#tp!carlos

[thef1diary]

teamprincipal!carlos fingering you after he heard you say bad things about yourself after a race and making you praise yourself 😵‍💫😵‍💫

— good god nonnie 🥵 he will never let anyone speak badly about his driver. 18+ content below

The door to Carlos’ office slammed shut behind you, the tension in the air thick enough to suffocate. You paced the room, tugging at the sleeves of your race suit, anger and self-loathing swirling in your chest. The race had been a disaster—or so you thought—and the words spilled from your lips before you could stop them.

“I’m so fucking useless,” you muttered, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “I’m a goddamn joke out there—”

“What did you just say?”

Carlos’s voice stopped you in your tracks. It was low, sharp, and full of disbelief. He stood by the door, his arms crossed, his dark eyes narrowing on you like you were a problem he needed to fix.

“I—” you stammered, caught off guard by the intensity of his glare.

“Don’t you dare,” he muttered, taking slow, deliberate steps toward you. His tone softened, but it was no less commanding. “Don’t you dare talk about yourself like that.”

Before you could respond, his hands were on you, one gripping your chin to tilt your head up, the other slipping around your waist. His lips crashed against yours, swallowing your apology, silencing every self-deprecating word you wanted to say.

The kiss was rough, possessive, yet tinged with something almost tender. You gasped into his mouth as he pulled you closer, your bodies flush. His hardening cock pressed against you, and your hips instinctively ground against him, desperate for any kind of friction.

“Do you have any idea how fucking incredible you are?” he murmured against your lips, his voice laced with both anger and something softer—almost hurt. “How can you think otherwise?”

His hands found the zipper of your race suit, tugging it down to your waist. Beneath it, your fireproofs clung to your body, but Carlos was quick to strip you of the top, exposing your bare skin. His gaze raked over you, dark and hungry, as his hands cupped your tits.

“Let me remind you,” he said, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, rolling them between his fingers until they hardened under his touch. The sensation sent sparks straight to your pussy, and you couldn’t help the soft whimper that escaped your lips.

“Sir,” you breathed, your body arching into his hands as he pinched and teased. The attention he lavished on your nipples had you squirming, your thighs pressing together in search of relief.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice softening as his lips brushed along your jaw, then down your neck. “So beautiful, so fucking perfect.” His hands continued their work, alternating between gentle caresses and rough pinches that left you gasping.

The heat pooling between your legs was unbearable by the time he pulled back, his hands sliding lower. He turned you around, pressing you against the edge of his desk. His palm slid beneath the waistband of your fireproof leggings, finding your bare, slick cunt.

“You’re dripping,” he said, his tone low and full of approval. “All this for me, hermosa?”

You nodded, your breath hitching as his fingers dipped into your folds, spreading your arousal.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured, sliding two fingers inside you, his thumb circling your clit. His pace was maddeningly slow, deliberate, and utterly devastating. “Now, tell me what I want to hear.”

“I—I’m sorry,” you started, but his fingers froze. His other hand grazed up your back until he reached the nape of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair before he tugged harshly.

He leaned closer, and you were able to feel the heat of his body surrounding you. “Wrong answer,” he whispered in your ear, his voice dark and dangerous. He pulled his fingers out of your pussy and slapped your clit, the sharp sting making you cry out.

“Sir, please!” you whimpered, your body trembling as he teased you mercilessly.

“Try again,” he said, sliding his fingers back inside you with a rough thrust. “Say something good about yourself.”

“I—I’m good enough,” you stammered, the pleasure building in your core.

“Louder,” he commanded, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that spot that made you see stars.

“I’m good enough!” you cried out, your hands clawing at the desk for support.

“And?” he pressed, his thumb pressing harder against your clit, making your legs shake.

“I’m a good driver,” you whispered, the tears pooling in your eyes as you struggled to believe your own words while focusing on the pleasure building.

“The best,” he corrected, his pace quickening. “Say it.”

