IH6: come and rattle me
pairing: isack hadjar x driver!reader
summary: gabriel bortoleto fancies himself a matchmaker. it’s too bad it tends to come at the cost of you and isack’s dignities.
word count: 1.9k
warnings: not nsfw but very very very suggestive also lots of tension + bits of dialogue in portuguese
eve’s notes: remember when i said i would write an alternative scene to truth or dare in my last isack imagine? this is it :)
You regret ever saying yes to Gabriel. Really—you’re drained, you’re drunk, and you want nothing more than to get inside the bed of your hotel room and sleep like the dead. Instead, you’ve somehow managed to extend your stay at this impromptu afterparty Kimi managed to get you all into.
The playlist is a dull sound in the background—not too loud, especially since you’re still inside a hotel with other guests just on the opposite side of the wall. Regardless of how ridiculously big the room is, noise is still noise.
Isack looks about as worn out as you do. The two of you had been on the verge of falling asleep just moments ago. You’re not quite sure how the two of you ended like that, leaning against each other on one of the couches, eyes slowly closing and breaths evening out. Your head tucked against Isack’s shoulder, knees brushing against his.
You could’ve gotten used to that—Isack’s slow inhales and exhales like a lulling beat, luring you into sleep. That is, before Gabriel decided to shake the two of you and drag you into the circle of people.
“Sometimes I can’t stand you, Bortoleto,” you mutter as you’re forced to sit next to him. Isack, on the other hand, is called over by Kimi and Ollie on the opposite side of the circle. For a moment, it almost looks like the two other rookies and Gabriel share a look—something mischievous, something you definitely do not want to get roped into.
“So, what is this, exactly?”
“It’s…” Gabriel pulls a face, turning to Rafaela, who sits next to him with a bowl in front of her legs. “Como se chama isso mesmo?”
“Correo de brujas,” Rafaela responds, and you realize that there are slips of paper inside her bowl.
“Correo de brujas,” Gabriel repeats, as if that explains it.
“Right. So, again—what is this, exactly?”
Apparently, it’s a game Gabriel learned from Franco a while back. Witches’ mail. There’s an empty bottle at the center, and whoever it lands on, has to take a dare from the bowl.
“Kind of like Truth or Dare,” Rafa explains from her spot, “Except it’s only dares, and they’re not exactly… soft.”
Even then, it doesn’t start off too hard. Isack is asked a Fuck, Marry, Kill with team principals from the grid. Gabriel is dared to spell his phone number just by moving his ass in the shape of the digits—all while everyone tries to guess what each one is. At some point, Kimi and Ollie are made to share a gummy bear between their teeth and try to split it in half with just their mouths.
And you won’t lie—you are having fun, laughing at the expense of others. It’s funny, hilarious, even—up until the bottle lands on you.
One of the boys from F2 whose name you can’t recall hands you the bowl. You pull one slip of paper dramatically, unfolding it and quietly hoping it’s not something too ridiculous.
You squint at Rafaela’s handwriting. “Um. It says… which one do you want?” You turn to Gabriel. “Does that mean I get to pick?” But the two Brazilian drivers sitting next to you are grinning too widely for it to be anything remotely easy for you.
“Nope,” Gabi says, standing up to grab a chair and drag it to the center of the circle. He’s still looking too smug when he pats it twice, gesturing at you. “Take a seat.” You do so reluctantly, while Gabriel puts his hands on his hips as he does a quick scan of the room. “Does anyone have, like, a bandana?”
One of the girls from F1 Academy—Courtney, if you’re not mistaken—opens her purse and pulls out a scarf. “Does this work?”
Gabi nods, reaching for it with a quick thank you. He moves to stand behind you as he ties around your eyes, making sure it won’t slip. You reach up to touch it—it’s silky, soft. Maybe you should ask Courtney where she got it from. “There.”
“Is this what you people are into, now?” you ask, shifting on your chair. You hear a few people laughing, your vision entirely obscured.
“You cannot see anything, yes?” Gabi asks, his voice sounding farther away now. You hear rustling.
“Nothing at all,” you quip.
“Good.” He clasps his hands together, making you flinch. “Okay, this game works like this. I have three foods in my hands. One,” he pauses, so you imagine he’s raising it and showing it to the circle. “Two,” you hear murmurs. “Or three. Which one would you like?”
You roll your eyes under the scarf. “But I can’t see them.”
“Exactly.” God, you can hear the smugness in his tone. Why are you friends with him again? “So, what will it be? One, two or three?”
You gnaw at the inside of your cheek, not quite understanding why you suddenly feel a spike of nervousness. You try to shrug it off. “Um. Two.”
You hear Aurelia laugh against her palm, and you can only pray that’s a good sign.
“Alright.” Gabi’s voice grows closer. “Where do you want it?”
“Excuse me?” you turn to him, and you hope that, despite the scarf tied around your face, he can still tell that you’re glaring at him.
“I’m going to point to three places, you have to pick one. Do you want it here.” You realize a beat to late that he’s not actually going to touch you—ergo, you have no clue to which places he’s pointing at. “Here,” you shift in your chair as you hear someone laugh. “Or here?”
“…The third one.”
“Alright.” The sound of air hissing feels too close to your ear, followed by a cold substance landing against your neck.
You visibly flinch, surprised. “Gabriel!” you snap. The sweet, sugary scent of whipped cream is near immediate.
