#tp!reader

[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!🧡

[2tarbell]

more trailer park!rafe drabbles i beg

maybe something with crybaby!reader too, like he comes home from a long ass day and she’s crying over the silliest thing ever.

but of course he makes her feel better.

love ur writing smm !!

he knew he was in for it when he came home and she wasn’t waiting patiently for him. if he didn’t know any better, rafe would assume the quaint trailer was empty — but the call you shared earlier on his lunch break detailed your plans around the house for the day, so there was no fuckin’ reason for it be as quiet as it was.

his confusion turned to concern when he heard little sniffles and sobs coming from the bathroom. rafe dropped his keys in the bowl and hurried off further into the trailer, in search of his girl.

pushing the bathroom door open with a rough hand, his mind went to the worst places when he saw her crumpled up on the floor. instantly he scooped her up onto the counter. his voice was a flurry of sounds she couldn’t decipher through her tears. the warm cadence she’s become so familiar with instantly providing some relief.

“hey, hey, baby — look at me, you hurt?” his hands are moving fast, holding her cheeks and checking for any injuries to that beautiful face.

she could only shake her head, hiccuping and trying to speak between sobs.

“rafe— dad— daddy—“

he hums and looks over her body. blue eyes checking off a list of what’s ‘normal’. when he finds nothing bleeding or falling off — that intense gaze finds hers, urging her to calm down.

his voice cooed, low and rumbly in a way that always soothes her, “shh, dad’s here, what happened? hm? someone — someone do somethin’ t’you or—“

“muh — my nails!” she interrupted, voice a petulant mumble.

rafe froze, mouth agape and eyes blinking in confusion. he looked down and took her smaller hands in his. turning them over and feeling the smooth skin. no cuts, no bruises—

the fact that he didn’t immediately know what she was talking about sends her into another spiral. yanking her hands from his and covering her eyes as sobs shook her shoulders.

“okay, okay, can’t help if you’re cryin’. talk t’me— what about your nails, honey?”

she sniffs and thrusts them in his face, rafe now seeing something out of the ordinary — chipped baby blue polish.

“wanted— wanted to paint them f’you. ‘cuz— ‘cuz s’the same color as your eyes but forgot they weren’t dry yet so i tried to make dinner and— and i ruined them!”

everyday the universe was testing his patience.

a sharp sigh out of his nose and rafe let his head fall forward. relief and disbelief pooled in his chest. she was this worked up over nail polish?

a low grumble of her name ceased her tears until they were just little sniffles of sadness. any other person and rafe would’ve been out the door with a specific finger showing his annoyance. but this was his person, his precious girl, and if she was this worked up over nail polish — he was going to indulge her. he picked up his head, eyes tired from a long days work but soft in a way meant just for her. he spoke in that way that makes her all fuzzy for him.

“jesus christ, that’s— yeah, okay. baby, ‘m— ‘m sorry. y’just wanted t’do somethin’ sweet f’dad, yeah?”

hook, line, and sinker. reader huffed and nodded as she leaned forward into his chest. her little gasps punctuated his cooing. within minutes, she was putty in his arms, nuzzling closer and closer. rafe littered kisses over her hair, gently rocking her until her head lifted off his chest. wet cheeks and a red nose greeted him and he couldn’t stop the adoring coo from falling out as he wiped her face.

“thereee you are— my sweet girl… better now?”

she nodded at his words, almost hypnotized by the gentle tone of his voice. a little hiccup fell out when she caught sight of her messy nails, but rafe quickly shushed her.

“shh, no more cryin’. y’gotta be a big girl, a’ight? c’mon, whaddaya need?”

she wished she had a picture of this big man patiently painting and blowing on her nails — that matched his eyes.

[violettwrites]

american teenagers — i.

intro | next

your curtains were yanked open, and sunlight poured into your small bedroom, a sharp assault that had you squinting before you could fully process it. the tall, lanky silhouette of your best friend standing in front of the window made it clear who was to blame for your rude awakening. 

“daryl,” you groaned, though it came out more like a whine, pulling your pillow over your head in a futile attempt to block out the light. “what the hell? it’s like six am. go away.

“it’s actually ten,” daryl drawled, his voice dripping with amusement. you didn’t have to look to know he was leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed like he hadn’t just barged into your room uninvited. “you’re wastin’ the whole day.”

“it’s not ten,” you muttered, clutching the pillow tighter. 

“it’s definitely ten,” he countered, the smirk practically audible in his voice. “c’mon, get up.” 

“no,” you said stubbornly, burrowing further into your blankets. “it’s my first day off in weeks. let me sleep.”

the silence that followed should’ve been your first warning. daryl wasn’t the type to give up easily, and quiet usually meant he was up to no good. you had barely a second to realise this before the pillow was ripped from your grasp and tossed across the room. 

“daryl dixon!” you screeched, sitting up so fast that your vision blurred for a second. if looks could kill, he’d be a pile of ashes and bone. “you’re such a jerk! why can’t you just let me sleep in?”

he shrugged his shoulders, completely unfazed, the fainted hint of a grin tugging at his lips. “you done complainin’, or do i gotta drag you outta bed?”

you glanced at the clock on your nightstand, the red numbers glaring back at you: 10:17. damn it. he was right— and that only made it worse. 

“why are you even here?” you huffed, arms crossing over your chest. “what could possibly be so important that you had to wake me up like this?”

daryl stepped back towards the window, peering out like he hadn’t already made his mind up. “figured we’d take the truck out to the creek,” he said simply, shrugging. then, as casually as if it were his own, he plucked your pack of cigarettes off the dresser and slid one between his lips. 

you rolled your eyes, but despite yourself, you felt the corners of your mouth twitch. that was daryl— gruff and infuriatingly persuasive. “and you couldn’t wait until a reasonable hour to suggest that?”

“it is a reasonable hour,” he shot back, raising an eyebrow at you. “you’re just mad i interrupted your beauty sleep.” 

“ugh,” you groaned, but swung your legs over the side of the bed anyway. “fine. but next time, maybe consider knocking instead of staging a home invasion.”

“no promises,” he replied with a smirk as he lit the cigarette and tossing the pack back onto your dresser. 

as you rummaged through your drawer for something to wear, daryl had now moved to the door frame, leaning against it as he watched you lazily. “where’s your old man, anyway?” he asked, his tone casual but curious. 

“visiting my granddad,” you replied, tugging a t-shirt over your head. “he drove out to kentucky yesterday. said he’d probably be gone for a few weeks.” 

daryl nodded, his expression unreadable. you knew he didn’t care much for your dad— probably for a good reason —but he rarely said anything outright. 

“that why you’re off today?”

