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[yazmarina]

taking a break :)

[yazmarina]

walk me through it

for the love circuit series

—you're used to being flirted with in front of the camera. but something about franco is really doing you in.

franco colapinto (f1) x fem!reporter reader

warnings/notes: smut, unprotected sex (no condom, yes birth control), guided masturbation, lewd photography, lots of flirting, franco is shameless (naturally), some Spanish sentences and phrases

a/n: will resume hit play for a bit after this one! enjoy franco girlies mwa

Your job was simple enough. Well, for today, at least.

Stand in the media pen, gather statements, and piece together a couple of stories later that evening for publishing first thing tomorrow morning. All in a day's work, like all the other days before.

You've grown immune to the charms of rich, adrenaline-seeking men. Didn't take you too long, the illusion breaking as soon as any one of them opened their mouths. Some you tolerate more than others, but some you'd rather steer clear of completely.

This isn't to say that you've brushed all of them off. You might have agreed to a date here and there but nothing ever stuck, the nature of your jobs a bit too similar and all too different at the same time. You've given up on the prospect that you'll somehow end up with one of the many Formula 1 drivers you've interviewed and spoken to. And you've spoken to a lot. You've had this gig since you were shipped off fresh from uni and one too many 'What happened there?'s and 'Tell me about qualifying's can put a damper on the romantic side of things.

But someone new's in town. Well, er, new in the paddock. And you'd be lying if you said you weren't even a little bit excited.

He's charming, that much you can already tell. He walks into the media pen like he's done it thousands of times before and you have to actively suppress a smile as he walks over. Confidence is always a plus. For the interview, of course.

"Hola, Franco. Antes que nada, enhorabuena," you greet warmly, extending your arm over the barrier to place the microphone nearer to him. Hi, Franco. First of all, congratulations.

Franc's eyebrows shoot up, a wolfish grin settling on his face. "Oh. I thought this was an English interview?"

You smile back. "It is, but I know my way around Spanish, as well."

"Ah," Franco nods. "Gracias, _______."

"You know my name?" You ask, momentarily forgetting that you're being taped and recorded. You clear your throat, ignoring the quiet snicker from your cameraman.

"Yeah, I've seen you around and watched some of your other interviews," Franco confirms, a hand settling on his hip as he leans against the barrier, closer to you.

You can smell his perfume from where you stand.

"Thank you, I've heard and seen a lot about you as well," you respond, trying to return to your original train of thought.

"Which is why I want to ask you how it feels on your first day as a Formula 1 driver," you quickly follow. "Have you done anything special to prepare for this weekend? Other than the obvious, of course."

Another easy smile spreads across Franco's lips. "I've definitely added to my training and done some new things to prepare. I haven't done a full F1 weekend before so everything will be new."

"We definitely don't have reporters like you in the lower Formulas," he adds.

You feel a violent blush rip up through your neck all the way to your cheeks. As if the Monza heat wasn't enough.

"Well, I'm glad you could meet me here," you manage to get out.

The thing is, Franco isn't even the most attractive driver you've met. He's definitely up there, but not the most.

That's a discussion you have with yourself semi-weekly: ranking the drivers in terms of attractiveness, factoring in personalities and general attitudes towards the people around them, specifically the media.

Look, people love to shit on the media and press, calling journalism all sorts of derogatory words, but you're just here to do your job, like anyone else. And it gets pretty fucking hard when your boss is ringing your phone every five minutes demanding four stories by tomorrow and drivers are sassing you out as if you asked them if they've murdered their whole family.

So, naturally, the way they treat you determines a big chunk of how you think your day is going to pan out.

And right now, Franco seems to be lifting your spirits just fine.

"What are your goals for this weekend? Are points on the horizon for you at your first F1 race?" You continue, trying not to stare at the way Franco starts to rub at the back of his neck, bashful all of a sudden.

"We'll try," Franco begins. He plants both his hands on the barrier and leans even closer. You have to physically take a step back.

You gulp. Franco smiles.

"Anything is possible this weekend."

-

"You broke the internet last night."

You scoff, sending your cameraman a vicious side-eye. It's crowded in the paddock today, everyone wanting to get a glimpse of the new rookie, it seems. Such is the eagerness for this young driver that even that 30-second clip of your interview with him blew right up in your face. Your inboxes at capacity, your own voice speaking back to you with every other swipe on your TikTok.

It's not all bad, though. A tweet with one of your Instagram photos attached to it captioned 'TE ENTIENDO MUCHO FRANCO ES MUY LINDA PERIODISTA' did weasel out a chuckle from you.

Your cameraman shrugs, gesturing with a jerk of his head in front of you.

"There he is. I'm sure he knows all about it."

You look over to where he's pointing and lo and behold, Franco is right there, chatting with a few Williams team members, his race suit hanging undone around his waist. He turns to you even before you can fully register that it's him you're looking at.

But your training kicks in even faster. A megawatt smile appears on your lips and you wave enthusiastically at Franco.

"Hi."

"_______," Franco says, face lighting up at the sight of you. Your name seems to fall even more effortlessly off his lips.

You reach over and pull him into a half-hug with one arm, but both his arms wind around you and you have no choice but to squeeze back.

"You saw?" Franco asks, a gleam in his eye as he pulls away. His hand remains casually on the small of your back.

"Saw what?" You know what it is he's asking but you'd like to hear it from him.

"We went viral, no?" Franco says with a laugh, reaching further around you and squeezing your waist. You lean into his touch, heart jumping as his fingers graze just underneath your cropped top.

"That's all because of you," you reason, pointing an accusatory finger at Franco. "I bet you say that to all the other reporters."

The Williams team members standing nearby burst out laughing and even your cameraman affords a snicker. A deep blush spreads across Franco's face as he rubs your side reassuringly.

"No, no, I don't. Just you," Franco admits with another lighthearted laugh.

