marianamesamanz

Latest Posts by marianamesamanz

hi! I just discovered your account, and I’m smitten with wave wave dads!! As a new fan can I get a run down on the kiddos / any lore? Also hehehe they named their kid “Microwave” that’s so silly and adorable-

omg hii sure!! this gives me an excuse to update mics ref sheet and make one for jammer, poor girl ive neglected her (someone please teach him how to hold a baby 😭)

thats all the lore ive been wanting to write down, ill open asks in some time later if someone wants to know anything else :)

Me, waiting for any new fanfic in the Transformers x reader tag. Checking the tag constantly like opening the fridge to look for food after just opening it earlier:

Real

PAPI

I want him to hold me and I wanna hold his slutty lil waist

LOOK AT THIS MAN'S HANDS GOD DAYUM

Lost in Time Masterlist

Part 1

guys his pussy glows

You can do Transformers Earthspark Megatron x Female reader where both were conjux but are divorced, the reader is only with the autobots so as not to be in the cells also that both had a sparkling but who is with the weckers, let's say that the relationship between Megatron and the reader was nice at first but everything changed in the war, Megatron treated the reader and her Sparkling badly, let's say that now the reader doesn't like to be around Megatron especially when she sees how he treats Twich like a daughter, but Megatron still wants to have something with Reader

Megatron/Femme!Reader [TFES]

tw: brief mentions of past trauma, past toxic relationships, guilt. additional tags: Cybertronian!Reader, Femme!Reader word count: ~1,9k a/n: I liked how they handled Starscream and Megatron's dialogue in s1, too bad it was wasted.

You had no right to be angry with the terrans. Born in this strange world, far from the home planet, they had no idea who they were or what their fate would be. To most humans, they were nothing but a threat. To your race, they were the only ray of hope for the future.

So why can't you still look away from them without a twinge of anger deep within your spark? Why is it that every time a small, scarlet terran tries to learn more about you, you throw that sharp, irritated look in her direction?

Another, yet another, long, languid day at the former G.H.O.S.T base, which has received a small rebranding, now completely at the disposal of the Autobots. You are completely focused on the monitor screen in front of your optics, your fingertips gently pressing each key.

You have no desire whatsoever to spend your entire attention on this useless waste of time. You would gladly leave this Primus-damned planet if you could.

And yet, you're happy to forget about everything around you for a second. That constant, loud laughter under your pedes when one of the Malto family runs past you, chasing after one of their siblings. Arcee tried to crack a joke or two whenever you two passed each other. Prime, for some reason, has decided that you need his painfully pathetic speeches about how if you need any help, you can always go to him.

It would seem that only Elita, of all the veterans, could understand you in any way.

You would gladly spend cycles alone with any of them on an island far from civilisation, only if it meant you would never have to see him again.

“Will you teach me some new moves in the air?” Twitch sits on Megatron's shoulder, looking at the older mech with her those big, yellow optics. “That moves with your arm cannon really inspired me!”

The little Terran blatantly thrusts her arm forward, automatically, activating her own weapon. A quiet scoff escaped from Megatron as he watches over the drone, noting her usual excited and very determined expression. Out of all the group, she seems to be taking the leader's role the most.

“If you promise not to shoot anyone here,” he gently reaches for Twitch, using his pointing finger to lower her arm cannon down, a soft smile plastered on his face.

The crimson terran's optics are focusing on Megatron's own, before she quickly glances towards you, the miniature pair of rotor wings bristling in admiration.

“And— we can take (...) with us too! I heard you two were an amazing pair back on Cybertron!” Twitch carefully stands up before starting to circle around in the air.

It's hard not to notice how much the young terran seeks to hold her deep respect for you, despite the clear ignorance you show her every single time she tries to speak with you. That naive childish adoration is cute, in some way, reminding you of the time when your own sparkling was once as bold and trusting as her.

You really shouldn't hold the grudge against her just because you feel that twisted sense of jealousy because of what you dreamed of so much, but never had the chance to get it.

Megatron's red optics track the terran across the room, only to lock onto your frame, once you were mentioned. He felt a pang of regret every single time he saw you. The memories of your shared past never left the impact on his mind, even though he tried so hard to get over it. For both yours and his sake too.

‘It's been countless solar cycles, Megatron. Don't make it harder for her,’ Optimus' words ringing in his mind. If only it was that easy.

He should have just focused on his own job, dealing with what is left of his past troops, the leftover of G.H.O.S.T's impact, but would it actually help him? To dig his own sick guilt and remorse somewhere deep down, in some naive hopes that everything can just magically go back to how it was? To pretend that it's fine to forget and run away from your past mistakes?

No, it wouldn't be fair to himself. Not to mention, everything he did against you was never fair to you in the first place. Shaking his helm, Megatron tries to reach for the terran, tell her that it's not the time now, and later, he will give her all his time and attention to guide the young one in her path.

That was, until Twitch wrapped her tiny servos around your own, looking up at you with those same optics she gave to Megatron, as if hoping she could somehow warm up your cold spark to her, to make you forget of whatever held you down from accepting her.

Poor thing. Thinking she is somehow the core source of your problems, even though she has no idea what exactly she has done, except for just being born in the wrong place and time.

“Please? I promise to listen, ma'am!” Twitch slightly, tightens her hold on your servo, the smile still as innocent as ever.

The tension is palpable. For just a moment, the three of you don't let out a single word. Everyone was focused on you, and only you stood in the center of their attention.

You sigh, looking towards the young terran right next to you. It will pain you to deny her, you think, but it is for the best as you try to reassure yourself once again.

“Twitch, you shouldn't—” Megatron tries to step out towards you and get the terran back away from you, only to be interrupted by your own voice.

“I'm afraid I can't help you with that for now, Twitch,” you say, using this calm, soft motherly voice of yours. “But be aware. Not everyone here deserves your trust.”

That smile slowly drops from Twitch's face as soon as she sees you pulling away from her, her little servos grasping the air, once where you were standing. That look you gave her somehow reminded her of her own mother.

Dot would come back after a long day of work, welcomed by the whole family, and despite how tired and overworked she was, she never dared to let them know about it. Muscles tense, aching and begging for rest, and constant headache from dealing with some people seem to never leave her alone. And yet, she still kept her smile. Still has the strength to use that sweet voice of hers every time she speaks to the young Maltos.

Even then...why did you look with nothing but hatred and disgust towards Megatron?

The quiet shut of the door left only Megatron and Twitch standing in the room. The little one slowly stepped down on the ground, blinking a few times in confusion. She still couldn't take her gaze away from the door, as if hoping that you might come back and join them after all.

“What...what did I do wrong?” she asks quietly, the question hanging in the air.

Megatron clenched his teeth, trying to suppress his own anger— no, he had no right to be angry. That was the truth after all, isn't it? None of the terrans knew what actually happened before, when he was the leader of the Decepticons, the infamous warlord responsible for the deaths of thousands, if not much more, innocent lives.