“yep. first real day off in forever.” you turned to him, hands on your hips. “and i was gonna sleep in, but then you showed up.” 

“like i said,” he drawled, pushing off the doorframe, “you’re wastin’ the day.” 

the creek wasn’t far from the trailer park, just a short drive down the winding dirt roads that snaked through your small town. daryl kept one hand on the wheel and the other resting out the open window, the breeze ruddling his hair. you sat beside him, letting the warm air whip through your own as the fields blurred past in shades of beige and gold. 

once daryl had pulled the truck up under a tree, you were glad the creek was as serene as you’d hoped, the water reflecting the endless blue sky above. you kicked off your shoes and waded in up to your ankles, savouring the cool relief as the ripples lapped gently against your skin. 

daryl lingered on the bank, lighting another cigarette before settling under the shade of a tree. 

“you always pick the best spots to nap,” you called out to him teasingly, splashing a little water in his direction. 

“someone’s gotta keep an eye on you,” he shot back, smirking as smoke curled lazily from his lips. 

you rolled your eyes, but his words carried a familiar weight. daryl had always been there— steady and dependable, even when everything else in your life felt like it was constantly shifting. 

by the time the sun climbed higher in the sky, you were lying side by side on the grass, staring up at the blue sky being filtered through the leaves of the trees. the hum of summer surrounded you, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the occasional chirp of birds. 

“think this summer’s gonna be different?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them. 

daryl turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours. “different how?”

“i don’t know,” you murmured, shrugging. “just… different.” 

he didn’t answer right away, his expression thoughtful. finally, he said, “maybe.” 

for a moment, the world felt quiet and still, like it was holding its breath. daryl’s gaze lingered, and there was something unspoken in his eyes that made your chest ache in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. 

“c’mon,” he said eventually, standing up and offering you a hand. “let’s get back before merle gets all twisted up about us takin’ the truck.”

you took his hand, his palm rough and warm against yours. as you followed him back to the truck, you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe this summer really would be different— different in was you weren’t sure you were ready for.

hi guys !! i do apologise that this chapter is so short but i promise that they will get longer as we go along ! my uploading schedule may be a bit sporadic sometimes as i am having some issues in my personal life but i hope it'll get better soon

thank you for your support! if you enjoyed, give this a like/reblog and if you'd like to be added to my tag list, comment below!

[pintrestgrl]

“AM I THAT GIRL,

THAT YOU DREAM OF ? ”

jae. established ‘06. may taurus. dallas’s prettiest girl multi fandom. sleepiest girl. infp-t. shopping lover. pretty white lace. boricua & italian

requests : open, feel free to send any thoughts or convo starters as well. i love to chat.

links : girls guide , masterlist , anon board

other socials : sideblog - talkingwithjae, pintrest - thepintrestgrl

©pintrestgrl. 18+ blog, mdni. do not copy, translate, or claim my writing as yours.

i do post dark and taboo content at times. please remember you are responsible for your own media consumption.

[avroravia]

PT. 1 ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ INTRODUCING- ALL OF MY ‘THE OUTSIDERS’ !READERS.

taglist - @diorgirl444, @r0seb100d, @johnnycadesslut, @twobitsblade, & @browneyebby. (dm to be added!)

⤑ darry’sdaughter!reader. - only paired with dbf!dallas winston.

⤑ with brains and beauty, darry’sdaughter!reader has got it all. she’s effortlessly cool, with a wardrobe straight out of pinterest and boys chasing after her for her whole life. she’s desperate to make something of herself, seeing her dad struggle to provide for her family and her uncles. now that her dad’s made it, head of his department and in charge of important projects that seem never-ending, it’s readers time to climb the corporate ladder. she’s 22 years old, with a bachelors degree in marketing, a minor in fashion management, and a dream. think of her whenever you see bella hadid, the office siren aesthetic, red bottoms, a dark red manicure, and whenever you listen to beyoncé.

⤑ early 2000’s camgirl!reader. - only paired with camerman!darry curtis.

⤑ camgirl!reader is the epitome of a ‘greaser girl.’ it’s her and her leather gogo boots against the world. she’s 19, materialistic, high maintenance, bougie, and she knows it. she’s desperate to make it out of the east-side with nothing but her highschool diploma. after stretching her paychecks for months, she splurges at the mall with a camcorder from radio shack, cheap lingerie from wet seal, and a few ‘toys’ from the back of spencers. she only keeps her job at the local grocery store so her parents don’t think she’s dealing drugs, but her main source of income is lonely men on streamate.com. after making it big, she’s an enigma to everyone around her (except darry), who confused on how she’s ordering new stuff off of catalogues on a weekly basis and how she doesn’t fret about bills like most greasers did. despite her promiscuous double-life online, she isn’t actually about that kinky lifestyle. the only thing she really wants is to make sweet love with her cute greaser boyfriend all night long. think of her when you smoke a cigarette, wear sexy lingerie, listen to ayesha erotica, and walk past victoria’s secret in the mall.

⤑ tp!reader. - only paired with tp!dallas winston.

⤑ tp!reader is the epitome of a ‘trailer park princess,’ and the crown jewel of the park. everybody knows who she is, and if you don’t? hello? do you live under a rock? she’s 19 years old, living with her mom, and she has no idea what she’s doing next in her life, and just lives one day at a time off of child support checks from her estranged father. her soc father knocked her greaser mom up in highschool, and his family has been paying to shut your mom up ever since so he can live the life intended for him. nowadays, he lives in the city with his perfect housewife, and perfect twin girls. the only thing tp!reader is certain about is the cute boy freelancing throughout the park, and who can host a wild party with his roommate, buck. best friends with angela shepard, think about her whenever you hide slutty clothes from your parents, have a terrible hangover, smoke a cigarette after sex, and lead on a boy for the plot.

[bunny-jpeg]

breaking down the barriers (let's cause a conflict of interest)

max verstappen - team principal au

tags: smut/pwp, driver!reader, age gap (20s/40s), team principal!max, power dynamics, missionary, praise, hero worship, max knows what he wants and he will get it

he doesn't like your little boyfriend, the guy who was proud arm candy for you. he was a dazzling italian boy who you met during the start of your career - to max, he was just a failed f1 driver living out the life through you - you deserved better. deserved a better man, a lover who could provide, take care of you.

a man like max verstappen.

but, he remembered being young. being stupid, being with people he probably shouldn't have been with. but max knew what your best interests were. and you needed someone responsible. and who was more responsible than a man with five world champions and a team under his belt.

