𝑪𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝑯𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑷𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒚𝒂 𝑩𝒐𝒚
Cold Hands and The Papaya Boy
MDNI, disturbing themes below, continue scrolling.
Cold handed!Reader x Oscar
A/N: One day I narrowed my eyes in front of the screen and thought 'Hmmm, dark Oscar fic would be great, mhm mhm.'
Warnings: Kissing, physical touch but not smut. Kissing. Oscar is obsessive. Reader is trying to act professional but failing. A few uses of Y/N. Lowkey dark fiction. Stalking and obsession mentioned(don't do it guys, it's not healthy). Nothing fluff about ts. !MDNI!
Description: Reader's hands have always been cold, icy. Whatever the weather is, her hands are colder than everything and Oscar is quickly getting attached to her cold hands and guarded heart.
Your job was easy,
make Oscar Piastri behave in front of the lens, teach him how to give proper answers without getting a backlash from the media that could hurt his image.
It wasn't hard considering Oscar being completely chill and understanding in every process. Hearing you out with everything you've ever said, eyes focused, mind and attention on you and the world stopped.
You liked how fast he could become professional.
Oscar was not a cold guy, he smiled, he got angry and even showed complete aggression but at the end of the day. You were there. He hold onto the fact that you'd be there no matter what.
He'd often tease you about your cold hands. Never a complete bullying but curiosity mixed with hidden obsession.
Your hands were cold, colder than they had to be. Even when the weather was burning and even when your body heat was up, your hands remained dead cold. Well, not that cold but cold.
Your friends put your hand on their necks when it was hot, some pressed their face against your delicate fingers, trying to absorb the coldness in the summer heat.
And this, was the summer season.
The let's go swim and party season.
Oscar wasn't acting feisty.
But you always noticed how he brushed his fingers against yours while you extended something to him. Maybe his water bottle, documents, rules, coffee. Whatever or whenever, your fingers brushed. He requested to hold your hand while you climbed upstairs or downstairs.
A soft clinging that never really left a mark behind. It was quiet, stalking.
It was quite suspicious that how he found a way to hold your hand and make your coldness spread against his warm hands.
While you were working in the big building of McLaren, a great terrace. He was there. Always sitting in front of you, a T-shirt with shorts, usually manspreading and focused on his laptop in front of him. Fingers stretching, brown eyes looking deep into his job but he was never focused on the screen.
His focus, was on you.
How you sighed when something happened that you didn't expect, how your eyes narrowed and lips curled up when you wanted to laugh with your sweet voice but didn't, how you looked away quickly when he realized that you stared at him.
And last, all he could think about was how you curled your hands into fists, trying to warm them up and fidgeting uncomfortably time to time. Never worked, your hands never became warm.
It was a free week before a race week and you've decided to spend you time in the Head Quarters of McLaren. Loving your spot at the terrace, you always settled there before eight and left before seven in the evening.
Eyes focused on the interview schedule of Oscar and a few scripts of answers you could show him for examples. But half of the time, he didn't care.
His eyes stared at your face he found too pretty and innocent for himself.
The familiar footsteps of Oscar didn't surprise you.
He came whenever you were there. A soft lingering reminder that he knew where to look to find you.
A soft clank against the table. His steel water bottle and a plate with two chocolate croissants. His laptop against yours.
Soft scraping sound of a chair being pulled back and the scent of the cologne Oscar wore like a signature. You just continued your work. Not finding the need in you to greet him. Because he already knew that you noticed his presence. Before you could type a simple email, your whole body froze. Nervous tingling took over under Oscar's gaze. You felt him staring but never caught him do it.
A soft raise of your head to look at him and all his focus was on the screen in front of him.
A sharp wind made your hair flow. Strands finding your face. As if the nature didn't want you to look at him for a long time.
If you did, you'd fall for a man who was a whole different person inside his head.
Your hands clenched into fists, fiddling. A little bit too harsh. Your cold skin felt great but it always was the worst when you wanted to get warm. The reason you were fidgeting was not because you were cold, it was him. "Stop fidgeting, you'll hurt your hands," he said without lifting his head.
"You think I can't see when I don't lift my head but I do." An answer without a question.
The question had a spark in your head, never said it out loud but he heard, somehow.
You just smiled, a soft nervous chuckle that left your lips. Reaching for the croissant on the plate, Oscar pushed it closer to you. "Take both, 'm not hungry."
"Oh, thanks." You smiled, he lifted his head and his eyes met yours and your pretty smile did everything possible to him. Then his eyes found your hands. His mind working on a new excuse.
You always tried to act professional and calm next to Oscar but you two bickered a lot sometimes. The yapping never stopped and he simply never got tired of it.
He was a small hands type of guy himself, but his hands were bigger next to yours.
You took a bite out of the croissant, he watched. Innocent enough.
How you chewed on the bite you took. Left hand moving up to you mouth to look respectful while eating. Your throat working as you swallowed the piece and eyes focused on some void and not him, not Oscar. "Your hands are so small." He blurted out. The statement made you blink, several times. A gentle chuckle leaving your lips as you raised one hand. He raised his as well.
