fic so good i deadass got pissed off checking ur profile just to find literally nothing else 💔💔💔 hope u are here to stay on f1 tumblr, always need more good osc writers + would def love a part 2 !!!
this made me giggle. i’m sorry pookie i promise ill be writing something soon, i just never expected to have to make a pt. 2 to the oscar fic so now im trying to think of a plot
I just read your first fic and it is so good. Obv I do not condone cheating or anything like that. But I was wondering if you are gonna do a part 2 or if not, then what would their future would be like? Are they gonna comtinue like this or stop,etc? Do the family find out?
If you would like, you can make a mini series. Obviously no pressure. It is your choice. 💜
Thank you ✨️ 😊
hiii!! haha, obviously i don’t condone cheating OR fucking your step brother but alas, it’s fun to write about 😭
i’m open to a part 2! im notoriously bad at series or second parts, but hopefully i can squeeze some more plot out of this LOL
summary: things are going great with your boyfriend of three years, lando norris. or at least that is what you think. your step-brother oscar has a different opinion.
warnings: SMUT!!!! cheating, step sibling trope, he refers to himself as her brother like twice, but it’s more so ironic and bitter than a FR thing ya know? forbidden romance, THEY DID NOT GROW UP TG!! public sex, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, creampies, cum play, p in v, unprotected sex, pwp, language
wc: 7.6k
title: moth to a flame— the weeknd
a/n: hi, this is my humble introduction to the world of f1 smut. i hope you enjoy this as much as i did :3 im very open to requests and feedback from anyone!!!
The chaos of a race weekend never ceases to amaze you. Nobody ever stops; everyone is always on the move, fixing something, changing something — someone always has somewhere to be. There is never a lull, especially not for a championship-contending team.
Lounging in the McLaren hospitality room, you pretend to nurse a cold lemonade that only really sits before you tauntingly. Spain is hotter than you expected for the middle of June, though you’re still trying to adjust to the fact that the seasons are flipped here.
Your step-sister, Edie, sits beside you, eyes trained on her phone. She’s chewing on the corner of her lip, completely uninterested in the world. But that’s just always been Edie — too cool for any of the happenings around her.
Your mother married her father about five years ago, and the new family dynamic is something you’re still trying to get used to. There’s too much going on, going from a small-town life to suddenly being included in the family photos of a Formula One driver.
You watch through the television hoisted up in the corner of the room, the final moments of the last free practice wrapping up.
“He’s looking good,” you murmur, more to yourself than Edie. “Think he’s got a good shot this weekend.”
Edie finally blinks up from her phone, her brown eyes landing on yours. They’re the same shade as his. “Probably,” she smiles, shrugging casually. “We’ll find out after quali. He’s had a good shot this year in general.”
You nod, tearing your eyes from the screen. The season has seemingly kept everyone on their toes — with how close Oscar is to his teammate, it’s bound to be an eventful weekend.
Any gap he can get is well appreciated.
Lando is everything. He’s happy, he’s charming, and he’s yours. The complicated nature of the situation is not lost on you, but how were you to know that your boyfriend of three years would end up being your stepbrother’s teammate?
Your relationship with Oscar was already complicated enough.
The day goes by the same, lingering beside your mother and Edie as you watch Oscar finish up practice, and later as he manages to secure pole position. Edie was right — this is looking to be a wonderful weekend.
—
Your eyes are somehow always on him.
In the garage, with the over-ear headset sitting heavy on your head, even as Lando smiles down at you, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to your lips.
It’s always Oscar you’re aware of.
“I know you don’t like it when I say this,” Lando pulls back, smiling sheepishly. “But I think I can take this race home. I feel it.”
You can’t help the breathless laugh that escapes you, your hands caressing his broad shoulders. The way his fireproof shirt stretches across his chest is almost dizzying.
His blue eyes search yours, eagerly awaiting your response.
“I think you’ll do great, my love,” you agree, smiling despite yourself. Lando always had a way of melting any anxiety you had. “And remember, we have my parents’ anniversary next week. You said you’d come.”
Lando’s hands settle on your waist. “And I will,” he promises. “Though, with the championship fight we have right now, I’m not entirely sure your family will be all that happy to have me there.”
Rolling your eyes, you lean forward and kiss him. “It’ll be fine.”
You feel his eyes first, the burning gaze raising the hairs on the back of your neck. Mechanics run around, getting ready to let the drivers inside their cars.
Lando hasn’t noticed, opting to wrap his arms around your waist and bring you close.
Oscar is on the other side of the garage, pulling the white balaclava over his face with entirely too much force. His brown eyes are trained on you, flicking down to where Lando’s hands rest on your waist.
You don’t say anything, and neither does he.
“Alright, I need to get going,” Lando announces, pulling back before pecking your lips one last time. “I’ll see you after. Wish me luck.”
