Cross the Line 1 - OP81
pairing: dom!OP81 x OC
genre: romance, friends-to-lovers, power dynamic
warnings: this story will contain 18+ content (mdni), dom!oscar, sub!oc, explicit sexual content, power imbalance, consensual bdsm elements, spanking, choking, orgasm control, fingering (f receiving), cunnilingus, blow job, p in v, unprotected sex (pls be safe!)
wc: part 1 - 4,369 (two)
Despite their completely different worlds, they’ve always been inseparable. To everyone else, they’re just best friends. But the way he looks after her, the way she clings to him, and the way neither of them can seem to stay away from each other says otherwise.
When a teasing comment accidentally reveals a darker, more controlling side of Oscar he’s been hiding, their dynamic starts to shift. What used to be playful arguments and quiet care slowly turns into something far more intense.
"I am telling you, Oscar, if Professor Miller assigns one more tax audit simulation, I am going to lose it," she groaned, tossing her highlighter across the room. "He thinks his class is the only thing we do! I have a life. I have… well, I have you, and I have sanity to preserve."
Oscar, who had been focused on a data analysis document at the kitchen island, didn’t even look up as he stood. He simply set his tablet down, walked over, and expertly plucked the heavy textbook from under her head, replacing it with a soft throw pillow.
"Deep breaths," Oscar murmured, his voice dropping into that low, steady register he only ever used with her. "You’ve been staring at those spreadsheets for six hours. You’re spiraling, sweetheart."
She turned her face into the cushion, letting out a muffled sound of frustration. "I’m not spiraling, I’m rightfully angry. He’s ruining my prime years."
"You’re being dramatic," he chuckled, moving to the kitchen. "But you’re also hungry. I’ve got salmon in the pan and the rice is almost done."
She sat up, immediately swinging her legs off the couch and padding barefoot into the kitchen behind him. Without a word, she wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her chin on his back and swaying slightly. "You’re the only good thing in my life right now."
Oscar paused, his hand moving to cover hers where they were locked against his stomach. He turned slightly, pinning her with a look that was entirely different from the cool, calculated intensity he displayed in the paddock. Here, he was just soft, all warmth and quiet devotion.
"Is that so?" he asked, his voice firm but teasing. He turned completely in her arms, effectively crowding her against the counter. He took the apron strings from her fingers and gently nudged her toward the breakfast nook. "Go. Sit. You’re stressed and you’re clinging, which means you’re fried. Let me handle this."
"But I want to help," she complained. Though she didn't fight the gentle, yet firm pressure, he applied to her shoulders to guide her to the seat.
"You’ve helped enough by existing," he said, turning back to the stove. He plated the food with precise, practiced movements, then set the dish in front of her along with a perfectly crafted cup of coffee, the aroma filling the room. He leaned in, placing a hand on the back of her chair and hovering just close enough that his presence was all she could feel. "Eat, baby. Then we’re putting the books away for the night. That’s not a request."
She looked up at him, her usual hyper energy dampened by a genuine smile. "You’re bossy."
Oscar smirked, his eyes darkening with a playful, possessive glint as he brushed a stray hair from her forehead. "Only when you need someone to take the lead. Now, eat before it gets cold."
She took a bite of the salmon, the stress in her shoulders finally beginning to uncoil as the familiar, perfect flavor hit her tongue. Oscar stood there, watching her with that quiet, intense focus, the way he looked at data, but with a softness in his eyes that he never let the world see.
He poured himself a glass of water, his movements fluid and efficient, before leaning back against the counter, crossing his arms. "I need to head out tomorrow morning," he said, his voice casual, though his eyes remained fixed on her. "Heading to pre-season testing for a few days."
Her fork clattered against the plate, the jolly energy vanishing instantly. She looked up, her lower lip already starting to poke out in a familiar, involuntary pout. She abandoned the plate, sliding off the chair to lean against him again, her arms winding tightly around his torso as if she could physically tether him to the apartment.
"You’re leaving me? Again?" she lamented, pressing her forehead into his chest. "I’m going to be surrounded by textbooks and Miller’s impossible audit questions with absolutely zero supervision. Do you have any idea how much chaos I’m going to cause without you here to tell me to stop spiraling?"
Oscar let out a low, rumbling laugh, his large hands coming up to cup her face, forcing her to look up at him. He tilted his head, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw with a gentle, grounding pressure.
