Could you do Oscar to
“Are you wearing my shirt…and only my shirt?”
Thanks ❤️❤️
send in requests (sfw & nsfw) for oscar weekend
warnings: !! CONTAINS SMUT, MINORS DNI !!, possible light sexting (just a teasing photo), unprotected p in v, reverse cowgirl, possessive oscar
The bed is cold without him in it. You sigh, knowing that his winter break is coming to a close, meaning you’ll have to say a temporary goodbye to mornings spent cuddled up together and wasting the day away.
He’s already at the MTC, he told you he had a few things to do before the season started. You gather the will to sit up and get out of bed, getting ready for the day.
You try to keep yourself busy while he’s gone for the day, knowing that you’ll have to get used to this again, save for a few races you’ll join him at.
A smile creeps onto your face as you go through your shared closet. Your hand brushes over one of Oscar’s many McLaren shirts. You pull one out, one with his last name and number on it, and grin as you get an idea.
You glance at the clock, he’ll be home soon. You take your clothes off, everything you’re wearing, and pull his shirt over your head. You sit down on the bed and arch your back, spreading your legs under you and snap a photo.
You send it to him with a short text, missing you Os, and wait for a reply.
You feel a twisting feeling in your stomach as you wait, there’s no reply as time ticks by. You shake your head, grabbing your clothes from before, ready to change again.
You hear the front door open then shut, signaling Oscar’s return. The bedroom door swings open revealing a panting Oscar, his hair a bit of a mess and his face flushed a soft pink color.
“Are you wearing my shirt? And only my shirt?” He asks. His voice is deeper than usual, his accent thick.
You shyly nod, tugging the hem of the shirt further down your legs. “Is that okay?”
He groans softly, taking your hands in his and walking backwards until he can sit on the end of the bed with you standing in front of him.
“I practically ran out of the office when I saw that photo.” His hands trail up your thighs, slipping underneath the shirt. He leans his forehead against your stomach as his hands gently hold your ass. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”
You tilt his chin up, and see the adoration clear in his eyes. You sit on his lap, straddling him, and feel the bulge in his pants against you. “I think I have an idea.” You say, grinding against him.
“Fuck, I need you.” He practically tears his clothing off, awkwardly shifting to tug his pants on boxers down with you hovering over him. He stops your hands when they reach for his shirt on you. “Keep it on?”
You giggle at the way his eyes darken. You get up off of his lap, causing a whine to slip past his lips. He nearly begins to protest, until you sit on him again, this time with your back facing him. He sees his name and number in the bold print on the shirt and feels a possessive surge wash over him.
His head falls back as you seat yourself on his cock, his hands gripping onto your sides. He tries to hold himself back, tries to let you have control, but fails, finding himself roughly thrusting up into you. He buries his face in your neck, his teeth biting and sucking at your skin, leaving marks that will surely last through when he has to leave you.