"Sure," you say with exaggerated skepticism. You pull away from his touch, catching his hand before he slips it fully off of you.

"I'll talk to you later," you say. And it's fully intentional, the words you choose to say. I'll talk to you later. Not 'I'll catch you later' or 'I'll see you later'.

I will talk to you later.

Franco understands, giving your hand a squeeze.

-

Later that day, you pray that no one catches you grinning behind your hand as Franco takes the chequered flag at qualifying.

P11.

Almost there.

-

"Hi. Come in."

Franco beams at you from across the threshold, stepping into your room with slow, measured steps.

"Great qualifying," you compliment, eyes traveling down Franco's body, noting the way his team kit hugs his frame just right, his hands shoved into his pockets, exposing just his arms, veins and all.

Your eyes snap back up to his face when you hear the door shut in place.

"Q2 on your debut. Not bad," you go on, taking a step back. Franco takes one toward you.

"You're just repeating what you said at the media pen earlier," Franco points out. He reaches out and gently circles an arm around your waist.

Always straight to the point.

Like this morning.

You tried not to make it so obvious when you ran into Franco earlier, but all you could think about was The Message.

You were doing your cursory social media checks a few minutes after you had woken up, still snug in your bed and unwilling to get up just yet. A message in your Instagram inbox caught your attention, sitting at the very top of your 'verified followers' tab.

Franco Colapinto: hola, hermosa 😉

It took a minute for your motor functions to return, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as you pored over what to reply. You settled on a nonchalant greeting, asking if Franco needed anything.

You realized rather belatedly that this was looking a little familiar. You wished he wouldn't say the dreaded answer, the more-than-predictable response that every man liked to use.

Franco Colapinto: you, maybe?

You groaned into your pillow, not because you were repulsed by his answer, but because you liked it. If you were easy, then so was he.

You: i finish work at 9 pm tonight...? 👀

It's 9 PM now. Franco's in the room and your hand is running up his chest.

Easy.

"It's such an honor," Franco teases, backing you up further into the room. His hands feel heavy on your waist and your heart hammers against your chest.

"I get to work with people like you now," Franco continues, stopping right in front of the bed.

The kiss comes as a shock more so because of how good Franco kisses. One of his hands is now cradling the back of your head, keeping you in place while he licks into your mouth, groaning with every pucker of your lips.

You pull away for barely a second to get both of your tops off before you dive back in, seemingly too desperate and too starved for each other's mouths. Franco's hands are everywhere; they run down your arms, paw at your waist, tugging at the belt loops of your jeans.

You giggle as he pulls you even closer, your bare chests pressed against each other. Franco pulls back and peers down at you, reaching behind to unclasp your bra. You let it fall, already guiding one of his hands to your tits.

"Couldn't stop staring at them?" You ask, your voice rising with an innocent lilt.

Franco kneads at the mound beneath his hand, eliciting a moan from you. He grins.

"I wanted you to notice," Franco admits simply, kissing you again.

"Perv," you mumble against his lips. Franco laughs, already undoing his trousers.

You wiggle your own way out of your jeans, letting Franco get the shortest of glimpses at your baby pink underwear before you discard them off to the side.

"Mierda, you're so sexy," Franco compliments as you crawl backward onto the bed, laying back and letting your hair splay out beneath you.

Franco pounces on you like a man starved, bare atop your own naked body, his arms caging you in.

"Big moves from somebody so new," you whisper, carding your fingers through Franco's soft locks.

"I like to make a statement," Franco says with a shrug. He glances up momentarily, something piquing his interest off to the side.

"Is that your camera?"

You crane your neck to see where he's looking and sure enough, your personal DSLR is right there on the bedside drawer. You look back at Franco, an eyebrow raised.

"You wanna use it?" You ask, not expecting him to actually say yes. But a mischievous grin settles on Franco's face and you feel your heart skip several beats.

"Knock yourself out," you say.

Franco reaches for the camera and fiddles with it for a few seconds. His eyes scan over your body and you suddenly feel the urge to hide away with how hard he's looking.

"May I?" Franco asks, brandishing the camera. Your mouth falls open as you realize what he's asking.

"You can keep them for yourself. For your eyes only," Franco hurriedly adds, planting his knees firmly on either side of you.

You stare up at him, a million thoughts running through your mind.

"Just...touch yourself."

You gasp, stunned at his proposal. Franco watches through the LCD monitor, glancing up at you through his lashes. Your bottom lip slips between your teeth, and as if on instinct, your hand inches down slowly between your legs.

"You're in front of cameras all the time," Franco reminds with a smirk. "This should be easy for you."

You suppress a whimper at his words, your fingertips swiping through your slick folds. You're already soaked and you start to wonder if it started even before Franco got here.

The shutter clicks and the lens whirs, sharp against the soft breaths you're letting out. Franco is concentrated, snapping photo after photo as you rub yourself closer to release. But it's not enough. You need more.

"Franco...," you implore, peering up with bright, begging eyes.

"Slowly, mi amor," Franco coos. "Just where you like it. Right there."

Click.

"Harder now, but still slow. Yes? Feels good?"

You whine, eyes fluttering shut as your pleasure picks up again. Several clicks. You're panting now, the tendrils of release wrapping themselves around you.

"Faster, yes, like that," Franco eggs on. Your fingers speed up against your sensitive clit and a litany of Franco's name spills from your lips. Before you know it, he's putting the camera away. You reach for him, gripping the back of his neck as he smashes his lips into yours.

Franco bites down on your lip and you cry out, your orgasm washing over you like a tide. You arch against Franco, feeling his own stiffness heavy on your thigh.

You blink, Franco's face coming into focus, barely an inch from yours. He watches you closely, pupils blown wide and plump lips even redder. You hook your legs around his waist, letting him know that you're not done yet.