"she doesn't want to talk to you anymore, mate. i suggest you take a hike, for her best interest... and yours." he said bluntly with that smile that dazzled the press for decades.

you were a sniffling mess, nearing tears as you sat on the couch. it was the weekend of the british grand prix, and your boyfriend just ghosted you - but have no fear, max was here.

"i don't get it, sir. what did i do wrong?" you wiped your eyes, "i thought i was a good girlfriend, he said it was the best for our careers." you shuddered a sigh.

max came to the couch and handed you a few tissues, "that is part of the game." he reached out and cupped your cheek, "you sacrifice mind, body and soul for a win."

"is that why you never got married, sir?" you said, then pouted, "am i never going to get married?" it sounded so innocent come from you, max found it oh-so endearing. it was cute. he sat down and took the tissues from you to wipe your eyes.

"well, how about you give a world championship and i'll marry you." he said with slight humour in his tone. but in total fairness, he wasn't exactly joking. he didn't want to scare you.

you chuckled lightly, "i think it would be a conflict of interest, sir. i don't want you in trouble with the fia." you had a small smile, "plus, i'd make a bad wife."

max put the tissues on the table and leaned back against the couch. his arm stretched over the back of it, close to you. he replied, "no such thing. you'd be lovely. i think you need someone who understands our world better. it's not easy, i know. lost too many lovely women because the sport came first.'

you nodded, eager for advice from you boss. you sighed, "i wish more men were like you, mister verstappen." even after all this time on his team, knowing max in general, he was still mister verstappen.

max reached for you once more and rubbed his cheek with his thumb, you never realized how big his hands were. how strong they were, how strong all of him was. you swallowed, max's keen eye noticed.

you daringly asked, "can you stay with me tonight, sir? i don't want to be alone." your friends weren't here, neither was your family. all alone except for your team, except for max.

"of course." he leaned in a little bit more, he noticed how you relaxed against his touch. he eyed your lips for a moment and smiled softly before he went in a kissed you on the lips.

he half expected a firm punch to the head. but, instead you wrapped your arms around him and he got his arms around your middle. the kiss, which sound of lasted moments, lingered. it grew hungry, like you two were on the same page. your short nails dragged across his shoulders while he got you into his lap.

when eventually you both pulled away, you looked into his blue eyes. you were seated in his lap, your hands held tightly onto the verstappen.com branded t-shirt. you swallowed, "this isn't right... we could get in trouble."

"let the fia fine me, take all my money. it won't stop me from fucking you tonight." he said before he went in for another searing kiss. you moaned against his lips and he held onto your behind to keep you steady.

a driver and her older team principal, that would make headlines for weeks. but it was no secret that max liked you better, you were the first choice that he ever had for a driver. yes, he found you attractive in the team gear. yes, he fantasized about you at any given chance. yes, he wished he could boot your teammate out of the second seat and make you the sole star of the team.

let the press gossip, let the online fourms be littered with accusations, let the fia slap fine after fine on the team and the man himself. max didn't care because as he pushed you down on the bed and took his shirt off - there was nothing that could stop max verstappen from gorging himself on your sweet, sweet cunt. the pussy that had plagued him for months at this point.

you looked at him as he worked his belt. your t-shirt was off and you were left in a high impact sports bra. your eyes looked beautiful, gleamed with a certain lust for him that he knew that he couldn't deprive you of.

"you'll be good for me?" he asked softly, "i don't know why i'm asking. of course you will, my future champion." he reached for you and ran his thumb across your bottom lip.

you nodded, "yes, sir."

he pulled his hand away and got the belt out of the loops of his jeans, "look at you - so well behaved." he watched you get out of your clothes before he finished getting out of his.

"i try to be, sir. you always know best, and i trust you." you swallowed. this was not the brightest idea, to let your boss have sex with you. careers ended over lesser crimes. but you were both adults, and you couldn't deny. there was an allure to max verstappen.

you had his posters on your walls as a teenager. you had a hoodie with his 2023 car on it, and wore it everywhere. you wanted to be him, and he saw something in you that no other team wanted to take a chance on. he was your idol turned boss, now he was your boss turned lover as he got into bed with you.

his soft hands grazed your skin, and his lips touched where his hands didn't. he felt you up tenderly, like you were fragile. and it only made something curl in your core more. it excited you - you were no virgin, but to have sex with a man who carried so much power left you more excited than you ever were with another lover.

"look at you." he said as he grabbed your ass a little rougher, "they say the most beautiful thing on the track is the cars, but they haven't see you. hiding behind the baggy driver's suit and that big helmet. my logo across your skin." he kissed your jaw, "a last name that suits you."

you swallowed, "we can't get married, sir."

"i know, conflict of interest. but a man my age can dream, no? never was married, never had a wife." he touched you once more, "never had someone understand my world the way you do, my little champion."

you took him by the face, his facial hair felt nice against your fingers. you pulled him in for another heated kiss and you rubbed your thighs together at the feeling. the anticipation for what was to come.

he put you onto your back and when he pulled away, he admired your expression for a moment, "your kisses are addictive. it'll be hard not to ask for one with all the cameras on us." before he went in for another one, he added, "but i'll find ways."

you two made out some more while max got between your legs. your hips lifted and your legs wrapped around his waist. he admired you once more before he pulled back and hiked your legs a little higher around his waist. he licked his lips, your eyes gleamed in the yellowing light of the bedroom - there was a loveliness to your gaze that pulled max in.

he was a smart man from brandishing his teeth at the pathetic boy you called a boyfriend, scare off the weak so he could have his prize. he got himself into you, slowly inched.

his mouth hung open for a moment, the wetness and the squeeze on his cock excited him. of course you'd feel this good. he was smart to sign you for a several year contract and he was smart to sink his achy cock into your pussy.

"max!"

that was what he liked to hear, his name on your lips. stripped of formality, casual like lovers like he wouldn't be in your ear all weekend to ensure a proper victory.

"say my name."

"max, fuck, max!" you chirped as he started to move against you. he shuddered with sexual desire for you - this was his prized driver, on her back, legs open just for him.

he leaned forward and clutched onto the hotel covers under you, he moved against you with heavy thrusts. a deep, burning desire for you coursed through his blood. this was what he needed, while he didn't expect to fall in love with you when he signed you - but that had all changed.

you had grown from a nervous rookie to a driver worthy of taking it all home. a driver worthy for max's treatment both on and off the track.

he moved his hips against you, he worked himself against you with heavy thrusts. the bed shifted partially under the force of his movements, the headboard tapped against the wall. he didn't need to wake up the entire floor, but maybe next time he'll fuck you in his room - a room that was often a bit further away from the rest of the team.

"you have no idea how much i worshiped you, max." you said between heavy pants, "i adored you. i wanted to be you." you swallowed as you felt his burning gaze on you. your cheeks were flushed and your body felt sweaty.