"The world won't end, sweetheart. You’re a brilliant accountant in the making, I think you can handle a few days of solitude," he teased, though his eyes softened at the sight of her genuine disappointment.
He leaned down, dropping his voice to that authoritative, low register that always made her heart skip a beat. "And don't act like I'm abandoning you. You know exactly where my team’s hospitality suite is. If you finish those reports early and stop complaining about Miller, you have a VIP guest pass waiting for you at the gate. You’ve had one for months."
She blinked, the pout softening into a smirk. "So, you want me there?"
"I always want you there," he replied, his tone shifting from teasing to something far more serious and possessive. He squeezed her shoulders, grounding her. "But you’re the one who said you needed to focus on your finals. I’m just giving you the space to work, so when you do show up, you can actually relax instead of stressing over your laptop in the garage."
He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her temple, a lingering, intimate touch that reminded her exactly who was in charge of her schedule, her sanity, and, quite often, her heart.
"Finish the audit, get your work done, and I’ll send a car to pick you up whenever you’re ready," he murmured. "Deal?"
—
The apartment felt quiet without the steady hum of Oscar’s presence, and the silence was doing her no favors.
For the first forty-eight hours, she treated her study desk like a battlefield. She was relentless, fueled by caffeine and an annoying sense of loneliness that she refused to admit was caused by an empty seat at the kitchen island. Whenever a journal entry wouldn't balance or a case study made her brain feel like it was fraying at the edges, her reflex was immediate. Reach for her phone.
Her messages to Oscar were a chaotic, unfiltered stream of consciousness.
“Professor Miller is a sadist. I am currently staring at a balance sheet that makes no sense. I miss your coffee. Please come back and tell me I’m smart.”
“I’m pretty sure I just invented a new way to calculate depreciation. It’s probably illegal. Where are you?”
“The fridge is empty. I don’t know how to exist without you here to tell me what to eat. Send help (and maybe a hug).”
She didn’t just text, she left a trail of missed calls in his log. She knew he was at the track, buried in debriefs and simulator data, but she couldn't help the impulsive need to hear his voice, that calm, steady anchor in her frantic world.
Every time her phone finally buzzed with his name on the screen, her mood did a complete 180.
"You're making a habit of this," Oscar’s voice came through the speaker, crisp and amused. He was likely walking through the paddock, the faint, distorted roar of an engine in the background.
"I’m suffering, Oscar! I’m practically a martyr for the sake of higher education," she countered, her voice immediately dropping into that clingy, melodic tone she saved just for him. "My spreadsheet is red. Everything is red. My brain is red."
Oscar chuckled, a sound that made her slump back in her chair with a relieved exhale. "You're not suffering, you're just dramatic. Breathe. Did you double-check the accruals in column G?"
"I… maybe?"
"Check them again," he commanded, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "And drink some water. You haven't left that desk in three hours, have you?"
"I’ve been busy!"
"You've been pouting," he countered, though his tone softened instantly, shedding the F1 driver persona for the man who knew exactly how to handle her. "I've got another hour of meetings, but I’ll check on you again after. Keep your phone close, okay? Don't make me worry."
"I'm not going anywhere," she murmured, already feeling the sharp edges of her stress dulling simply because he was listening.
"Good. Keep working, sweetheart. I’ll make it worth your while when you’re done."
She hung up, a small, triumphant smile playing on her lips. He was thousands of miles away, yet he was still managing her, directing her, and somehow, keeping her entire world from tilting off its axis. She sat up straighter, pulled the laptop closer, and dove back into the numbers.
—
The weight of the final audit project finally lifted off her shoulders, but the relief was short-lived. A string of emails from her two professors confirmed the worst. They require onsite attendance for the rest of the week.
She stared at the screen, her heart sinking. The flexibility that had allowed her to be a fixture in Oscar’s world, the quick flights to track locations, the long hours spent in the motorhome while he was busy with media, was gone for now.
She opened her messaging app, her thumbs flying across the screen.
“The universe is officially conspiring against us. Professors are forcing onsite attendance this week. I’m grounded, Oscar. I can’t make it to the pre-testing. I’m so sorry.”
She hit send, then tossed her phone onto her bed, pacing the room. She felt childishly upset, but the thought of being stuck in a lecture hall while he was tearing up the track made her feel disconnected in a way she hated.