“I’m the best!” you sobbed, your body shaking as the tension coiled tighter and tighter.

“Good girl,” he purred, his lips brushing against your ear as he worked you closer to the edge. “Now cum for me. Show me how much you believe it.”

Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing as he continued to thrust his fingers into you, drawing out every drop of your release. The wet, filthy sounds of your orgasm filled the room, your cries of pleasure muffled by his hand over your mouth.

As you slumped against the desk, breathing heavily, Carlos carefully flipped you over, a small smile gracing his lips as he noticed your tinged cheeks. He leaned down, grazing his lips over your neck before pressing a firm kiss to the spot behind your ear.

“Remember this, princesa,” he murmured, his voice softer but no less authoritative. “You’re mine. My driver. The best one on the grid. And I don’t let anyone—not even you—talk shit about my driver.”

want more team principal!carlos? send me an ask with your filthiest thoughts and it’ll get answered during one of my dirty drabble days

[shitapril]

saw those pictures of carlos and yeah this happened

[amirasainz]

hi! i rlly LOVE your works 🥹 you're my favorite author rn!!!! 💕can we get a team principal reader x f1 drivers where she got mad because fia is being unfair to mclaren boys, then she gets protective of the boys during interviews smth like that. then, other drivers were impressed and jealous of mcl boys because they want the same treatment from y/n too hehe. thank u so much & i hope you're having a great dayyy (sorry if there are mistakes. english is not my first language 😅)

Using her voice

The post-qualifying buzz always had its own kind of electric atmosphere. The pit lane was still humming, the smell of burnt rubber clung to the air, and team radios crackled in every direction. Reporters with lanyards were already circling like bees around honey.

And standing at the heart of it all, just outside the McLaren garage, was Yn.

She stood tall — well, tall enough in her stylish orange heels — wearing a fitted, double-breasted blazer dress in McLaren papaya, gold hoop earrings, hair in a sleek ponytail, eyes hidden behind designer sunglasses. She looked like a woman who ran the world.

And, in a way, she did.

At just 22 years old, she was the youngest Team Principal Formula 1 had ever seen. Some laughed when McLaren announced her appointment. But no one was laughing now. Not when she had transformed the garage into a tight-knit family, not when her boys—Lando and Oscar—were pushing the front-runners more than ever.

Not when every driver on the grid would sell their left tire to have her in their garage.

But today?

Today she was pissed.

“Where’s Yn?” Oscar asked, leaning against the wall near the garage, still in his race suit.

Lando was standing next to him, arms crossed. “In a meeting with the stewards. Again.”

Oscar scoffed. “Let me guess. Another bogus penalty?”

“Yup,” Lando replied. “Three-place grid drop for 'blocking' Stroll in Q2. But there’s no footage of it. And no one was even close to him.”

Oscar frowned. “They gave me a track limits warning for going wide in the pit lane. The pit lane, Lando.”

“I swear they just spin a wheel back there with our names on it.”

The garage door opened, and every head turned.

Yn stepped out, and her expression said it all.

Danger.

She took off her sunglasses slowly, dramatically, like she was in a spy movie, and tucked them into the inside pocket of her blazer.

“Boys,” she said, her voice cool but razor-sharp. “We're doing the interview. Now.”

Oscar blinked. “Are you sure? You seem—uh—”

“Furious?” she offered sweetly.

Lando raised an eyebrow. “Just checking you don’t want to cool down first?”

“Oh no,” Yn replied, glancing around as reporters started to gather. “I’m perfectly warm. Let’s give them a show.”

And that’s when every driver in the paddock started paying attention.

Charles was mid-sip of his water when he noticed the gathering. “What’s going on at McLaren?”

“Fireworks,” George murmured, adjusting his Mercedes jacket as he leaned on the railing.

Pierre grinned. “God, she looks like she’s about to go full CEO on the FIA.”

Carlos joined, arms crossed. “I’d kill to be defended like that.”