You give him a tight-lipped smile, turning away. Your eyes catch on the other car, but then you’re slipping away.
You sit between your mother and Edie, the headset heavy on your head as you watch the cars begin to be rolled into position. It’s just a race, but your heart is already pounding.
Things with Oscar were never normal. They weren’t normal when your mother introduced you to his family — the son of a dashing businessman with three daughters and an ambitious young son.
It was charged from the start: the looks lingered too long, the jokes hit too hard, the hands hovered more than they should have. He was handsome — the dreamy way his hair fell over his eyes, the way his face seemed to glow whenever he was happy.
And then the wedding happened.
Your mum wanted an extravagant celebration, with too much flair, food, and drinks. You lingered around Oscar the most, partially because you appreciated the quiet he always seemed to enjoy.
As the night went on, the two of you moved to a less crowded part of the venue. The drinks kept flowing, the space kept disappearing.
And then you were crashing against the bed — his bed.
Oscar’s body moved against yours like a well-practiced dance, fucking you into the mattress until sunrise. He made you come so many times that your legs ached for days after.
The horror lingered. He hadn’t even been your stepbrother for more than twenty-four hours, and already you were falling into bed with him. What would his family think? What would your mother think?
It went on for far longer than you would have liked to admit. The rendezvous between races grew more frequent, and the secret kept eating at you.
But you couldn’t stop. No matter how much you told yourself you wanted it to, your body always betrayed you. Always.
Then one day, while accompanying Oscar to one of his Formula 2 races, you met him. Lando was a young, charismatic driver with three seasons already under his belt, and McLaren loved him.
And soon enough, you did too.
He swept you off your feet without really trying. His laugh, his humor — everything about him was perfect. Especially the part where he isn’t your stepbrother.
It gave you enough of an excuse to end whatever mess you had going on with Oscar, much to his dismay. Much to yours, though he would never hear you admitting that.
Then McLaren signed Oscar for the following season.
For the last three years, you had worked tirelessly to keep what happened between you and Oscar from coming to light. Nobody knew; nobody could know. Especially not your family. Especially not Lando.
Especially not when the word engagement had been thrown around more than once.
The race is good, but your mind isn’t in it. Not at all. Oscar wins, and Lando is rightfully miffed about it. He’s still on the podium, he still celebrates — but you know the championship sits heavily on his mind.
Oscar looks at you the entire time.
You still think you’re with the winner?
You clench your jaw.
Lando doesn’t take long to find you, and the strained smile he sends your way is already putting you on edge. He has a tendency to be hard on himself, and this is probably not an ideal situation.
He smells like champagne, and in any other circumstance, you know this would be a cause for celebration. Instead, you wrap your arms around him and give him a firm squeeze.
“It’s okay,” you whisper. “You still have the entire season, baby. You still have a shot.”
He pulls away, his eyes meeting yours. At first, he doesn’t say anything, but eventually he lets out a defeated sigh. “It’s gonna be hard to shake, but I’ll try.”
You grin. “That’s all I ask.”
Eventually, he slips away to do some interviews, leaving you behind in the heat. You contemplate heading back to your hotel room, taking a long shower in the beautiful bathtub.
Except you don’t account for Oscar materializing beside you a few minutes later. The papaya cap sits atop his head, a pretty pink flush covering the apples of his cheeks and the tip of his nose.
“Good to see you, Y/N,” he greets, unbothered as always. Your skin prickles at his voice, the familiar cadence you still dream about. His brown eyes are tired, but trained on you.
Straightening your shoulders, you force a smile. “Same.”
The silence stretches, and it’s too charged for your liking. “Good race,” he mentions, squirting some water from his bottle into his mouth. Your eyes follow a stray droplet that clings to the edge of his mouth, the way his tongue darts out to collect it. “Did you bet on me?”
“I didn’t bet,” you answer immediately. “I hate how unpredictable you guys are. I don’t think I would ever put money on any of you.”
Oscar’s eyebrows rise in amusement. “You can always bet on me,” he hums. “You know, for extra moral support.”
You narrow your eyes. “I don’t need your money.”
“You need something else,” a small smirk plays on his lips, infuriating enough to make you seethe. “You always pretend you don’t.”
“Shut up.”
Oscar looks pleased with himself, especially when your cheeks match his in color— but not from excretion. “You think he can’t tell?”
You purse your lips. “Anyone in their right mind would assume their quiet little goody two-shoes driver never fucked his step-sister.”
“Careful,” he says, but it’s halfhearted. “Someone might find out.”
“Go to hell, Osc,” you snap. Embarrassment burns through you, partially because you know he’s right. He doesn’t care if people find out, not like you do.
He loves to remind you that you didn’t grow up together, that there’s no blood tying you. Still, you know it’s more complicated than that.
Neither of you says anything for a beat, watching the post-race chaos reign on. For some reason, the lack of words is almost worse than having Oscar look at you with that gleam in his eye.