The next morning, the campus was a whirlwind of activity. She trudged toward the main gate, her bag heavy with textbooks and her mood significantly darker than the morning sky. She was busy mentally calculating how much time she’d lose in transit when a familiar, sleek car idling near the curb caught her eye.
She froze. It couldn’t be.
The window rolled down, and there he was. Oscar wasn’t in his team kit, but in a simple black hoodie, his hair slightly windswept, looking entirely out of place among the rushing students and faculty. He was leaning over to the passenger side, watching her with that private, slow smile that was reserved solely for her.
"Need a ride, Accountant?"
She let out a high-pitched squeal that made several students turn their heads, but she didn't care. She didn't walk, she practically leaped toward the car, her fatigue evaporating into pure, unadulterated joy. She scrambled into the passenger seat, not even bothering to close the door properly before she was throwing her arms around his neck, nearly knocking his sunglasses askew.
"You're here! You're actually here!" she chirped, burying her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne. "How? You’re supposed to be in testing!"
Oscar laughed, a rich, genuine sound that echoed in the small space of the car. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him and effectively pinning her in place for a moment, his touch firm and grounding. He didn't let go, even as the campus traffic honked behind them.
"I finished early," he murmured into her hair, his thumb stroking her back in a soothing, possessive rhythm. "And I wasn't about to let you wallow in misery because of a few professors. I told you, I’d make it worth your while."
She pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes wide and sparkling. "You came all this way just for me?"
"You're a priority," he said, his tone shifting from playful to that low, steady, and unapologetic intensity that made her knees weak. He reached over, clicking her seatbelt into place before his hand lingered on her cheek, his thumb tracing her lip. "Besides, I don't like it when you’re not around. Now, buckle up. We’re going to get coffee, and then you're going to tell me exactly which professor is giving you a hard time so I can decide if I need to have a very polite, very Australian chat with them."
They bypassed the usual coffee shops and instead drove until the city skyline blurred into the quieter, lush outskirts of the metro. Oscar pulled into a secluded park, the kind that was mostly empty on a weekday afternoon.
"Fresh air," he stated, his tone final as he turned off the engine. "You need to stop breathing in library dust and start breathing real oxygen."
She was out of the car before he even killed the ignition, her earlier, frazzled energy returning as a hyper, restless buzz. She grabbed his hand, dragging him toward a cluster of colorful, slightly weathered playground equipment, a relic of a bygone era.
"Oscar, play with me!" she demanded, eyes sparkling with that infectious, chaotic joy.
He arched a brow, looking at the plastic slide and the rusted merry-go-round with a mix of amusement and disbelief. "We are grown adults, and you want to play in a jungle gym?"
"Yes! It’s the only way I can destress. You’re the one who said you’d make it worth my while, right? Well, my price is a race to the top of the climbing frame." She was already scrambling up the rubberized matting, laughing as she looked down at him.
Oscar stood for a moment, hands in his pockets, his gaze softening into that puddle-like adoration he only ever showed her. He sighed, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips, and followed her up with an ease that betrayed his elite athletic conditioning. For the next hour, he let her win at tag, pushed her on the swing until she was dizzy with laughter, and didn't even flinch when she insisted they play hide-and-seek behind the oak trees.
But as the sun began to dip, casting long, orange shadows across the grass, Oscar’s playfulness vanished, replaced by the cool, focused discipline of a man who managed a high-stakes career.
He caught her wrist mid-sprint, pulling her back against his chest until her giggling died down. "That’s enough, sweetheart. Time’s up."
"Already?" she whined, instantly wilting. She tried to squirm away, but his grip on her waist tightened, locking her in place. "I was having fun! I don't want to go back to reality yet."
"You have an assignment due in two days," he reminded her, his voice low and uncompromising. "If you don't start it now, you’ll be pulling all-nighters, and I won't have you stressed out because you procrastinated. We’re going back, you’re getting your laptop out, and you’re finishing the work."
She huffed, spinning around to face him with her arms crossed, her eyes narrowed into a bratty, defiant glare. She didn't like being told 'no,' especially not when she was having this much fun.
"You are so bossy," she pouted, her voice dripping with mock annoyance. "But, okay daddy.”
The air around them seemed to drop ten degrees.
