#f2 smut

[yazmarina]

came back to say something's cooking for you guys but found a fic by another person that looks suspiciously similar to my last paul aron work......interesting

[yazmarina]

in my drafts

for the love circuit series

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

paul aron (f2) x gn!social media admin reader

warnings/notes: smut, unprotected sex, lewd photography, office sex, fingering, creampie, accidental nude sending, mild dirty talk

a/n: sorry i disappeared again!!! pls take this as my apology

It was supposed to be just pictures of him during the break. You expected innocent, somewhat average snapshots of how Paul spent his past two months. You knew he took that trip to Italy, attended his sister's graduation, did some training. It was your job to be at least a little updated on the drivers' whereabouts, in case the head of comms needed you to capitalize on it for content.

So when you received a few photos from Paul through iMessage of all his fall whereabouts, you didn't think much of it. You messaged him a few days earlier asking if he could send a few more unreleased pictures that he hadn't posted on his personal account yet, stating that it was for a post you were putting together for the Hitech Instagram. He was delayed in his reply, as usual, but that's something you expected. He was busy, after all.

Perhaps too busy to notice the outlier in the stack of photos displayed in your message thread. Everything seemed to be normal at first; Italian architecture, gym photos, the cheesecake he made. Typical day in the life photos.

And lastly, a photo of him in dim lighting, taken in front of a mirror, with nothing but shadows covering most of his naked body.

You stare at your phone, dumbfounded. Your first instinct is to wait to see if Paul has anything to say, an apology, maybe, or a half-assed excuse. Anything to indicate that he noticed how he sent you a full-on nude. You prepare yourself for the three dots that show he's typing, the frantic scramble to delete the photo from your exchange, but it never comes. Heat rises up your neck as you realize you're going to have to confront him about it. This was, after all, a professional exchange and you'd hate for HR to come knocking at either one of your doors.

-Paul, please review the photos you sent. Thanks.

You regret it as soon as you send it. Was that perhaps too snippy? Too callous? It was as embarrassing for him as it was for you, maybe even more. But come on, how hard is it to distinguish your nudes from your vacation photos?

The loud throb of your heartbeat reverberates in your ears as you wait, cursing under your breath as a full minute passes and then another. You lock your phone, getting up to pace around your room. You're most likely going to see him tomorrow as he'll be at HQ for sim work and other things and you just so happen to have a lineup of meetings at the very same time. You're going to have to face the fact that you'll have to look each other in the eye after you've seen the outline of his dick.

Wonderful.

You unlock your phone, resigning to just delete the photo from your side. You can claim plausible deniability or whatever legal term it is, if it comes down to it.

Just then, Paul starts typing.

You yelp, setting your phone down on the desk harder than intended.

You realize belatedly that you're holding your breath, fingers pressed into your mouth as if suppressing any more potential noises. He stops then starts again then stops, as if he's unsure of what he's typing out.

-I'M SO SORRY!!!! It was an accident I promise 🥹 Don't report me

-Please I'm so sorry it's totally my fault ______ 😭😭😭

-______ please I'm so sorry

Somehow, despite everything, this coaxes a chuckle out of you. Paul was always open and easy around you, and you know he knows you won't report him for an honest mistake. He's probably just red in the face right now, fighting his inner demons.

You type out a reply to ease his nerves.

-I'll just delete it off my phone so no one can say we were fraternizing inappropriately 🥲

The response from Paul is almost instant.

-YES please I'm sorry again

Your finger hovers over the photos when another message comes in.

-Unless you want to save it for a rainy day that's okay too

-I WAS JOKING its a joke I'm sorry I'm sorry

You groan, throwing your head back against the backrest of your office chair.

He's done this on occasion. Flirt. Compliment you on your hair, your outfit (despite it being the team uniform), your smile, even. You brushed it off as typical driver behavior. Nearly all of them had that kind of nerve about them, a confidence that only comes with driving cars that are closer to rockets than actual cars on the street.

Bringing the phone up to your face, you gingerly scroll back up to the photos Paul sent, opening the accursed photo. Your breath hitches as you take it in more carefully, the light cutting sharply between the shadows of whatever hotel room Paul was in. Your eyes trail down and your fingers pinch at the screen, zooming in.