You clear your throat. “Congratulations on the win, by the way.”
He gives you a half smile. “Thanks. Dedicated the trophy to Edie.”
You nod. “I saw that.”
“I thought about writing your name instead,” he muses, cocking his head to the side as he waits for his words to settle on your mind.
Stiffening, you feel your traitorous heart skip a beat. “Don’t,” you warn, running a sticky hand through your hair. “You wouldn’t have, you’re just trying to piss me off.”
Oscar grins. “Is it working?”
You don’t answer. You already feel his gaze burning into you, the intensity at which he studies you. Being beneath his scrutiny burns like a thousand suns, but your body ignites with the memory of what that attention meant.
Oscar steps closer to you, and panic shoots down your spine. Your eyes dart around, panicked, as you search for any signs that you’re being watched. You find nobody has their eyes on you.
“You did always fuck better when you were pissed,” he whispers, lips brushing the shell of your ear. His fingers ghost over the crook of your elbow, making you shiver. “Made me pay for whatever it was that I did with that mouth of yours.”
Inhaling sharply, you step back, glaring. “You’re disgusting,” you hiss, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m in a relationship. It would do you good to remember that.”
Oscar backs away, his eyes never leaving you. “Do you remember that?”
He doesn’t give you the chance to answer, pivoting on his heel and disappearing into the crowd. Your heart thunders in your chest, your skin still prickling with heat.
Seems like Oscar has grown tired of being complacent, and that is the most worrying thing about it all.
—
The night is cool, as expected for a night in early June in Australia. You’re nursing a glass of champagne, Lando’s arm wrapped politely around your waist as you let the party go on around you.
Your mother is the center of attention, as expected, but you don’t really mind.
The resort that your mum chose was beautiful, truthfully. The salon is decorated with various tones of orange because apparently, she cannot get over the fact that her step-son is a Formula One driver.
It makes your jaw clench.
“I feel like I’m at a team meeting,” Lando jokes, turning to you with glimmering blue eyes. He’s already three drinks deep, and you’re starting to see him loosening up at the edges. Maybe you should be worried.
Instead, you bring your glass to your lips and take a careful sip. “Your only week off and look how you’re spending it.”
Lando shrugs. “Better than nothing,” he sighs. “I gotta get on a plane tomorrow to Canada. I should get to enjoy one night off with you, don’t you think?”
Despite your earlier annoyance, you feel some of the irritation melt at his words. You give him a half smile, cupping his face with your hand.
“You’re so cute when you’re tipsy,” you grin, thumb brushing over his cheek.
Lando scoffs. “Am not,” he grumbles. “I’m hot and sexy, and you want to take my pants off.”
You shake your head, cheeks burning as you look around to make sure nobody heard your boyfriend’s intoxicated rambles.
“If you keep drinking like that, I will have to take your pants off,” you snort, biting back a smile. “You’re gonna be too drunk to get into bed, and I’m gonna have to put you to sleep like an overgrown toddler.”
Rolling his eyes, Lando steals your drink. He takes a long sip, placing the crystal glass between your awaiting fingers.
“God forbid I want to flip a little,” he says. “You’ve been so on edge lately.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, ignoring his worry as you force yourself to shift your focus back to the guests of the party.
“‘M not tense,” you grumble.
Lando doesn’t get a chance to respond, because before you know it, your mum is waltzing over to the two of you with a big grin on her face.
And she has Oscar and his father in tow.
Your heart beats rapidly, threatening to crack your ribs with its intensity. Scrambling to grab Lando’s hand, you force a smile.
“Lando, darling!” your mum smiles, opening her arms to wrap him in an awkward hug, since you refuse to let go of his hand. “I’m glad that you made it. How are you feeling?”
Lando smiles. “Great,” he nods, glancing between your mum and Oscar’s dad. “Congratulations on the anniversary, by the way. Beautiful party.”
Oscar’s father beams. “Thank you, son,” he nods, but the corners of his mouth are tight. The tension of the season carries on to the events, and that is something that you and Lando are painfully aware of.
Oscar is quiet, his hands shoved deep in his pants pockets. He’s wearing a thin white linen button-up, his hair artfully mussed. He looks so handsome, you feel your throat go dry.
“I realized Oscar never said hi,” your Mum says, looking at him with a playfully stern expression. “So we had to drag him over so he could say hello. I know you boys are probably flying out together tomorrow, isn’t that right?”
Lando smiles, his hand squeezing your waist. “Yeah, pretty sure it is.”
Your mum nods, looking at you with a bright smile. She reaches over, fixing your hair even though you’re almost fully sure that it’s fine.
“You guys are so cute,” she shakes her head fondly. “I know the season has been rough, but I do appreciate how nice you’re being about this, Lando. Sometimes, we really do have to separate work and our personal lives. Don’t you think?”