She meant it as a jab at his overbearing, nurturing nature, a sarcastic comment on how he fussed over her schedule and her health. But the word hit Oscar like a physical blow. His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tightening, and his eyes darkened instantly, losing all traces of the 'soft' best friend.
The casual, protective dominance he usually displayed spiked into something much sharper, much more intense. He didn't say a word, but the look he pinned her with, a slow, predatory appraisal, made the breath hitch in her throat. He didn't break eye contact, his thumb tracing a slow, rhythmic circle against her hip that suddenly felt far too heavy, far too intimate.
"Don't," he murmured, his voice dropping into a register so dark and gravelly it vibrated against her skin. He leaned in, his face inches from hers, his aura shifting into something undeniably raw. "If you keep saying things like that, you aren't going to get any work done at all. Is that what you want?"
She blinked, confused by the sudden shift in the atmosphere, her bratty attitude faltering under the weight of his stare. "I… I just meant—"
"I know what you meant," he interrupted, his tone cold and steady. He pulled back, adjusting his hoodie, his composure snapping back into place like a steel trap, though his eyes remained stormy. "Go to the car. We’re going home. Now."
—
The drive back was agonizingly silent. Oscar kept his eyes strictly on the road, his jaw set in a hard, uncompromising line that she hadn’t seen since the worst days of his rookie season. He wasn't the soft, doting best friend who played on jungle gyms anymore, he was a man holding a leash, and he was holding it tight.
When they pulled into the apartment complex, he didn't even wait for her to gather her things. He stepped out of the car, rounded it in two long, purposeful strides, and opened her door. His hand on the small of her back wasn't just guidance, it was an anchor, steering her toward the elevator with a possessive weight that made her skin prickle.
Inside the apartment, the air felt thick, charged with a static electricity that made it hard to breathe. Oscar didn't stop to make coffee or offer snacks. He walked straight to the kitchen island, pulled her chair out, and gestured to her laptop.
"Sit," he said. It wasn't a suggestion.
She sat, her fingers trembling slightly as she opened her laptop. She glanced up at him, expecting the usual playful smirk or the affectionate head-pat, but Oscar was leaning against the counter opposite her, his arms crossed over his chest, watching her with a dark, unreadable intensity.
Her mind began to race, frantically retracing the last hour. She played back their conversation on the playground, dissecting every word like a forensic accountant.
We were playing hide and seek... I was complaining... I called him bossy...
Then, it hit her. The way the air had shifted. The way his eyes had darkened until they looked almost black.
“But, okay daddy…”
She felt the blood rush to her face, heating her cheeks until they burned. She had meant it in the most domestic, fatherly sense, the way he micromanaged her diet, enforced her study schedule, and made sure she was safe. But the way he had reacted... that wasn't how a 'best friend' acted when called a parental figure. That was the look of a man who had heard something entirely different, something that clearly tapped into a part of his psyche he kept locked away in a vault.
She looked up at him again, seeing him in a completely new light. The way his clothes fit him, the way he hovered over her space, the way he took pleasure in her obedience to his 'rules.'
"Oscar?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
He didn't move, his gaze still anchored to her, unblinking. "Focus on the screen, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous register again. "You’ve got a lot of work to catch up on, and I’m going to make sure you finish every bit of it."
He didn't mention the word. He didn't have to. The way he was looking at her, with that predatory, possessive focus, told her that he knew exactly what she had said, and he was clearly enjoying the effect it was having on her.
She looked back down at her spreadsheet, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She suddenly realized that the 'bossy' best friend she thought she knew was someone much more complicated.
—
The air in the apartment had been thick for three days, vibrating with a tension that Oscar refused to dissipate. He’d stayed, true to his word, acting as both an enforcer and a caretaker. He kept her coffee at the perfect temperature, tracked her study hours with an eagle eye, and never once let his gaze soften into the gentle, "best friend" warmth she was used to.
She needed to know if she had cracked the code. She needed to know if the man she’d known for years was hiding a side of himself that was as sharp and demanding as he was on the track.
Oscar was at the counter, meticulously folding a kitchen towel, his back to her. She set her pen down, her heart thudding a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
"Hey, Daddy?" she chirped, the word slipping out with a forced, airy sweetness.
Oscar’s movements stalled. His back stiffened, his shoulders broadening under his shirt. He didn’t turn around, but his voice, when he spoke, was a low, dangerous warning. "Don't, sweetheart. I told you to stop playing games."