He deserves to feel that pain; the cold truth will always hurt, no matter how much he tries to numb the harsh, stabbing feeling inside his spark. Hearing it from you, for some reason, always felt the worst.

Slowly, he lowers himself to one knee, looking down at Twitch, as if silently trying to apologize, for what had happened. No one was supposed to be involved in this conflict.

“Don't trouble your mind with these thoughts, little bird,” Megatron gently lifts her chin with a single digit, making the young terran look up at him. “I promise to come back to you as soon as I can.”

If only he had told you the same before and reassured you with the same care he held deep for his mentee.

It was so confusing. Watching every single day, how soft and attentive the ex-warlord can be for a sparkling that were not even his, and yet, abandoning his family for his own cruel ambitions.

Standing outside the autobots' base, you at least had some bits of privacy that was left up to you. No one to judge, no one to stare with these sorry optics, with nothing but pity in them.

Primus seems to be especially disappointed with you today, taking away the only peace and quiet you had for today.

“You can hate and despise me however you want, I would never have held it against you,” the familiar, deep voice is quick to disturb your thoughts, but this time, somehow softer.

Megatron takes a few slow steps, stopping right behind you, but not daring to come any closer. He would be grateful if you even stayed to listen to him without running out the first second you spot him in your proximity.

There is a brief pause between the two of you, followed by nothing but your sinister silence. Not even a single drop of respect for him, as you didn't even look back at your ex-conjunx.

“But please,” the word sounds so foreign coming from him; for a moment, you even amuse yourself thinking he really changed. “Don't take it out on them.”

You feel your right optic twitch at that.

“Is that the only thing you wanted to talk with me about?” you finally speak, turning to face the silver mech who stood tall next to you. “And you have the audacity of asking something from me?”

Such hypocrisy. It doesn't help you feel any better at all once you notice those guilty red optics staring at you, as if reminding you of how small you will look to others, no matter how hard you try to hide behind a mask.

Like you ever needed their pity for you.

The silver mech studies your face. Tired, war-worn, so exhausted, just like his own. You're barely holding back from collapsing from all the responsibilities on your shoulders, both as the ‘autobot’ and the carrier first. He should have never left you alone, but that would be pointless to think about now.

“I won't...try to defend my past mistakes, and I know that there is nothing I can do to erase all the pain I caused to you and to our sparkling,” optics lowered to the ground, expression hardening, trying to gather his own thoughts, before meeting your gaze once again.

“All I want is to let you see how I have changed,” Megatron steps closed, hesitantly, he continues. “Would you give me a chance to make things right for you, my dear?”

A silence.

Megatron feels a flicker of hope in his spark. Lips curled into a small frown, trying to hide his own uncertainty. Cycles before, back in the past, when the war between the Autobots and the Decepticons hadn't struck the Earth, he would have snapped back. He reminded you of your own place underneath him, so you would never even have a single thought of defying him.

But he would never hurt you again, never raise his voice at you— just let him keep you safe from the remnants of the war he once caused; he promises you that. If only you let him show you that.

But then you step back.

“Starscream was right about you,” your voice now, filled with nothing but coldness. “You will always be the same tyrant who once betrayed those who trusted you with their own spark.”

Something Unexpected

Between debt collectors and the bank flooding the mailbox with eviction notices. Your father's positive attitude could no longer smooth out complications. And you once thought life on the farm couldn't get any harder...

Recent days- no months has been nothing but tough. This never ending sea of bad situations happening one after another, begun to drown and suffocate you. Feeling like you could barely keep float, while working two jobs. Attempting to keep some money flowing in.

But the universe has finally offered you a break. Something that could change you and your family's life forever...

Content: Reader insert. Event take place in 'Transformers- Age of Extinction' (Minor spoilers.) Mild coarse language.

Sparkmate Series- Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 (End)

"Hey, sis! I'm home!" Tessa shouted as she stepped out of her car and onto the driveway. "Lucas and dad has gone to the next town, so they won't be back for a couple of days."

Looking around the family farm, a heavy sigh left her as you were nowhere to be seen.

"Seriously..."

Making her way to the barn, Tessa called out for you. This time getting a response.

"Are you working with lasers? If so, I'm not coming in-"

"You have never seen a truck like this before!" your excited tone cut her off as you abruptly open the barn door. "Get in here. Lock the door."

Tessa raised an eyebrow as you grabbed her arm, pulling her inside the barn. While she closed the door behind her. "It doesn't have a lock..."

"Y'know that rusty ass truck dad brought in a few days ago? Look! Look at the hole in the radiator."

Tessa rolled her eyes at your enthusiastic tone, as you placed an arm through the grill. "Look at the size of it! Something blew a hole in it!"

"Yeah, so?"

"It's not normal steel! The shrapnel in the engine, it ripped all the connections apart."

Tessa watched you fractally climb the scaffolding which brung you a little more to the truck's engine level. Rubbing her temples as a sigh left her.

"I honestly don't know who's worse. You or dad-"

"Dad is going to lose his fucking mind, when he finds out what we've got! And watch! Watch!"

Your sister rolled her eyes before crossing her arms. Her unimpressed gaze watching as you took hold of two jumping cables.

"This took some family genius. You're gonna love this, sis! Just watch what happens when I hook this thing up to a working battery."

Placing the clamps onto the battery, the rusty old truck rumbled and shook in it's place. Headlights flickered as the engine inside failed to roar to live. But the deep robotic voice coming from the vehicle made Tessa's jaw drop.

"Calling all... Calling all Autobots..."

Throwing the cables aside, allowing the rusty truck to slowly die again. Tessa watched you jump for joy, while her stomach did a backflip.

"Oh yea!" you cheered. "I don't think this is a truck at all... I think we just found a Transformer!"

"Are you out of your mind? You need to get that thing out of here!"

"You don't have to worry" you called out, jogging after Tessa as she quickly left the barn. "I've been working on it all night. And look at me. I'm fine-"

"This isn't one of Dad's random piles of junk! It's an alien killing machine!-"

"Sis, it's DOA. Nothing is gonna happen."

Tessa ran a hand through her blonde locks, as she began to pace in front of you. "This isn't happening! This isn't happening!"

"Tessa-"

"Listen! I-I remember Lucas telling me about a number that you call- that you're supposed to call. He said something about you're supposed to call a number, and if something ends up being alien. Then you get twenty-five grand."

"That's bullshit, and you know it." You crossed your arms. "Nobody just hands out large sums of money- especially the government-"

"Y/N, I'm making the call." Tessa's fumbled through her pockets.

"I've seen the commercial. It isn't a guarantee" you protested snatching the mobile out of Tessa's hand and taking a step back.