“Jesus, Mum,” you laugh awkwardly, shifting your weight. Oscar is frowning, his eyes are dark as they burn holes into where Lando’s hand rests on your hip. You try to ignore it. “Let's not talk about that, maybe?”
“I think you’re right,” Oscar’s dad nods, clapping his son on the back. “This is a celebration. Let’s enjoy it.”
“Of course!” Mum agrees, smiling. “I was just being silly, don’t mind me. But yes, since we are here because of a wedding—”
You and Oscar stiffen, but neither of you says anything. For some reason, the idea of your mother wanting to talk about you and Lando getting married in the near future feels like being condemned to death.
“When will we see that ring?” She asks Lando, excitement evident in her words. You and Lando have discussed getting married extensively, especially after you told him that you thought getting proposed to should be a decision the two of you came to together.
You told him you were ready. But now, under the weight of Oscar’s gaze and his barely contained annoyance, you’re not sure what you want anymore.
Lando laughs awkwardly. “I dunno,” he replies. “Probably after the season ends, I guess. It’ll be nice to do it without all that stress, you know? Have a proper celebration.”
Oscar’s jaw tightens so much you worry he’s going to snap a tooth. His eyes darken into a glower, directed straight at Lando. You inhale sharply, nerves making your hands shake.
Please don’t make it obvious.
“Oh, that would be beautiful!” your Mum smiles. “I trust you have an idea?”
“I trust you keep your head in the championship,” Oscar snaps, the first word he has said to you all night. Everyone’s attention snaps back to him, and your ears start to ring.
Lando blinks. “What?”
Oscar shrugs, taking a sip of his amber drink. “You know?” he shrugs. “You want that championship? Focus on that instead.”
Your mother blinks, his father’s eyebrows rise, and you gape. There’s no way this is happening, and there’s no way Oscar is being that obvious.
“Mate, what the hell?” Lando’s eyebrows furrow, and he shifts forward. “I’m just—“
“Oh, don’t mind him!” Mum chirps, desperate to ease the sudden tension.
Oscar’s father nods. “You know how it is,” he says through a laugh. “Oscar is too used to having sisters to look after. Don’t take it personally. It’s just the older brother in him.”
Your heart sinks, and Oscar scoffs. “Sure,” he says, but his tone is bitter. “Whatever you guys say.”
He turns to leave, his dress shoes clicking against the polished ground. You hear him leave over the music. The tension in his body is evident, and the fire in his brown eyes makes something inside you snap.
You place your champagne flute in Lando’s hands. “I’m gonna go yell at him,” you smile, hoping that you sound more convincing than you feel. “I’m sorry about that. I’ll be back.”
Before anyone can question your absence, you’re already running after Oscar. Pushing past the guests, you try your best to keep up with him.
The cool night air hits you first, but you’re too warm to shiver. Your heart beats erratically as you scan the dark, vastness of the golf course surrounding the salon.
You spot Oscar’s white shirt— just barely— as it walks deeper into the darkness. Muttering a curse under your breath, you run after him.
It’s dark; the deeper you go into the hills, the less you can see. The light of the venue grows dimmer with the distance, but you manage to keep your eyes on him.
“Oscar!” You call in a frantic whisper, hands fisting the fabric of your dress and keeping it above your ankles so you don’t trip over yourself. “Stop fucking running.”
He stops in his tracks, a dark chuckle escaping him. “I’m not running,” he says, turning to face you. “You’re just slow.”
You scramble to a halt, leaning forward to rest your hands on your thighs as you struggle to catch your breath. “You’re such an asshole,” you wheeze, forcing yourself upright. “What the fuck was that?”
Oscar hesitates, his eyes flicking back to the distant roar of the party. The hills of the golf course span out around you, providing more cover than you could have expected. You can barely see your stepbrother before you, but you can feel him, and the moonlight illuminates enough for you to know that he isn’t happy.
“Nothing,” he answers eventually. “Just reminding Lando to keep his head where it matters right now.”
“No,” you breathe, shaking your head. “You were being a dick. Why were you being a dick?”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he lets the silence stretch between you. He knows how much that bothers you, the silence, the weight of everything that could be said pressing down on you.
“Answer me,” you hiss.
“Jesus,” he exhales. “You’re really fucking—”
You stiffen, waiting for the inevitable jab. It never comes. Instead, Oscar runs a hand through his hair, the stress evident in every movement.
“What?” you snap. “What could it be now? Is it because I didn’t take well to your advances in Spain? Is that it? Is your little ego hurt?”
“Shut up.”
“No,” you snap, pointing an accusatory finger at him. Stepping closer, you jab his chest. “You don’t get to shut me up. You don’t get to say anything. Is big brother feeling emasculated because I’m getting engaged?”
Oscar’s eyes flash, and his hand grips your wrist tightly, stopping your attack. “Don’t fucking call me that,” he growls, all composure flying out the window.