"i was your idol."

you looked at him and replied, "i wanted to be the best and get your praise." it felt weird to acknowledge that, the part of you that yearned for the praise of the great max verstappen, a man who made driving look easy. who took a bucket of a car and sailed it to victory - the champion of all champions.

he pushed back your hair from your face and kissed your forehead while he continued to fuck you, his thrusts gained a bit more speed as the bed rocked further, "what? that i think you're the only driver that could break my records? that i put you in a great car so you could drive laps around the competition? that i want you to be the best because deep down i know that you are."

you moaned a little louder and you two then shared another heated kiss. he held onto the covers for leverage as he continued to thrust up into you. your thighs clenched around his waist. you held your hips raised to give him the best angle to fuck you, the angle that made your vision blue from the intensity of the pleasure.

the two of you continued to fuck one another, the pleasure built between you two with heavy thrusts from one another. the kisses grew messier, the moans grew in noise, and the desperate need for one another only mounted. it was like the months of you on the team were mounted to a moment of pure climax - max saw you worthy as a driver, as a winner.

and you yearned to make him proud.

the pleasure continued, you reached for your team principal and clutched onto his shoulders tightly. he held onto your hips and moved himself further against you.

"you make me proud every race, that's why i've yearned for you so badly." he kissed your cheeks, feeling the heat under his lips. you were both sweaty, heated from the sex.

you clutched onto him tighter, you tensed up. pleasure crossed your expression as he fucked you. the feeling of his cock, the tightness of his grip, his words of praise. it all fueled your mind as the pleasure came to a head.

"fuck," you whimpered, "max."

the way you looked at him in your blissed out state, how he admired you with each heavy stroke of his cock. you looked like a dream, this was heaven to him. he went in for another searing kiss before he thrusted a few more times. he then finished inside of you with a tension in his body.

he broke the kiss and clutched onto your hips tightly as as he finished. those blue eyes hazy with pleasure, but still drank in the sight of you.

you were both sweaty, hot with little air circulation in the bedroom. it smelled like sex. max pulled out and kissed you on your forehead before he went to open a window to let some of the cooler air get through the room.

when he was back in bed with you, he got you under the covers. he threw them over you to protect your nudity in case your teammate came crashing in or something akin to that.

he peppered your face and neck with kisses. he held you tightly in his strong arms. he was still a man to admire.

"you're better than my ex." you said softly.

he smiled with his lips close to your temple. he gave you a firm squeeze, "and i'll keep being better, and you'll keep being my champion."

-

years later and three championships later. you were all smiles at the final press conference of the season. seated in front of the reporters, the final win you needed to secure your fourth world champion title.

"so what are the future plans?" one reporter asked.

there was a tick of silence, you could feel the gaze of your lover from off stage. you sat up a little straighter and replied, "well, this will actually be my last season." you smiled like you were the sun itself, "my contract with verstappen racing is coming to an end... and we're not going to renew it because me and max verstappen are getting married." then held up your hand and showed off the ring he proposed with over the summer break.

"racing has been fun, but this is the next chapter for both of us!" <3

[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

[catcze]

Sylus is the kind of man who loves to hear your noises. He’d make sure that your mouth is never covered when he fucks you, always pulling your hands away or lifting you up by the hair from where you buried your face in the pillows. He’s insistent on it— on hearing how he pleasures you, on how good he makes you feel. He could get off on hearing your voice calling his name, whining and moaning for more. He gets off on how your voice cracks when you’re about to cum, on how your voice raises in pitch the closer you get to that peak. It’s stunning. The best damn thing he’s ever heard— you practically sing under his touch and, if he could, he’d keep a recording of your noises on his phone to keep him company on the lonely days that he has to spend away from you.

[daryltwdixon]

Daryl Dixon x Reader

tp!daryl x young reader, young Daryl Dixon, pre apocalypse, fluff

warnings: none except Daryl is kind of an ass at first

The night air hung thick and humid, clinging to the inside of Daryl’s truck. Crickets chirped faintly in the distance, their rhythm competing with the faint rattle of the truck’s idling engine. He leaned his chin on his hand, fingers scratching idly at his scruff as he stared at the empty stretch of road ahead.

“Goodnight,” the girl said, her voice pitched just a little too sweet, teetering on the edge of something expectant. Hopeful.

Her name was… Tessa? No, Tanya. Maybe. Wait, Tina? Hell, he couldn’t remember anymore. Not that it mattered.

“Night,” he muttered, the word coming out low, almost like an afterthought.

Still waiting. Still expectant.

Daryl’s jaw tightened, but his gaze didn’t waver from the road. He let the silence stretch between them, filling the cab like the humid summer air, heavy and suffocating. Daryl exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. Why wasn’t she leaving?

She adjusted her purse on her lap, the clink of the metal clasp annoyingly loud in the quiet cab. He didn’t look at her, didn’t give her the satisfaction of meeting her eyes. Maybe if he stayed still long enough, she’d take the hint.

“You sure you don’t wanna come in?” she asked, her voice soft, but with an edge of insistence that grated against his nerves.

His eyes flicked to her, just briefly, before settling back on the road. “Nah,” he said, voice flat, as though the single syllable could put an end to the conversation.

She stayed there, unmoving, her nails tapping against her purse now, a nervous little rhythm that set his teeth on edge.

“Alright,” she said finally, though her tone carried more disappointment than acceptance. She shifted, one hand reaching for the door handle, but she didn’t open it. Instead, she paused, turning back to him. “You’re not much of a talker, are you?”

Daryl huffed, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Ain’t got much to say.”

That clearly wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Her face fell, the sweetness in her expression fading into something colder.

“Well, thanks for the ride, I guess,” she said, her words clipped now. She shoved the door open, stepping out onto the gravel driveway with a sharp click of her heels.

“Yeah,” he grunted, already reaching to shift the truck into gear. He didn't let her get another word in, already backing out of her driveway onto the road, eager to get away.

The road stretched ahead of him, endless and empty, the faint glow of the late night store's neon signs flashing by him through town. He turned the radio on, letting the static fill the cab before switching it off again. He was on edge.

It was late—closer to midnight than not—and he wasn’t sure where he was headed. He just knew he couldn’t go back to the trailer yet, not with Merle’s drunken yelling waiting for him. He needed space, air, something to quiet the restless energy clawing at his chest.

Before he realized it, his truck was pulling onto your street.

---

The sound of tires crunching over gravel pulled your attention from the book in your lap. You glanced up from the porch steps, squinting as headlights washed over you, the faint rumble of an old truck engine breaking the quiet of the night.