"Look! If that's a Transformer from the Battle of Chicago. Dad's gonna lose his mind! If I could figure out how it works and apply that technology to his inventions. We wouldn't need to worry about money again-"

"Yeah! That's why you're working two jobs!" Tessa got onto her tiptoes as you held the phone above your head, slightly out of her reach.

She slightly pushed you, quickly grabbing the falling mobile. You both sighed, just giving each other side glances while pausing for a moment.

"Twenty-five grand, Y/N. It pays for the house. It pays for my collage."

"Please Tessa. Please" your begging tone caused a sigh to escape your sister. "Let me do this, and... and I'll do your chores for a week- A month!"

"No. I'm making the call and telling dad-"

"Keep this a secret and I'll... I'll won't tell dad about your boyfriend!"

Tessa's stiff body language made you smile. Stopping in mid-dail as she studied your features.

"I... I don't have a boyfriend"

"Yes you do" your teasing tone unsettled your sister's nerves. "Well at least I hope it was your boyfriend I saw last week, and not some pervert climbing out of your window in the middle of the night. And wearing nothing but his shirt and underwear, may I add"

Tessa bit her bottom lip, "you saw Shane...?"

"Saw him? Girl, I heard him falling out of the window and onto the damn roof. I'm surprise Dad didn't hear anything."

Tessa hesitated before speaking. Groaning at your smug smile.

"Ugh fine! But if you die I'm stealing your laptop!"

"Deal!... You just might wanna delete my browser history first..."

---

" I think the shrapnel took out your power core" you muttered to the rusty machine.

Your legs dangled outside of the truck, while your torso hung inside the engine. Grabbing random bits of shrapnel, lose nuts and bolts, and throwing them over your shoulder.

"Hmm... what this?"

Reaching out for a shiny silver cylinder, roughly tugging it out of the engine and holding it against your chest. As you pushed yourself back onto the scaffolding. Pushing your goggles up onto your forehead, examining the unusual object.

Climbing down the scaffolding and powering up your wielding machine. Hovering the fire torch over the metal, cocking your head to the side.

"Nothing... perhaps you have a higher melting point- oh shit!"

The flame of the torch ignited sparks from the cylinder. Screaming you dropped it, accidently allowing it to fly around the barn. Ricocheting off the walls and floor, banging into the truck and knocking the scaffolding over. Before breaking through the wooden barn door and flying into the house.

Tessa's screams could be heard from the house, as the missile slid around on the floor, going from room to room.

The sound of groaning metal plates shifting caught your attention, your eyes widening as you watched the truck grow taller. Cogs and gears made unhealthy churning noises, as the now 22ft tall robot struggled to get onto his feet.

"I'll kill you!" the machine's voice groaned, as you scattered away.

"Hold on! Hold on!" you cried out. Looking over your shoulder, as Tessa's screams echoed throughout the barn.

The machine pulled out a giant cannon from his back, backing away from you and Tessa, while aiming the intimidating weapon at you both.

"I'll kill you! Stay back!-"

"No! No! Don't shoot!" you yelled, stepping in front of Tessa. Attempting to shield her.

The robot's blue optics studied you carefully, watching your body language as you cautiously stepped towards him. Holding your hands in the air.

"Easy, human"

You slowly nodded before speaking, looking up at the robot as he groaned while sparks spat out of his mechanical joints.

"Weapon systems... damaged-"

"A missile hit your engine" you explained. "And we took it out of you. You're hurt really bad, but you're safe now. You're in my home."

He scanned his surroundings, looking at the messed up barn. A cough echoed from within his chest plate, as dust came out of his mouth.

Getting a little closer, the machine's gaze returned to you as he knelt to the ground.

"I'm trying to help you. My name is Y/N Yeager, I'm an engineer." You reached out for Tessa, whom hesitantly took your hand. "And this is my sister, Tessa."

"Y/N... Tessa. I'm in your debt... my name is Optimus Prime."

You turned back at Tessa, "it's alright. He won't hurt us."

"Wh-What happened to you..?" she asked, not letting go of your hand.

"We... We were ambushed. A trap set by humans. I escaped and took this form." Optimus' voice groaned and coughed. As he withdraw his weapon, allowing it to retract back into his back plates.

"But you're on our side. Why would humans want to hurt you?-"

"They weren't alone... ah! My Autobots! They're in danger!"

Optimus tried to get up again, but his legs gave way. Causing him to fall back down onto his knees and cough up engine fluid, as a part of his headpiece fell to the ground with a loud clang.

"I must go to them now. They can... repair me."

"How far do you think you'll get?" you questioned in a calm tone. "With all this damage, you'll wouldn't make it to them."

Optimus watched you carefully pick up his headpiece.

"But let me help. I can fix you."

Tessa's worried eyes glanced between you and Optimus, as he hesitated before speaking.

"Very well... for now. We have a truce..."

---

"Go in dad's shed, rumish through anything- everything he has. Try and find things on that list."

Tessa grabbed your arm, as you both stood outside the barn.

"Wait! You're gonna try and fix him?" she protested. "He's not a model train set, Y/N!-"

"You're right. He's important-"

Tessa raised an eyebrow, "important to who? You can't keep an alien locked up in Dad's barn. What are you gonna do? Play with him?"

A heavy sigh left your lungs before speaking, "calm down. Just please... calm down-"

"I'm trying to! But a moment ago that rusty ass truck you wouldn't stop messing with, turned into a fucking giant thing!-"

"You still promise not to say anything?"

A half-hearted chuckle left Tessa, as she stared at you in disbelief. "That's your concern right now?-"

"Look! Look! Dad and Lucas is gone for a couple of days, right? That's all I need to get him in a decent state. Once he's fixed, I promise you. He'll be gone. But I need you to stay quiet!-"

"Fine! Fine!" she breathed heavily before snatching the list out of your hand. "But you owe me big time for this! Big time!"

---

"You took one hell of a hit, y'know." You said while placing a molten bit of scrap steel into a bucket of water. "The missile just missed your power source."

"We call it a Spark." Optimus watched you climb up the reassembled scaffolding. Coming to the height of his chest plate, your eyes sparkled in the gentle blue glow of his Spark. "It contains our lifeforce, and our memories."

You flashed him a warm smile before pulling down your goggles. "We call that a soul..."

A low rumble came from Optimus, as he felt your hands carefully place the scrap piece of metal against the opening in his chest plate. Taking your time to weld it into place, while he placed a hand over his Spark. Protecting it from the ambers that occasionally left the fire torch.

The leader of the Autobots gazed down at you. Remaining silent as he watched you solder away.

It wasn't the first time a human patched him up. Back at N.E.S.T, there's been multiple times when soldiers put him back together after a mission. But with you, it was somehow... different.

Your touch was gentle. Each movement was careful and mindfully placed. You even welded things onto him in a cautious manner. It was like you treated Optimus like he was some sort of antique, rather than an millennium old alien being.

"Y/N..."

You looked up at him. Turning off the fire torch and placing your goggles back onto your forehead.