“That’s what you are,” you whisper, breathing heavily despite yourself. The proximity is intoxicating. Smelling his cologne has you growing dizzy with want. Your body remembers him; it always remembers him. “You heard your dad.”
“He’s wrong,” he spits, tugging you closer by the hand until your chests bump against each other. “You know he’s wrong. Or do you need me to remind you?”
You exhale, looking into his eyes. “We ended this.” Your words come out in a jumbled breath, but you don’t care. “You know we had to. This is wrong.”
Oscar smacks his lips, his eyes flickering down to your mouth. The moonlight provides enough light for you to see the way his eyes dilate.
“No, it’s not,” he whispers. “I’ve never been your brother. I’ve never wanted to be your brother. Brothers don’t look whenever you bend down to get something. Brothers don’t think about what it’s like to have you moan into my mouth. Brothers don’t think about all the ways they’ve made you scream.”
Your fight falters, and you find yourself at a loss for words. There is so much you want to say, so many rebuttals you want to send his way, but they all die in your throat.
Tearing your eyes away from him, you force yourself to look back at the party. Nobody in there knows the turmoil that unfurls in your chest, and inside is Lando, waiting for you to have talked your stepbrother back down from the ledge.
Nobody knows.
“I’m in love with him,” you whisper, but it’s so meek you want to laugh.
Oscar doesn’t move; his hand still stays wrapped around your wrist, tight enough to bruise. You can’t bring yourself to tell him to stop. You don’t want him to pull away.
“Don’t start with that,” Oscar says. “Because I’m not in the mood to be lied to and insulted in the same breath.”
You look at him. “Fuck you.”
“Say you don’t want me.” He leans closer, his breath fanning your lips. His hand lets go of yours, instead coming to grip your chin and tilt your mouth closer to his. “Say you don’t miss me.”
You don’t answer. His other hand finds your waist, and he ducks down to brush his lips along the juncture of your jaw. You shiver at the ghost of the contact, just barely enough to make your composure slip.
“Say you don’t miss the way I stretched you out.” His voice is a breathless rasp, enough to make your clit throb. “Say you don’t miss the way I fucked you so hard you couldn’t talk. How you’d drip with me for days after.”
You shut your eyes, desperately trying to stand your ground. Goosebumps break out along your skin, and a flash of heat travels down your spine. Your body is answering for you.
“Tell me you don’t miss the little thing I used to do with my tongue.” His teeth scrape against your earlobe. “Because I miss you.”
The admission is almost lost to the pounding of your heart, but you manage to catch it. Your breath catches, and your eyes meet Oscar’s intense brown ones.
“Kiss me.”
The words barely leave your lips before he’s crashing his mouth against yours in a searing kiss. You inhale sharply, his hands immediately coming to your waist and pulling you closer against him.
His mouth moves against yours with the same ease it always has, the same relaxed dominance he’s always had. He never had to question the power he has over you.
Your hands tangle in the hair at the base of his neck, tugging slightly, eliciting the most delectable little hiss. You take the opportunity to slip your tongue past his lips, exploring him deeper.
He lets go of your waist suddenly, but he never breaks the kiss. You feel his hands between the two of you, unbuttoning his shirt with shaking fingers.
Pulling away, he tugs the white fabric off his shoulders, dropping it onto the grass without a care in the world. He grabs your face with both hands, bringing your lips back to his.
“Lie down,” he orders, nipping your lip before pulling away.
You’re so dazed you can’t find it in yourself to argue, dropping on top of his shirt. He climbs over you, his hands holding him up beside your head, bringing you back into another intoxicating kiss.
His weight settles over you, familiar and erotic. Your hands come up to his shoulders, traveling the vast expanse with the tips of your fingers. His skin is so, so soft.
Oscar’s mouth coaxes yours into an intoxicating dance, lips sliding against each other’s with too much intensity. His thigh settles between your legs, pressing against where you’re already wet and aching.
You let out the smallest whimper when he increases the pressure, and you feel his hardening length against your thigh.
His hands scramble for the hem of your dress, pushing it up your legs without preamble. He breaks the kiss by pulling away, bunching the skirt around your waist. When the cool air hits your bare thighs, you shiver.
Oscar glances at the lacy pair of panties you sport, eyebrow rising as his finger slips beneath the hem, snapping it against your skin.
“Pretty.”
You let out a shaky exhale, watching as he rips them down your legs, shoving them in his pocket without any hesitation.
“Perv,” you say breathlessly, but it melts into a moan when his lips find your neck, kissing at your pulse point.
You can’t help but let out a loud moan at that. Oscar smiles against you. “You were saying?”
His hand parts your thigh, calloused against the sensitive skin. You shiver, feeling his fingers ghost up the inside of your thigh, closer and closer to where you’re already dripping for him.
“Missed this,” he whispers. “Missed how easy you get f’me, all worked up when I’m a little mean.”
