˚୨୧⋆｡˚ overdrive — l. jeno
pairing: f1 racer!jeno x lead mechanic!reader
genre: enemies-to-lovers, smut, unresolved tension
content: rough sex, dirty talk, hand around throat, exhibitionism risk, praise/degradation mix, anger-laced lust, slow burn snap, control and surrender
w.c: ~2.5k
notes: mmm, so i basically know nothing about cars or f1. everything i do know is mostly thanks to a friend who’s obsessed with it (i’ll admit leclerc is kinda cute). but yep, don’t take this too seriously, i really don’t know anything about engines at all.
the heat is relentless, already unbearable this early in the day. the garage swelters, thick with the smell of hot rubber and engine oil, even with the bay doors rolled wide open. summer heat clings to your skin like a second layer, thick and suffocating.
the sunlight pours in heavy and golden, dust drifting lazily through the air, settling over metal frames and stacks of spare parts. the car (jeno’s car) sits up, stripped open like ribs in an autopsy.
and you’re crouched low by the front wheel, sleeves shoved up, hair sticking to the back of your neck. sweat pools at the hollow of your spine, and your fingers are slick with grease as you twist the wrench, tightening a bolt he nearly rattled loose earlier by braking too hard into turn nine. again.
the rest of the world is just the hum of the lights, the creak of shifting metal, until the sound of footsteps breaks through—
“still playing with your tools, sweetheart?”
the weight of his gaze lands between your shoulder blades. you don’t even bother turning, your hands keep moving on muscle memory alone.
“you’re gonna strip that bolt if you keep over-tightening it.”
his voice again. he’s closer now. he crouches just out of your peripheral, that signature smirk audible in the tilt of his voice. it makes your jaw tighten.
“i wasn’t aware the car came with a built-in commentator.”
he doesn’t reply right away. you hear the soft thud of something set down, probably his helmet, before the sound of his shoes shifts closer. the air changes; heavier, warmer, like he’s bringing the heat with him.
“wasn’t aware the team hired someone with a god complex.” he says eventually, his voice tilting just enough to make the words drip. there’s a metallic clatter as he leans against a cart behind you, arm cocked lazily against the metal drawers.
your grip tightens. it would be so easy to throw the wrench at his head. you exhale instead. “look, unless you’re planning to do something useful—”
“—i am,” he cuts in smoothly. “i’m making sure my car doesn’t fall apart under someone who clearly hates me more than she likes her job.”
your jaw flexes around all the things you want to say but know would get you fired. you stand slowly, wiping your hands down your thighs. the grease leaves black streaks over the worn fabric, but you don’t care.
when you finally look at him, he’s already watching you, suit half-unzipped and tied around his waist, undershirt clinging from the heat. there’s a faint sheen along his collarbone, where his tank top hangs too loose.
“if i hated you as much as you think…” you say flatly, “you should be grateful i haven’t let your brakes fail yet.”
his tongue clicks, mock-offended. “for someone who says she can’t stand me…” his gaze flickers deliberately to your hands, then lower, lingering before his mouth curls. “you spend an awful lot of time on your knees in front of my car.”
you blink once, slow. “someone has to make sure it doesn’t fall apart mid-race. can’t trust the golden boy to keep it in one piece.”
jeno chuckles behind you, low and amused. “touched a nerve?”
you roll your eyes, brushing sweaty strands from your face. “try touching the engine instead. or is that too technical for you?”
his smirk deepens, the kind that suggests he’s already thought of five comebacks, all of them worse than the last.
“you always have something to say,” he mutters, and then he’s stepping forward, crowding into your space until your back hits the car’s frame. “always so fucking mouthy.”
your heart skips, pulse sharp in your throat. he’s too close now, close enough to feel the heat coming off his skin.
“you wouldn’t know what to do with me quiet,” you breathe.
his eyes flicker, lingering on your mouth before drifting lower, tracking the slow path of a bead of sweat as it slips just beneath the hollow of your throat. his gaze follows it like it’s got him hooked, then slides to your collarbone, pausing where your coveralls are unzipped just enough to tease. there’s nothing overt, but the gap is a quiet, dangerous invitation.
jeno tilts his head slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a challenge. “try me.” his eyes gleam, like red lights about to go green.
you yank your hand back and reach for a rag, but he’s already moving in, eating up the inches between you until there’s nowhere left to go. your back bumps into the nose of the car, the solid warmth of carbon fiber pressing into your hips.