Franco is quick to pick up, smiling as lines himself up with you. The groan that escapes him is nothing short of delicious as he pushes himself in. You gasp along, the stretch a welcome sensation.

Franco wastes no time and pounds right into you, catching you by surprise. You let your head fall back against the mattress, a long, drawn-out whine erupting from deep within your chest as Franco licks a stripe up your neck.

Your whole body quakes with how hard he's thrusting into you but you're clearly enjoying it if your wanton moans are anything to go by. Franco meets your eyes and you pull him down, wanting nothing more than to drown in those lips of his.

It's feral and it's unrestrained, spurred on by the knowledge that this is more than unprofessional in your line of work. Not illegal by any means, but risky enough to warrant warnings from your coworkers. Never sleep with a driver unless you're committed.

Oh, well.

Franco groans loudly in your ear, movements losing their rhythm as he speeds up. You're clinging to him as if he'd disappear if you let go, your own belly tightening once more with that familiar feeling.

Franco. Franco. Franco.

He kisses you just as he finishes. Passionate, eager, heady. You feel him inside you, a different kind of elation filling you as you release all over him.

Franco pulls away to allow yourselves to breathe. He pulls out, rolling over to your side. You hug your folded knees to your chest, too lazy to get up and find something to deal with the mess.

"No hagas eso. Eso es demasiado doméstico," Franco jokes, moving closer and planting a kiss to your shoulder. Don't do that. That's too domestic.

"Relájate, estoy usando anticonceptiva," you reassure with a lighthearted roll of your eyes. Relax, I'm on birth control.

Franco hums, laying an arm over you. He pulls you close and you face him, reaching up to brush away some of his unruly hair.

He plants a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"Happy that you're a Formula 1 driver?" You ask, grinning.

Franco chuckles. "Very."

[yazmarina]

f1twt is a shitshow rn so i'm hiding out here

how's it going guys

[yazmarina]

surprise, a new series 🎉

yes franco x reporter is coming soon as part of this series! hang tight <3

[yazmarina]

radio check

for the love circuit series

—ignored by his driver academy, driving a shit car, and a dnf before turn one. zak has enough to deal with and you are the perfect outlet.

zak o'sullivan (f2) x fem!race engineer reader

warnings/notes: smut, unprotected sex, semi-clothed sex, workplace romance, creampie, hair pulling, slight biting

a/n: starting a series when i have another ongoing? more likely than you think

"Zak, wait—"

The driver brushes past you as you attempt to stop him, wanting to have a brief word with him before he goes back to the F2 paddock. An exasperated huff escapes you as his figure quickly saunters down the pitlane, ignoring you.

You try your best to understand. His race was over before he even got past the first turn.

"Zak! At least tell me what happened." You try once more, catching up to him. You glance back at the pit wall where Victor's race engineer and Sébastien are looking on worriedly. You flash them a thumbs up and make a mental note to shoot them a text that you'll keep Zak in line long enough for him to at least toughen out the debrief.

"Shouldn't you already know what happened? You're the engineer," Zak deadpans, avoiding your eyes and weaving through the people in the pitlane.

You draw in a long breath and grasp at his arm, making sure to dig your perfectly manicured nails into his skin through his suit. Just to prove a point. Mustering all your might, you maneuver him off the actual pit straight and toward the back of the garages.

No words are uttered as the two of you walk further and further away from the track, both of you aware that there is much to be said, about each other, to each other, to the team.

You drop his arm and try to shuffle ahead, wanting nothing more than to get to the truck quickly so no one has to see the daggers you're staring at each other.

You yank the truck door open as you walk up to it. You step aside, turning to Zak who's giving you a less-than-pleased expression.

"Get in," you practically bark. Zak makes no protest and steps in, you following close behind.

The door closes and Zak lets out a frustrated sigh. He sinks into the small couch, hunched over and head hanging low.

"What's going on?" You ask, standing over him like a mother admonishing a child. He doesn't say anything and makes no move to look at you.

You let out your own breath and rip the headset off from around your neck, dropping it onto the small coffee table situated in front of the couch. You study your initials etched on the headset for a moment, reminding you that you are his engineer, you are his guidance. You start to think if maybe you've failed tremendously at just that.

"Zak," you begin, cautious in your approach. "Did you know you jumped the start? You've never made these mistakes this year. What changed?"

For the first time since you got to the truck, Zak raises his head and looks straight at you, expression stony.

"You're really going to ask me that?" Zak returns almost petulantly.

A scoff escapes you. "I'm asking because I want to help you."

Zak suddenly stands, startling you as he crowds into your space. He's so much taller and he practically looms over you. You can feel the anger simmering off him.

"Tell me. Where's Franco right now?" Zak asks plainly.

It clicks in your head faster than you can anticipate. Of course. It's about that.

"Zak, that's out of your control." You attempt to take on an appeasing tone. "If Williams wants to rush your fellow rookie up into Formula 1, that's their choice."

"I was one of those choices, _______," Zak insists, running a hand through his already disheveled hair.

You give him a long, hard stare. There's a crease between his eyebrows, his lips drawn together tightly. He's breathing hard and a vein pulses in his neck. Normally, you'd allow yourself to admire just how handsome he is right before or after a race. You're not blind and you're not going to deny yourself the simple pleasure of admitting that, yes, Zak is attractive. And he's kind, oh so kind, thanking the team, thanking you even when his race weekends don't always turn out the best.

But right now, with everything that went down in the sprint, it hardly seems appropriate to daydream of such things.

"I don't want to burden you with advice and solutions when you clearly need something else right now," you begin. "Why don't you just take a minute and we'll talk later."

Zak doesn't seem pleased with this. He lets out a sound of disbelief, turning his back to you and pacing around the cramped space.

You get it. He wants to fight. He wants to prove a point.

"Zak," you say a litle more sternly. "You can't let yourself make these mistakes just because you're mad at your driver academy."