You didn’t have to see who it was to know.

The truck rolled to a stop, the engine idling as the driver’s side door creaked open. Daryl climbed out, his boots hitting the ground with a dull thud. He didn’t say anything at first, just leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed loosely over his chest as he looked at you.

“What’re you doin’ out here?” he asked finally, his voice low and rough.

You shrugged, closing the book and setting it aside. “Couldn’t sleep. What about you?”

His lips twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “Figured you might wanna get outta here for a bit.”

You raised a brow, tilting your head at him. “What, and ride around in that death trap of yours?”

He snorted, shaking his head as he turned back toward the truck. “C’mon. Ain’t gonna ask twice.”

You didn’t hesitate, grabbing your jacket from the porch and jogging down the steps. The cab smelled faintly of gasoline and old leather as you slid into the passenger seat, the bench warm from where someone might've been sitting earlier.

“Where we goin’?” you asked, buckling your seatbelt as he shifted into gear.

“Dunno. wanna stop at Sevs?” he muttered, his eyes on the road as the truck rattled to life.

--

The neon lights of the 7-Eleven cast a hazy glow over the parking lot, the hum of the buzzing sign filling the quiet as the two of you pushed open the glass door.

You bee-lined for the slurpees, the bright red syrup swirling into a cup as you filled it to the brim. Daryl followed behind, snagging a pack of jerky and a bag of chips before nodding toward the counter.

“Let’s go,” he said, jerking his chin toward the door.

The truck cab was quiet as you climbed back inside, the faint crinkle of the jerky bag filling the space as Daryl tore it open. You leaned back against the seat, sipping your slurpee as the engine purred beneath you.

For a while, neither of you said anything. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was an edge to it—like something unsaid was lingering in the air. You drove for awhile like that, listening to music, aimlessly turning down different roads in the quiet night. The truck rolled to a stop at a red light, its glow casting the cab in deep crimson. The roads were empty, no one else around this late. The hum of the engine filled the silence, and you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye.

“How was your date?” you asked finally, your voice casual as you stared out the windshield. The question had been boggling your mind since you got in the truck with him earlier.

Daryl froze for half a second, his fingers tightening around the jerky bag before he scoffed. “Pfft...Borin’.”

A flicker of something you couldn’t name stirred in your chest, but you kept your expression neutral, snuffing the feeling out and taking another sip of your slurpee.

“Did you talk to her, or did you just grunt the whole time?” you teased, turning to glance at him.

His eyes rolled, the movement slow and deliberate, the red light casting his dark blue irises in shadow. “’Course I talked to ‘er.”

“Hi and bye don’t count,” you said, a small laugh escaping despite yourself.

His lips twitched again, the faintest hint of a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “I talked to ‘er, alright?” he repeated, the words low, rough, almost playful.

You leaned back against the seat, the slurpee cup cool against your hands as you studied him. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel, his gaze fixed on the traffic light ahead like it held some kind of answer.

“Guess she wasn’t your type,” you said softly, the words barely above a murmur.

Daryl’s hand stilled, his fingers curling against the wheel as he finally turned to look at you. His expression was unreadable at first, but there was something simmering beneath the surface—something that made your heart stutter.

“Nah,” he said, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges. “She wasn’t.”

The air between you shifted, thickened, and you suddenly became hyper-aware of how close you were in the cramped cab. The light remained red, casting its glow over his face, highlighting the faint scruff along his jaw and the way his lips pressed together like he was holding something back.

Your pulse quickened as his eyes lingered on yours, the weight of his gaze making it hard to breathe. “What?” you asked, your voice softer, unsure.

---

The moment your eyes flicked toward him, framed by the crimson glow of the light, Daryl felt like his chest might cave in. He’d been fighting it for too long—the way you got under his skin, the way every word you said felt like it meant something, even when it shouldn’t.

But now, sitting in the truck, roads empty around him, it was like the world had narrowed to just you. The way you were looking at him, quiet, expectant—he couldn’t take it. It wasn’t loud, it wasn’t desperate, but it hit him all at once. If he didn’t do something now, he might never get the chance.

His throat felt tight, his hands itching where they gripped the wheel. He wasn’t sure what was going through his head—if it was bold or just plain stupid—but it didn’t matter. Not now. Not when you were this close.

His hand moved first, almost of its own accord, coming up to cup your cheek. Rough and calloused, his thumb brushed over your skin, and the softness of it nearly undid him. You didn’t pull away. You didn’t flinch. You just… stayed. Watching him. Waiting for him.

Now or never.

His lips met yours, soft at first, just barely there, like he was trying to figure out if he was even allowed to do this. Every nerve in his body screamed to hold back, to keep it slow, but it was impossible—not when you leaned into him, not when your lips parted against his like you’d been waiting just as long as he had.

This was what he wanted.

The thought hit him hard, rattling around his head like a loose screw. It wasn’t just the kiss—not the heat of your lips against his or the way your hand found his shoulder, fingers curling into his shirt like you couldn’t let go. It was all of it. You. The way you fit here beside him, the way you always knew what to say, even when it pissed him off. The way you made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t some broken-down mess of a kid.

His grip tightened as the kiss deepened, his other hand finding your jaw, holding you like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go. He’d waited too long for this, longer than he wanted to admit, and now that it was happening, he didn’t know how to stop.

He pulled back for a breath, his eyes scanning you. He couldn’t look away, not now, not ever. His heart slammed against his ribs, and his voice came out low, rough, as he whispered, “Ain’t no one like ya.”

The words weren’t planned, but they felt right, felt true in a way that made his chest ache. His thumb traced the corner of your lips, lingering, memorizing. He was certain now.

Before he could say anything else, you surged forward, your hands threading into his hair and pulling him closer. The heat of you pressed against him, the way your lips moved against his—like you’d been holding back too, like this was something you needed as much as he did.

He groaned softly, the sound low and guttural, and it only made you pull him closer. His hands moved to your waist, gripping firmly, grounding himself in the feel of you. It was frantic now, messy, but he couldn’t care less. You were here, in his arms, and nothing else mattered.

The kiss deepened again, hungrier now, more desperate. His hand slipped under the edge of your jacket, his fingers pressing into the small of your back like he was trying to pull you even closer. He couldn’t get enough—didn’t know if he ever would.

And then the horn blared.

The sharp, jarring sound ripped him out of the moment, and he jerked back, panting, his mind struggling to catch up. The light had turned green, and the car behind him was blaring their horn like their life depended on it.

“Shit,” he muttered, his voice low and gruff as he turned back to the wheel. He slammed his hand against it, leaning out the window to yell, “I’m goin’, alright?!” His middle finger shot up for good measure, and he hit the gas, the truck lurching forward.