"It's a fact." He mumbled.
His hand touched yours like fire pierced ice. Warm, heated skin against an icy cold skin that melted under the contact. You didn't pull back, he didn't pull back. Oscar even thought of intertwining your finger into a sweet lock but it was too risky, for now.
He was the one to pull back from the touch. Your cheeks burned, your hands hovered on top of the keyboard, staring but not exactly doing anything.
"How come your hands are always cold but your body is warm?"
"How do you know my body is warm?" You asked jokingly.
"Your face is tomato red and it's windy as fuck." He swore. "Sorry," he apologized quickly.
"Can't blame you. Must've been the sunburn." You said sheepishly. A quick attempt to lie. He noticed, he always did. Your right pinky wrapped around the left thumb whenever you lied to him or anyone.
It took him 3 days of you working for him to notice.
Oscar was quite observant.
He noticed little details that no one noticed. He stalked, he made everything a top priority if it was about an obsession and currently, you were his quiet and gentle obsession.
It was a complete secret that he spent his time scrolling through your photos, observing every move, every mimic you made with a dead-pan face that showed no emotion.
You wore dresses with flowers during summer when you felt confident and chose to wear t-shirt when you were lazy. The skirts were for someone special or for a special meeting.
He saw you in a pretty black skirt, twice. Not tight but not too oversized, enough to fit your frame and make you look attractive with a mix of elegance.
You never frowned, the only time he saw you frown was in France, someone acted too rude and Oscar messed up his interview swearing at the guy quiet as possible but microphones worked their best that day.
He remembered how you scolded him while he stood there like a responsible adult while he tried his best to not glance at your lips.
Soft lips glistening with the cherry lipstick you used every time. He thought of buying more for your birthday but that would be creepy.
You wouldn't be happy with a man knowing what you use or what you wear based on your mood.
"Was the weather that hot? I never seem to understand the levels, ironic."
"Typical Aussie. I have the trust on you that you'd survive under a sun about to explode."
"As long as your icy hands and you are there." Oscar said too casually. His finger moved on the keyboard, typing something you'd never be able to see.
Day 115, Her professional acts crumble time to time.
You laughed, unaware. "If I was stuck in Antarctica and I had to choose a person to be there with, It'd be you with the warm hands."
"Heh, can't deny that I'm genius."
"Oh please, how could I?"
You laughed again, hand placing on Oscar's. Eyes narrowed, soft giggles escaping your lips. He watched. Too quiet, too observant.
He was a wolf and you were a sheep. He wanted to hunt you but when you looked too pure to be buried in blood, his eyes softened and he backed away. But he didn't give up. He'd earn it.
Your hand felt too cold against his, he didn't care. He savored the feeling. The freezing on the back of his hand before a gentle poking of the cold. Like ants walking on his skin, but never really visible.
"How many boring examples you've got for me?"
"Mhm. We can skip to scolding if you'd like." Oscar winked, smirking with a boyish touch that made butterflies fly in your stomach enough to make you want to squirm. But you kept the calm composure you built.
"Am I that bad?"
"Wouldn't say bad. Too professional, don't you think?" He punctuated the word 'Too professional', making you frown lightly. A little pout on your face.
"It's my job, gotta be professional."
"Oh, right." Oscar smiled, lips pressed into a thin line.
Day 115, her professional acts crumble time to time.
Day 115, she still has doubts. Time to change strategies.
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The chance of strategies were smooth.
Oscar acted more close, bought you flowers, chocolate. He built up the courage to ask you what lipstick you used to play dumb and act like he didn't know that information before only to have a box stocked at his apartment. He gifted you the cherry lipstick.
A soft smile on his face, eyes narrowed, lips pressed against each other and a patient expression.
You smiled, accepting than rather rejecting.
Oscar studied your expression. Your guarded heart melted with every gift or every gentlemanly action. It was a sound of victory that sensing you let down your guard everyday. A perfect opportunity.
Day 120, she is warming to the idea of being less professional to me.
The excuses of being in contact with your cold hands grew. They grew stupid.
"Can't find any ice, mind if I press your hand against my forehead while you scold me?
"Can you pass me my bottle?"
"Let me know If you want a personal hand warmer, hm?"
You let every little one slide. Too unbothered and too unaware. You even held his hand in secret, letting his hand wrap against yours in a protective style.
You got the confidence to flirt back and smirk back at him. You weren't aware that you gave him what he wanted or what he looked for.
You made yourself the most delicious prey ever.
Your hands never got warm enough to warm yourself. Gloves never did their job and your hands remained colder than ever. You liked Oscar's presence.
Warm hands that wrapped around yours, sometimes settling on your shoulder and even holding your waist with your small nod of approvement.
Your eyes watched him now, watching his every move. Getting ready for the race to talking to a random interviewer. You made sure he participated in every media training and even scolded him for being reckless sometimes.
