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Shower sex oscar oneshot plz????? 🙏🏻

Cloud-kissed | OP⁸¹

☁️ summary ──── Oscar has recently learned that when you think you’ve hit rock bottom, life has its own way of revealing new depths. Luckily for him, he doesn’t have to discover them alone.

☁️ pairing ──── Oscar Piastri x Gf!Reader

☁️ rating ──── explicit

☁️ warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, emotionally drained Oscar, internalized frustration, angst, steamy surroundings, domestic intimacy, swearing, manhandling + gentle dominance, unprotected shower sex.

☁️ word count ──── 4.8k

☁️ date ──── Nov. 27, 2025

☁️ a/n ──── Can’t believe that after 2 weeks of threatening you guys with this os, it’s finally here. Aaaaaaahshdhdh. The second Oscar os is under editing, but I want to put a LN os out before that. You know, just to spice it up a bit. ANYWHO. I was screaming into my pillow every two paragraphs while writing this. I’m choosing to put the blame on the fact that I’m too touch deprived :,) May my horrors be your source of entertainment, amen. Enjoy 🤧☁️

THE SPRAY OF the shower had started as a distant white noise that managed to blend into the background at some point. Now, it feels more like a constant insistence that has been echoing off the tiles for far too long.

She knows it’s one of his favorite routines to get lost into, but after a disappointing week, she also knows, maybe a bit too well, the shape of the silence that will follow, settling over their apartment when Oscar will finally turn the taps off. Therefore, she doesn’t give him the chance to build any walls tonight. She decides to meet him there, not at the end of it but in the middle, a place they’ve been bumping into each other pretty often in the past couple of months.

The steam hits her face when she pushes the door open, thick clouds hanging in the air. Oscar’s scent is enveloping her like invisible mist in an instant; a mix between his cologne that never washes away completely, soap and shampoo, all layered over the pure smell of his skin that makes her crave him, sending her senses into overdrive because of how much she loves it.

The mirrors look like they surrendered, weeping opaque trails down their surfaces, and the glass of the shower stall is covered in a thin coat of condensation, obscuring everything but the tall silhouette behind it. A dark shape, motionless, right beneath the cascade of water.

Getting rid of her pajama dress, the girl slides inside without asking for permission. The noise gets louder, rushing in her ears while waves of warmth start washing over her skin. Oscar looks exactly like she pictured him: exhausted and defeated, the strong lines of his shoulders and spine stark and clear. Water streams over him, flooding his frame into a pool of shortcomings, plastering his hair to his skull and tracing paths down the musculature of his broad back.

Silently, the girl moves closer, raising a hand to place it flat between his shoulder blades. His body jerks at that, a sudden flinch accompanying a quiet gasp that’s immediately swallowed by the sound of the running water. It’s the reaction of a man a million miles away, dragged back to the present by a simple, unexpected point of contact.

“Os,” she calls for him, slightly afraid to pull him out of his haze so sudden.

For a fraction, he gets rigid under her touch, but after she reaches past him in order to turn the dial, the thunder cuts out and silence hurries to fill the space between them. The steam of hot water surrounds them in a rich veil that softens the edges of their vision, allowing Oscar to finally return to the present moment.

“Where’d you go again?” she asks in a whisper that doesn’t violently breaks the stillness.

“I’m here,” he replies, turning to face her.

She smiles, but it carries a trace of sadness behind it, because she knows him. Knows how his voice dips on certain words in that rich accent that still catches her off guard, even after all this time. The way he avoids meeting her gaze when he’s trying to spare her pain. Oscar Piastri is such a gentle liar, she figured. Even though he’s not quite drifting, it still pains her that he thinks he has to hide it. Because she can feel the ache beneath his calm, the frustration buried so deep that it makes him think — hope, more like — that she can’t see it. Bottom line, he can’t unleash it on her, no matter how much she wants him to do it.

The steam around them thickens, warm mist swirling against wet skin, making it a little heavier to inhale. In a space like this, the words can easily lose their power. For now, that’s okay, because neither of them needs words to understand each other.