"Why are you willing to help me?" Optimus asked, as he pulled out a large bullet shell from his shoulder plate, and flicking it away.

You felt the Autobot study you, examining every feature upon your face and reading your body language. As you slowly leaned back against the railings of the scaffolding.

"I guess... maybe because you trust me to."

Your words were simple and true. Optimus couldn't detect any lies or waver within your voice nor tone. His scanners didn't read anything out of the ordinary from your relaxed posture.

Perhaps... I've judged too quickly...

"Is it... just you and your sibling?" Optimus asked, trying to make small talk.

You squinted at a few bolts, while holding them up to the Autobot. Judging weather they were right for the next job.

"Yes- well actually no. Our dad lives here- he owns the family farm. But he isn't here." You explained, while putting the bolts down and moving onto different sized ones. "He's in the next town over for the next couple of days. Working- well, selling some inventions."

Optimus looked around the barn, tilting his head to the side as his processors tried to make sense of the random machines and scrap bits of metal. "Are you an... inventor as well?"

A heartful chuckle left you, as you approached the Autobot. Tapping on his left leg, "no. No. I just help him put things together, or strip them down for parts. Whenever Dad has too many projects."

Optimus' groan quickly made you realize the tone of your sentence. You looked up at him.

"Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't mean anything-"

"It's alright. None offence is taken."

Butterflies slightly fluttered in your stomach as his smile mimicked yours.

You quickly turned your attention back onto his leg. Making sure the bolt wasn't too tight.

Optimus noticed you trying to hide your blushing features. His smile grew wider, finding the action somewhat amusing. He watched you bend and stretch your body, after chucking the tool onto the workbench.

"You've been in here for hours. You should rest."

"I will later." You promised, "but first. Let's put your headpiece back on."

He speechlessly nodded, gently using a hand-crank to bring the scaffolding a little more to his height.

Gathering the tools required to put his headpiece back on, you climbed the scaffolding stairs. Reaching the top and placing the tools onto the metal floor of the scaffolding.

Optimus averted his gaze as you pulled off your hoodie. Allowing your torso to breathe in the light cotton tank top. You examined the wires and gears on the side of his head, tilting your head from side to side.

"I think the inside is fine. Your headpiece just needs to be welded back on." You spoke with a smile, placing your hands on your hips.

"I thank you, Y/N. Your assistance thus far has been appreciated beyond compare-"

"Don't go all soft on me now, Big Guy." You spoke with a smile. "Now eyes forward. You need to stay completely still while I do this."

Optimus faced the barn doors, as you pulled your goggles back into place. The headpiece slotted back in nicely, but you still held it in place as you welded the metals together.

His spark skipped a beat sometimes, whenever he felt your breath upon his metal plating. Through many years he's warned his Autobots about getting too attached to humans, yet here sat the infamous Optimus Prime, allowing a human he's just met for a few hours making him feel this way.

"All done, Prime!" your cheering voice snapped him out of his daze.

His optics falling upon your smiling face. Although you were covered in dirt and grime, to him you were the most beautiful human he ever set sight on.

"Thank you... I am in your debt-"

"Hush. Hush" you interrupted, pulling your goggles down and around your neck. "There's still plenty of work that needs to be done. So promise me you won't wander off."

A low chuckle rumbled in his voice, "I promise."

Your eyes glanced up and down at him, "and promise me one more thing?"

"Of course."

"When you do return to your Autobots... promise you won't forget about me..."

Tag List

@jellyfishxxi

I throughly enjoyed your TFO!YAN!Sentinel fic where reader is one of the Primes… Pleeaaase consider doing a part 2, genuinely incredible

Sentinel/Prime!Reader pt.2

tw: unhealthy obsession, slight spoilers if you didn't see TFO, power imbalance, a tiny nsfw at the beginning, yan!Sentinel, slight violence, murder/death, toxic relationship. word count: ~1800. a/n: i feel like the results is not what you wanted, anon-. first part here.

He thought that what you had was special. Special in some sick, cruel way, he still enjoyed to the core of his spark. He hated it, that after everything he had done for them, for you, you had the right to dismiss him as if he was your personal servant. Like he was nothing. He worked day and night just for you to finally notice him, to treat him more than just your advisor.

Perhaps you had some sick pleasure in torturing him like that. Where by the end of the long, tiring day, his presence was always welcomed beside yours. A rare moment when you finally stop putting that stoic leader persona for others. You let yourself be vulnerable in front of him, even though every time he has to try so hard to gain at least a tiny sort of reaction from you. He would gladly stay underneath you forever, with your thighs on either side of his head, as he planted each loving kiss across your body.

His blue optics flicker slightly, as he focuses on your back once again. Focus, Sentinel! Not when you are here, discussing the place of your next attack against the quintessons with your brothers and sisters, just as focused on resolving the problem as you are. Sentinel keeps his arms behind his back, his posture straight yet relaxed.

‘ One of the strongest, mighty, and fierce of the Primes,’ he remembers. Is that really what other bots only think of you? They all seem to love you, despite never knowing you personally, like he did. You are always busy with other concerns, protecting your people, thinking of the future of your race, sleepless days and nights of working. You're a Prime, a hope, and everyone looks up to you. It is a remarkable trait, the one he always brings up to the citizens, so they all would be inspired  by you, fond of one of their leaders as much as he is.

There are so many gifts in your name...Cards, stickers, calendars, even figures. Every detail painted so, so thoughtfully and carefully, you can swear that there are no imperfections in it. Why would there be one when he personally made sure to make every single one as a perfect copy of you?

When the meeting ends, Sentinel waits until all the other Primes have left the room until there are only you two inside. Always staying till  late at night...how typical of you. Rarely seem to care about your own well-being, instead preferring the cold embrace of solitude. Something he partly so admired and hated about you at the same time.

You were never alone, he thinks, you always had him.

Watching one of the last of your siblings leave, Sentinel can't help but think of a soft ‘Finally’ with a roll of his optics, before pushing away from the wall, to approach you.

Sentinel flashes you with his usual, polite smile, the corner of his mouth turning upwards, as he makes a few slow steps towards your form, hunched over the table. That sly mech just couldn't leave you alone for good, always finding a way to persuade you. You had grown to silently appreciate it, for now.

If you try to remember what you felt when you first met him, it was annoyance. The way he talked during meetings, the way the blue-and-golden mech seemed to make sure the other Primes warmed up to him in such a short time—it all felt so wrong and fake. You thought that maybe all he wanted was fame, money, and a good impression, something a young but already so proud cybertronian would dream about.

You were so attentive to every small detail, but had never realized his genuine need for your approval.

“Now that we're alone, I thought that maybe we can talk privately, if you don't mind, my...” Sentinel's words trail off, his optics following your form as you walk past him and towards the exit of the room.