"No! No, no, absolutely not," you admonish yourself, swiping the photo away and typing back a slightly crazed reply.

-Whoever that photo was meant for might not like it if I do

-

"________!"

You freeze on your way out the door from the conference room, Paul's figure jogging toward you from the other end of the hall. The presence of some execs and the head of comms looms from behind you and you quickly shuffle out of the way to let them pass, all of them greeting Paul as he sidles up to you.

"Hi!" You say a little too brightly, turning to Paul, arms coming up mechanically then stopping, your brain reminding you that a hug might be too awkward but standing around without greeting him in some way would be just as weird. A flurry of butterflies erupt in your stomach as Paul stops in front of you, his cologne coming off strong as always. Just the way you liked it.

"How's the meeting?" Paul asks, gesturing to the room. He's bouncing on the balls of his feet, a nervous habit he has that you've observed over the time you've worked with him. He has his hands shoved deep in his jeans, too.

You shrug, forcing out a laugh. "Same old, just going over social media plans and PR."

Paul nods, a little too eagerly perhaps. His eyes shift to the retreating personnel, all of them turning a corner, leaving you and Paul alone in the vicinity.

"Were you waiting for me?" You ask before he can say anything else.

Paul swallows. "Yeah. Look–"

"Paul," you cut him off, raising a hand between the two of you. "It's okay. It's no big deal. Happens to the best of us."

He raises an eyebrow at that. "Have you ever sent a nude to the wrong person before?"

Your cheeks flare up in a violent blush.

"Well, no. And keep your voice down," you berate lightly. Paul looks around and shrugs as if to say, 'Nobody's here'.

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. "But what I meant was, like, messages are sent to the wrong people all the time, I'm sure you didn't mean any harm, and besides, no one else knows. I promise I haven't told anyo–"

"Okay." It was Paul's turn to cut you off. "Okay, I believe you."

He smiles at you good-naturedly, opening his arms and coaxing you into a hug. It takes you a second, but eventually, you let yourself laugh in relief, wrapping your arms around his strong frame.

"I missed you over the break," Paul admits, pulling away and holding you at arm's length. You blush again, masking it with a chuckle.

"Well, the break isn't over yet. We still have three weeks to go," you remind, your own hands coming up to settle on Paul's outstretched arms, making it look as if you're holding him in place. To anyone who didn't know, you two would look like a couple deep in discussion.

"At least you get to see me more," Paul offers with an easy smile. nudging you lightly.

You scoff. "I think I've seen enough of you, thank you very much."

A heavy silence settles over the two of you as you realize what you just said. Paul lets his arms drop from where they held you, an apology ready at your lips but Paul gets to it first. He runs a hand through his unkempt hair, blonde strands tugged between his fingers.

"You haven't deleted it, have you?"

No, you haven't.

"I was going to, but I got distracted with other things." Not entirely a lie. You really meant to do so, but thoughts you'd rather not share took hold and there were matters you needed to attend to. Matters that could only be solved with your fingers and a vibrator.

You should feel guilty, getting off to a picture of a coworker that wasn't even meant to be sent to you in the first place. Maybe you're terrible, maybe you should be fired, sued by the Aron family.

Memories of you gasping out Paul's name in the quiet of your room come flooding back and you pray that Paul doesn't notice the irregularity in your breathing.

"I'll delete it now, in front of you, so you can see that I did," you offer, fishing your phone out of your pocket.

Paul shakes his head, catching you by the wrist, his hand large and warm against your own skin.

"I mean if I was going to send it to anyone, it would have been you," Paul says lowly, as if afraid someone would hear him, despite the entire expanse of the hallway void of any people other than yourselves.

"Consensually, of course," Paul adds in a hurry, eyes widening. "If you wanted to receive them. It. Receive it."

Your eyebrows shoot up, your mouth curling into a smirk. "You have more you want to send?"

Paul's lower lip slips between his teeth and it seems the two of you are finally on the same page. You try to suppress the smile threatening to break out, clearing your throat and avoiding his eyes.

"Until when are you staying here?" You ask casually. You didn't mean 'here' as HQ. Here as in, in town, close to you.