The girl steps forward, closing the small distance, water pooling at her feet. Slow but as if it has a mind of its own, her hands lift to his face, cupping his jaw in her palms. Droplets slide from her fingertips to his cheeks, blending with the ones that were already there, tracing paths down his stubble and gathering at the corners of his mouth before losing it to gravity. They run over his lips, the same ones she has kissed a thousand times and could kiss a thousand more.

This time is no different.

She leans in as though giving him time to breathe. Or time to pull away. But Oscar doesn’t move. His eyes drift closed just as she presses her mouth to his, a feather-light touch that carries every feeling she doesn’t have the time to say out loud. It feels like a huge breath of air after being underwater for a long time, and he exhales into her kiss, a weary sigh that travels through his whole body.

His arms circle her waist, drawing her in until her bare chest meets his. Oscar holds her there like she is the only solid thing left in the world and he needs to feel it, forehead dipping to hers between kisses. It’s impossible for her not to melt against his broad frame, letting him fold her into his wounded, intimate space that he keeps hidden from everyone else. And there, wrapped in each other’s warmth, answers to questions that have not yet been asked are beginning to surface one after another.

Oscar pushes her back against the cool glass door in two steps, his hand curving around her neck in the process, fingers pressing deep enough to elicit a surprised gasp from her lips. Their tongues clash with urgent hunger, his delving deep to plunder the sweet warmth of her mouth, pulling out more breathy whimpers that only fuel his fire.

Her nails dig into the taut muscles of his shoulders, raking downward in red trails that sting but spur him on, before she hooks her palms on his waist, yanking Oscar impossibly closer. Between the press of their bodies, his cock swells and hardens at the stimulus, the thick shaft throbbing against her belly, and the girl responds with a grind of her hips, rubbing herself against him in invitation.

She’s as primed as he is, her insides screaming readiness, refusing to surrender even an inch in their battle of wills: she wants to unravel him, to make him forget every bad thing pounding through his veins. At the other end, he wants to resist, the idea of taking it out on her twisting every organ inside him.

Instinct wins though, and the urge to drench her in his essence, to hear her moans as she shatters under the weight of his need, overrides everything.

Oscar exhales a ragged breath through clenched teeth trying to hold back the hurricane, but she arches her back, pressing her breasts against his chest, her nipples pebbling into hard points that scrape teasingly over his skin, demanding he give in.

With a smirk, her eyes drop to the space between their bodies, locking onto the sight of him: his cock rigid, veins bulging along its impressive length, the flushed head angry and leaking, glistening under the silver bathroom light. She loops her arms around his neck, pulling his face down for another searing kiss at the same time he hooks his hands under her thighs, hoisting her effortlessly off the tile floor. Her legs wrap around his waist instinctively, and he pins her higher up against the glass, her ass cheeks flattening and smearing faint imprints on the transparent panel.

Letting a low growl rumbling deep in his chest, Oscar aligns himself, the blunt tip nudging insistently at her entrance. The heat of her folds parts around him like velvet petals, her arousal coating his head in a warm welcome that makes Oscar’s heart thunder. He eases forward, agonizingly slow, savoring the way her pussy lips stretch taut around the broad crown, the initial breach sending a shiver racing up her spine as her inner muscles flutter in anticipation.

Inch by sweet inch, he skins deeper, the ridged underside of his shaft dragging along her sensitive walls, each vein pulsing against her clenching heat and igniting sparks that ripple through her core. Her body opens for him like it always does, her hole expanding to accommodate his grith, the stretch bordering on exquisite burn that draws another delicious whimper from her throat.

Halfway in, Oscar pauses, hips flexing only to let her feel the full thickness splitting her open, her wetness trickling down to ease his path. The slowness of it is maddening at this point. For both of them. She tightens around him in protest, urging him deeper with a roll of her hips that nearly undoes his control. Finally, with a measured thrust, he buries the last few inches, his balls pressing lightly against her ass as he bottoms out, filling her completely.