"I know that!" Zak bellows. You flinch, taking a step back. He's never raised his voice at you, or at all, in the time that you've known him.

He curses under his breath, pressing his fingers into his eyes. "I'm sorry," he says. "I don't know what's happening to me,"

A pinch of sympathy blooms in your chest and you approach him, arm outstretched. You lay a reassuring hand on his arm, squeezing gently. Zak exhales, dropping his hand from his face to look at you.

You've seen this look before. And you're not going to lie and say you haven't looked at Zak. As in really looked, eyes wandering where a race engineer's shouldn't, especially not towards their assigned driver. Perhaps a large factor in this is that you're close in age, something you never really see in these situations, with most engineers having a full decade on their drivers or at least a few years.

It's not ideal and it's not allowed.

"You will get there. Properly. In your own time," you say. "I'm sorry if I can't get you out of whatever you're feeling right now."

Zak steps closer and you already know what it is he's asking. You wind your arms around his torso, letting him engulf you in a hug, his face burying itself in your shoulder.

You haven't hugged like this since Monaco but even that was different. That was a happy hug, a shared victory. This just feels like you trying to keep him together, holding literal pieces of him in your hands so he doesn't implode on himself.

"Can you...can you stay here for a bit?" Zak asks against your shirt and your resolve is immediately softened. You run a hand up and down his back as if to soothe him.

"Sure," you agree, pulling away. You hold Zak at arm's length, observing him.

He avoids your eyes still and you can see his jaw clench.

So he's still upset.

"Zak."

His eyes meet yours and the air shifts. You're still holding onto his arms, anchoring him to you. Zak glances down at your lips and a small gasp escapes you.

Surely, he isn't thinking of that...?

"What do you need?" You ask.

It's an innocent question. Zak is in pain, though not physically, but you know he must be seeking comfort somehow. But there's a hidden hope underneath your offer. That maybe he'd say he needs you, more than a driver needs their race engineer. It's a stupid kind of hope, bordering on delusion, but you hold on to it the same.

"I don't know," Zak says. This perplexes you for a moment but then you realize that he must not know or at least doesn't want to voice out what he really means.

You can feel it in the way his hands hover awkwardly at your sides.

You reach up and take hold of one side of his face. Zak's eyes immediately close and he inhales. His jaw ticks yet again.

"Let me," you whisper, letting your other hand settle on his neck, just above his race suit collar.

There's a flash of confusion in Zak's eyes as he opens them and you think that maybe you've read it wrong, Maybe you're crossing a line that's not worth it at all.

But Zak's own hands settle on your waist and before you can second guess yourself even more, you lean up, nearly on your toes as you meet Zak's lips with your own.

The spark is instant; Zak pulls you flush against him and immediately licks into your mouth, groaning when you so easily let him. Your fingers fumble at the zip of his suit, yanking it down as you attempt to unclothe him as fast as you can.

"Bathroom," you urge, pushing him off before tugging him further into the back of the truck.

It's barely wide enough to fit you both but you figure that doing it in the open, where all the team members gather, would be too much. You're not that shameless.

The bathroom door slams shut behind Zak and he wastes no time pressing you against the sink, the counter digging against your tailbone. All discomfort is forgotten, however, when Zak pushes a knee between your legs.

"You really know...how to...make me feel better," Zak manages between heavy breaths and wet kisses against your neck. You suppress a moan, unwilling to let him know just how much this is affecting you.

"Of course," you breathe out. "I know you."

Zak returns to your lips, hands slipping beneath your ART uniform, fingers expertly unhooking your bra from behind. You whimper when you feel it come undone, Zak already groping you beneath the fabric.

"How far?" Zak asks, voice quiet, hands stopping their movements.

"What?" You ask in a daze, the question not quite registering.

"How far will you let me...," Zak trails off. His eyes seem clearer now, as if it's dawned on him what the situation is.

He's about to fuck his race engineer.

"All the way, if you want," comes your immediate reply. And you mean it. You want it.

Zak's eyes zero in on yours. "Yeah?"

You nod. "Yeah."

There is no hesitation in the way he discards his race suit and bottom fireproofs, elbows banging against the door and the wall as he tries to rid himself of all the barriers between you and him. You're pressed up against him as you undo your own pants, shimmying out of it and your underwear at record speed.

A startled cry escapes you as you feel yourself lift off the ground but you're immediately appeased when you feel Zak's firm arms beneath your thighs, gently letting you down on the sink countertop. You laugh in disbelief and for the first time this weekend, you see Zak crack a genuine smile before he leans in to retake your lips in his.

You shift around uncomfortably as the cold tile presses against your bare skin but you halt all movements and thoughts when you feel Zak press two fingers against your aching core.

He rubs at your wetness slowly, almost lazy in the way he swipes between your folds. You shiver under his touch, forehead resting against the side of his neck.

"You don't have to be so careful," you quip, smiling as you tangle your fingers into his hair. Zak's laugh rumbles through and you pull back just enough to look at him.

"But I need my race engineer," Zak teases back with a grin. "I don't wanna hurt her too much."

You burst out laughing, circling your arms around his neck. A few seconds pass by with the two of you just staring, taking a quiet moment to let it all sink in.

"You won't," comes your reassurance. "I can take it."

Zak's bottom lip slips between his teeth and his eyes darken at your encouragement. Your heart pounds as he pries your legs apart, reaching down to angle himself with your entrance.

You grip the counter below you as you lean back against the mirror, mewling, Zak's length pushing into you. You catch Zak glance down at where you're joined and he quickly curses, averting his eyes, as if the mere sight of his cock sheathed inside you would push him to the brink.

"Please," is all it takes from you for Zak to slam his hips against yours. Over and over, he pulls out and pushes back in, the sounds obscene in the cramped space of the bathroom.