Even Max, who usually didn’t care much about anything that didn’t directly involve him, raised an intrigued eyebrow from the Red Bull garage.

The crowd of reporters was already surrounding the McLaren garage. Cameras rolled. Microphones were raised. Fans crowded on the opposite side of the barrier, all eyes locked on Yn — who stood between her drivers like a queen with her knights.

Oscar and Lando flanked her like twin towers, both wearing their best don’t mess with us faces. If anyone got too close, they looked ready to bodycheck a reporter into the next century.

The first question was innocent enough.

“Yn, can you explain the FIA’s penalty decision for Lando?”

Yn smiled politely, but her tone was ice with a hint of flame.

“Sure. I’d love to explain. Actually, I’d love for them to explain. Because last I checked, you need evidence to hand out penalties. And unless someone’s hiding a secret camera in the sky, I’d say the footage they reviewed exists purely in someone’s imagination.”

The reporter chuckled nervously. “So… you disagree with the stewards’ call?”

“Oh no, I don’t disagree,” Yn said, tilting her head. “I think it’s adorable they think people won’t notice how utterly irrational their decisions are. Like—what’s the point of rules if they’re going to be applied like we’re playing roulette?”

Oscar coughed to hide a grin. Lando muttered, “Get 'em, boss,” under his breath.

Another reporter tried to cut in. “Do you think McLaren is being targeted?”

Yn’s eyes flashed.

“I think someone is upset that we’re doing well,” she said coolly. “And instead of raising the bar, they’re trying to drag us back down to mediocrity with penalties that don’t make sense, don’t follow precedent, and honestly—look lazy.”

There were several gasps.

Even the Aston Martin garage had gone quiet.

Kimi, who’d wandered by for a snack from the hospitality truck, blinked. “Is it normal to find a Team Principal hot when she’s angry?”

Ollie beside him mumbled, “If it’s wrong, I don’t want to be right.”

A Ferrari mechanic whispered, “I want her to yell at me like that.”

Yn wasn’t done.

“I’m not going to stand by while my drivers are punished for being good. Oscar drove clean. Lando did nothing wrong. So if the FIA wants to penalize us, I suggest they also penalize everyone else who’s ever driven slightly wide, slightly slow, or slightly too perfect.”

Silence.

Then a reporter dared to ask, “And what do your drivers think?”

Lando stepped forward.

“I think Yn’s the best Team Principal I’ve ever worked with.”

Oscar nodded. “She protects us. She believes in us. And we believe in her.”

Yn smiled, proud and fierce, as both boys stood at her side like bodyguards. Their body language screamed: This is our leader. Hurt her, and we’ll fight back.

A few more questions were thrown in, but Yn wrapped it up neatly.

“That’ll be all. I have cars to prepare, engineers to brief, and a team to defend. And trust me—McLaren isn’t backing down.”

She turned, heels clicking sharply on the concrete, both boys following closely behind like an entourage.

Back in the garage, Oscar collapsed onto the nearest chair. “You just ended their whole careers.”

Lando grinned. “Seriously. That was savage. Legendary. Iconic.”

Yn shrugged, tossing her sunglasses back on. “I’m just tired of pretending like I don’t notice the double standards. If they’re going to play games, so can I. Only I play to win.”

The boys looked at her like she’d just walked out of a Marvel movie.

George peeked his head into the garage. “Hey. Just came to say... That was impressive. Very... commanding.”

Charles followed, pretending to check his phone. “Yeah. Um. So… if you’re ever bored of orange, you know, red’s a good color too.”

Pierre winked. “Or blue. Alpine blue is very flattering.”

Max walked in without a word, looked Yn up and down, nodded once, and left.

Oscar raised his eyebrows. “Are we going to have to start putting up a 'No Flirting With Our TP' sign?”

Lando crossed his arms. “I’m getting one printed tonight.”

Yn just smirked, clearly enjoying herself. “Let them look,” she said. “They can admire the view from afar. Because this view? Is McLaren only.”