"Next week," Paul replies, stepping closer. "I won't see you until Qatar after that."

"Shame," you mutter, tilting your head as you meet his gaze once more.

"Maybe," Paul begins, slipping his hand into yours and twining your fingers together. "I can add one more thing to my break to-do list."

"Now?" You ask incredulously. Paul nods immediately.

"You know that one storage closet inside the sim room?" He asks, winking at you.

"What? Paul!" You whisper-shout, but he's already leading you down the hallway. The two of you make a sharp turn to the right where big blocky letters spell out 'SIMULATOR' on the large double doors of the sim room.

You squint, immediately plunged into darkness as the only source of light inside is the curved screen, dimmed as well as it sits on standby.

"What if your engineer walks in? Your teammate? Doesn't he have a session soon?" You continue to protest, even when Paul gently pushes you toward the storage room door at the very corner. He flings the door open and you see that it's filled mostly with spare sim components and monitors.

"Babe, that's why they call it a quickie," Paul reasons, flipping the light switch on inside. The lightbulb offers little respite in the darkness and shadows still play along the lines of Paul's face. He shuts the door behind him.

"It doesn't lock? Paul, I swear–"

You gasp but barely any sound comes out as Paul presses his lips to yours, hands settling on your hips. He maneuvers you toward a shelf, pushing you against it and pressing himself fully on you.

You can feel how hard he is through his jeans.

"Did you like it?" Paul asks as he breaks away for a second. He kisses your jaw, tracing its outline as you sigh, your head falling back. He takes his opportunity to kiss along the column of your neck, his tongue smoothing over your skin.

"Did you get off to it?" Paul asks again and your breath catches in your throat. It's as if he knew all the dirty, deplorable things you did over that one picture.

"I know you did," Paul concludes with a breathy laugh, reclaiming your lips and driving a knee between your legs. You groan in response, grinding against his thigh while your fingers tug at his belt.

Paul pulls away and takes over for you, undoing his jeans and slipping them down to his knees. You silently thank whatever god is listening for the fact that you so conveniently decided to wear those easy cotton office pants, slipping them off in one quick swoop along with your underwear.

"I'm tempted to get on my knees right now so I can eat you out," Paul teases, hiking your shirt up and exposing your chest.

A snide remark forms in your brain but it's cut off when you feel the cold press of fingers on your clit. You clamp a hand down on your mouth as Paul gently flicks at it, feeling yourself getting wetter by the second.

"Maybe later after work," Paul says, rubbing harder. Your elbow spasms at the sensation, hitting the shelf behind you.

"Ow, fuck," you curse, meeting Paul's eyes. You two burst into muffled laughter just as Paul slips a finger in.

"What happened to a quickie?" You demand, hips moving along with Paul's hand. He adds a second finger and you whine, fingers digging into Paul's shoulders.

"I have manners," Paul informs with an easy smile, face impossibly close to yours. You can see the shift in his bright blue eyes. "I need you wet and ready for me, no?"

You bite down on your lip, eyes rolling into the back of your head as Paul curls his fingers inside you. A shiver runs through you and you feel yourself clenching down and around his digits.

Paul retracts his hand, much to your dismay, but you don't get to complain before Paul kisses you again, rough and heated. His tongue dances against yours and you grip at his Hitech team kit for purchase.

"Bend over," Paul commands and you're more than happy to oblige, turning around to do just that.

You brace yourself against the shelf behind you, gripping at the wood as you lower the front of your body. Paul grabs your hips and your back arches almost automatically. You can feel him pressing up against you and you sneak a peek behind you to see Paul with his phone in hand.

"So I can 'accidentally' send you another one," Paul jests before slowly sinking in. You whine, head dropping down between your shoulders. The thought of him documenting your little tryst sends a shiver up your spine which only intensifies as Paul grabs one side of your hips. He sets up a hard, steady pace that has the shelf in front of you creaking.

"Paul," you gasp out, your whole body shuddering at the force of how hard he's fucking you.

Both of his hands grip at your sides now so you can assume his phone has been put away. You try to stay upright which proves challenging considering Paul is ramming into you ferociously.