A breathy ‘ah’ escapes Oscar’s lips, the sound husky and wrecked as if he ran marathons while her walls adjust to his invading size, gripping him like a vise of molten silk that captures every throb from his length. The sensation overwhelms him, her heat enveloping him in wholly, making her thighs shake in return.

A soft whimper escapes her lips, the sound way needy than she intends, but still a clear plea for him to move. To chase away the aching fullness that’s driving her insane with pleasure already. Oscar’s mouth curves into a small smile, the tension in his jaw easing just a fraction of a fraction as he acknowledges her signal; he can’t deny her this, especially when her body clings to him like it’s starving for more. For him.

With a gentle roll of his hips, he begins to withdraw then, the slow drag of his cock pulling at her walls as if he’s stretching her anew with desperate reluctance. The feeling rips more grunts from Oscar, her tightness sucking him back in before he can fully retreat.

Slowly but surely, they fall into a well-known rhythm, their bodies communicating in the silent language of contracting muscles and heavy breathing. When she pulls him deeper, his hips snap forward in response, each thrust met with a moan that vibrates between them. Touching each other is a form of art, her heels digging into the small of his back while his free hand braces against the glass beside her head, fingers splaying wide for leverage.

But beneath the syncopated dance, something darker stirs in Oscar.

At first, he’s monitoring his movements, each plunge savoring the way she lets him in with such ease. Then, rather fast, the bitterness coiled tight in his body, days of pent-up rage, begin to fracture that control.

His thrusts enhance, the initial gentleness giving way to a punishing edge, hips slamming forward with a force that jolts her against the glass, stealing the air from her lungs in breathless gasps. It’s as if he’s demanding vengeance for sins she never committed, his cock driving into her with brutal precision, reshaping her very contours around his girth. Her folds stretch and mold to him, the slick channel forced wider with every invasion, the friction building a fire that borders on pain but blooms into ecstasy because this is what she asked for. To be claimed, remade under the weight of his tamed rage.

In the eye of the storm, surrender feels like victory; her pussy weeps around him, arousal dripping down their wet bodies. Oscar’s breathing turns ragged, heaving pants that sync with the slap of skin on skin, his chest rising and falling like a bellows stoking flames.

The hand on her thigh grips harder, fingers bruising into soft flesh to hold her steady against the onslaught, anchoring her as he pistons deeper. The one on the glass starts seeking hers, sliding up to intertwine their fingers in a hold that’s equal parts tender and possessive. He pins it above her head, the cool surface biting into the back of her palm, a counterpoint to the heat radiating from him while he fucks into her harder, the angle letting his cockhead batter against that sensitive spot inside her.

Deprived of the freedom to claw at his back now, the girl turns to what she can reach, her lips mapping the landscape of his body with feverish devotion.

She presses open-mouthed kisses to the sweat-slick plane of his chest, tongue flicking over a flat nipple that hardens under her touch, earning a guttural hum from him that makes her bones vibrate. Her mouth trails upward, nipping at the corded muscle of his shoulder, then along the bulging ridge of his bicep as it flexes with each powerful thrust. Finally, she reaches his jaw, lips brushing the stubbled line in soft pecks.

She’s aware that she’s awakened a madman’s love, and being the vessel for its release turns her limbs to liquid, her entire being melting into submission. It’s exhausting, yet she feels alive in the haze, letting Oscar pump her full with abandon, his pace accelerating to a frenzied blur of faster strokes that leave no room for thought. His balls tighten and slap against her ass with every bury, the lewd rhythm echoing off the tiled walls, while her pussy throbs with the promise of the deep ache that she knows will linger tomorrow. But it only turns her on more, her inner muscles refusing to let even an inch of him slip free. She wants Oscar embedded. Wants to hold onto this madness as long as it lasts.

And it doesn’t last long this time.