That night on Twitter:

@F1HotGossip:

MCLAREN TEAM PRINCIPAL YN JUST COOKED THE FIA ALIVE DURING A POST-QUALY INTERVIEW. DRIVERS FROM THREE OTHER TEAMS HAVE ALREADY "CHECKED IN" TO MCLAREN’S HOSPITALITY. 🧡🔥 #QueenYn #PapayaProtectionSquad

@OscarFan81:

She’s 22, dresses like a Vogue cover, defends her boys like a lioness, and terrifies the FIA. This woman is living my dream.

@TheRealLando:

our boss > your boss. stay mad.

Have a good time, everyone! Requests are open for TP reader

[here-i-am-again-god]

pretty sure this is exactly how the scene went, word for word

[pensivepeach]

Someone said ‘not the first time he’s replaced Vettel’ and I- 🧍🏻‍♀️

[f1amboyant]

this always gives me tp carlos vibes for some reason

yes, yes, yes! tp!carlos vibes are through the roof in this one. and it gets me thinking 🤔 what about 👀 tp!carlos at mclaren 🧡 and rookie oscar piastri getting into the grid ✨ what if, what if, what if 👀 i'm just saying, i would totally be here for that dynamic 🌶️

do you see the vision? ✨

[pia55tri]

Four incredible years at Ferrari 🌶❤ (F1, 2024)

[tastelikechili]

2nd season of CS55 Racing Karting Academy is open for registration 🥳

“Racing is an expensive world and not very accessible, but with this partnership with the RFEdA we have built a platform so that little kids can take a first step and start their journey in motorsports at a reasonable cost for their parents.

I hope they all get very far in the future.”

He has empathy and knows how to use his knowledge and resources to help others. A good-hearted person. 🩵

[fairylando]

Notice how lando doesn’t have his bodyguard with him this time because he has Carlos instead #noticing

he's so real what better boydguard than the only person in the whole paddock that actively takes his side and defends him😋?????

[janesurlife]

Wishing what could have been if Carlos was still his teammate

[thef1diary]

team principal!carlos fucking the reader to sleep !!! she’s tried everything but can’t seem to go to bed 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

— a classic sleep aid, I love this! Also this turned out to be less of a drabble and more of a fic (1.6k words) oops 🤭 18+ content below

You stared at the clock on the nightstand, the numbers taunting you with every passing minute. The hotel bed that was once comfortable and took you to the depths of sleep within minutes now brought sudden aches in your body with every turn. Tomorrow’s race loomed over you like a storm cloud, and the harder you tried to relax, the tighter the knot in your chest became.

Your fingers hovered over your phone screen, and you hesitated for a moment longer before shaking your head and finally giving in. Dialing Carlos felt like a last resort, one you almost regretted as soon as the first ring echoed in your ear, but his voice had always been your anchor.

“Qué pasa, nena?” he answered on the second ring, his voice rough with sleep.

“I can’t sleep,” you confessed, your words a rushed whisper as if it was childish to say out loud. “I’m so nervous and worried about tomorrow.”

You half-expected him to stay on the phone, offering reassurance and calm words to lull you into sleep. Instead there was a soft rustle, and then:

“Open the door.”

“What?” you asked, startled.

“I’m here,” he said, and before you could process his words, there was a knock at your door.

You scrambled out of bed, opening it to find him standing there, dressed in sweatpants and a plain t-shirt—seemingly tossed on in a rush—with his hair adorably tousled from sleep. His dark eyes were warm, concerned, and he glanced at the hallway before stepping inside, immediately cupping your cheek.

“You should’ve called me sooner,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Didn’t want to disturb you, sir,” you replied, and he lightly chuckled, shaking his head. “For you, princesa, it’s not a disturbance.”

Heat creeped up your cheeks as you turned around, climbing back into bed and he followed without hesitation, pulling you into his arms as he settled behind you. His body molded perfectly to yours, his warmth slowly chasing away the chill of your anxiety.