His finger traces featherlight patterns over the crease of your thigh, his mouth traveling down your neck. With his other hand, he tugs the strap of your dress down, making the already swooping neckline of your dress even more indecent.
You feel his finger ghosting over your folds, not quite touching where you need him the most. You let out an impatient whine, shifting your hips in search of him.
Oscar chuckles, fully pulling down your dress until your breasts spill free. His eyes are drawn immediately to your chest.
“So fucking pretty like this,” he groans. “Bet Lando doesn’t know what to do with you, hmm?”
You don’t get to answer, because his lips wrap around your nipple. A gasp tears from your throat, feeling his teeth gently scrape against you.
Finally, two of his fingers part you open, collecting your wetness before landing on your clit. He rubs circles over you, enough to have your entire body vibrating with need.
“That’s it,” he coos as you let out a moan. His fingers work you over with the perfect pressure, his lips working on your nipple while his other hand comes up to tweak the other one. “That’s a good fucking girl. Look at you.”
His words send another wave of heat through you, and you realize that he’s moving too slowly to actually get you anywhere. He’s doing this on purpose.
“Osc,” you breathe, hips bucking involuntarily. “Please—please don’t tease me.”
“Shh,” he pulls away from your nipple, his fingers never stopping their movements before he comes up to your lips again. “You don’t get to make demands right now.”
Withdrawing his fingers, he brings them up between the two of you. You watch the way the long digits glisten with your arousal.
Oscar glances at you again. “Open.”
You do.
Bringing his hand up to your lips, he slips his fingers inside your mouth. Inductively, you suck at them, a muffled moan escaping you as your tongue laps at them hungrily.
He pulls his fingers back with a pop, smirking. Ducking down, he captures your lips in another kiss. His hand returns to your dripping pussy, this time not bothering to tease. He slips the fingers, damp with your saliva, inside you.
You gasp into his mouth, back arching as he curls his like enough to make stars spring across your vision. “Yeah, look at that,” he whispers between kisses. “Being so fucking good and taking just what I give you. You’re mine, you hear me? Fucking mine.”
Oscar pulls away, sitting back on his heels as he watches raptly as his fingers pump in and out of you. He licks his lips, bringing his other thumb to rub circles over your clit.
Your legs shake, and you can’t help but let out a shout. He scissors his fingers inside you; the stretch is delicious, enough to have your thighs shaking.
“He doesn’t make you feel like this,” he laughs darkly. “He doesn’t know how to touch you. He doesn’t know how this pussy likes to be stretched. Isn’t that right?”
He curls his fingers, hitting that spot inside you, and a whimper falls past your lips. You can’t answer, too lost in the sensation of him.
Oscar lets out a groan, pulling one of his hands back to palm at the obvious bulge that strains against his dress pants.
“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he bites his bottom lip.
You don’t get a warning before he’s ducking his head down and licking a stripe up your cunt, tongue catching in your clit.
You gasp, pushing yourself up to your elbows just so you can enjoy the view of him between your legs. His tongue moves with experience, lapping at you hungrily as his fingers never falter.
Your legs shake around his head, throwing your head back when his lips wrap around your clit and he sucks harshly. The sensation only builds, the feeling of his languid tongue and long fingers overwhelming you.
“Makin’ such a pretty mess on my face and fingers, baby,” he mutters against you, spearing his tongue inside you along with his fingers.
You freeze, overcome with the feeling. His nose bumps against your clit, and you feel your arousal drip out of you and down your ass. You don’t think you have ever been this wet, and the pressure between your legs is quickly becoming more overwhelming.
From between your legs, Oscar glances up at you. His eyes gleam in the lowlight, and you recognise the insatiable hunger that stares back at you.
Your stomach tightens, and you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the pinnacle. You’re moaning, throwing your head back on the grass, and biting down on your arm to muffle the sounds of your pleasure. His mouth is relentless, and sweat builds on your skin.
“Osc, fuck, I’m gonna come,” you warn, your voice going higher in pitch the closer to the edge you get.
He doesn’t respond, but his attention never falters, and you know he’s determined. His fingers keep their steady thrusts, long and deep, and his tongue flicks rapidly against your sensitive bundle of nerves.
Oscar’s fingers twitch, and you burst. You gasp, body spasming as your legs clamp around his head. He doesn’t stop, working you over every wave of pleasure that racks your body.
He pulls away when your legs fall limply at your side, lips glistening with you as he brings his fingers up to his lips and licks them clean.
“I’m gonna make you cry,” he promises, undoing his belt with skilled fingers and kicking his dress pants down his thighs. His muscles ripple beneath his skin with every movement, his stomach taut with arousal.
You watch, transfixed, as he pulls his boxers down until his cock springs free, slapping against his stomach. The pink tip is wet with his pre-cum, and he’s so hard.
Carefully, he moves up your body, wrapping his hand along the base of him before teasing your lips with the tip of his cock.