His chest still heaved as he gripped the wheel tightly, the tension in the cab almost unbearable. You laughed softly, the sound breathless and light, and it made his ears burn. He glanced at you, his lips quirking just slightly, though his grip on the wheel remained firm.

The road stretched out ahead, but something between you had changed. He could feel it in the air, in the way his heart refused to settle, in the way he could still taste you on his lips.

[yandereunsolved]

Yandere Feral Twilight—it's just his instincts, okay?

ּ ֶָ֢. It wasn't until after his adventure that he began to lose his sanity. The loss was gradual. No one noticed until it was too late. After all, no being from the light world should ever cross into the Twili realm.

It has this habit of sentience. Twilight could always feel himself being watched. It wasn't just Midna or any of Zant's minions. It was this territorial force that was angered anytime someone from above came into its land.

Even after defeating Ganondorf, the essence of that anger still lingered. It was calmer but seemed more possessive. It began to want to possess a part of Twilight: his mind.

So after the mirror was shattered, that was a part of him he was never going to get back.

That's where you came in. Just an adventurer from another timeline.

ּ ֶָ֢. He meets you, and it's an instant attachment. Something about you appeases the broken, primal part of him. Wolfie needed to come out and play. All he wants to do is stay near you and listen. Even without his tail on him, you can practically hear the elated wagging of it.

That sealed your fate.

ּ ֶָ֢. He travels with you all throughout different versions of Hyrule. He helps you collect various weapons and treasures. He surprises you with gifts. He is just absolutely addicted to your face lighting up. He is able to smell the happy hormones wafting off of you.

That line within his mind between proper and animalistic grows thinner every day that you travel with him.

ּ ֶָ֢. When stumbling upon the other Links, he is immediately agitated. He is not willing to share your attention or love with any other version of himself. He's standoffish with the others when it comes to matters that concern you. He's quick to become riled up and then dismissive. Some of the others, especially Wind and Legend, enjoy teasing him about his 'little' crush on you.

In the earliest stages of meeting other Links, no one realizes how twisted Twilight's obsession is. He doesn't realize it either. It's just this nagging sensation in the back of his head that tells him he needs to keep you around. It's a variation of the same sensation he felt in the Twili realm.

ּ ֶָ֢. As the months go by, Time recognizes that there is something unhealthy about Twilight's relationship with you. Twilight refuses to leave you alone with another Link. The farmer always rooms with you. Twilight is the only one that helps you take care of chores. No one else is allowed to.

You end up with bruises that he suspects are from Twilight. You brush the worries off as Twilight just being playful. You assure Time that it is nothing serious. Time is still incredibly concerned.

"If Twilight does anything you don't consent to, tell me. Understand?"

Time is a safe place for you. Twilight sees that as a threat.

ּ ֶָ֢. In the dead of night, he ushers you away from The Chain. He tells you that there is something he must show you. You trust him, obviously. You follow him, and suddenly you are pinned under him. It's the first time you feel fear being around him. Your fear because of him is arousing. He doesn't do anything violent. He simply wraps his arms around you and nuzzles into your body.

"Twilight. Twilight?"

He didn't respond. He would simply have a pleased growl escape his throat.

ּ ֶָ֢. The night turned into the day, and suddenly you weren't anywhere near the other Links. You were in the forest with Twilight, and now you're back at his farm. He kept you there. He only allowed you into the village. You are not allowed to go farther than that. 

He marks you up and is barely able to form words. He nestles into you any time either of you has nothing to do.

It's strange and a bit unconventional at times. You have thought about running away. You have spent your entire life adventuring, and suddenly you were kidnapped by your closest traveling companion.

You are too afraid to try to escape. You are convinced that Twilight would be able to find you anywhere in the multitude of lines that thread together the intricacies of time.

ּ ֶָ֢. That line no longer exists in his mind. He will always keep you with him. His tongue may not work, but his desires do. He listens to your protests and never crosses that line, even if he has to take care of himself in the privacy of the back of the barn.

You didn't need to know what he did for you. You only know that the rest of The Chain won't be coming to save you.

[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

[2tarbell]

TRAILERPARK!RAFE letting reader play dress up in his clothes ‘cause he knows his girl loves fashion and modeling. if he could he’d buy her all kinds of expensive things to wear, but seeing her in his shirts was just as mind reeling.

“whaddaya think ‘bout this one?” her voice gentle and airy, posing seductively and playfully under his intense gaze.

it was just such a sweet sight.

the way the fabric of his nicest button up swished at her thighs. the way the sleeves fell well past her hands. jesus christ. rafe sips his beer as he trails his gaze up her exposed legs, smirking at the goofy smile on her face.

he pretended to think over the question. the answer is easy: she is gorgeous, she always is. rafe just enjoyed winding her up.

“hmf, dunno... why don’t you gimme a spin?”

“rafeeee—“ she whined, feeling embarrassment (even though this was her idea) creep up her spine.

the thought of spinning for him, showing herself off for his cerulean eyes to appreciate all of her, made her heart pick up speed in double time.

“c’mon, do a spin f’dad, baby,” that low voice, commanding and comforting, always got to her. with an encouraging nod of his head and that sexy little smile on his pink lips, reader really had no choice.

with a playful pout, she spins around. the shirt lifts slightly and shows off the edge of her panties. the little show makes rafe adjust on the worn couch, man spreading further to accommodate the throbbing length of him, already half hard.

he’s ready to grab her and bend her over the couch. hell, he was ready two outfits ago. but her smile and cute poses rendered him soft. just not between his legs.

her sweet voice mumbles about having ‘jus’ one more, daddy’ and rafe needs a cigarette, now. his knee is bouncing incessantly but he nods and tries to will himself to be a little more patient.

but when she shyly steps out of their bedroom minutes later, sporting a pink lace lingerie set he’s never seen before, he freezes and drops his pack on the floor.

his mouth is suddenly very dry, “god—damn…”

reader is holding her arms behind her back, shuffling slightly as she gauges his reaction. she spent a little extra on the set to spoil him; he deserved it and more.

“d’ya like it, daddy?”

rafe whistles and leans back further, raking a hand through his grown out buzz cut. his eyes can’t seem to focus on one thing. from her batting lashes, cleavage pushed together from the bra, and the way the underwear straps are sitting on her hips, he more than likes it.

“shit, baby, s’uh— the— the prettiest little thing‘ve ever seen,” he mutters dumbly, eyebrows kissing his hairline from his wide eyes.

she giggles and pushes some hair away from her face. he huffs out a chuckle at her adorableness and beckons her closer with a crooked finger. she pads around the coffee table and stands in front of him. having her now in front of him makes rafe feel like he won the lottery. nah, any amount of cash was dull in comparison to her.