He whispered sweet nothings into your ear, his voice low and soothing. “You’ve done everything right this weekend, mi amor, you just need to trust yourself.”

His hand rubbed gentle circles on your hip, his touch grounding, comforting. But even as his words melted some of the tension, your body remained taut against his, your mind refusing to quiet down.

“Still no?” he asked softly, sensing your lingering unease.

You shook your head, refusing to turn around to face him as frustration welled up in your chest. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Carlos. I just—”

“Nothing’s wrong with you. It’s okay,” he interrupted, almost surprised at the way you spoke about yourself. He pressed a kiss to the back of your neck, murmuring against your skin softly, “turn around.”

You hesitated, but his voice was firm yet soothing, coaxing you into trust. Slowly, you turned in his arms, your eyes meeting his in the dim glow of the bedside lamp. His gaze softened as he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing against your flushed skin.

“You’re too hard on yourself, princesa,” he whispered, his lips just a breath away. “You’re the best driver on the grid. No one works harder than you. And you don’t have to carry this weight alone.”

Your lip quivered, the self-doubt threatening to spill over, but Carlos silenced your protests with a kiss. It was soft and reassuring at first, but when you melted into him, he deepened it, his tongue slipping past your lips to claim you fully. His hand slid down your hip, pulling you closer until there wasn’t an inch of space left between your bodies.

“You’ve been overthinking all night,” he murmured against your mouth. “Let me quiet your mind, nena.”

When you nodded, his hand slid under your shirt, fingertips brushing your bare skin. The cool air of the room kissed your torso as he pushed the fabric up, exposing you to him. His lips travelled down your neck, trailing fire across your skin before latching onto one of your nipples, rolling it between his lips and teeth while his hand teased the other.

A soft whimper escaped you as he worked you up, his ministrations both careful and consuming. His free hand wandered lower, sliding beneath the waistband of your panties, and further still to press against your pussy.

“Sir…” you breathed, but he silenced you with a firm press of his fingers against your clit.

“You’re so tense,” he murmured against your skin, his voice filled with quiet determination. “Relax for me, mi princesa. Let me take care of you.”

Carlos was both gentle and commanding, his touch a perfect balance of softness and control. He was careful with you, mindful of your upcoming race, yet there was a rough edge to his movements—a desperation to erase every ounce of tension from your body.

He settled between your legs, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs, his hands gently spreading you open and pulling your panties to the side. “I’ll be careful,” he promised, his lips brushing against your pussy. “But I’m not stopping until you’re too tired to think.”

The first swipe of his tongue made you gasp, your hands fisting the sheets as he worked you over with slow, deliberate strokes. Carlos knew your body better than anyone, and he used that knowledge to his advantage, alternating between gentle flicks and firm pressure that had your hips bucking against his mouth.

Each flick, each press of his tongue against your clit sent sparks of pleasure coursing through you, your breaths turning into soft, breathy moans that only encouraged him further.

“Carlos,” you whimpered, your voice trembling as the tension in your body coiled tighter.

He hummed against you, the vibration sending a fresh wave of heat through your core. “That’s it, nena,” he murmured, pausing to press a kiss to your inner thigh. “You’re so sweet and wet for me.”

Carlos kissed his way back up your body, his lips soft and warm against your flushed skin. He reached down, tugging your panties off and tossing them aside before shedding his own clothes in one fluid motion. His body was warm and solid against yours as he positioned himself above you, his hand stroking gently along your thigh.

His dark eyes searched yours for any signs of hesitation, but instead, you muttered a plea, urging him to fuck you.

Carlos guided his cock to your folds, his gaze never leaving yours as he slowly pushed in. The stretch was delicious, his size filling you completely as he moved with deliberate care, giving you more time to adjust than usual.

“Perfect,” he rasped, his voice strained as he fought to keep his composure. “You feel so perfect, nena.”