“Get me wet, baby,” he whispers.
You don’t hesitate to wrap your lips around the crown, the salty tang of him making your legs clamp shut as another wave of want courses through you.
The moan Oscar lets out at that is the most erotic thing you swear you have ever heard. He doesn’t bother hiding the pleasure.
“Missed this fucking mouth,” he groans, and you wrap your hand around what you can’t fit. You bob your head up and down the length of him, pressure continuing to rise between your legs.
It doesn’t matter that you already came; your body always craves him.
He thrusts shallowly into your mouth, hand coming to tangle in your hair to keep you in place. You watch him as his head falls back, the way his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows thickly.
You missed him so much.
“That’s it, keep looking at me,” he orders breathlessly. “Keep those pretty eyes on me when you choke on my cock.”
Tears spring to your eyes as his thrusts become more powerful, his own desperation shining through. You moan around him, relaxing your jaw to take as much of him as you can.
“Fu—fuck,” his breath hitches, lips pressing into a thin line as he forces himself out of your mouth. You whimper at the loss, your lips a little numb from how hard you were sucking.
He cups your jaw, bringing his lips to yours. His tongue slips inside your mouth, eager to taste himself, and you melt.
He grips your hips, rolling you into your stomach. Your chest presses against his shirt, now undoubtedly streaked with green. You wonder briefly how he’s planning to explain that.
His weight settles over you anew, bare chest pressing against your back. His skin is cool with a layer of sweat that matches your own, and his lips kiss along your shoulder blade.
“Y’gonna let me fuck you now?” he asks. “Gonna be good and spread those legs for me? Let me feel that pussy around my cock, yeah?”
You nod, incapable of saying anything. You feel the head of his cock tease along your folds, and you shiver.
“Please,” you whimper, hand tightening on the grass. “Please, Oscar, I need you inside me. Please.”
“Fuck,” he hisses. “How am I supposed to say no when you sound so pretty begging?”
He thrust into you all at once, not giving you a chance to adjust. You scream, but his hand covers your mouth, muffling it as you take him in fully.
“Sh, don’t cry,” he whispers. “You can take me, I know you can.”
His cock splits you open, but the stretch is divine. You shudder, walls pulsing around him as you breathe through the discomfort. Quickly, your eyes start to cross.
His hips start a slow rhythm, dragging his cock in and out of you, excruciatingly slow. His hand finds yours, fingers tangling as he pins you to the grass.
“Just like that, baby,” he breathes, pressing kisses over the crook of your neck. “Just let me use you, let me fuck you properly. Pretty thing just needs some attention, isn’t that right?”
You nod, incapable of forming any coherent words. The pleasure drawn from his cock is too much, unlike anything you have ever felt before.
Well, not exactly. Only Oscar can do this to you, only he can mess with your body and your mind so much that you can barely hold your head up.
His hips pick up the pace, thrusts quickly picking up in pace. Your entire body shakes with the force of him fucking you, and you moan.
“Fuck, right there,” you whimper, screwing your eyes shut as Oscar hits the perfect spot inside you. “Oh my god, don’t stop, please—“
He presses his lips to your temple, hips moving with relentless force, and you can barely hold your head up. “Where’d all that attitude go, baby? You were just telling me that we ended this, how wrong it was, how I’m just your big brother— now you can’t do anything except moan and cry for my cock.”
His words make you shiver, and a protest at the brother title starts to claw its way up your throat, but he cuts you off again with more filthy remarks.
“You think you wanna get engaged to a guy who can’t do this to you?” he grits, biting your earlobe. “Think you wanna give this up, pretty girl?”
You’re about to reply, but before your mouth can open, you hear the shuffling of feet along the grass. “Do you think she’s here?”
Lando.
Your mind scrambles with panic, suddenly too aware of everywhere your dress has been pulled, and the fact that your stepbrother is driving into you with enough force to make tears spring to your eyes.
“Osc, wait—”
His hand clamps over your mouth, and the roll of his hips continues.
“I swear I saw them running over here.” Lando’s voice is confused, but close enough that you can hear everything. You pray the hill between you and Oscar is enough to keep you hidden.
Another voice. “I dunno, maybe Oscar is yelling at her back at the hotel.” Hattie, one of his sisters.
Your heart lurches to your throat — and at the same moment, Oscar slips out of you and flips you onto your back. You barely bite back a gasp as he brings your knees up to your chest and pushes inside you again.
Your teeth sink into your bottom lip to keep yourself from crying out. Oscar draws in a shuddering breath. “So fucking wet still. You like this, don’t you?”
His hand covers your mouth, his thrusts returning at a new, brutal pace. Your eyes roll back, feeling him so deep you can barely think.
“He can get nasty with her,” Lando grumbles, and Oscar snickers, snapping his hips faster. “I just don’t want him to hurt her.”