He braces himself against the same mirror, which you now notice has fogged up. Your legs lock around Zak's waist, caging him in against you. It's effortless, how he holds you in place, pinning you down with his weight, his other hand gripping at your hip. Your eyes roll back into your head as Zak loses all inhibition, fucking you as if it's his last time doing so.

Zak glances at the mirror and trains his eyes on your face right after. He takes hold of your jaw, imploring you to look at him.

"Stand up," Zak commands, already pulling out. The abrupt stop jars you but you obey nonetheless, shakily sliding off the counter.

You gasp as Zak quickly turns you, pressing your front into the sink. He reaches over and wipes the condensation gathered on the mirror. Your reflection stares back at you, Zak's broad figure a contrast from behind.

Almost instinctively, you bend over, watching the mirror in fascination, as if mesmerized at the image playing out.

"Good girl," Zak praises, slipping back inside without any resistance. Your mouth falls open as he continues, both his hands now keeping you in place by the waist.

You practically collapse against the sink with how hard Zak is going, your knuckles turning white as you hold on to the edges of the countertop.

Zak doesn't seem pleased with this and you're abruptly yanked back, the sting in your scalp eliciting a moan from you. He twists his hand even more in your hair, forcing your head back.

"Zak!" You cry out, body nearly going limp as you're overwhelmed from all sides. He's still slamming into you, his arm now circling your torso to keep you still, his other hand pulling at your hair.

"Needed this," Zak mutters straight into your ear. "Needed you."

You whimper, forcing yourself to look in the mirror, meeting Zak's eyes through the foggy reflection.

"You have me. You can have me. Always."

Zak grunts, your words seemingly spurring him on as he loses all control now, the rhythm he set up gone as he chases his release.

"How do I get you there? Tell me what you need," Zak urges through gritted teeth. You guide his hand down to your core and he understands.

Both of you forget to suppress your noises, using each other to reach the edge. Zak's fingertips toy with your clit and your walls clench down tighter and tighter around his cock. You can vaguely hear Zak repeating your name over and over through the blood rushing in your ears and you're pretty sure your mouth is moving of its own accord, cursing and begging.

And all at once, Zak stills with a groan, teeth digging into the fabric of your shirt, almost painful as he finishes inside you. You grind against his hand, determined to get there too, and eventually your vision whites out and you cum all over Zak's length.

It takes a full minute for both of you to recover, you slumping over the sink, your whole body aching and stinging in different places. Zak rests his head on your shoulder from behind, his arms cradling you almost reverently.

You straighten up as best as you can, peering over your shoulder. Zak pulls out and quickly reaches over to yank a few sheets of tissue off the roll next to the sink. He hands them to you and you accept it with a giggle, wiping yourself clean.

You discard the soiled tissues before turning to face Zak fully. His hair is stuck up in different directions and his eyes are watery but so much brighter than an hour ago. He grins, leaning in.

He kisses you, all soft and bashful. You pull away, cradling his face in your hands.

"Better?" You ask, running your thumb over his cheekbone. Zak smiles, holding your hand in place as he leans into your palm. He kisses the inside of your wrist and you feel your heart come to a stop.

"Thank you," Zak whispers. You nod, offering another smile.

"Maybe we can debrief on our own over dinner later?" Zak hurriedly adds, eyebrows raised and tone hopeful.

"Sure," you answer before you can even really think it through.

[yazmarina]

love circuit: an f1/f2 series

—a collection of standalone smut fics set in the same universe. congratulations on your job at the paddock! and congratulations on your newest love interest 😉

warnings/notes: all of these are smut. specific kinks and tropes will be stated in each individual story's post.

author's note: inspired by the god awful dirty air series by a certain beloved booktok author. i sought to make my own little version out of spite. will be written and published in no particular order.

i. radio check (zak o'sullivan x race engineer!reader)

—ignored by his driver academy, driving a shit car, and a dnf before turn one. zak has enough to deal with and you are the perfect outlet.

ii. walk me through it (franco colapinto x reporter!reader)

—you're used to being flirted with in front of the camera. but something about franco is really doing you in.

iii. good publicity (pepe marti x pr officer!reader)

—keeping appearances is your job and pepe marti is your undoing.

iv. all clear (ollie bearman x medic!reader)

—it's not breaking your oath when you meet ollie outside of your work hours, right?

v. in my drafts (paul aron x social media admin!reader)

—that message wasn't for him but paul doesn't mind as long as you don't, either.

[yazmarina]

don't ask me anything about that f2 sprint it didn't happen 🙃

[yazmarina]

How much will I have to bribe you to give in to the temptation to write a Franco x interviewer fic?👀

no bribing needed, i'll do it for you all 😔🙏🏼

[yazmarina]

If u don’t want to “self indulge” then I WILL!!! WE NEED REPORTER!READER X FRANCO 🙏🙏 u put the thought into my mind and now I need it

OK OK i'll do it 🫣

[yazmarina]

No, please give into temptation for that Franco fic

ok maybe i will.....

[yazmarina]

ok i'm still upset but no one talk to me wdym franco is already flirting with the press on his first day

LOOK AT HIM BLUSHING AFTER THE REPORTER MATCHED HIS ENERGY

i will NOT write a franco x reporter fic i will NOT give in to temptation

[yazmarina]

what are your thoughts on all of the F2 drivers that are moving up to F1? cause i'm literally SHAKING IN MY BOOTS???? im so worried for Fracno, Kimi, and Bearman, because i can tell theyre gonna face a lot of hate and a LOTTT of high expectations even though theyre all still so young (esp kimi) - i literally have no friends who are into formula so im stuck screaming in my head

ollie will be fine, i believe, because he already showed us just how good he can be in an f1 car. franco and kimi, personally, i think, are a bit too unprepared.

kimi is talented for sure but imo if i were any team principal on the grid rn, i would ensure that he is ready both mentally and physically for an f1 seat and rushing him into it is not going to do him any good. talent can only get you so far if you're not ready.

same goes with franco. he's great, consistent, but still so so very new to f2. why rush him into f1......🫠

anyways let's let time do the talking

[yazmarina]

i have no words lol

nothing good can come out of this arrangement at williams. i love franco but it's way too early. i love logan and this is all kinds of fucked up for him

[yazmarina]

close to you

for hit play, a drabble event.