He set a slow, sensual rhythm, each thrust deep and unhurried, his movements designed to draw out every ounce of pleasure. His hands roamed your body, caressing your hips, your waist, your tits, as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

Your body responded instinctively, meeting his movements with your own as the two of you found a rhythm that was unhurried yet all-consuming. The room was filled with the soft sounds of your breaths and the gentle creak of the bed, your thoughts and the world outside fading into nothingness as Carlos focused solely on you.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was equal parts tender and possessive, his tongue sweeping into your mouth as his hips rocked against yours. The connection between you was electric, every touch, every kiss, every thrust designed to remind you of his love and devotion to you, to your career.

You felt yourself reach the edge slowly, the heat pooling low in your belly as Carlos kept his pace steady, his thrusts deep and deliberate. You moaned against his lips, tangling your fingers in his hair, tugging gently as he slowly coaxed out the energy within you.

“Please,” you gasped as you pulled back, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own labored breaths and skin slapping against skin.

“Go on, make a mess,” he murmured, his breath grazing the shell of your ear. Your only response was a moan, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer. Carlos groaned at the motion, his rhythm faltering for a moment before he picked up the pace, his thrusts growing deeper and more deliberate.

He set a punishing rhythm, his hands gripping your hips as he buried himself in you over and over. The room was filled with the sound of skin against skin, your soft cries mixing with his low groans. Your nails raked down his back, and he hissed at the sensation, his thrusts growing erratic as he chased his own release.

Your body trembled as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak, and he whispered again, “now let go, cum for me, nena.”

With his words, you came with a cry that echoed through the room, your body arching off the bed as waves of ecstasy washed over you. He followed soon after, his release spilling into you as he buried himself to the hilt.

Carlos collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms as he caught his breath. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, his lips pressing soft kisses to your temple.

“Better?” he murmured, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

You nodded, whispering a “thank you,” as your eyes fluttered shut as the tension that had gripped you all night melted away. Carlos held you close, his warmth and presence grounding you as sleep finally began to take over.

“Sweet dreams, mi amor,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your forehead as he settled beside you, his breathing evening out as sleep claimed him too.

want more team principal!carlos? send me an ask with your filthiest thoughts and it’ll get answered during one of my dirty drabble days

[amirasainz]

The Queen without her Heels

The Monaco sun glittered over the paddock, casting sharp rays on the bustling scene. Amid the chaos of engineers, media, and fans, one figure always stood out.

Yn.

Tiny but commanding. Graceful yet grounded. Fierce and brilliant. The 22-year-old team principal of McLaren had quickly made a name for herself in Formula 1 not only because of her tactical brilliance and charisma but also due to her signature look: impossibly high heels.

She walked the paddock like a queen, a click-clack rhythm announcing her presence before she even spoke. No matter the weather, the terrain, or the hour, Yn wore her stilettos like a second skin. Her petite frame, standing at 1.57m, was elevated—literally and figuratively—by her towering footwear. And the drivers? Every single one of them adored her.

Even their girlfriends were head over heels for her. They admired her, respected her, some even confessed they had a bit of a crush on her themselves.

"There she goes," Pierre murmured, watching Yn glide past the Alpine motorhome, the sun bouncing off her hair like a spotlight.

"How does she not fall?" joked Alex, who leaned casually against the wall with Lily.

Lily smirked. "Because she's not human. She's a queen."

But today... today the paddock would see something no one ever expected.

It started innocently enough. Yn was walking from the McLaren motorhome to the pit lane, Lando and Oscar flanking her like loyal bodyguards.

"Do you have the strategy briefing notes?" she asked Oscar, who handed them over without breaking stride.

"Do I ever disappoint you, boss?" he said with a wink.

"You did forget your helmet in Singapore," Lando teased.

Yn rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue. "Children, please. Focus."

They were halfway down the paddock when it happened. A crack. A snap. A stumble.

One of her heels—a stunning red patent Louboutin—snapped clean off.

"Oh shit," Yn gasped, clutching onto Lando's arm.