“hmm.” his hum is low, thoughtful, like he’s testing the taste of an idea in his mouth. “you keep standing in front of my car like that…”
his eyes drag over you slowly, deliberate as sin, lingering on the narrow curve of your waist cinched in the coveralls. you can feel the weight of it, how he’s stripping you down without lifting a single zipper.
“…i might just have to fuck you on it.”
the words don’t just land, they settle, thick and heavy in the charged air between you. you’re aware of every inch of your own skin, of the heat curling low in your stomach, of how close his breath is to the corner of your jaw.
you look up slowly, tension flaring like static in your chest. “you’re not funny.”
before you can answer, he’s on you, closing the last sliver of distance in a blur. his mouth crashes into yours, all heat and arrogance, lips rough and unyielding, tongue sweeping past your teeth with the kind of impatience that tastes like he’s been starving for this. his hand fists in the front of your coveralls, dragging you forward until your spine curves off the car.
then you’re weightless for a moment, his palms gripping the back of your thighs before hoisting you fully onto the hood. the warm metal hums beneath you, vibrating faintly with the residual heat of the engine. his hips slot between your knees like they’ve always belonged there, pressing in with deliberate weight.
his grip on your waist is firm, certain, claiming without needing to bruise. you should push him off. you don’t. instead, your fingers knot into his shirt, dragging him closer until the heat of his chest presses into yours, a hiss tearing from your throat against his mouth.
the kiss is messy, greedy, his teeth catching your lower lip just to hear the sharp breath you let out. the faint tang of motor oil clings to your skin, mixing with the clean burn of his cologne. you can feel the flex of muscle in his shoulders beneath your palms.
his fingers find the zipper at your chest, dragging it down without ceremony, knuckles scraping your ribs as he pushes the fabric off. his palms settle heavy at your hips, thumbs hooking under the cling of your tank top, sliding higher until the skin beneath is bared to the heat of his touch.
he pushes the cotton up, catching the edge of your sports bra, and cups your breast through it, his thumb brushing over the peak in slow, deliberate strokes until your breath stutters. his mouth is already on your neck, biting and dragging, tasting you like he means to leave every second of this encounter printed into your skin.
the next moment, your overalls are shoved down, pooling heavy around your calves. he’s hauling you up again, hands locked under your thighs, forcing your legs around his hips. the hood beneath you is hot enough to sting through your skin, but so is he, every part of him burning, pressing, filling the air until it feels like there’s no oxygen left for anything but him.
his mouth grazes your ear, voice a low rasp against your sweat-slick skin. “you say you hate me,”
“i hate you,” you pant, fingers already tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.
he slides a hand between your legs, fingers tracing slow paths through your folds. “then why are you this fucking wet for me?”
“come on, darling… don’t act like i’m the only one who wants this.” he growls, teeth scraping your collarbone. you gasp, desperate hips jerking up into his hand. he grins against your throat.
without warning, his fingers push inside you, two, deep, fast. your breath catches, shattering in your throat. his other hand locks around your hip, holding you firm, pinning you in place.
your thighs tremble, spreading wide over the car’s warm body. slick with sweat and his touch, your skin tingles. you clutch his shoulders as you grind shamelessly, your moans loud and raw.
“you’re not even trying to hide it,” he pants, palm working your clit in lazy, cruel circles.
he bites down on your bra strap, yanking it down with his teeth, mouth sealing over your nipple. his tongue circles, rough and demanding, until your head falls back with a soft, helpless moan.
you cry out his name, sharp and urgent in the stillness. he pulls back just enough to hear you. your whimper slips out before you can stop it.
you blink. breath shaky. “what?”
there’s no room for games in his tone. his fingers slide out slow just to hear the sound again. you try to chase the friction but he holds you still, smirking.
you clench your jaw, heart pounding.