Contradictory to it all, you feel the soft touch of fingers through your scalp, smoothing over your hair. In a moment's turn, your head is yanked back as Paul tugs at your hair, arching your back even more.

A garbled sound escapes you, part moan, part sob as the sting in your scalp shoots straight down to your core, pushing you ever so closer to your release.

"The social media person," Paul begins through gritted teeth. "Always so pretty behind the camera. Making me do trend after trend. I'd do anything for you, baby."

You mewl in response, reaching back to grip at Paul's wrist, pushing back against him, urging him to go faster. Paul gets the memo.

"Funny how that photo was taken only because I was about to jack off to the thought of you," Paul continues. "You sent me a message and I was missing that pretty face of yours so I went through your Instagram. Looks like you had fun in Mallorca, tiny swimsuit and all."

"Sorry, baby," Paul says close to your ear. "Couldn't help it."

"Inside," you plead. "P-Please, I'm close. N-Need you to cum inside me."

Paul merely grunts, letting go of your hair so he can pull you flush against him. His thrusts grow erratic, barely pulling out of you each time. He pulls you back to him, your back against his front as he bites down on your shoulder.

"Yes, yes, right there." Your voice comes out raspy, walls squeezing around Paul's throbbing cock. He reaches over and resumes his movements from a while ago on your clit and you yelp, hips spasming pathetically.

You cum with Paul deep inside you, his groans filling your ear as he follows soon after. He stills and pulls you even closer to him, arms encircling your torso. He kisses the spot where he had bitten you, pressing his lips almost reverently to the indented skin.

You're both breathing hard and you're perfectly content to stand around while the two of you gather your bearings. But Paul momentarily disentangles himself from you and reaches down. You see him pull his phone out from his jeans from where they've presumably fallen down to his ankles.

"Smile," Paul prompts, his lips planting a soft kiss behind your ear as he angles the camera toward the two of you.

He snaps a blurry photo, just in time to capture your hand coming up to rest against his cheek as he grins into your skin. Emboldened by the somewhat artsy, flirtatious nature of the photo, you turn around and land a proper kiss on Paul's lips, savoring each second his tongue passes over your mouth.

"Send all the photos you want," you whisper, smiling up at him.

"Or we could just take them together," Paul offers, kissing the tip of your nose.

[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 you but paul doesn't mind as long as you don't, either.

[yazmarina]

this makes me want to climb onto his lap so we could make out on that damn sim

[yazmarina]

meddle about

for hit play, a drabble event.

—"we only met each other just the other day, but you already got me feeling some type of way" (meddle about by chase atlantic)

ollie bearman (f2) x afab!reader

warnings/notes: smut, fingering, unprotected sex, clothed sex, semi-public sex, creampie, office romance-ish

a/n: ollie does seem like the type to meddle about with you...enjoy!

"Oh, hey. It's you."

Goosebumps rise all over your skin as you realize whose voice you just heard. You swallow, trying to portray nonchalance as best as you can.

"Hey, Ollie."

The driver smiles, sidling up closer to you, hands gently resting on your waist as he wiggles past you in the cramped kitchenette. The Prema trailer is empty, save for you, painstakingly pouring cups of coffee to give out to everyone at the paddock tent. And, obviously, Ollie is here, too.

Ollie's hands leave a burning imprint on your skin as he moves away and settles on the couch in the corner. You try to ignore it, but you know Ollie's staring. He stares at you all the time, doesn't even attempt to hide it.

You're not even sure what it means. Or if it means anything at all.

You've only been employed with the team for a month, barely knowing anyone yet, save for your friend who referred you to this job. She made it sound enticing enough. You'd help her handle the comms for the whole team, film some social media content, attend press stuff. And at least you could do it together. And the company parties are fun. A good time all around.

She didn't warn you that part of the job was having one of the drivers follow you around like a lovesick puppy, his fluffy hair and big brown eyes melting the last of your resolve.

"What are you doing later tonight?" Ollie asks casually. You remain unmoving, refusing to look at him.

"Just going back to the hotel to rest," you respond plainly. "Got a lot of work to do for socials."

Ollie hums in acknowledgment. It's silent for a while and the urge to look back at him claws its way up within you. You beg yourself to not give Ollie the satisfaction, to not give yourself the satisfaction. God knows all your restraint goes out the window whenever Ollie's close.