His cock swells impossibly thicker inside her, the veins pulsing hot against her stretched walls, and with a final plunge that buries him to the hilt, he shatters. A guttural moan rips from his throat as his orgasm erupts in powerful surges, flooding her with thick ropes of cum that paint her depths in searing heat.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he swears quietly under his breath, the word fracturing into a hoarse echo. “Fucking hell,” each pulse of his release timed with another jet that fills her to overflowing, the excess seeping out around his shaft to trickle down her thighs in warm rivulets.

She feels it all, the explosive force of his climax detonating deep within, hot spurts coating her cervix and splashing against her fluttering core, the sheer volume stretching her further in a sweet burn that tips her over the edge. Pleasure drowns her entirely, her vision blurring as ecstasy seizes her body, muscles contracting rhythmically to suck every last shudder from his spent length. Breath comes in shallow gasps, the intensity stealing the air from her lungs, leaving her adrift in bliss, her pussy convulsing around the flood of his seed.

Finally, when the storm ebbs and Oscar’s weight goes slack against her, the stiff power in his limbs melts into heavy relaxation, pressing her gently into the glass. She wraps her arms around him fully now, pulling his sweat-dampened form close, her fingers tracing soothing patterns over the broad expanse of his back.

His head drops to her shoulder, temple resting against the curve of her neck as she caresses the wet skin in quiet assurance, one hand sliding up to thread through his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp.

Slowly, Oscar’s cock softens within her, the once-rigid intrusion easing into a gentle fullness, but they remain joined, bodies locked in the afterglow, suspended in a pocket of time where the outside world fades away.

She holds him there, cradling his vulnerability as the water droplets bead on their skin, the air thick with the musk of sex and shower gel.

“I love you,” she reminds him. “So, so much.”

Oscar nods, but doesn’t reply, his silence heavy yet not quite empty. Instead, he straightens with a muted sigh as he pulls out of her carefully, the slick slide of his softening shaft dragging against her sensitive folds, leaving a trail of their mingled fluids in its wake. He turns then, reaching for the faucet, twisting it on with a firm hand. The rush of warm water cascades over them, rinsing away the evidence of their passion before stepping back in her space.

Her hands travel happily over the curve of Oscar’s shoulders, fingers curling around them. “So? Wanna talk now?”

He lets out a slow exhale that seems to take all the tension in his body with it. “I was just… looping,” he says. “Tired, more than anything. Nothing to worry about.”

“So that’s why you let the water running for the past half hour before I came in?” the girl challenges, her voice soothing regardless.

Oscar smiles with a hint of guilt behind his gaze, shaking his head as he closes the space until he’s able to wrap his arms around her waist again. He has to bend down to embrace her fully, chin resting on her shoulder. On one hand, he does this to reassure her, knowing how much she troubles herself with his problems. On the other, because he feels the need to.

After that, quiet again. She doesn’t urge him to speak. Doesn’t even move. She’s content to simply rest her palms on his back, feeling the tension melting under her touch one second at a time. Then, she leans in to place a tiny kiss on his shoulder, so gently that it almost makes Oscar whine, like he’s been holding himself upright for too long and finally has permission to let go.

Lifting his head, he presses his forehead to hers. Their noses brush lightly, a barely-there nudge that catches them both smiling.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

The girl frowns instantly, close enough that Oscar can feel the tiny crease form between her brows.

“Don’t apologize for being tired.”

The corners of his mouth twitch at the same time her hand is rising to gently cup his cheek. Her thumb glides along his jaw, pausing when she feels the soft scrape of his growing facial hair.

“Apologize for being one day away from looking like you’ve been living in the woods,” she teases.

Oscar huffs a laugh, blushing, “Come on, it’s not that bad, is it?”

“I’m serious,” she insists, “It’s very rugged, very—”

He cuts her off by pressing his lips to hers, a kiss meant to quiet her sudden verbal attack. She smiles against his mouth, the curve of her lips melting into his, which causes butterflies to form deep in his stomach, the kind that end up spreading up his chest, until they swallow his lungs; it’s always like that when he kisses her.

She tilts her head slightly, the shift allowing their lips to seal together in a lazy, sweet familiarity.