“say it,” he whispers, voice low and dangerous. “or i’ll leave you like this.”
you hate him. hate how much you want him, how badly. you’d burn this entire garage down if it meant having him.
with a smudge smirk his suit drops to his hips, revealing skin taut and warm under your greedy hands. your stained palms, press against muscles twitching at your touch. he sucks in a sharp breath when your hand brushes against him through his briefs, already hard, already impatient. then he frees himself, cock flushed and leaking. he wraps a fist around it, slow, deliberate, watching you with eyes wild and blown wide.
you reach for him. but he catches your wrist, voice low and amused. “greedy little thing,” he mutters. “all that attitude. no patience.”
he lines himself up, breath rasping, voice tight.
“fuck,” he breathes, dragging his mouth down your throat, licking the sweat from your skin. “been thinking about this since monaco.”
his fingers push your underwear aside, thumb brushing your clit with sinful ease.
“says the one begging to be fucked on this car.”
you don’t answer. you just spread your legs wider.
and then he drives into you, one slow, deep, brutal stroke that steals your breath away. your cry breaks free, raw and unfiltered, as your body arches instinctively, heels digging into the curve of the car beneath you for balance. your hands clutch at the cool metal, searching for something solid to hold onto as the world narrows down to the harsh rhythm of his hips.
he groans low against your skin, his mouth pressing hard to the hollow of your neck, teeth grazing with a hungry edge that makes your pulse spike. each thrust snaps forward with unforgiving force, setting fire to every nerve ending, dragging you deeper into the delicious ache of being claimed.
“i should keep you like this,” he mutters, voice roughening as he moves faster. “bent over this car every time you mouth off.”
the car shifts beneath you, the subtle vibrations resonating through your core with every powerful thrust. nearby, tools rattle softly, forgotten against the storm of sensations overwhelming the garage. his grip slides up your throat, firm but careful, not enough to choke, just enough to claim you, to remind who’s in control.
his thumb presses down, circling your clit in perfect, maddening rhythm with each punishing stroke. the relentless pounding blurs together, sharp and raw, pushing you closer to the edge with every merciless movement.
he fucks you rough, unyielding, the metal groaning under the weight, grease stains trace paths along your thighs, across your stomach, even reaching your jaw where it glistens faintly in the dim light.
you’re stretched thin and stretched wide, every nerve alight, every breath shallow as his body drives into yours without mercy.
“you really gonna come like this?” he pants. “wrapped around me, on top of my fucking car?”
you can’t answer, caught in the haze of sensation. your moans mix with the wet slap of skin and the sting of his teeth on your shoulder. he’s everywhere, burying himself deep again and again until your vision pulses and blurs at the edges.
your whole body tightens, every muscle trembling as the wave builds, cresting with a white-hot explosion of pleasure that crashes through you like static electricity sparking through your veins. heat and sparks ignite behind your eyes, overwhelming and relentless. your cry escapes, raw and desperate, pressed deep against his neck where your lips find skin soft and warm.
that sound, your surrender, is what finally breaks him.
he curses low, the guttural growl vibrating deep in his chest as his fingers dig into your waist with possessive urgency. with one last powerful thrust, he drives deep inside you, his release flooding you in a scorching rush that leaves no space for anything but this moment.
he stays buried, breath ragged and uneven, chest pressed firmly against yours as if trying to steady the wild rhythm of his heartbeat. for a long, heavy moment, you both hang there, breathless, trembling, tethered to the raw aftermath of what just happened.
the garage hums around you. machines, wind, your ragged breath.
jeno slowly pulls back, his fingers dragging a lazy trail over your thigh. both of you still twitch, riding out the tremors of your shared aftershocks. your skin is flushed, your body trembling with the remnants of raw heat, and strands of hair cling damp to your sweat-soaked temple.
then, his voice breaks the quiet, smug, tired.
“bet you thought about this too.”
you hate how true it sounds, how easily your body betrayed every stubborn promise you made. a breathless laugh escapes your lips as you smack his shoulder, sharp and playful.
he grins wide, slipping his suit back into place with practiced ease.
“you just did, sweetheart.”
your legs wobble as you slide off the car, thighs glossy, knees weak. he watches you, his expression softened, curious, almost tender beneath that cocky exterior.
“you good?” he asks, quieter this time.
you nod, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.
he meets your gaze and nods in return.
neither of you say it out loud, words aren’t necessary, but the unspoken understanding hangs between you like thick engine smoke:
this won’t be the last time.
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