With a sigh, you give in, looking over your shoulder at Ollie.

He's leaning back against the couch, arms spread on the backrest, his whole demeanor as relaxed as one can be.

"Need help with those?" Ollie asks, gesturing to the tray of coffee in front of you.

You wave him off. "Later."

You face him full-on, leaning against the counter. He looks back, eyebrows raised.

"Do you need something?" You ask, trying to add some bite to your tone. Not that you wanted to purposely offend Ollie, but you're not quite sure how else to go about this.

"No...?" Ollie begins, looking at you, puzzled.

"Then why do you–"

You stop cold. What are you even going to ask?

Why is he staring? What if he's not and you're just imagining all of it?

Why does he touch you out of nowhere? What if he's that way with everyone?

Why do you like it so much when he touches you?

...Well.

You huff, a hand smoothing through your hair. You practically march over to where he's seated, hesitating for a moment before sliding in beside him. He adjusts his posture, keeping his arm behind you on the couch. He smiles, almost smug in the look of satisfaction that washes over his face.

"Yes?" Ollie asks, tilting his head closer.

"This is bad. Illegal. Breaks about a dozen clauses in both of our contracts," you recite, hands wringing in your lap. Ollie watches you fidget, his hand resting behind you slowly reaching over to steady your movements.

His hand covers both of yours, big enough to wrap around your wrists if he wanted to.

"What are you talking about?" Ollie asks once more, the weight on his hand heavy in your lap.

"Tell me."

You gulp, having never heard Ollie's voice take on such a commanding tone. You turn to look at him straight in the eye. With a final prayer to whatever god is listening, you decide to just spit it out.

"You're staring. You stare all the time. You're touchy, too touchy for someone who I'm supposed to just be coworkers with. How about you tell me what it is you want?"

Ollie's expression falls and he withdraws his hand back. He stutters for a few seconds, unable to find the words.

"Did I do something wrong?" Ollie begins. "I thought–I mean, after Austria, at the club, after my win, you grabbed my ass–"

"Oh my god, Ollie, I was drunk!" Came your panicked reply. "And you were inches away from my face telling me something I had no intention of understanding because I wanted to make out with you right then and there if I'm being honest."

The two of you stare at each other, both stunned into silence.

A beat. A second. A breath.

"Come here," Ollie commands, hands already wrapping around your hips. You're happy to oblige as you clamber onto his lap, straddling his thick thighs on both sides.

You couldn't have been any more eager to get your lips on his, your fingers tangling in his hair as you kiss, rough and frenzied. Ollie groans against your mouth, pressing you down on his rapidly hardening cock. You can feel it through his jeans, thick and heavy.

"Hurry," you implore, hiking your work skirt up around your waist. Ollie reaches down and yanks your underwear to the side, fingers swiping through your arousal.

"All wet for me, love?" Ollie asks, peppering kisses along your jaw and down your neck. You whimper, his fingers expertly working at your clit.

"God, you're so pretty," he mutters, latching onto a spot just above your collar. You shiver, feeling him tease at your hole next.

Ollie plunges two fingers in, bottom lip caught in his teeth as he watches you immediately grind against his fingers, your wetness coating his hand.

You'd known that Ollie was somewhat adept with his hands, being a racing driver and all, but the way he's curling his fingers in you has you seeing stars. If you had the time to cum on his fingers alone, you would.

"Come on," Ollie urges, pulling his hand away, only just managing to stop yourself from whimpering at the loss of contact. You watch impatiently as he fumbles with his belt and zipper, anticipation thick in the air, his movements frantic and uncoordinated. He finally gets his bottoms open, pulling his underwear down enough to let his cock free.

He gives it a few cursory strokes, pulling you in for another searing kiss.

"Spit on it," Ollie says, voice pitching lower. You obey, letting a drop of saliva loose on his red-tipped length. He coats it all over, tapping you on the thigh.

You don't have to be told twice as you position yourself over him, quickly sinking down in one fell swoop. Both of you gasp, unfamiliar with each other's sensations. Ollie squeezes his eyes shut, mouth agape. You're panting, the stretch of his cock making your head spin.

