unknownracer19

[unknownracer19]

@fustinjaulk, @dennyhamlin-11, @mndbsstt

[unknownracer19]

@fustinjaulk, @dennyhamlin-11, @mndbsstt

[unknownracer19]

@fustinjaulk, @dennyhamlin-11, @mndbsstt

[unknownracer19]

@fustinjaulk, @dennyhamlin-11, @mndbsstt

[unknownracer19]

@fustinjaulk, @dennyhamlin-11, @mndbsstt

[unknownracer19]

@fustinjaulk, @dennyhamlin-11, @mndbsstt

[unknownracer19]

Happy birthday to my speed king ❤️

[unknownracer19]

@fustinjaulk, @dennyhamlin-11, @mndbsstt

[unknownracer19]

Martin Truex Jr holding fish | a comprehensive post

[unknownracer19]

A Scheme per day | Day 3 | Bass Pro

Martin Truex Jr: 2019 - 2024

[unknownracer19]

Under the lights (Martin Truex Jr fanfic, bit nsfw)

The roar of engines echoed through the garage as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the infield. You stood just off pit road, clipboard in hand, trying to look busy—but your eyes kept drifting to one driver in particular. Martin Truex Jr.

You’d worked a few race weekends before, part of the media team covering behind-the-scenes content, but this was the first time you were assigned to his crew. He’d been polite, charming, but never overly friendly. Until today.

Earlier, he'd caught your gaze during an interview, and when the cameras shut off, he leaned in close. “You’re trouble, aren’t you?” he whispered with a grin that made your knees weak.

Now, you were lingering near the garage, pretending to check notes, when you felt a presence behind you. That voice—smooth, deep, and unreasonably sexy—broke the silence.

“You still pretending to work?” You turned slowly. Martin stood there in his firesuit, the top half tied around his waist, leaving his dark blue Toyota shirt clinging to his chest, just damp from the heat of the track. His eyes sparkled with amusement… and something more.

“I could ask you the same,” you shot back, your voice lower than usual. He smirked and stepped closer, his hand brushing your waist as he leaned in. “Come with me.”

You followed him through a side door, out of the noise and into the cool shadows of his hauler. The door clicked shut behind you.

It was quiet. The tension? Deafening. He stepped close again, this time with no space between you. “You’ve been driving me crazy all weekend,” he murmured. “Wearing that little smile, acting like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”

“I wasn’t acting,” you whispered, your heart racing. His hand found your cheek, thumb grazing your jaw. “Good,” he said, right before his lips crashed into yours—hot, urgent, electric.

Your hands found the hem of his shirt, fingers tracing the firm lines of muscle beneath. He groaned against your lips, deep and rough, backing you against the wall of the hauler. His body pressed into yours, solid and warm, and when he spoke again, his voice was low and hungry. “We’ve got a few minutes before the next debrief. Think we can make that work?” You didn’t answer with words—you just pulled him closer.

His mouth was on yours again before either of you could speak, the kiss deeper this time—demanding, desperate, like the hours of teasing tension had finally snapped. Martin’s hands gripped your hips, firm and possessive, like he’d been thinking about this just as much as you had. Your fingers tangled in the curls at the nape of his neck as he pressed you harder into the wall, his body pinning yours. The faint scent of race fuel and clean sweat clung to him, mixed with the adrenaline of competition—intoxicating and raw.

"You sure about this?" he murmured, breath hot against your throat. You nodded, your lips brushing his ear. “Only if you are.” That was all he needed.

In one smooth move, he lifted you—your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively—and carried you across the hauler to the bench in the back corner. The outside world was a muffled blur. All that mattered was him, and the way his eyes darkened as he looked at you.

He peeled your shirt over your head with slow precision, like he wanted to memorize every inch of skin. "Damn," he whispered, dragging his fingers over your waist. "You’ve been under my skin since you walked into the garage." You bit your lip, tugging at the edge of his shirt until he stripped it off. Every line of his chest was exactly how you imagined it—strong, steady, built from years behind the wheel and in the hunting days. But here, now, he wasn’t a driver. He was just a man hungry for you.

He kissed down your neck, trailing heat lower and lower, taking his time like the world outside could wait. His voice was husky as he said your name, just once, like a vow. Your breath hitched. You tugged him back up to you, hands roaming, mouths finding each other again. Clothing vanished between kisses and eager hands, and when he finally sank into you, it was with a groan that vibrated straight through your chest.

Slow at first—controlled, steady, the way a driver handles the turns. But when you whispered something filthy in his ear, he lost all that calm composure. And God, did you love it.

The rhythm built fast and hot, bodies tangled, sweat-slicked skin sliding together as you gasped each other’s names in broken whispers.

Every thrust, every kiss, every sound was fire, until the whole world narrowed down to nothing but the two of you. When it was over, you collapsed against his chest, both of you breathless and grinning like fools.

Martin brushed a kiss to your temple. “Guess I’m a little distracted before the debrief now.” You smirked, still tangled up in him. “Think you’ll recover by green flag?” He laughed softly, voice low and wrecked. “If I don’t, it’s your fault.”

Pt2? I dunno lol. *Alexa play coming down by the weeknd*

[unknownracer19]

@fustinjaulk, @dennyhamlin-11, @mndbsstt

[unknownracer19]

@fustinjaulk, @dennyhamlin-11, @mndbsstt

[unknownracer19]

@fustinjaulk, @dennyhamlin-11, @mndbsstt

[unknownracer19]

baby ❤️

@mani4milfs, @dennyhamlin-11, @mndbsstt

[unknownracer19]

@mani4milfs, @dennyhamlin-11

[unknownracer19]

@mani4milfs