“you’re jus’… gorgeous,” a press of his lips to her hipbone. her hands immediately find purchase in his hair, now grown out enough to give her something to hold onto. the realization of the passage of time made her smile.

“yeah?”

“hell yeah.”

his hands pulls on her hips, urging her to come to closer. she climbs into his lap nimbly and straddles him. their bodies immediately settle together comfortably from nights spent in this position and many more. his firm bulge presses eagerly between her legs and he pulls her closer by the small of her back, leaving her to arch into him.

the friction and weight of her makes his brain feel fuzzy with want, want, want.

“seriously, i— i’ve never seen somethin’ as beautiful as you, sugar. takin’ my damn breath away, jesus…”

his gravelly praise and appreciation of the outfit makes her feel flush, a pleasant haze bathing her senses.

her smile is bashful as she leans in for a kiss. rafe hums as her lips meet his and her hands slide up his chest, the warmth of her palms felt through the fabric of his shirt. nipping at her bottom lip until she smiles, and he uses the moment to slide his tongue into meet hers. nothing has really ever felt more right in his life. at least until she mumbles her next words against his lips.

“daddy… wanna take a picture f’ya wallet?”

big thank u @fae-of-prey for helping with this!!!!!!💝💝

[violettwrites]

tp!daryl dixon masterlist ( young!daryl — pre apoc )

updated 30th january. 2025.

here is my masterlist purely for tp!daryl 🫶🏻 because i have a feeling he’s going to completely take over my normal masterlist.

my requests are open ! send anything my way — even if you just wanna have a chat ! please read my rules before requesting !

( the divider i use is by @adornedwithlight ! )

fanfics.

➵ american teenagers

aesthetics.

➵ moodboards — 01 | 02

➵ headcanons — 01 |

oneshots.

➵ trailer park trash

➵ teasings

➵ your relationship with merle

➵ fourth of july

➵ a heart that knows

➵ company of misfits

➵ but daddy i love him! ( preacher’s daughter x daryl )

➵ a refuge in rough hands

➵ crush

➵ quiet birthdays

➵ the fall

[nemesyaaa]

old!trailer park!jj x young!girl!reader by @starfxkrinc . i wanted to make you a moodboards bc i love them. hope it accurate for you :))))

“ go ahead old man, crush me under your muddy boots, and tell me i'm nothing but your dirt. ”

beware doll, you're abound to fall.

she was hot and pretty, the trailer park southern girl.

dividers by @saradika , moodboards by me. ✨

[luimagines]

Undivorcing by Twilight

Another commission!

Same concept as the other one. A 'fix it fic' for the Divorce Headcanons for Twilight which you can reader right here!

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

“Can we talk?”

Those were the first words you’ve said to him after nearly a year of total silence on your part.

Instantly, his heart in his throat and his stomach has fallen through the floor. Link thinks he might vomit. He’s got half the mind to lurch over and slam the door in your face as he attempts to collect himself. 

The bout of instant dread is worse than if he was punched in the gut. Instead of slamming the door in your face like he wants to, he finds himself frozen. He’s back where it all started, in the kitchen with a piece of paper in your hand as you read out loud all his faults and sins. Every piece of evidence that equivocates him to a bad husband in your mind comes back to the forefront of his as he stares at you.

You’re staring right back at him, fidgeting your hands nervously like you were asking him to a first date instead. You gulp and rub your palms down your shirt, running your hands through your hair soon after.

Frankly, you look horrible.

Matted hair, dark circles under your eyes, holes on your pants and stains on your shirt. You look thinner than before and you’re certainly paler than how he remembers you- what happened to you?

“Link, please?” You gulp again, hugging your arms around your chest. “I- I know you have every right to slam the door in my face, and I have no right to ask this of you. …But I just… I couldn’t not do this.”

“You want closure.” He assumes and takes a deep breath. The knot in his stomach only gets tighter, but he wants to think he does a good job of keeping the way he wants to cry off of his face. He thought he was doing better. He thought he was getting over you.

One look at you and his armor shatters into oblivion. 

“Well… yes and no.” You try to correct him. You shrink down on yourself and struggle to meet his eyes. The shame is clearly written all over your face.

“...What do you mean by that?” Link lean on the door frame. The angle makes his look angrier than he feels, colder than he bleeds- he’s just using it to make sure he doesn’t fall to your feet.

“I was just…” You bite your own tongue. With the way you wince afterwards, Link is tempted to assume that you’ve made yourself bleed. “I wanted to apologize. You deserve an apology. I was a monster. A cold hearted serpent with ice in my veins.”

You take another deep breath and force yourself to look at his face. You open your mouth but no sound comes out. Link can see you struggle to keep eye contact but he’s afraid to show the same amount of vulnerability.  “...I’ve missed you.” You gulp. “I… I was wrong. I shouldn’t have asked for the divorce. …I want to start over.”

Start over? Something cracks. Twilight isn’t sure if it was his heart or his mind but it allows him to stand up straight and meet your eyes with a gaze he’s never directed at you before.

You can see the storm you start and pre-emptively flinch, taking a step back. “Link-”

“You want to do what?” He says quietly.

It sounds like cannon fire in the otherwise quiet corner of the village.

Link runs his hand through his hair, choking on the laugh that tries to leave his lips. He can feel bouts of hysteria begin to build within him. Are you serious? Do you hear yourself right now? Couldn’t you hear yourself the day you read out loud the list of why you wanted to leave him?

But isn’t this what he wanted? Didn’t want you to get back together? Hasn’t he missed you too?

No. Not like this. Somehow this feels like an even worse scenario than he thought it would be. 

Link takes a deep breath, dragging his hand through his hair again and down his face. He inadvertently claws at his skin, leaving angry red lines on his cheek. He gets off of the door frame and moves away from the entrance, beginning to pace in the house, your house.

“Do you-?” He speaks, cutting himself off as he turns back to you. “Do you have any idea how long I spent waiting for you?”

That is not what he meant to say. Link has no idea why those were the words that left his mouth when that wasn’t remotely on his mind. He takes another deep breath, rubbing his cheek in an attempt to get his head back on straight. He can’t afford to let you in so easily. That’s how he got his heart broken by you the first time.

You begin to cry. “I don’t. But I can guess. I’m sorry, Link. I’m sorry. I know you loved me. I know I was the one that ruined us. I ruined everything. I know it’s my fault.”