You anchor yourself to him, bracing your thighs against the couch. You start out slow, trying to get a feel of just how big Ollie fits inside of you. He squeezes at your waist, watching as you ride him.

Picking up the pace, you start to bounce a little harder, the sound reverberating through the whole trailer. It dawns on you now that anyone can walk in and see you like this. The thought spurs you on to go even faster, ignoring the burn in your legs.

"Oh god, oh fuck," Ollie curses, eyes glued to the image of him disappearing inside of you. You reach down to rub at your clit, an action that has Ollie groaning.

"You're so hot," he praises, one hand reaching out to squeeze at your chest through your shirt. Your Prema shirt, the work uniform that reminded you both exactly what you are and where you are at this moment.

"Ollie," you mewl. "Ollie, I need you to cum. Cum inside me. Don't make a mess."

Ollie manages to laugh in disbelief but is quickly silenced when you clench around him, your own fingers speeding up against your sensitive nub.

You gasp, feeling the telltale signs of your release. Ollie practically pins you in place, fucking up into you instead. You're both making more noise than what's deemed safe in such a public place surrounded by activity, but neither of you care. The tip of his cock brushes that one spot deep inside you, again and again, harder each time.

Before you know it, your orgasm rips through you, your nails digging into Ollie's shoulders. He grunts as he's trapped between your squeezing walls, his cock twitching as he, too, reaches his release.

Your labored breaths are the only things that can be heard now, your figure slumped against his. Ollie wraps his arms around you, planting a tender kiss to your temple.

You hear a vague vibrating sound coming from somewhere in the vicinity and you frantically search around before spotting your phone on the floor. You immediately recognize the caller ID as your friend.

Wincing, you get off of Ollie, grabbing your phone.

"Yeah?"

"Where are you? And the coffee? Look, I'm coming by the trailer if you need help."

You give Ollie a panicked look. He understands immediately.

"Also," your friend continues. "Have you seen Ollie?"

[yazmarina]

touch tank

for hit play, a drabble event.

—"cause he's so pretty when he goes down on me, gold-skinned eager baby, blue shirt out the laundry" (touch tank by quinnie)

zak o'sullivan (f2) x afab!reader

warnings/notes: smut, cunnilingus, fingering, squirting

a/n: this is so very special to me because this song just screams zak for me. thank you anon for requesting zak for this <33

"What are you doing?"

Your boyfriend merely grumbles at your question as he drapes himself over your frame, wiggling his way between your legs, his head now cradled against your chest.

"Zak, come on please, you're infectious, you're not supposed to—okay, Zak—"

"I missed you," Zak interrupts, burying his face against the fabric of your shirt.

"I know," you sigh. "But we agreed that absolutely no cuddling in bed until you're better."

Zak snickers. "Like that's possible."

"Zak."

He lifts his head to look at you, a pitiful pout on his full lips. He looks so much like a puppy in this moment, eyes wide and pretty, though obviously fatigued from the sickness weighing him down.

"Thank you for looking after the flat," Zak blurts softly, placing a kiss on your chest, at the base of your sternum.

You run a hand through his hair, gently scratching against his scalp, Zak's eyes fluttering close.

"Of course. I need to take care of you," you whisper, running your thumb over his cheek, at the prominent bone that gave him the handsome look you adored so much.

"I don't like it," Zak admits. "Makes me feel useless."

You giggle. "Well then, once you're better, you best believe all your laundry will be waiting for you."

"I hate laundry," Zak complains, pouting even more.

"I know," you say with a laugh. "That's why I did it this time. Couldn't fit all your race stuff and team kits into one load. I had to do three, Zak. Three."

Zak stares at you for a moment, eyes wandering over the planes of your face, before shifting to stare directly into your own irises. His hands gently take hold of your sides, rubbing up and down, hiking your shirt up little by little as he goes.

"I don't like where this is going," you warn, moving to stop him. Zak slips further down the bed, his face now level with your navel.

"Zak...," you begin.

"You've been so great while I was away and sick. Let me do something for you. Please?" Zak's fingertips ghost over the tops of your thighs. He gently pries them apart, moving down again so he's face to face with your pelvis.