You put your servo in the air the moment he speaks, a silent sign of “later, now is not the time for it”. He shivers. Another reason to dismiss him. Each time, it was always something new. You're too busy with inventing, with your high guards, with everything but him.

At first, he was surprised. His optics widened slightly before returning to their normal size. It hurt, for some reason. He should have gotten used to it by now because...how many times was it this week? It's not like Sentinel was that unfamiliar with you, was he? No, of course not. After dealing with you and your behavior for cycles, he learns how to take it. Despite everything, it still hurts him.

Sentinel can feel his servos clenching into fists at his sides, and a familiar tightness in his throat. Don't say anything, just smile and leave. Don't say anything stupid, for Primus' sake.

 “Last time you said this was a week ago,” he smiles at you through clenched teeth, trying so hard not to let his own irritation to take over. You're a Prime, after all. “You forget about it. Again.”

“If you have something to add about our plans with quintessons, say that now,” you pause, yet don't turn around to look back at him. “Or, tell Zeta about it.”

Sentinel's optic nearly twitch when you say that. Is that all you can tell him now? When he is presenting you his own spark on the silver plate? He wants to ignore that disgusting, desperate feeling that roots inside his spark, the need of just to reach for you and stop from leaving him behind. Can't you see how tirelessly he works for you? Puts up with your every whim and call? What should he do now to make you look at him?

“Did you—Did you just ignore what I'm trying to say? No, a better question,” he frowns, his digits pinching the bridge of his nose. The more you frustrate him, the more he paces around you. How ridiculous this situation is. You're still, as stubborn and ignorant as always, and here he is, nearly losing his mind because of you. “Are you even listening to me?”

He had grown so tired of you, all of you, talking, talking, talking about morality and duty, sometimes even his processor couldn't get it. That attitude you had and your ability to drive him mad with just a few words. Cycles of learning every single small detail about you in a tiny hope of your affection, cycles of being just a witness with no real power, so many cycles of humiliation and that's what he receives in return?

 Then, when you finally hit him with your simple “are you done?”, he loses it.

He wonders, sometimes, how iaconians would treat you if it weren't for him building that perfect picture of you for them? A rude, dismissive, and ungrateful piece of scrap, that's who you are. Why does he even bother doing something for you when you act like an ungrateful glitch? He hates you, he hates you so much sometimes.

“You are such an ungrateful and selfish bitch sometimes,” Sentinel spat out as he jabbed his index finger at your chassis. Oh no, now he's far from being done, after all, he has a lot of things to say to you right now. “All these countless hours of speeches, and for what? Just to lose another battle.”

You will listen to everything he thinks of you now, it is only fair after being forced to silently listen to you and other Primes. Maybe then you will understand how he truly, actually feels right now. You kept ignoring him for so long, like every shared moment of intimacy didn't mean anything to you. Even then, he can swear that you love him. You care for him, just don't know how to express it properly. But he's fine with it, he is glad enough to lead you through everything if only you agree.

But the only answer you gave him was a hard slap across his face—so hard, it made him fall back on the cold floor with a loud thud. In the first few seconds, he couldn't hear anything but a harsh ringing in his head, and only after he felt the pain reaching to his processor. Sentinel winced a little, already feeling a trail of energon trickling from his nose.

When Sentinel looks up at you, he meets your own gaze, staring down at him. He holds his face, feeling the burn from your slap. You never hurt him before, never affected by his words, Primus, it's not like you even cared about his presence anyway. Why, why you care now? Why you look straight at him with nothing but hate in your optics the last moment he needed it?

He couldn't even say anything as he watches you leave. The words stuck in his throat, despite how much he just wanted to grab your leg and beg you to forgive him. He would plead on his knees for you, wanting to forgive him, just don't go, don't leave him all alone right now. His own spark felt like it was ripped into two pieces and yet, he stays here, servos tightening onto the floor. If you want him be useful, to tell you something about quintessons, he will give you it.

Thankfully for Sentinel, you never mentioned the last incident to any of the Primes. How kind of you to avoid bringing up this topic as if nothing never happened. But as the meeting goes on, Zeta gives both of you a quiet look, with no words being said, there was a thick tension between one of the Primes and their advisor. If only one of them brought the topic up, would it change something? Would it somehow solve everything that was said and happened? Perhaps, it was already too late for that.

Sentinel wished for it to end differently. If only you hadn't been too stubborn, too idealistic, too full of yourself like all the other Primes. Maybe if he just didn't say anything that day, then— No. It was never his fault, he thinks to himself. Everything that happened, all because of you. He was just your loyal and humble advisor, nothing but kind for you.

What a poor sight to see. Cycles of being looked down and here he is, the one holding you in his servos, while you do nothing but struggle to look up at him, mouth open, ready to curse him, to yell, or maybe...to plead? He can only take guess about what you so desperately want to tell him, until you cough up more energon.

“Don't struggle, just shush,” he coos, placing his digit over your mouth. That soft, awfully satisfied and sweet smirk on his face, as if it wasn't him, stabbing you right into your chest a mere minutes ago. “Don't worry, I'll take a good care over Cybertron after you are gone...you'll never be forgotten, my love.”

He makes sure that your own t-cog will forever be a part of him, so maybe now, he finally has a chance to keep you with him forever.

My dearest friend and enemy (2)

PART 2 | Fernando Alonso x Reader

Summary: You and Fernando always dreamed of the day you'd get into Formula 1. Unfortunately, the competition, the pride and the stubborness, get in the way of a beautiful friendship.

Word count: 7.1k

Tags: female!reader, driver reader, coming of age, ups and downs of a friendship, brocedes coded, very very angsty, cursing, anger, fights, overuse of flavio briatore as a plot device, lots of low blows, sprinkles of romance, kissing, making out, happy ending, not beta read

Relationship: Fernando Alonso x Reader

Note: Someone requested this, with this very detailed request, and it has consumed my every thought for the past week or two. I had to tweak some things from the request here and there, hope it's ok. It's heavily inspired by brocedes. (There is a lot of info that is wrong or inaccurate, I did this on purpose to fit my narrative, if you catch them, please ignore)

I was wondering doing a bonus part about Fernando POV throughout everything (to show he was ALSO miserable), but I don't know if i have the time and energy for it. Let me know if you guys would be interested in it and I'll do it in headcanons/topics.

I'm sorry if it feels rushed, this was taking way too long and I just wanted to follow my heart. Feedback and opinions are appreciated xx

Find me on Twitter!

PART 1 | FERNANDO'S HEADCANONS

You were moping and crying in the living room when the phone started ringing. Looking at the little screen that showed the number that was calling, you knew it was Fernando. You had memorized his number at some point in your lifetime. Your parents weren’t home, so you hesitated. You took so long that his call went to voicemail.