Oscar immediately steadied her other side. "You okay?"

"No, I'm not okay! My heel just DIED," she cried dramatically.

The boys burst out laughing.

"It's not funny! These heels were limited edition!"

"You have twenty pairs in the motorhome," Lando snorted.

"That is not the point."

Eventually, her assistant arrived with a pair of sneakers.

"I feel... wrong," Yn whispered, staring down at her feet like they were foreign objects.

"You look cute," Oscar tried to reassure.

"I look like a baby duck," she muttered.

Lando grinned. "More like a drunk baby duck."

She smacked his arm. "Rude."

But it was true. Without the added height of her stilettos, her sense of balance was completely off. She kept stumbling, tripping over air, and walking like she'd just been born.

"I don't understand! How do people do this?" she cried as she shuffled toward the garage.

Oscar caught her for the third time. "Careful, boss."

"I was made for heels. This is unnatural."

"Think of it as... character development," Lando teased.

"Think of it as an HR complaint if you don't shut up," she fired back.

And so the day continued, with Oscar and Lando forming a protective triangle around Yn. Every step she took was monitored. Every wobble, every flail, every near-miss. It was like a royal guard detail.

When the two were finally pulled away for media duties, they were reluctant to leave.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" Oscar asked.

"Yeah," Yn lied.

Lando bent slightly to her eye level. "If anything happens, call us."

"I will not perish without you, children. Now go."

Famous last words.

As Yn tried to walk up the shallow steps outside the Ferrari motorhome, her foot caught on... nothing. She flailed, her arms windmilling wildly. And then—

"Woah! Got you!"

Lewis's arms wrapped around her from behind just as she lost her balance.

"Careful, darling," he said gently, guiding her upright.

But the stumble had momentum. Before she could stabilize, she went down again.

"Yn!" Charles's voice rang out as he sprinted forward and caught her mid-fall, sweeping her into his arms like a princess.

"I am so embarrassed," she groaned, clutching her forehead.

Charles just smiled down at her. "You fall like a queen, at least."

"This is a disaster."

Lewis crouched beside them, brushing hair from her face. "You okay?"

"My knees hurt. My pride is gone. My life is in shambles."

Charles laughed, carrying her toward the Ferrari lounge. "We’ll fix your knees. Pride... we’ll leave that for tomorrow."

Inside, they laid her on a plush sofa. Charles retrieved a first-aid kit while Lewis knelt beside her.

"Let me see," he said gently, lifting her leg slightly.

"Be gentle. I’m fragile."

Lewis chuckled. "You’re the least fragile person I know."

Charles returned with ice and knelt opposite Lewis. Together, they pressed cold compresses to her knees, murmuring reassurances.

"This is the most pampered I’ve ever been," Yn mumbled.

"Good. You deserve it," Charles said, not looking up.

"I feel like a princess."

"You are one," Lewis replied softly, brushing her cheek with his thumb.

When the door opened again, chaos followed.

"What happened?!" Lando burst in, followed closely by Oscar, Max, George, and even Pierre.

"She tripped," Charles said simply, still holding the ice in place.

"Where were you two?!" Max pointed at Oscar and Lando.

"Media duties! We were gone for fifteen minutes!"

"And in those fifteen minutes, she almost died," George said dramatically.

"I’m literally right here," Yn said, waving a hand.

Lando was by her side instantly, taking over Charles's place. "I leave you for one second..."

Oscar sat by her head, brushing her hair back. "You okay, boss?"

"Just a little bruised."

"Her knees are scraped," Lewis informed the group.

"She can’t walk without heels," Charles added.

"It’s like watching Bambi on ice," Pierre said, earning a round of laughter.

Yn groaned. "Y’all are rude."

Max folded his arms. "I’m mad we weren’t there."

"Yeah," George agreed. "Why do they get to be the heroes?"

Charles smirked. "Because we were at the right place at the right time."

Lewis nodded solemnly. "And we answered the call."