Oscar’s fingers slide up her spine, rediscovering the shape of her all over again. Water beads on her skin, and he can feel each drop where their skin connects. The touch makes her breath catch, her lips parting against his in a silent invitation to which he responds without missing a beat, tongue moving with hers in ways that say I’ve got you and I know you and I’m here.

It’s a kiss that’s doesn’t distract from what his mind puts him through lately but anchors him back to himself. Into her. A small act of grounding that has the strongest pull. And she knows her powers.

Taking advantage of that, she threads her fingers into the hair at the back of his head, pulling at the damp strands in order to keep him there, with her. Oscar inhales deeply, leaning further into the kiss like there’s no rush, assuring her that he doesn’t intend to let his brain wander again anytime soon.

Somewhere along the way, time freezes in place, and nothing else matters except their heavy breathing that makes him lighter by the second. So light that he could grow his own pair wings and take flight.

When he breaks away, enough for their lips to barely touch, their breaths mix with the warm steam.

“Help me then,” says Oscar, brushing his nose against hers once again, before lifting her off the floor in one swift move.

A surprise squeak slips out of her, legs wrapping around his waist as a reflex more than intent, his arms securing her effortlessly against him. Oscar’s grip is strong but gentle, confusion decorating her expression.

“Oscar? What the fuck?”

Her reaction pulls a quick chuckle out of him as he starts walking. “Language, darl,” warns Oscar, though trying not to laugh.

Water drips from both of them onto the floor, splashing with every step he takes. Her arms curl around his neck for support, and when she looks at him again, silently demanding answers, there’s a determined set to his jaw, a spark in his eyes that wasn’t there a moment ago.

“Baby, come on. You’re getting everything wet,” she points out.

“It’s just water,” he dismisses her, without batting an eye.

He finally stops at the counter, lowering her onto the cool marble. The girl gasps quietly at the temperature that makes contact with her skin, but Oscar steadies her with warm hands at her hips, softening the shock. The contrast between the cold surface and his soaked, heated body pressed between her knees makes her shiver still, confusion lingering on her features.

With furrowed brows, she looks down at him. “Can you tell me what are you doing?”

The overhead light catches on droplets sliding down his forearms, on the slow rise of his chest as he breathes. He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reaches above her, opening the cabinet to grab a small can and a razor.

“Getting rid of it,” he simply states. He studies her flushed cheeks and her damp skin for a moment, something tender shifting across his face when he notices the softness in her eyes. “Since you’re so opinionated about my facial hair today,” he clarifies.

“Now?” the girl asks, her brows arching in disbelief. “You’re going to shave now?”

Oscar chuckles, shaking his head. “No,” he shrugs, but the gesture is shy. “You’re gonna.”

She laughs, thinking it’s a joke and that is what you’re supposed to do when someone is being funny. The sound makes him relax, shoulders dropping, and that’s when she understands that he’s not trying to be funny in the slightest.

Her smile fades as she reaches out to brush her thumb over his jaw again, feeling the roughness she teased him for.

“If you want my attention, Piastri,” she teases, “Just ask. You know you’ll always get it.”

Oscar leans forward, handing the shaving foam and razor to her, then bracing his hands on either side of her hips.

“Can I, please, have your attention?” he murmurs, close enough to her that she can feel each word crashing into her skin.

The way he speaks is now passing those butterflies to her stomach. Looking down at the razor in her hand, she realizes this isn’t just shaving. It’s him trusting her enough to let her close in ways he rarely allows anyone. It’s possibly more intimate than letting him fucking her senseless against the glass door of their shower and, coming from Oscar, it’s love, masked in a gesture that means more than words could ever describe. Considering this, her ability to speak is reduced to a simple nod of the head.

She tucks a wet strand of hair behind her ear, lifting the can to her eye level, lips pursed in concentration as she squints at the tiny text: spread evenly in a thin layer, use short, gentle strokes, rinse blade frequently, avoid pressing too hard.

Meanwhile, Oscar’s eyes light up with amusement like she’s about to perform surgery instead of a simple shave.