“I know you’re there,” he said, voice sounding tired, low and inpatient, “please pick up the-”

You pulled the phone cable, unplugging the call and silencing him. Wiping your tears, you stared at the unplugged phone on the little side table for what felt like hours, until your parents returned from work, when you got up to plug the phone back and pretend like you didn’t spend the whole day mourning a friendship you always thought would last forever.

After two days ignoring all calls, even Flavio’s, you decided that you’d shield yourself from now on, and you wouldn’t give Fernando any more ammo to hurt you. You met with Flavio at the next race, face heavy with makeup to cover up the sleepless nights you had gone through. You put your bag down and stared at Flavio across the table.

“Good morning. Let’s go back to work,” you said, gently pulling the stack of papers from his grasp. He called your name in that tone, of someone wanting a heart to heart.

“We should talk about the f-” He started but you cut him off.

“No, I don’t want to talk about that,” you said.

“I talked to Fernando and he-”

“I said, I don’t want to talk about it. He’s dead to me.” You repeated slowly, finally looking up at him. Flavio must’ve seen something in your eyes because he let the topic go.

You didn’t see Fernando for two more days, and when the weekend officially started, you avoided him like the plague. Even when you two were in the same place with other drivers, you’d ignore his existence for the most part. Whenever you were in a little circle chatting with other drivers and he arrived, you’d leave immediately. Press conference, you convinced Jenson to switch places with you so you could be as far from Fernando as possible. Even with team debriefs, with Flavio trying to make you talk to Fernando, you refused.

The rest of the season was insane, during team meetings and debriefs you were cold and barely talked to him. He didn’t try to talk to you either, and the silent distance only grew.

You were head to head in a race, you were P2 and Fernando P3 right behind you.

“Switch with Fernando,” your engineer said on the radio.

“He won’t fucking pass me,” you said into the radio, holding your position and pace. He was less than a second behind, and you refused to let him pass.

“I repeat, let him pass,” That was Flavio.

“If he manages to overtake me, he can go.”

He didn’t. You knew you had more pace, but still he insisted, and through the mirrors, you could see him closing in behind you. He tried to overtake but you pushed the car fast, and when he couldn’t anymore, he turned into you, touching his front right tyre to your rear left tyre. You were too fast. The mere touch of his tyre bursted yours. You couldn’t even get angry as you lost control of the car in a millisecond, the speed making your car fly into the air as it hit the gravel. With your car overturning a few times in the air, you watched your sight going ground, sky, ground, sky, ground, sky.

Then you blacked out.

When you woke up, you were on a stretcher being placed carefully inside the ambulance, you tried to get up, dizzy and someone handed you a bag where you threw up inside.

You had an insane headache as they took you to the medical center. Apparently, everything else was alright as you checked your own body for any injuries or problems. The doctor checked you but still made you through a round of tests and injected saline solution diluted with pain medicine in an IV drip. They also decided you’d stay overnight to make sure nothing was wrong. 

Your dad, who was watching from the garage, was the first to find you in the medical center, visibly worried and crying. He hugged you for a whole minute, before taking a step back and touching your face to make sure you were really alright.

“I’m ok, Papá. Just passed out when the car was spinning in the air,” You smiled softly, wanting to dissipate his worry.

“When you didn’t answer the radio-” He choked back tears.

“It’s ok, I’m ok now.”

“What are you feeling, darling?” He pressed, holding your hands to look for injuries in your arms.

“I’m all in one piece, Papá. Just a little sore, but that’s normal whenever a racing driver crashes,” you let him know, and he nodded.

“Let me just call your mother. She was so worried she wanted to get into the first flight here,” He told you.

“Tell her I’m alright and I love her,” you whispered and he nodded, going outside.

You sighed as you were left alone, trying to find a comfortable position where you didn’t have to move too much, since your whole body felt like it had been run over by a truck. The door opened and you thought it was Flavio, but you were faced with Fernando, still sweaty and in his overalls. He looked disheveled, but he was full of worry, even his eyes looked a little misty as he stood there a few meters from you.

But you couldn’t look past the anger when the memory of him diving into your car came back. He had gambled with your life, out of pettiness, out of envy, he couldn’t pass you, so he decided the next best thing was to take you out, not even caring about the danger he was putting you through.

“Leave.” You said, with gritted teeth.

“Please,” he begged with his voice softer than you had heard for almost a year, “let me just-”

“Leave! You could’ve gotten me killed, Fernando. Get out!” You said, louder. “Do you have any idea that you could have ruined my life in a moment of anger?! That you could have gotten me seriously injured or worse?! I would have never done that to you!” You pressed your index finger to the nurse button repeatedly, and a few seconds later, a nurse came in, “Ma’am can you escort him out please?”

You could see in his eyes that he was hurt by your words, but in that moment, all you felt was blind rage, for what he did the last time you spoke and because he crashed into you on purpose. You didn’t want to hear any excuses now that he realized he put your life in danger just because his ego couldn’t take a hit.

The next day, after you were discharged, you traveled for a meeting with Flavio at Renault’s headquarters. He met you alone in the meeting room, talking to you about the accident, and after making sure you were physically fine, he went off.

“What you did yesterday was reckless and you went against express orders from the team and from me. This is not happening again, or you will be risking your seat at Renault,” He said, his voice never leaving room for debate, you swallowed and nodded, “When the team orders you to do something, you do. No questioning, and no going against it. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fernando was really worried about you yes-”

“I don’t want to talk about him.” You cut Flavio off.

“You two are best friends, it’s really sad to see you lose all that because of Formula 1” Flavio said, gently.

“He put my life at risk, Flavio. This is not something a friend would do,” you stood up, walking away but you stopped by the door, “Kinda curious how motorsports, the very thing that brought us together, is the same that tore us apart.”

Then you went to meet the engineers for the next race strategies. 

That night as you laid down at home, you thought that you’d never compete with Fernando solely because he was Flavio’s favorite. If it ever came to Flavio to decide whether you would win or Fernando would win, he’d always pick Fernando. You could’ve been fighting for the championship this year, he had promised you, instead you were being used as a step in Fernando’s path of glory, when you could be fairly racing him for the championship. You’d always come second to him there. That was also the moment you stopped seeing Flavio as a friend, and confined him back to a position of Team Principal.

You reread the Sauber proposal that came to you that year to start racing for them the next season, tempted to just go and make your name somewhere else. Somewhere where you’d be put first.

But deep down, a sense of indebtedness had rooted into your heart ever since the day Fernando told you the truth. You had to pay Flavio back for his trust and for his money, and the only way you thought you could do it was by becoming world champion under his team.

There was still a little kid inside you, a little kid who aspired to prove Fernando wrong, to become a champion and prove to yourself you’re more than him. More than who he wanted you to be, more than a loser.

You turned down the offer from Sauber.

The rest of the season you went almost robotically. You still gave your all every race, but your mood would always damper when you had to follow team orders.

“Ask if me and Fernando can switch, I’m faster!” You said on the radio. You kept driving, Fernando a little less than two seconds in front of you, but you were getting closer and would catch up to him in two laps.