Oscar scoffed. "Please. I carried her water bottle once when she had a paper cut. I deserve some credit."

Lando lifted Yn’s hand. "She held onto me when her heel broke. That was true intimacy."

"Boys," Yn interrupted. "Stop fighting. You’re all my knights."

Pierre leaned in. "But who’s your favorite knight?"

"Nice try."

The next day, she returned to her stilettos, walking with newfound pride and purpose.

"You look taller," Charles noted.

"I feel invincible," she said with a wink.

Lando sighed dreamily. "The queen has returned."

Oscar nodded. "Long live the queen."

And so she reigned once more—high above the chaos, balanced and brilliant, with a paddock full of loyal, slightly lovesick knights at her heels.

My requests are open!🧡

[here-i-am-again-god]

Part 35

Descendants Textposts by Movie: Movie 1

[whewchilly]

Most likely to become a Team Principal after they retire?

[f1amboyant]

Wait omg omg remember that cycling post of carlos, i think it’s a dump (i dont remember 😭) BUT it’s where his ah cycling shirt?? top?? Is freaking open like why u showing off ur chest huh 🫵 and the CHEST STRAPS!!

I died when i saw that and i think osc will too. Imagine osc just peacefully going thru insta and boom his tp just casually slutting on main.

Where's the pic, anon? WHERE'S THE PIC, ANON?? 😵‍💫

All I could find was this one:

If there's another one with his bare chest showing, I would very much like to see (if anyone has it, pretty please? 🥺 👉👈)

And Oscar? Oscar would absolutely die. It's bad enough when he can see through the shirt. But now he can see it all?? Just like that??? He would just die. Also, if he sees this on social media, he immediately gets ultra jealous. He doesn't realize at first why. He thinks he is jealous of Carlos and that doesn't make sense to him. But he's actually jealous of all the other people seeing this too. Carlos belongs to Oscar. No one should see him like this.

[pia55tri]

"Only you would be able to break a bone playing padel."

Oscar glanced up, a scoff in his throat. "Are you making fun of me?"

Carlos cocked his head, his thick brows scrunching up in confusion. "No?"

Oscar rolled his eyes and leant back against the wall. He waved carelessly to the side and Carlos took it as his cue to duck into his driver's room, shutting the door behind him.

"How are you feeling?"

Oscar's lips quirked. "Not too bad. But not too good either." His chest felt a bit tender when he leant in one direction for too long. He'd hardly realised he'd broken something, really, until he'd taken his shirt off in front of Carlos and Carlos had gasped at the bruising.

Carlos smiled sympathetically. "Cleared to race though, no?" he asked, like being allowed to race was the important part here. It was, to Oscar. But he was certain his mother and his doctor would have a differing opinion on it.

"Yeah." He looked up at Carlos from underneath his eyelashes. "Can't let you get a bigger gap on me, can I?"

"Well," Carlos grinned charmingly, "it's not really up to you, no?"

Oscar laughed, then groaned as the motion seemed to jostle something. Carlos touched his face gently, hushing him.

"Painkillers?"

"Later," Oscar huffed. He reached up, twisting his hands into the collar of Carlos's obnoxiously Ferrari red hoodie, and tugged him down. He pressed his mouth hard against Carlos's, pulled back, and waited until Carlos got with the program and kissed him quite nicely.

"I'll need to leave for free practice soon," Carlos murmured.

Oscar tightened his grip. "I can't believe you're telling me you're leaving me when I'm all broken here," he huffed.

Carlos laughed breathily. "You're not fragile, muñeco. Just a little...chipped."

"Chipped," Oscar muttered. "It was a clean break."

"Mm," agreed Carlos. He lifted his arm away from Oscar's waist to get a look at his watch. Oscar batted it away and dragged Carlos's face back down to him.

"Later," he said, firmly.

Carlos's fingers skated along the back of his neck, then up into the mess of his hair. A sigh spilt from Oscar's mouth.

"Okay, muñeco. Later."