"You're ill, babe," you reiterate, bottom lip catching between your teeth as Zak's thumbs hook into the waistband of your shorts.

You sigh, knowing there isn't any stopping him once he's put his mind to things. He tugs your bottoms and underwear down, helping you lift your hips up before tossing the garments to the side.

"It's not like I'm kissing you on those lips, babe," Zak reasons with a mischievous glint in his eye. "I'm kissing you down here."

This earns an exasperated roll of your eye. "Get on with it, then."

Zak grins, leaning down, tongue darting out to lick at the heat between your legs. You gasp softly, the warmth a startling sensation. Your legs are pulled even further apart, Zak's mouth now latched onto your clit.

"Oh, fuck," you whimper when you feel his tongue flatten against your sensitive nub. He suckles on it gently before flicking repeatedly, just as he knows you like it. You shiver, never getting used to how good Zak does this.

You peer down at him, the top of his head and his eyes the only things visible from your vantage. Zak peeks up at you and your breath catches in your throat. Fingers are soon tangled in his mop of dark hair, twisting as he pushes his tongue into your waiting hole.

Without breaking eye contact, Zak starts to fuck into you slowly, that tongue of his pushing you closer and closer to release.

"Baby," you whisper, the rush of blood in your ears nearly deafening in comparison. "Fuck, babe, you feel so good."

Zak hums against you and you whine, hips bucking up involuntarily. He laughs, pulling away for a moment, lips and chin glistening with your arousal. He makes a show of licking it off his mouth and you shudder, gently tugging him back down.

"Fingers, Zak," you choke out. "Use your fingers."

Zak immediately slicks up his pointer and middle finger with his spit, teasing at your entrance right after. You're about to cuss him out for taking too long when you feel both enter you at the same time.

You're rendered speechless once more as Zak fucks you with his fingers, his mouth soon joining, resuming its ministrations on your clit.

You feel the world spin around you, every inch of your skin on fire. You can sense it, the tightness in your abdomen. The pressure only builds, greater and greater with each curl of Zak's digits inside you, with each swipe of his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves.

It's all getting too much, like something might rip out of you, your whole body tingles and you're sure you're hurting him with how tight you're clutching at his hair, and then–

You see white. Your body explodes with euphoria, a cry of Zak's name escaping your lips. Tears are blinked out of your eyes, your vision blurry as you're unable to focus on what's in front of you.

Your chest is heaving as you're slowly brought back down to Earth. Your fingers loosen around Zak's hair, an apology already on the tip of your tongue. Zak looks up and the gasp that you let out is almost comical.

"Oh my god, did I do that?" You ask in disbelief, eyeing the sheets that are soaked with your release. Zak squints at you, one eye closed, obviously coming out as, well, collateral damage.

"Don't know who else, babe," Zak teases, using his shirt to wipe at the remnants around his face. The dark blue fabric around his neck comes out almost black.

"But I'd like to argue that I did that, too."

[yazmarina]

hit play - a drabble event

hi everyone! since i have been feeling uninspired lately, i wanted to do this quick drabble exercise called hit play.

mechanics are: 1) choose a driver you want from the list in my rules, 2) choose a song from the list below, 3) send both to me and I'll write a drabble based on your chosen driver and song!

SONG LIST

timeless - taylor swift (alex albon)

meddle about - chase atlantic* (ollie bearman)

touch tank - quinnie* (zak o'sullivan)

backburner - niki (pepe marti)

better - khalid* (paul aron)

super trouper - abba (charles leclerc)

risk it all - the vamps (arthur leclerc)

toothbrush - dnce* (max verstappen)

close to you - gracie abrams* (oscar piastri)

miss missing you - fall out boy (dennis hauger)

[all songs marked with an (*) will be written as smut]

this is open to all f1 and f2 (and other) drivers i currently write for. once all ten songs have been picked, i will close this event and update everyone on which song is for which driver. songs can only be picked once. drivers can be repeatedly requested. this is on a first-come, first-serve basis, so hurry to get your desired song and driver in!

tropes, additional prompts, etc., if any, will be added to the story at my discretion. you may suggest some details you want to see but i may not add them, depending on if i think they fit the story.

happy listening!