“Negative, protect his position.”

“There’s a McLaren right behind me! They’ll pass us both!”

“Negative, team orders.”

You swallowed and held your position, trying to maintain your P2 and Fernando P1. But when the McLaren got close to you, they managed to pass you after a brief battle, going for Fernando a couple of laps later.

Later, you stood on the podium, looking ahead knowing that P3 could’ve been a P1 if they had let you fight for it. You didn’t look at Fernando on the other side of the podium, you just stood there, eyes watery. You pretended to take part throwing champagne for a few seconds, forcing a smile knowing that it would look bad not to.

The post race interviews were torture, and you wanted to go home and vent to your parents.

“How has it been to manage your friendship with Fernando outside the track?” A reporter asked, and your smile disappeared from your face.

“We were never really friends,” you shrugged, annoyed, you added “Are there any questions about racing instead of my personal life?” The reporter was silent, visibly taken aback by your responses, you had rarely been hostile toward a journalist before, you knew he would have a field day with just those replies, especially when your PR manager gave you a hard stare, “No? Thank you, see you around.”

You finished P2 in the race Fernando became champion for the second time. When you got out of the car, you watched as Flavio and Fernando hugged, jumping from the ground and celebrating. The number one and your team principal. After the podium ceremony, you didn’t bother to stay to spray champagne, just leaving and going straight out.

You got a couple more proposals from other teams, and you were tempted, until Flavio told you Fernando was leaving for McLaren the next year and offered you an extension. You took it under the condition to become the number one driver now that Fernando was out of the picture.

A part of you mourned the death of the dream, the one you had at fourteen to become teammates with your best friend. So many things had happened in between everything, now you would miss it. Only the good, not the bad and ugly. You wish you could go back in time, redo everything, and never allow yourself to lose your best friend on the way.

The next year you ended up striking an unexpected friendship with Jenson Button, Nico Rosberg and eventually the two rookies Lewis and Sebastian, who had been very vocal about being fans of yours.

You didn’t go back to talking with Fernando. You didn’t try and he didn’t either. It felt like the bridges were too far burned to recover.

One day as you walked out of the garage, you saw Fernando with a girl on the opposite side. She was clinging to his side, whispering. You knew he had his fair share of fun with grid girls but he never invited them to watch the race from his garage. You wondered if he was dating again, after a couple of years being nothing more than a player. You also wonder why it made a pang of pain flare through your chest.

You don’t linger too much. He had no reason to tell you. You weren’t even friends anymore.

You moved on, as much as you could. And eventually, you met Kaka, or Ricardo, as you preferred calling him. He was a footballer, a big name in the sport, playing for a big team in Italy. You actually met him at a gala party, the both of you being silly introverts, bumping into each other when trying to find a way out. You two ended up talking for hours on the balcony, watching the city lights.

He reminded you of Nano before Formula 1.

And you actually wanted to smash your own head against the handrail as you thought that.

After exchanging numbers and calling a couple of times, you managed to convince Ricardo to come to a Grand Prix. His presence was calm, funny without being mean, and so gentle. It was actually the calm between the storm your life and job was.

You were pacing around outside the motorhomes to try and see if he had arrived yet, since the last you had talked to him was when he was on his way. While waiting, your eyes found Fernando’s on the opposite side in front of McLaren, he was sitting down with his girlfriend telling him something. You stared at him for a whole minute, and for a brief moment, the anger left his eyes for something softer, something like-

“Hi, minha linda!” Ricardo showed up out of nowhere, and he hugged you so tight he actually swiped you off your feet.

Once the surprise passed, you hugged him back, your fingers finding their way through his hair. And he laughed, spinning you before putting you down. You talked for a bit, your face lit up as he told you about his day.

Your eyes unconsciously turned to Fernando, because you could feel that he had been staring at you for as long as Ricardo was there. His face was back to anger.

“You want me to give you the grand tour?” You offered, just so you could escape the weight of Fernando’s glare.

You took Ricardo by the hand and showed him all around, even introducing him to part of your team. After that race when you placed third, Ricardo invited you to a date, the first official one. After a couple of months and a few kisses, he asked you to be his girlfriend. You only hesitated for a second before smiling and squealing a yes.

Being the main driver of your team allowed you to live an entirely different season as a racer. You didn’t want to be arrogant, but you had it in the bag. You had the best car, the best engines, and just the perfect amount of boldness. Add insane strategies, and you were unstoppable.

Despite Fernando being your close rival on track, he was way too busy beefing with Lewis, his surprisingly great rookie teammate.

During summer break that year, you were on a trip to Brazil with Ricardo, but still, the night of July 29th, you got up at two a.m., slowly went to the fridge, where you got an ice cream pint. With a spoon, you sat on the handrail in the balcony, and watched the waves breaking on the beach a few meters away.

It was weird keeping the ice cream tradition alone, but you supposed it was even weirder not keeping the tradition. Staring at the stars, you wondered if Fernando had any ice cream to celebrate his birthday that day.

“Hi,” you heard Ricardo behind you, his hands sneaking around your middle and he hugged you from behind, laying his head against your shoulder, “everything ok?”

“Yeah, just wanted a little treat,” you mumbled, closing the lid on the ice cream, because a selfish part of you didn’t want to share the tradition with anyone other than Fernando. It was silly and stupid, and still… you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You put the ice cream back in the freezer and smiled at Ricardo as he pulled you into his arms and carried you back to bed.

You came back from summer break with a renewed sense of focus. Deep down you knew that was your season. Your season to become world champion, and nothing was going to get in the way of that. As you won the first two races after summer, you became first in the standings, this sense of purpose being the one thing motivating you every weekend to give your best.

It was Interlagos that year when you needed only a podium to become World Champion, pretty much the same as Fernando two years before. The race was tough, and it felt like Fernando was out to get you, especially in a moment right in the middle of the race, when you were behind him in P3 and he tried to brake test you again, but this time you were quick to react, avoiding his rear and using his own dirty trick against him, turning sharply to overtake him from outer side, moving past him fast enough to gain some precious couple of seconds.

After that, you managed to smoothly overtake the P1 with a carefully planned pit stop that allowed you to come out first. Later on, you saw a crash, nothing too bad, but you found out it was Fernando and Webber.

“Are they ok?” You asked via radio to your engineer.

“Yes, they are already back on the pitlane.”

You sighed and focused back to your race, keeping your P1 safe, and going smoothly to take the checkered flag.

“Congratulations, Y/N! You’re a Formula One World Champion!”

You felt the tears coming down and dampening your balaclava, as you took one last lap to parc ferme, waving at the crowd that went insane.

It was like a huge weight was lifted from your chest. Because you were now world champion. You were there, and you deserved to be there, among the best. You didn’t need to prove yourself anymore, and you had finally paid Flavio back.