“Alright,” she says at last, studying his face. “Let me see you, lean in a bit.”

Before initiating any operation, she places a tiny kiss on the tip of his nose, taking him by surprise and forcing Oscar to close his eyes briefly like a puppy waiting for more petting.

“Now don’t move,” she instructs, “I don’t wanna nick you.”

“You won’t,” he promises as if it’s a fact.

Inhaling deeply, she focuses to get a small amount of foam onto her fingertips, then spreads it along his jaw with delicate strokes. “Keep talking, and you’ll see.”

A small part of Oscar wants to keep pushing her, but the moment she touches him, he goes perfectly still.

She continues at the flat planes of his cheeks, then moves to brush the curve of his upper lip, which makes Oscar tilt his chin up for better access. The girl uses her thumb to steady his jaw, sweeping the product along the dip above his lip and then down to the point of his chin, making sure not a single patch is missed.

“That okay?”

“Yep,” he replies, attempting to suppress a smile.

The closeness forces her to feel every warm breath he exhales on her wrist and the slight movement of his lips when her fingertips graze the sensitive skin there. She is attentive, but his eyes never leave her. He stares at her the whole time, without blinking, studying her face as if the act itself means everything to him. Maybe because it does. Maybe Oscar can’t pinpoint the exact moment he fell in love with her, but he will always remember this as the moment he realized he’ll love her for a lifetime and more.

Having his attention like that gets to her quickly, so quietly tender, that she feels her hands start to tremble slightly. She can tell he notices by the way one corner of his mouth twitches, but Oscar stays silent, content to simply caress her with his eyes, one heartbeat at a time.

“Wrap it up,” she tells him once she’s done with the foam.

He tries his best to stay still. “I’m not doing anything.”

She puffs out a scoff. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“And you’re cute when you’re focusing,” he says, smirking a little.

She’s throwing him a knowing look as a warning, then picks up the razor and starts at the top of his cheek, drawing it down in a careful, smooth line. Pauses, rinses the blade, then continues in gentle movements, while her free hand keeps contact the entire time, thumb resting along his jaw to guide him into the right angles. She works down the line of his cheek, then toward his chin, stretching the skin with careful fingers so the razor moves without tugging. Each stroke is calculated; she barely breathes as she traces the shape of his face, rinsing the razor between passes, making sure every inch is smooth and safe. When she reaches his upper lip, her touch slows even more, brushing the faint curve of his mouth as she carefully clears the last of the foam.

After that, she studies her work for a moment, razor finally set aside. The last traces melt into the warm water beading along his jaw and, purposely, she leans in and presses her lips to his freshly shaved cheek. It’s a soft, barely there touch, more of a test than affection, like she’s checking whether his skin is as smooth as it looks.

Oscar chuckles, eyes fluttering shut at her innocent gesture. She pulls back with satisfaction in her eyes, brushing her thumb across the clean skin she’s so carefully tended to.

“You’re done, baby face,” she concludes, cupping his chin in her palm, tilting his head so she can press a quick kiss to his lips this time.

She shifts, hands sliding to his shoulders, about to push gently against him in order to hop down from the counter, but Oscar’s fingers tighten around her waist to stop her. He angles his chin upward, meeting her eyes with a gaze so steady it roots her to the spot.

Just like that, she forgets that they are both naked, standing in the middle of the bathroom surrounded by warm clouds of steam and nothing else.

“I love you too,” says Oscar in the heavy layer of air between them. “Look, I know how lucky I am to have you,” he continues, “Every day, yes, but especially on the days when my head is too loud for me to explain what’s going on inside.” His throat works with a quiet swallow. “You don’t ask for anything back,” he nods once, voice nearly breaking on the truth of it. “You just… know. And I see you. Please, don’t forget that.”

With teary eyes, she holds her breath, lifting a hand to his newly smooth cheek again, tracing the clean line of it with trembling fingers. This time, it feels strangely symbolic, like a clean slate he didn’t ask for but let her create anyway.

Oscar leans lovingly into her touch, the gentlest salvation he’s ever known.

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