—"break my heart and start a fire, you got me overnight, just let me be" (close to you by gracie abrams)

oscar piastri (f1) x afab!reader

warnings/notes: smut, protected sex, cunnilingus, first date, basically you match with oscar on a dating app lol

a/n: what a weekend guys. have this as the cherry on top <3

You never really expected anything much to come out of it.

You swiped right on the app, highly suspicious if this was really even him, but for the plot (as the kids say), you wanted to try anyway.

The screen graphics confirmed that it was a match and you felt your blood run cold.

Oscar Piastri, Formula 1 driver, had matched with you on a dating app.

You locked your phone and paced about the room for a solid five minutes, refusing to pick your device back up. You yelped as you saw the screen light up. You shoved it under your pillow, rushing out of the room and pacing even more, but this time, around your living room.

It took another ten minutes for you to gingerly return to your room, your trembling hand flipping your phone upright to expose your notifications.

Oscar: Hey :)

You nearly dashed out onto your balcony and leaped off the edge right then. With bated breath, you tapped on the notification, thoughts cycling seemingly a million miles a second.

You: Hi! Fancy seeing you here haha

You groaned immediately after sending the message, cringing at the utter lack of eloquence.

A sob nearly escapes your lips when you see his reply.

Oscar: Don't tell on me, then ;) I take it you're a fan?

"You have no idea, Oscar Piastri," you whispered to yourself as you tried to maintain a semblance of composure in your following messages.

You really should have practiced restraint, a cautious approach to this whole situation. What if it was some sort of poser? What if whichever dickhead pretending to be Oscar posts your responses online to dunk on you? Your face was exposed, goddammit.

But after two hours of messaging and a selfie sent from his side to prove that, yes, he really was Formula 1 driver Oscar Piastri, the two of you agreed to meet the next day.

You're still not fully convinced at that point but you decided to go with it. You sent a vague yet urgent message to your friend who lives nearby, in case you need an escape plan.

You covered all your bases, said all your prayers, and plucked every stray eyebrow into perfection.

Your heart nearly gives out now as you look up to see Oscar approaching your table, the sun gleaming down, casting a glow on his wavy brown hair. You're seated just outside the restaurant doors, the breeze gently displacing some of your own hair.

A nervous giggle escapes you as you tuck your hair back in place. Oscar beams and pulls the chair out in front of you.

"Hi. Sorry to keep you waiting."

You shake your head almost instantly. "No, it's okay. I wasn't here for long."

Oscar smiles even wider and you clamp your hands together under the table to stop them from shaking.

"It's nice to meet you," Oscar says, reaching his hand out. You chuckle at the formality but grasp his hand in yours nonetheless.

"Same here. Though, I'm a little nervous," you reply.

"Though, I hope you aren't super weirded out about going on a date with a fan," you rush out. "I just really enjoy the sport and I think you're a great driver."

You see a hint of pink dusting Oscar's cheeks. Your own face heats up at the realization.

"It's fine," Oscar consoles. "Thanks, by the way. I mean, you're gorgeous, so you're not the only one in awe here."

Oscar's eyes widen as he realizes the words that had come tumbling out of his mouth. Your own jaw slackens and another nervous laugh rises from your chest.

"Thank you," you manage to splutter out. "I-I don't know what else to say to that without sounding like some lovesick fan."

Oscar bursts out laughing, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. You realize that every inch of skin above his shirt collar is tinged with red.

"I think that's our signal to order," Oscar offers, flipping through the menu in front of him.

You nod silently, doing the same.

-

The text you send to your friend after your lunch with Oscar is just as vague, if not a little more.

You tell them that your date went well and that you'll be moving to another place. You don't exactly clarify what this other place is, but with the way your friend tells you to be safe and call immediately if anything goes wrong, you know that they're aware of where this is going.

You lean back, comfortable in the passenger seat of Oscar's car. You set your phone down, sneaking a peek at the man beside you, and for a split second your eyes meet.

"You good?" Oscar asks, his eyes trained back on the road. There's an easy smile playing on his lips and you can still see pink on his cheeks.

"Yeah," you say, digging through your purse and retrieving some breath mints. You pop two in your mouth and you offer Oscar the container.

You smile knowingly as Oscar glances at your outstretched hand, his smile widening into a bashful grin.

"Want some?" you offer, toying with the candy in your mouth. Just then, you come upon a stoplight and Oscar turns to you fully.

He holds up his palm and you shake out two more mints onto his awaiting hand. Oscar places them in his mouth, watching as you put the candies away.

"Any particular reason you'd be needing breath mints?" Oscar asks almost playfully.

You snicker. "Not really. Just wanted to get the taste of food out of my mouth."

Oscar hums, eyes trailing down your face. You can see him continue to suck on the mints but he soon loses his patience and bites down, grinding his teeth.

Yours are all dissolved, the fresh sting of spearmint settling on your tongue.

"I don't really do this," Oscar suddenly declares.

You raise both of your eyebrows. "Do what?"

"Take girls home on the first date."

A grin settles on your face as you hear the words. You lean in closer, over the center console, noting the way Oscar inhales as you do so.

"I'm flattered," you admit. Oscar laughs, mirroring your posture, the proximity between you two diminishing.

Oscar kisses you, tenderly at first, his hand automatically coming up to hold you in place. It's easy to forget that it's the middle of the day in sunny Monaco, the tint on his car windows not the ideal shade to necessarily hide what you're doing.