Gabriel is doing a poor job at stifling his laughter. Before you can protest, Rafaela pipes up, “That’s too little,” and you hope that wherever you’re aiming at, you manage to flip her off. He chuckles and shakes the can again, before promptly placing more whipped cream on your neck. You shudder.
“Fuck you two, by the way,” you say, which just earns you a few laughs. You’re still not sure where this is all going, other than Gabriel and Rafaela seem to be having the time of their lives.
He takes a step back. “Okay. Now, for the last part—who do you want to take it off you?”
“I’m sorry, did you say who?”
He shushes you, and you can hear him wandering around the circle, footsteps slow and casual. Even blindfolded, it’s like you can see all the eyes glued to him, expectant. “Do you want… one,” people around the circle whistle loudly as Gabriel points to them. “Two,” the noise grows louder, followed by scattered sounds of amusement and excitement. “Or three?”
“Um,” you stammer, palms sweaty. You rub them down against your jeans, hoping it’ll rid you of this lingering nervousness. “I don’t know, uh… two?”
You don’t hear what Gabriel says—or more so can’t over the whistles and teasing. You can feel someone approaching your seat, but pausing just a step shy of you. Your body feels warm, too warm, like you’re suddenly aware of all your nerve endings and connections—like a livewire. There’s a moment of silence, where you’re still sat, blind and clueless, before Rafaela calls out, “Ah! You can’t use your hands.”
Tentatively, a hand gently moves your hair aside. From his scent alone, you can tell it’s not a girl. His breath fans against your neck for a second, and you stifle the urge to move the blindfold. You hear him breathe in once, as if bracing for impact, before his tongue darts out against the scoop of whipped cream resting on your neck. His lips feel warm and soft, tingling against your skin. You inhale sharply. He pulls away, before both Rafaela and Gabriel protest simultaneously.
“No—you’re not done.”
“You have to clean it all off.”
You hear a small, barely audible huff of frustration that feels remarkably familiar. Then, his lips are on your neck again, slow, careful. A part of you wonders if he can feel your pulse jackrabbiting against his teeth. Your breath feels uneven when he lowers his head a little, aiming for the whipped cream that has slid onto your clavicle. You stifle a shiver. Everything feels magnified without your sight—the hand still holding your hair, the warmth of his lips on your skin, his tongue working against the white dessert, the brief feeling of his teeth.
For a moment, you’re certain you stop breathing.
He licks one last stripe across your neck, before finally pulling away.
The whistles and catcalls aimed at him that follow are deafening, even more so with your sight gone. Still, you hear Kimi’s voice tangled in there somewhere—though what he says, exactly, you don’t manage to catch.
“Okay, now you can take the blindfold off,” Gabriel says.
You reach up for the scarf, trying to hide the initial unsteadiness of your hands. Your heartbeat is ringing in your ears, pulse still a few beats too quick. Even the dim lights of the room feel blinding for a moment as you blink in an attempt to get accustomed to them again. You’re blushing. You know you’re blushing, and you hate it.
Staring at you with the most irritating self-satisfied smile ever is Gabriel. He grins. “Now, you have to point out who it was—but, if you get it wrong, you never get to find out the truth.”
Your throat is dry, the feeling of lips against your neck still ghosting over your skin. It’s hard to focus on the people around you, some friends, some co-workers, some strangers. You don’t think Gabi would’ve chosen a complete stranger. He’s an annoyance, but you’re still friends. You’d like to think that there’s at least some boundaries he’d be willing to respect.
Your gaze flickers from Gabriel to Rafaela to your fellow rookies to—Isack. Isack, whose cheeks are looking noticeably pink. He licks his lips somewhat nervously. You freeze. Just a split second. Because, by the corner of his mouth, you can see a speck of sugary white cream.
Your skin burns like it has been set alight.
“Um,” you stammer. You glance besides Isack. “Aurelia?”
She grins, and all three Brazilians start clapping and laughing. “Now you’ll never know!” they chant, the rest of the group joining in. “Now you’ll never know!”
Big brown eyes meet your gaze. Isack looks about as flustered as you feel. Clumsily, you move to spin the bottle, which thankfully lands far in the opposite direction. The spot next to Isack is empty now, and you quietly thank that the attention is off you when you move to sit next to him.
Isack’s posture immediately stiffens, all traces of exhaustion gone from his face. He drums his fingers against his knee, suddenly all too aware of your presence next to him. Warmth blooms in your chest.
“Isack,” you whisper.
“Yeah?” he asks dazedly, voice pitching higher. He coughs, red still splotching his cheeks.
You lean closer to him, and you don’t miss the way his eyes immediately flick from your eyes to your neck to your lips. He might actually look more wrecked than you do. Something akin to sunlight melts through your chest. Confidence—maybe something better than that.
Your thumb brushes against the corner of his mouth, and his breath hitches. He swallows, throat bobbing. You tilt your head, bringing your thumb to your mouth as you lick off the last speck of whipped cream.
“I like it,” you hum, trying to bite down a smile as you watch Isack, frozen on his spot, tips of his ears turning bright red. “It’s sweet.”
a/n: okay so correo de brujas isn’t played exactly like this, but since almost everyone that answered my last poll said they hadn’t heard of the game i figured it would be fine <3 power of fanfiction at all. the whipped cream one though? very much real let me tell you.
reblogs and comments are always appreciated!