You take a deep breath, smothering the tears over your cheek in your attempt to wipe them away. You smear dirt on your skin. Link has never seen you this filthy. You continue talking, keeping your head hung low in shame. “I know I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve a second chance. I know I hurt you. I hurt you badly. But I was wrong. I was so wrong. I’m sorry. Please-”

Link says your name softly, choking on his own spit. “Where did you even go?”

“Far.” You admit without missing a beat. “I couldn’t stand the looks that the village gave me when they learned I was leaving you. I already knew that if they had to pick, that they would choose you over me. I knew that. I still did it. I was still bracing myself for it but I couldn't take it in the end and left Hyrule.”

You hiccup. It sounds pathetic. “I went to Hebra for a while. I didn’t go to Castle Town because everything there reminded me of you as well. Your stupid hero’s legacy is imprinted everywhere you look… It’s not stupid. I’m sorry. I know it was hard for you.” You wipe your face again, getting it dirtier. “I stopped by wastelands for a month when I was feeling my lowest. The whole time I wanted comfort and a hug and someone to talk to and found myself looking for you when you weren’t there.”

Link clenches his jaw at the sight of you. He’s adult enough to recognize that he’s never hated you for what you’ve done to him. He could take the humiliation, the multiple hits to his pride and his heart and the echoing silence that now fills the house you once shared. But he could never hold onto the thought of something happening to you. He always prayed for your safety, your health and your wellbeing.

And he’s never been able to stand your tears.

Sighing, he steps closer and reaches his hand out, intending to wipe the mess you’ve made on your cheeks. You take a step back, hugging yourself close and shrink into a small ball of shame and self loathing.

“Don’t cry.” He says instead, placing his hands on your shoulders to keep you in place this time. He wipes the wet streaks from your face with the backs of his fingers. “You’ve always kept your head held high. Don’t stop now.”

“No.” You shake your head. “Don’t-.. I don’t-”

“Shhh…” He says, tucking your hair behind your ear. “If you’re expecting me to start yelling, stop it. I don’t want to get loud.”

You gulp, sniffling and whimpering pathetically as you struggle to keep yourself from crying some more. “You should. I’d deserve it. You can yell at me if you want.”

“But I won’t.” Link pulls you closer to him and against his better judgment, begins to lead you into the house. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. You can tell me the whole story when you have decent clothes on and some food in you.”

“Link-”

“This way.” 

He leaves no room for argument, pushing in the direction of the bath with a towel and some spare clothes of his. You don’t ask if there’s anything of your clothes left in the house. Of course, he knows where they are, but he doesn’t want you to know that he didn’t bother to toss them out. He put them in the corner of the closet where no sunlight, moth or dust could touch them.

He’ll wash them later and give them to you.

While you focus on cleaning yourself and getting all the dirt and grime off of your body, Link decides to fight off the building panic by making Yeto’s soup. Cheese, milk, pumpkin- does he have everything?

The smell permeates through the air quickly, filling the home once again with comfort and warmth despite the unforeseen circumstances that had brought you back to him. He’s not sure if he should be grateful to the forces that may be, or if he should tear his heart out for a second time before it can be trampled on for old time’s sake. 

You emerge in an old shirt that Link isn’t sure where it came from and with pants that clearly do not fit you. Then again, why would they? They’re also his.

You look a lot better. You took the liberty of using his comb to tidy up your hair while all your new lines and edges of your face highlight just how not well you’ve been doing. You’re no longer crying at least. The dirt is gone and your skin has gotten a little warmer in tone, no doubt from the warm water.

The soup is almost done at least.

“Link-”

Link says nothing, pointing to the table for you to sit down.

You look over and notice that there’s still two chairs on a very empty table. Head down, you wordlessly go to sit down at your old chair and make yourself comfortable. Or at the very least make yourself as physically comfortable as you can be in a moment like this.

Within minutes, Link walks over with a steaming bowl of soup and places it in front of you. Without another word, he walks to the other side of the table and takes his place on his chair. He leans back against the back of it and crosses his arms. “Eat.”

You gulp, your mouth and throat feeling incredibly dry since you’ve arrived at the old house you’ve once shared. You take the spoon and very slowly begin to feed yourself the soup that Link has offered you under his supervision. It’s weird. You feel conflicted. It’s awkward and tense.

Link takes a deep breath, relaxing enough that you won’t know the difference if you were to look up and see him. He feels better to see you eating. The bruising under your eyes hasn’t gone away but surely it would look better after a good night’s sleep.

The pregnant silence weighs heavily on the both of you. The only thing to keep it from stagnating is the quiet clinks of your spoon against the bowl and your collective soft breaths. 

“...Were you serious?”

Link surprises himself by speaking first. You almost jump from the sudden sound but manage to keep your reactions to yourself.

A sniffle. A nod. “I understand if you don’t want me back. I was so-”

“Stay then.” He says, gulping down the emotion that threatens to override his reasoning. “...If you truly think we can still work-”

“You’re going to forgive me?” You say breathlessly. You don’t believe him. “After everything?”

Link bites the inside of his cheek but nods.

“Why? Why give me another chance to mess this up?”

“...Because I still love you.” He whispers.  “Stay.”

Tears pour over your eyes again.

“...I will.”

[avroravia]

˖ ݁♬⋆.˚𝄞. assigning a song to each of my ‘the outsiders’ !reader’s and !characters <3

!readers:

mermaid!reader ♪♫♪ plastic off the sofa - beyoncé.

vampire!reader ♪♫♪ her way - partynextdoor.

dryad!reader ♪♫♪ lovers rock - sade.

ghost!reader ♪♫♪ telepatía - kali uchis.

tp!reader ♪♫♪ persuasive - doechii, sza.

darry’sdaughter!reader ♪♫♪ god is fair, sexy nasty. - mac miller, kendrick lamar

innocent!reader ♪♫♪ your teeth in my neck - kali uchis

baiter!reader ♪♫♪ me and your mama - childish gambino.

exgf!reader ♪♫♪ f2f - sza.

camgirl!reader ♪♫♪ video phone - beyoncé.

!characters:

tp!dallas winston ♪♫♪ nasty dog. - sir-mix-a-lot.

dbf!dallas winston ♪♫♪ elevator man - oingo boingo.

tattooartist!tim shepard ♪♫♪ wus good / curious. - partynextdoor

serialkiller!johnny cade ♪♫♪ she’s my collar - gorillaz, kali uchis.

exbf!dallas winston ♪♫♪ jukebox joints. - a$ap rocky, joe fox, kanye west.

cameraman!darry curtis ♪♫♪ dreams, fairytales, fantasies. - a$ap ferg, brent faiyaz, salaam remi.

taglist - @diorgirl444, @r0seb100d, @johnnycadesslut, @twobitsblade, @browneyebby, & @glxsyymads.