You pull, back glancing at the stoplight just as it turns green.

It takes a honk from the car behind you to get Oscar out of his daze.

-

Oscar is a gracious host, as you quickly learn. Gracious in a way that his hands immediately cradle you close the second his front door latches shut. His lips are just as welcoming as they trail down your neck, careful and almost nervous. It's also so hospitable how he so eagerly ushers you into his room, settling you down on the sheets as he does all the work for you.

Your clothes are stripped one by one and the familiar anxiety rises back up in your throat. Oscar senses the shift in your mood and pauses just as he's undoing his own pants.

"We don't have to," Oscar offers, taking ahold of one side of your face.

You kick yourself in your mind. This is an opportunity you would never pass up and it's right in the palm of your hand.

You shake your head. "I want to. I really want to. With you."

Oscar grins and practically tackles you down on the bed. It takes some effort but the rest of his clothes finally come off and the two of you lay bare on his bed.

You can feel the desperation in his movements and you reciprocate with as much eagerness. You think for a moment what it could have been in your lunch that caused the both of you to just want to jump in bed together, but you ultimately doubt that the tapas had anything to do with it.

It feels surreal, having Oscar's mouth on your core, and even more unbelievable the way his fingers work as if they already know you, how to please you. You're trembling by the time Oscar comes back up, lips smeared with your arousal.

You blink the tears out of your eyes as you watch Oscar reach over to his nightstand, expertly dispensing a condom, rolling it down on his rock-hard shaft.

You scramble to get him close, not even caring about how quick he plunges inside you, the stretch eliciting a hiss from between your teeth. You relax and Oscar takes this as a sign to start moving.

"Jesus, fuck—" Oscar curses. "You're fucking tight."

You let out a breath, holding Oscar's body close as he fucks you, steady and unrelenting.

You don't particularly care if everything he's said up to this point is a lie. You could be his fifth this week, you could be herded out his apartment the moment he finishes. You really don't mind, not when he feels this good inside you.

"Oscar," you gasp as he starts to pick up his pace. Even that doesn't seem real. The way his name rolls off your tongue registers like a faraway dream to you.

Oscar pulls back to look at you, his hair falling over his eyes. You've gushed about this exact look a few times online. The thought embarrasses you a bit and you can't help the blush that creeps up your neck.

"What?" Oscar asks, the corners of his mouth turning up as he watches you.

You shake your head. "Nothing. Don't look at me like that."

Oscar smirks, pressing his mouth to yours in a heady kiss. Your whines and moans are muffled as Oscar takes you closer and closer to your release. You claw at his back, digging your nails into his supple skin. Your hips start to move along with his, your own orgasm now within reach.

The two of you cum almost simultaneously and Oscar stills inside of you, his mouth hanging open as the euphoria completely washes over him. You're panting, eyes unfocused, even as Oscar pulls out to discard the condom.

Oscar plops back down beside you and you can't help the giggles that erupt as the two of you catch each other's eye.

"That was great," Oscar muses, staring at the ceiling, his hand patting around the bed until it finally finds yours. He slots his fingers between the spaces of your own.

You risk a peek at him and you take it all in. A strange feeling blooms in your chest.

Oscar turns to you and you quickly look away.

"It's kind of cute how you think I don't notice you looking," Oscar says, scooting closer.

You meet his eyes again and the strange feeling only flourishes. Pessimistically, you think of that one quote about never meeting your heroes. You start to think that it might be true.

The illusion is shattered. You've come too close. Icarus reincarnated, the sun staring you right back in the face.

You anticipate the sugarcoated rejection.

"Wanna stay over?"

You blink.

"Stay over?" You repeat rather plainly. Oscar nods.

"Yeah. I'll get us dinner." Oscar tucks your hair behind your ear. "Unless you'd rather I drive you home."

A giddy sort of sensation shoots through your body. You tentatively reach out, laying a hand on Oscar's face.

Maybe you could get just a little closer to the sun.

You peck his lips briefly, smiling as you pull away.

"No. I guess you can have me overnight."

[yazmarina]

remember when there was a point in time where people thought he wasn’t gonna ever win a race??? and then he DID win a race! and it still wasn’t good enough! and now he’s won two, AND casually pulled out the kinda gap that peak rbr didn’t even touch? yeah i’m weeping! sobbing, even! live laugh lando ❤️

[yazmarina]

hiii i hope youre doing well !! i just wanted to say that ive been thinking about you recently because ive rewatched that team elevate vid a few times (way too many times to consider myself sane…) and idk just seeing zak with luke makes me so 🥰 because yes ofc i know theyre in the academy together butttttt idk something about seeing your boyfriend and my boyfriend together was very good for me 🤭🤭

(this is the most random and weird ask ever lmao excuse me but im in such a luke mood aaaaa 😁😁)

hi love!!! i've been doing okay

i know exactly what you're talking about bc I've rewatched that so many times too like those are all literally my favorite feeder series drivers in one video (outing myself as a williams academy stan)

BUT YES seeing them two together (and honestly seeing franco and lia there too) was so ?!?!?!??! i need more williams academy content please

[yazmarina]

toothbrush

for hit play, a drabble event.

—"if you stay with me again, would you mind closing the bedroom door? " (toothbrush by dnce)

max verstappen (f1) x afab!reader

warnings/notes: smut, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, undefined relationship

a/n: i liked this one quite a lot. enjoy some domestic maxie <3

The feeling is disorienting at first.

You're warm, but not uncomfortably so. It's more of a hug, the sensation that wraps around you now. You move to shift on your side when you realize you're quite literally being hugged. Arms tighten around you and this is when your eyes fly open.

You let out a breath when you realize where you are, gentle sunlight streaming through the cracks between the curtains.

