❝Heated in the car, tensions in the boardroom, but only you can make Seungcheol's temperature rise. Lights out, champion!❞
f1! au | enemies to lovers! au | smut, angst | approx. 40k words
s u m m a r y : three-time world champion choi seungcheol races for greatness—even if it sacrifices red bull's constructor trophy. you, red bull's principal strategy engineer, cannot allow favouring the self-centred driver over the entire team. when a new red bull rookie threatens his position and certain rivals begin to tempt you, seungcheol must consider winning you over—a feat more difficult than a fourth championship.
c o n t e n t s : red bull racer! seungcheol, principal strategy engineer! reader, e2l in the sense both want the worst for each other and will ruin each other's day for a scooby snack, cheol is so fucking annoying in this, so is the reader, red bull team are all sick of them, rookie red bull racer! jay from enhypen, mature warnings -> so much sickening, disgusting sexual tension cause im mentally ill, every sexual scene will be fuelled by hatred and irritation, cheol is #downbad, reader is a brat, oral (f. receiving cause #feminism), unprotected sex (reader has implant), semi-public sex, hate sex lawl, slight bit of angst, there will be fluff i promise, more tba!!
a u t h o r ' s n o t e : surprise mothafuckas !!! she is back !!!! i can't believe an f1 fic is getting me out of my literary dry spell holy shit... thank u to @camandemstudios for hosting the lights out collab, which also hosts a myriad of other talented writers <3 since this will be a monster fic, i'll have to divide it into 2 parts, so hopefully the first part will be out by next week! i hope you all enjoy the teaser, and my incoming comeback <3
OH, YOU WERE GOING TO MURDER SEUNGCHEOL.
As you made your way out of the meeting room, you thundered to where you predicted the senior driver would be residing, in a further, grander part of the Team Hub. You were certain Red Bull spent at least a third of its budget on this man’s amenities—truly, if you were to take control of the capital, maybe the second car would be capable of podiums too.
Up the stairs you went, the bottom half of the walls bathed in navy, the top reflecting a stainless-steel silver all around you. The reds and yellows never escaped you either, labels on the door indicating your way around, each engineer or mechanic’s room printed out. You reached a grand set of double doors, murmuring barely heard from behind the painted frame.
You knocked—you should have waited before entering, but the knock was sufficient warning. The man did not deserve a choice for rejecting whoever entered his room.
You deserved it, though, because once you walked inside, the sight of a half-naked Seungcheol nearly rocked you to your core.
Upon a massage table he lay on his stomach, hands resting his chin as his physiotherapist worked on the upper parts of his back, towards the muscles that connected to his neck. A long white towel stopped your sight from straying any further, and instantly you trailed back to his face, which now craned upward to shoot an irritated glance towards you.
Because the image stunned you still, he took the opportunity of your silence to retort, “Aren’t you familiar with the concept of privacy?”
His quip instantly snapped you out of your momentary daze. The only thing you could demand from him was, “Why’re you wasting your time on a massage?”
A whoosh of breath escaped him, more exaggerated to incite your vexation. “You might as well stop now, Soon,” he exasperated to his attendee, “No one’s gonna be allowed to relax anymore.”
“As if you stop bumming about when I tell you not to,” you cut right back, nodding in greeting to Seungcheol’s personal physio. “Soonyoung, next time, just keep squeezing the tension in his neck till it snaps.”
The man’s mouth could have fallen to the floor in pure shock—more so when the driver spluttered out a rough laugh. “And you’re laughing?” Soonyoung demanded. “Maybe you deserve it, judging by your reaction.”
“If _____ wants to choke me so badly, she can come here and do it herself.” He slid his head, baring his neck to you. “It’ll give you an excuse to touch me since you want me so bad.”
Your scoff had the poor medic a little concerned for your throat. “I would rather the Ferraris run me over,” you snarled. “Or I could take Jay’s car and run you over instead! Save us all the headache, no?”
“You might as well take my car then,” he quipped, settling his head in his hands, “You’ll run me over faster.”
“So you admit you’re favoured over the second driver?” You latched onto the implication, stepping forward. “I always had a feeling the mechanics took extra time tuning your car.”
“Since you’re too stupid to recognise it, I was praising the driver, not the car.”
“Oh, I know, that’s why I ignored the indication,” you jeered, crossing your arms. “It’s a miracle he’s scored points anyway, given how difficult it is to drive the RB21.”
Seungcheol’s remark was quick—cutting. “He’s not a baby. His whole job is to win points.”
There—the perfect opportunity, presenting itself to you. “Hey, Soon, any chance I can speak to him alone?”
“Of course,” he said, nodding as he swiped his hands together, dusting off remnants of his client. “Though I’m scared if Jihoon asks me to collect him I’ll only see his bleeding body on the table.”
“Just know I did it for the team,” you drawled, earning a huff of laughter from the physio, and an unimpressed scoff from the champion. As the former bid his adieu, he closed the door behind him, you watching it slide shut.
With the door closed, you made yourself turn, expecting to stare him down. His eyes were already poised upon you. Silence fell, heavy and uncomfortable, the pressure akin to the Turn One g-force at the very circuit the man before you won in. It did not help either that he barely had any clothes on.
Not that it had an effect on you—no amount of perfectly lean muscle, dangerously curved shoulders that swell with every slight movement could change your mind about him. You made to keep your sights on his face, which had enraged you so much its objective allure had worn off completely.