Oscar caused scenes for you to be talking to him constantly. If he caused a scene, you'd be there to see and make him behave.
Day 127, She lets me put my hand on her waist.
He demanded you to be there every time. Post-race parties, media chain and basic interviews.
You followed through, letting the waves of life carry you to a big waterfall where Oscar waited underneath with a sly smile.
The thing that bugged you a lot was him knowing your mood whenever you were next to him. He knew your coffee order, favorite chocolate and usual style. When you were angry he acted more calm, enough to make you know that you're taken seriously only to stuff a bar of chocolate in your hands and smirk with a cocky expression.
Day 134, she stared at my lips when I was talking about something. She's catching feelings.
You didn't even knew what got over you that moment. Oscar suddenly felt too tempting. His lips, his eyes, fireproof down, uniform tight enough to show off his muscular body with muscles. You felt pulled to his presence. Breath caught in your throat, your eyes drifted down, staring before they moved up to meet his gaze again.
He kept on yapping.
Then your eyes found his lips. Looking kissable, devourable. Shivers and goosebumps with a sweet ache between your thighs. You kept your body language silent.
The other day, Oscar's hand casually closed around yours in a brief meeting. Warm hands trying to absorb the cold. He almost succeeded, had to let go when it was time to get up and left your hand freezing.
"You're teasing me, Oscar."
"Hm? What teasing?" He played stupid.
Your heart raced next to him.
Day 138, She let me hug her from behind.
It was pretty surprising for Oscar to experience. He approached quietly, hands wrapping around your waist from behind and head settling on your shoulder.
A soft reminder that he was there.
You flinched a little before you understood it was him. Your cold hands moved to settle on his hands.
It was a quick change of temperature for Oscar.
While your body heated like sun, your hands remained cold. Like a snow goddess who was abandoned in a cold night with her hands freezing. No way to break the pretty spell from her hands.
You let out a low gasp, "Oscar! You scare the hell out of me!" you said. Your words scolding but tone pretty playful.
You rolled your eyes at his low mumble. His cheek pressed against yours, making you want to turn your head and give him a kiss but no. Your brain sensed every little danger and he was one of them.
Your heart was the ruler, stupidest of them all. You only kept yourself from kissing him. The only way you listened to your brain was this.
"You can't keep scaring me, you know? We are supposed to be professional."
"Really? 'm not convinced. It even sounds funny when you stared at my lips the other day."
"Cut it! I was glancing at the clock behind you."
"Sure thing." Oscar whispered like a tempting demon, the tone of his voice whispering made you go feral.
He knew you lied, your pinky finger wrapped around your thumb gently.
The gesture making a soft smile replace the smirk on his lips as he pulled back. "You might as well give me a good luck charm for a win after losing pole position." He hummed.
With a confused and determined face, you pulled one of your bracelets off. OP81 bracelet a fan gave since they loved his PR Manager almost equal to him. You extended it, "Take this," you said.
"A bracelet with my name on it? Cute."
"Don't call it cute. It's supposed to be badass."
Day 139, main mission complete.
It was after Oscar's win. He won. He got P1. Champagne rain all over the place.
His gaze piercing everything and finding yours with a I know what I'm doing smile with a relaxed expression. You hugged him, he hugged you.
It was a glorious place after all, drivers had to go to a club to celebrate the race weekend.
You were there too. Wearing a great looking top, black, lacy neck decoration with a stylish mini skirt you bought for yourself.
Oscar was dressed casual. Red T-shirt and shorts. Thigh muscles calling your name from afar.
Ironic that it made your mouth water.
Both sticked together, you didn't drink, he didn't drink. Fully sober until your lips met in a rush after a staring moment.
His arm wrapped around your waist, other on your cheek.
Tongues tangled in a heated battle, he took in your breath. Backing you up against a wall with a soft thud. His teeth caught your lower lip, making you whimper which drove him crazier. "Osc-" You breathed out.
"Y/N." His forehead pressed against yours. Letting you breath once more before his lips locked with yours with urgency.
Making out with him was like a dream. He held you soft, his lips caressed you soft and his hands worshipped your cold ones.
Like he was the sun, embracing his cold moon away from the stars. Making her his.
"Fuck, Oscar-" You managed to moan as his hands creeped under your shirt, his warm hands worshipping every inch like a prayer. Fingers playing with the pebble until it hardened before doing the same to the other.
He didn't go further.
Just a soft graze was all he did. He pressed a kiss to your lips before leaving you wanting more.
He was ruining you for every other men, just not the fucking way.
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Oscar was quite manipulative if you looked at it,
He managed to make you believe that no other men could warm your hands like he did. His hands held yours tighter and his lips found yours often.
"Your hands are so cold."
"Your hands are too warm."
"You're not complaining, are you?"
"Great to know." Oscar chuckled. His fingers intertwined with yours, cold hand froze his hands but never his obsessive feelings.
It was an obsession.
And no one could stop it.
It was supposed to be some stupid fluff but my mind said otherwise, sob