A faint purring catches your attention and you crane your neck toward the end of the bed to see the curled up figure of Jimmy, burrowing himself against your leg beneath the sheets.

A groan from above startles you and you turn to see Max peeking one eye open at you.

"Morning," he mumbles, cradling you closer against his frame.

"Hi," you whisper back, breathing in the scent of his laundry detergent and the faint traces of his perfume.

Max blinks his eyes fully open, brushing some of your hair over your shoulder. He chuckles at the sight of your neck and chest, lightly tracing the splotches of red and purple on your skin.

"Sorry, schatje," Max says, rubbing your arm as if to soothe you. "For last night."

You laugh, pulling away from his embrace to stretch. You catch your reflection in the mirror across from the bed. You practically roll off the mattress, a dull ache in your thighs as you stumble closer to the mirror.

Your thin camisole leaves little to the imagination, one strap hanging down, baring even more skin. A faint gasp escapes you as you take in just how much damage Max had done last night.

"Can't remember if I packed a turtleneck," you muse out loud, catching Max's eye in the mirror. He merely grins, leaning against the headboard as his gaze trails down your body.

"Anyways, I need to go," you declare, swiftly turning around to rummage through your travel bag sitting on the table in the corner of the room. You hear Max get off the bed behind you and you feel him stepping closer and closer.

Warm hands find their way on your hips, sliding around your midsection until Max is fully leaning into you, his chin resting on your shoulder.

"What's the rush? You said you didn't have any work," Max reminds, lips pressing against the skin of your neck.

You sigh, pulling out a pair of pants and a plain shirt that you packed. Not the most fashion-forward but with Max Verstappen waiting by your apartment door, itching to take you back to his place, there wasn't much smart packing choices you could have made.

"Yeah, but I don't want to overstay my welcome," you point out, hands pausing at what they're doing. You lay your palms over Max's firm arms, leaning back against him.

"What?" Max sounds genuinely confused. He gently turns you to face him, his head tilted to the side as he looks at you questioningly.

"Overstay your welcome? Baby, did I not tell you that you could stay here for as long as you want?" Max says almost imploringly, hands cradling the sides of your face.

You chew on your bottom lip, avoiding his eyes.

A part of you screams that you shouldn't have gotten involved with him in the first place. You're a reporter and an analyst, for crying out loud. You're meant to be impartial, non-partisan to any agenda, detached from any of the drivers.

It turns out that all it takes is a slightly awkward, more than friendly Dutch driver to break your resolve.

And in record time, too. This time last month, you barely gave Max a second thought. You were new and he was the top dog at this thing. Nothing to indicate that it would turn into more than a professional relationship.

"Really? You'd want me to move in that fast?" You ask, half-joking.

Max shrugs. "Monaco has a housing problem. You could free up your apartment for whichever next tax evader wants to move here."

You burst out in giggles, punching Max lightly in the chest.

"Big words from one of the biggest tax evaders, then," you quip, relishing in the grin that spreads on Max's face.

He leans in to kiss you, lips slotting perfectly against yours. You sigh, quickly wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him flush against you.

"Enough about taxes," Max says against your lips.

"Stay."

Max kisses you again, maneuvering you back toward the bed. You fall against the plush bedding with a gasp, barely having enough time to scoot further up as Max reclaims your lips, tongue licking into your mouth. Your whole body seems to erupt in flames, his fingers already tugging your underwear down your thighs.

"Max," you breathe out as you watch him rid himself of his own boxers. Memories of last night flood back as you catch sight of his length, already half-hard.

He looks at you expectantly but you've forgotten what you wanted to say. A protest maybe, hesitance at continuing whatever it is you have with him. But the light blush on his cheeks, his eyes boring into yours so eagerly—it puts a stop to every interjection you've come up with.

You press your mouth against his instead, reaching over to stroke at his already leaking cock. Max groans into the kiss, fingers tangling in your hair as he tugs, eliciting a wanton moan from you.

"I want you. Everyday."

Max admits this, kissing down the column of your neck. You let go of him in favor of digging both your hands into his side, clutching onto him as if letting go would end in him leaving. His fingers swipe harshly between your folds, finding your arousal already pooling and dripping onto the sheets.

"Stay, please," Max says once more, withdrawing his hand from between your thighs, angling himself at your entrance.

You nod, pulling him in so you can kiss yet again. Max pushes in at the same time, neither of you stopping the sounds that come out of both of you as he sheaths himself within your walls.

It's needy, the way you two move. But none of it is rushed, with Max's hands smoothing down your sides languidly, stroking at your skin in a way that has goosebumps rising all over your arms. He grunts into your neck and you lock your legs around him, keeping him close.

Max feels as if he belongs exactly where he is right now. Pleasure shoots through your entire body like it has never before, each thrust of his hips sending your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

"I-I'll stay," you manage to choke out, fingers carding through Max's hair. He pulls back to look at you, eyes glazed over as if in a trance. Spellbound by you.

"I'll stay as long as you want," you say, angling your hips closer to his, both of you groaning at the change. He goes in even deeper, stilling for a moment to press his length further up. You clench around him and Max gasps, resuming his pace.

It doesn't take long for both of you to reach it, euphoria washing over as you finish in each other's arms. Max spills himself inside you and the sheets are further ruined as your own climax splashes everywhere.

Max eases himself on top of you, careful not to let his full weight crush you. Neither of you two moves for a solid minute, Max still fully inside you.

"How very domestic," you comment with a laugh, kissing the side of Max's head.

He merely groans in reply, finally leaning away and plopping down at your side. You practically hop onto your feet as you look for your underwear, pulling it up to stop any leakage.

"Guess I'm not going anywhere now seeing that you...well...yeah."

The two of you burst out laughing.

"Breakfast?" Max asks, jerking his head toward the door.

You nod. The clothes still splayed out on the table catch your eye.

Maybe you'll wear them tomorrow.