That very face contorted in an arrogant dismissal. “Tryna get me alone while I’ve only got a towel to cover myself?” he provoked, slowly shifting his position. “Another one of your so-called faultless strategies?”
“Your vanity is staggering, Seungcheol,” you remarked, rolling your eyes. “I was actually trying to save face, but I suppose I should have kept an audience to humiliate you.”
A scoff through his nose. “You can try to humiliate me,” he dared, slowly swinging his leg downward, sitting up on the massage table. “What do you want?”
You decided to cling onto the lead he slipped out. “You’re suspiciously critical about Jay,” you said. “Not a single word of congrats to him when he’s one of your first teammates in a while to gain points for the team.”
He raised an incredulous brow. “That’s your issue with me?”
“Don’t try to demean it,” you opposed, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “He’s already got a ton of pressure on him for needing to perform after the previous rookie failures. You being overly mean doesn’t help.”
Disbelieved, he twisted his mouth in a frown. “You’re berating me…because I’m not best friends with my teammate? The guy who’s competing with me for the Drivers’?”
Then, he clicked his tongue, unable to help himself. “I mean, not that he actually is, since there is no competition between us.”
“Oh my God, this is what I mean!” you exclaimed, breaking the crossed arms to bring your hands to your hips. “I’m not asking for friendship bracelets, I’m asking there to be a little mutual respect. Jay clearly admires you, and you being the ‘difficult senior’ is only gonna make his journey in Red Bull more difficult.”
He breathed in sharply, his bare chest rising and falling in a heavy rhythm. “Well…it seems you’re already there to make everything easier for him, so I don’t need to do anything.”
Your brows immediately furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, you know what I mean.” He jerked his head towards the left wall, where the meeting room would have been situated. “You were all cheers and promises of team drinks when he placed fifth today. Fifth,” he repeated for good measure, almost spitting the position out.
“So? I’m only celebrating team achievement.”
“But when my name is concerned, suddenly praises and celebrations are illegal! Banned on the paddock!” he declared. “Shit, I won the Grand Prix today, yet you acted like I was disqualified.”
“I did not act like that,” you countered. “Pointing out possible performance improvements is not, and should not be taken as, a personal attack. Of course, since you’re so self-centred, I know how hard that is for you.”
“It’s not selfish to demand respect,” he huffed, gripping harder onto the edges of the table. “I just think you hate to see me succeed.”
You paused then, at a loss for words. “...what?”
He carried on, forever a man in love with his own voice—Narcissus if he battled for podiums. “Don’t act so shocked by this. You just can’t take it if I’m winning.”
The sheer lack of logic in his declaration had you snarking, “The only time you’re ever useful is when you are winning, since, you know,” you iterated, as if he was a child needing extra explanation, “we’re on the same team!”
“Are we?” He stepped off the table, wrapping the towel around his waist—hanging too comfortably as it cut off the v-line trail, and still exposing his begrudgingly sculpted legs. “Are we really, when you applaud the kid more when he wasn’t even on the podium?”
“Here we go again,” you grumbled, rubbing the space between your temples. “Seungcheol, the kid is on your team, too. This might be a foreign concept to you, but I want to support both the drivers.”
You craned your head to glare at him—never forgetting his height the closer he stalked towards you. “It’s the Oracle Red Bull Team, not the Red Bull Solo.”
“I hope you remember that too,” he muttered, eyes imprisoning your own. “Stop needlessly shitting on me when I’m the reason you have points right now.”
A scowl marred your mouth. “Jay’s given us ten.”
His eyes now squinted. “I’ve given you twenty-five today.”
“You’ve given me nothing,” you clarified, raising your chin at him. “It’s all going to the team.”
“Are you not part of said team?” A slight lean, a stance to intimidate you. “Do all your little speeches on teamwork not apply to you?”
“Don’t pretend I don’t slave away for Red Bull,” you guttered, refusing to be subdued. You stood tall, despite his muscled stature threatening to overpower you. “All those speeches you call them are aimed towards you.”
He exhaled lightly then, lips breaking to release a lazy, self-satisfied grin. “Careful, Your Majesty, or I’m gonna think you’re obsessed with me.”
Your nostrils flared at his audacity. “The only person obsessed with you is yourself, you stupid prick.”
You meant to hurt him, bruise his ego. It only seemed to swell before your very eyes as his grin widened. “I have to, since you appreciate every idiot on the paddock except for me. Doesn’t help my three-time championship winning mindset, you see.”
All these little quips, snippets of tom-foolery spluttering out of his cherry mouth. “You’ll deserve praise from me when you learn how to help your team out.”
His pupils darted over your impassioned stare, your determined stance burning inside. “I’ll help the team out when you bother helping me out.”
Bastard, bastard, bastard. Never wandering beyond his own borders—always thinking about himself. You could see it in his eyes, too. The dark, spruce-like browns of his irises, so resolute in his self-centredness. It made your lungs tighten at the notion.
You did not bid his terrible counter with a response, simply sufficing in glaring him down. Of course, because he always knew how to match you, he, too, stayed content in this heavy silence, crossing his arms over his upper chest, barely catching onto the swell of his shoulders growing with the action.
Even this was a power play—any normal opponent would have reacted to the state he was in, but you refused to succumb to the lack of layers. Any atom of awkwardness was thwarted by your growing obstinacy. No amount of aesthetic perfection could cancel out how much of an asshole he was.
At least he knew that you were no frail intern, or a mindful, hesitant engineer. If he wished to stoop low, then you would dive to the lowest depths in order to silence him.