She felt a thrill of reckless adrenaline. She stood up, walking toward him, her hand brushing the small of his back as she passed. "Why? It suits you. You’re so good at telling me what to do. Isn't that what you want, daddy?"
He spun around, and the shift in his presence was instantaneous. The 'best friend' veneer shattered entirely. He moved with the precision of an apex predator, closing the gap between them before she could even take a breath.
With a firm, decisive grip on her hips, he spun her around and pressed her stomach-first against the cool marble of the kitchen island. He leaned into her, his chest flush against her back, effectively pinning her in place.
She gasped, her breath hitching as his right hand moved up, his fingers wrapping firmly, but not painfully, around the front of her throat. It was an act of absolute control, a silent command for her to remain still. His left hand splayed across her waist, his thumb digging into her skin, grounding her against him.
She was hyper-aware of the space between them. Even through the fabric of his trousers, she could feel the heat radiating from him. He wasn't fully aroused, yet the sensation of him pressing against her backside made her knees turn to water, a strange, electric tension pooling deep in her stomach.
He leaned down, his lips ghosting against the sensitive shell of her ear, his breath hot and ragged.
"You really don't know when to stop, do you?" he whispered, his voice a gravelly rumble that vibrated right through her spine. "You keep pushing, and you’re going to find out exactly what happens when I stop pretending I’m just your friend."
His fingers tightened ever so slightly against her throat, his touch possessive and terrifyingly firm.
"This is your last warning," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, heavy with a hunger he’d been masking for years. "Don't test me again unless you’re ready to deal with the consequences."
The silence that followed his warning was heavy, suffocating, and strangely electric. Her heart was hammering against her ribs so hard she was certain he could feel it through her back. Every nerve ending in her body was lit up, acutely aware of the weight of his hand against her throat and the solid, unyielding strength of him pressed against her.
She tried to turn her head, to catch a glimpse of his face, but his hand on her waist tightened, a silent, absolute command to stay exactly where she was.
He’s not joking, the thought finally crystallized in her mind, sharp and undeniable. He’s not just acting like a parent. He’s... he’s something else entirely.
The pieces began to fall into place with a sudden, dizzying clarity. The way he hovered over her with such possessive, micromanaging intensity, the way he took pleasure in stripping her of her autonomy, not to be mean, but because he thrived on being the one to steer her, to guide her, to command her. The way the mere suggestion of that nickname had flipped a switch, turning her soft, doting best friend into someone who looked at her with a predatory, dark hunger.
It wasn't just a protective instinct. It was a kink.
She felt a rush of heat travel from the base of her spine to her cheeks. The realization was both terrifying and intoxicating. He wasn't just playing the role of a stern authority figure because she needed help with her classes, he was fulfilling a deeply ingrained, private desire to dominate, and she, completely oblivious, had been handing him the reins on a silver platter for months.
"Oh," she breathed, the word barely a whisper, the shock of the revelation leaving her breathless.
Oscar’s grip on her throat didn't loosen. If anything, he pressed closer, his chest expanding as he took a deep, steadying breath against her shoulder. " 'Oh'?" he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "Is that all you have to say? Now that you’ve finally figured out what game you’re actually playing?"
He shifted his weight, and she felt the distinct, firm press of his hardening desire against her, a silent confirmation of his intensity. She went still, her brain struggling to reconcile the Oscar who made her coffee and woke her up for school with this man, who was currently holding her captive against the kitchen counter with such raw, unhidden intent.
"I didn't..." she started, then swallowed hard, her voice trembling. "I didn't know."
"I know you didn't," Oscar murmured, his lips brushing the shell of her ear again, a sensation that sent a shiver racing down her entire frame. "But you know now, don't you? You know exactly what happens when you push me this far."
He released her throat slowly, but his hand stayed there, his fingers splayed against her skin, possessive and claiming. He didn't let her turn around, he kept her pinned, leaving her to stare at the blank wall, forced to confront the reality that the dynamic of their friendship, and perhaps her entire life, had just fundamentally shifted.
—
authors note: this ones gonna be a longggg ride. let me know if any one of you wants to be tagged for all the next parts 🫶🏻
authors note 2: im not good in writing smuts! pls dont expect too much 😭😭