and moved them from your back down to cup your ass, squeezing lightly.
His response was nothing but a breathless whimper as he gripped you tighter, his body arching into yours, completely at your mercy.
The teasing, the slow build-up, and your seductive whispers had him lost, spiraling into ecstasy. You could feel him slipping away, utterly consumed by the intensity of what you were doing to him, and you smiled against his skin, knowing that only you could bring him to this point.
Oscar’s moans filled the room, raw and unrestrained, his entire body shaking as he gave in, letting you take him to the edge of oblivion. And as he finally reached that peak, his voice cracked, your name falling from his lips in a broken, breathless moan.
You smiled, your lips grazing his ear as you whispered one last time, “That’s right, Oscar. You're mine"
It took Oscar a moment to slip back into reality before he sat up on the bed, his chest still heaving from the high they had just shared. Without warning, he wrapped his arms around you and lifted you off the bed in one swift, effortless motion, holding you close to him. You gasped, half-laughing in surprise, instinctively wrapping your arms around his neck as he carried you toward the bathroom.
“Where are we going?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, though a playful smile tugged at your lips.
He kicked open the door to the ensuite bathroom and placed you gently down on the edge of the sink, the cool countertop a stark contrast to the warmth radiating between the two of you. Oscar walked over to the shower, turning the water on with a steady hand, before striding back to you, his presence suddenly more commanding, more assertive.
Standing between your legs, his body pressed firmly against yours, he leaned in, his lips hovering just above your ear. “Showing you that you’re mine too,” he whispered, his voice low, seductive, full of intention “You belong to me.”
Before you could respond, Oscar’s lips were on your neck, his kisses slow and deliberate, each one sending shivers through your body. His fingers tangled in your hair, tugging it gently as he tilted your head back, exposing more of your neck to his assault. He kissed his way down the column of your throat, leaving a trail of heat in his wake.
“I’m not letting you wait for the water to warm up,” he murmured, his voice dark and teasing, his fingers already tracing the hem of your dress, slipping underneath to brush against your skin. He gripped the fabric, pulling it up with one swift motion before tossing it carelessly to the floor, his eyes devouring you, the hunger in them unmistakable.
His hand slid between your legs, fingers teasing, barely grazing you at first, drawing out the anticipation. He could feel how sensitive you were, how ready. You let out a soft moan as he pressed his lips against your jaw, trailing kisses down to the hollow of your throat. His fingers found their way inside you, moving slowly, torturously, making you squirm beneath him.
“You’re mine,” he growled softly, his breath hot against your skin. “No one else can touch you like this. Only me.” His fingers curled inside you just right, hitting all the right spots, and you let out a breathless whimper in response, your body arching into him. “Say it,” he demanded, his voice commanding but still gentle. “Tell me you’re mine.”
His smirk grew as you struggled to hold back, his fingers now moving with more purpose, each touch a mix of pleasure and dominance.
"I-I'm yours" you moaned out, unable to form a coherent sentence "F-Fuck, this feels so good"
He smirked, pleased with your reaction, his thumb brushing over you in just the right way, coaxing even more desperate sounds from your lips. "That's it... let me hear you," he murmured, his voice commanding but still gentle, coaxing out every bit of pleasure as he continued his slow, torturous rhythm.
When he finally couldn’t take it any longer, he scooped you up in his arms again, carrying you toward the shower. The water had begun to steam up the glass as he pressed your back against the cool tiles, the heat from the shower blending with the heat from his body. His lips crashed into yours, the kiss deep, passionate, filled with need. The water poured over both of you, soaking your skin as Oscar's hands roamed your body, his fingers tangling in your hair, his palms gripping your hips, your thighs, every inch of you.
Without breaking the kiss, he dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands sliding down your sides as the water cascaded down your bodies. He kissed your inner thighs, his lips agonizingly slow as they made their way higher, teasing you just as you had done to him before. You could feel the smirk on his lips as he drew closer, his breath hot against your skin, his hands gripping your hips, holding you in place.
“You’re my girl,” he said softly, his voice laced with dominance as he looked up at you from his knees. “No one else can have you. Not now, not ever.” Then, without warning, his tongue flicked out, teasing you with the lightest touch. You gasped, your hands instinctively reaching for his hair, gripping tightly as his tongue worked slow, deliberate circles, driving you mad with desire.
His hands roamed your body as he continued his slow torment, one gripping your ass, the other sliding up your back, pulling you closer to him. He was everywhere at once, his touch all-consuming, his tongue alternating between soft strokes and firmer pressure, teasing you, driving you to the edge.
Oscar’s fingers joined his tongue, sliding into you in perfect sync with the rhythm he set, the slow, torturous pace making you tremble. Every flick of his tongue, every curl of his fingers was designed to push you higher, the tension in your body building with each passing second.
“Tell me how I make you feel,” he whispered between strokes, his breath hot against you, and when you couldn’t answer, too lost in the pleasure, he smirked. “That’s what I thought.” His tongue circled again, his fingers curling just right, and your body responded, arching into him, your grip on his hair tightening as the pleasure became almost unbearable.
He continued to work you over, switching between his tongue and fingers, his touches slow, purposeful, drawing out every sound, every moan. His hands never stopped exploring, roaming your body, massaging your thighs, your hips, your breasts, every inch of you as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.
When you finally reached your peak, it was as if the world around you disappeared. You shattered against him, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed over you, and Oscar didn’t stop, carrying you through it, his tongue and fingers still working you until the very last tremor left your body.
“That's it, baby” he whispered softly, his voice a mix of satisfaction and possessiveness as he kissed his way back up your body, pulling you close as the water continued to soak you both.
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