Oscar’s hair falls over his forehead, a few strands sticking to his temples with sweat. His eyes are trained on yours — intense and wild. Beautiful.
“We’ve got an audience,” he whispers. “You’re going to be quiet, aren’t you? We wouldn’t want your fiancé hearing you get fucked like this.”
His other hand slips between your bodies, finding your clit with precision. He works in quick, filthy circles that make staying quiet nearly impossible.
“What would he think, hmm?” he murmurs, nose brushing yours. “What would he think of his pretty girl getting fucked stupid by big brother?”
Your eyes flash. You move your head just enough to speak. “You’re not — you—”
Oscar smirks. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
He kisses the tops of your breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth. His attack on your clit doesn’t stop; his cock stretches you open perfectly.
“Here, let’s go back to the hotel. Maybe we can find them there,” Hattie says helpfully.
You’re getting so close, the danger of almost being caught is dizzying. Oscar’s lips are tender on your skin, almost worshipful as his own hips grow sloppy.
“I’m gonna come,” you whisper, your breath hitching.
Oscar lifts his head, eyes meeting yours. He keeps that devastating rhythm, and you know you’re gone. “Come for me, baby,” he urges, kissing your cheek and the corner of your lip. “Remind me who you belong to, come on my cock.”
You break with a muffled moan, Oscar’s hand doing everything to keep you quiet, eventually resorting to kissing you to drown out the noise. His lips are sloppy, but eager. You cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders as wave after wave of pleasure pulls you under.
“Okay,” Lando sighs, and you hear the footsteps fading away.
“Oh fuck,” Oscar groans, barely above a whisper. “Can I— fuck, holy shit— can I please fill you up? Please baby? Let me—“
Your legs lock around his waist, keeping him trapped against you. “Please.”
His composure cracks ever so slightly, and he crumbles on top of you. His weight is heavenly, and it’s real, and for some reason, it makes you choke with emotion.
Oscar comes with a muffled whimper, and your arms tighten around his neck as he rides his own release. Each hot spurt of him inside you makes you shiver.
Eventually, he goes still. The only noise that fills the air is the sound of your heavy breathing, the weight of what just happened settling between the two of you.
“Are you okay?” Oscar draws back, his eyes searching your face for any sign that he may have hurt you. He seems satisfied when he doesn’t find any, and you smile.
“Better than okay,” you answer, brushing his hair away from his face. You reach forward, pulling his face down to kiss along every mark on his face. “Are you?”
Oscar pulls away carefully, and when you raise your eyebrow at him, he only smirks. “I will be,” he nods, slipping out of you with a hiss, hastily tucking himself back in his pants. “Once I see this.”
He parts your legs again, exposing your bare core to him. You’re still sensitive, shivering from everything he had done to you just a few moments prior.
You feel him start to drip out of you, and Oscar lets out a breath. “Fuck me,” he whispers, his finger trailing along your folds.
You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching as Oscar sinks his finger inside you, pushing the white of his release deeper. You shiver, a moan slipping free.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” he whispers. “So mine.”
He settles between your legs, kissing the inside of your thigh with reverence before reaching your clit. He presses his lips to you, carefully running his tongue over your sensitive skin.
“Oscar,” you whimper, biting your lip as your eyes flutter.
His tongue dips down to your entrance, lapping at the mix of the two of you with the same urgency as a parched man. You can’t hold back the sounds, the way your legs shake around his head with the over-sensitivity.
Seemingly satisfied, Oscar pulls back, kissing your clit one more time before traveling up your body and kissing you. He tastes like the two of you, all desperation and forbidden longing.
He pulls back, resting his forehead against yours. “Don’t marry him,” he whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Please, Y/N, don’t marry him.”
You’re cold now, suddenly too aware of the chill in the air. You carefully wiggle out from underneath him, sitting up on the grass as you fix your hair.
“Even if I say no,” you start, your voice wavering slightly, “what would change? You’re still my stepbrother.”
Oscar collapses onto his shirt, his chest still rising and falling rapidly, throwing an arm over his face. “I’m not,” he whispers. “I’ve never been anything but stupidly in love with you.”
His admission hurts; you don’t know what kills you more, the pain in his voice or the helpless feeling that settles in your chest. There’s nothing for you, no future where the two of you can make it work.
Even if you feel the same way.
Swallowing thickly, you push yourself off the ground, shaking off whatever grass clings to you. If there are marks on your dress, you’re already working on a story to tell about falling while looking for Oscar.
“I should go,” you say, clearing your throat, “before they send a search party out.”
Oscar doesn’t answer, but you see the way his jaw tightens. Everything in you screams for him, and you so badly wish you could exist in a world where it would be possible to love each other.
But unfortunately, this isn’t that world.
Without another word, you climb up the hill, leaving Oscar behind in the darkness of the golf course. You have a boyfriend to get back to, a story to set straight.
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