You jumped out of the car straight into your team, jumping with them, and Flavio ran up to you, pulling you into a tight hug. Jenson also found you and hugged you firmly, patting your back and Nico also hugged you, both of them were on the podium with you.

As you looked down from the podium, with a watery, emotional smile, you saw your dad crying like a baby and clapping his hands. Unconsciously, your eyes looked for Fernando, silly hoping it mattered something to him, that at least in the name of your former friendship, he would be there, but he was nowhere to be seen, and you felt like that was another nail in the coffin of your friendship.

Deciding to forget it, you drank champagne straight from the bottle, laughing as both Nico and Jenson paired up to drown you in champagne, looking happy for you.

After talking to your mom on the phone, you stood up, taking your bag and going out to look for your dad. You didn’t make it very far, as you came out in the hallway, you found Fernando, leaning against the wall. You paused, looking up to him while your heartbeat went up.

“I’m happy for you,” he whispered. And you wanted to believe it really badly, but thinking about him brake testing you during the race, trying to take you out, made you roll your eyes at him.

“Sure, you are,” you said sarcastically. He shook his head and clicked his tongue, like he was disappointed you didn’t believe him, “my debt is over now.”

“What?” He frowned, confused.

“I just paid Flavio for his investment,” you explained, “I’m not just here because you asked him to support me, I’m a damn great driver. I’m here because I deserve it, not because you took me out of pity.”

Fernando stared at you completely shocked at your words, something painful stabbing at his chest. He never thought you’d think like that over disgusting words he said in a moment of anger. Words that never meant anything to him, that he didn’t even believe in himself. The hurt in your eyes was the same from the day he said the words, when you cried looking into his eyes and telling him he was dead to you.

You walked past him and away. He wanted to shout that he never meant those words, that you were so much more, so much better. But you just left. Fernando followed you outside, trying to catch you and explain himself, maybe fix things between you, making peace.

But as he got outside, he paused, seeing you jumping in your boyfriend’s arms, laughing at something he whispered to you. Fernando swallowed, closing his fist and jealousy burned through his limbs, with such force that it felt like a fever.

Right after the Brazilian Grand Prix, Ferrari got in touch with you, offering a two year contract to become teammates with Kimi Raikkonen and drive for what was one of, if not the most classic team in Formula 1. After negotiations, it was a no brainer. You didn’t owe Renault anything any more. And that’s what propelled you to meet with Flavio that winter break in a cafeteria in Monaco. When you had called, he said he wanted to talk to you about something, which was convenient.

After pleasantries and small talk, you were ready to start, but Flavio cut you off without noticing.

“I have to tell you something,” he started, carefully, “Fernando is coming back to Renault next year.”

You froze for a second, not wanting to think too much about the implications of that. The fact that Flavio was willing to force you and Fernando to be teammates again even after the catastrophic ending you had before. Sighing, you covered your face for a second.

“I know you have reservations, but I’ve talked with Fernando and he’s willing to-”

“I’m going to Ferrari.”

And Flavio understood, after talking for a while. He knew Ferrari was most drivers' ultimate dream, and you weren’t immune to that either. Unfortunately for you, Fernando released the news he was going back to Renault a week before Ferrari announced you, and the media had a field day with that, tabloids and media outlets doing numbers of articles about you avoiding being teammates with Fernando again, since he was coming back and you were conveniently leaving almost at the same time.

Your races with Fernando kept being dangerous, one always trying to one up the other, dangerous moves and overtakes, close calls of crashing into each other, and more and more jabs publicly. The attacks at each other never stopped, and the media seemed to enjoy it, feeding into it ever so often.

One occasion, you were going for a win, and the only thing between you and that damn P1 was Fernando Alonso. So you kept your P2, biding your time as you tried to close the gap, leaving your chance at overtaking for the last few laps. When a fast turn came, you advanced, overtaking him, Fernando tried to defend his position, but you were getting the lead, and both of you were in high speed. Someone had to back out, otherwise you two would crash. But you were feeding off of anger and hurt, and you didn’t back down well into the turn, but suddenly, Fernando slowed down, giving up defending. You took the P1 and after a few laps, the checkered flag. You knew on the podium that Fernando was seething, his face didn’t hide that. Later, at an interview, someone brought up the dirty move.

“So, a very dangerous move at turn 2 during lap 47, no?” The reporter asked, trying to get a reaction out of you.

“I thought it was a pretty common battle, no?” You said, a condescending tone imitating him.

“Well, it could’ve caused you both to crash.”

“I took a risk, either I would pass and win, or we would both crash and DNF. Alonso was wise and went for the safest option.” I gave the reporter a fake smile.

You knew that answer would piss Fernando off, and a part of you knew he deserved it. Sometimes you acted on pure rage and pettiness, feral and way more aggressive against Fernando on track than you really needed to be. But he just pissed you off. Walking around with his model girlfriend, his attacks at your racing abilities, his pretty eyes that always seemed to find yours at the most inconvenient times.

Then, the race weekend would end, and everything that was left was shame. Your burning shame every time your mom’s eyes shone when she asked about Fernando, hoping you two would have made peace. You, looking away from her face every time you told her you knew nothing about Alonso because you didn’t want to see the disappointment in her eyes.

Later that year, after your two year anniversary with Ricardo, you accidentally found a ring box in his suitcase. A proposal ring, a beautiful big diamond ring, probably worth a small fortune. And you tried to feel happy about it, but you could only find dread in your heart. Despite loving Ricardo, you knew you didn’t love him as much as you could. And certainly not as much as she loved you. You didn’t love him as much as you loved-

Closing your eyes, you also closed your heart, and after that just like the coward you were, you broke up with Ricardo the kindest way you could. He was confused, because your relationship was tranquil, without many problems. It broke your heart to break his heart, but you couldn’t lead him on, you knew Ricardo was husband material, and the earlier you let him go, the earlier he would find his true happiness.

Ultimately, you decided to only pursue love after your Formula One career. Having a bit of fun here and there, and a couple of casual relationships even with other drivers, but nothing serious or public. When you found out Fernando was single again, a flicker of hope sparked in your chest, but when you saw him go back to his playboy ways… It died down.

Sometimes you would dream of a different life, of one you never lost your best friend… or even better, one that you never had to suppress the love you felt for him. And sometimes it felt too much, like all this love was just filling up your hollow heart, filling up until it overflowed, until you felt like you were drowning in it, because there was nowhere for this love to go. And you wondered, what do I do with this love, there's no one to give it to, there's no recipient to put it. So you would just ground your teeth and bear it, holding onto anger because that much love, that much longing did nothing but cause you pain.

Every time someone mentioned him outside race weeks, you felt ashamed.

Despite being in a top team like Ferrari, you’d only get a few wins, and some podiums here and there, so it wasn’t like you didn’t achieve anything. But you were a woman so it was obviously not enough, and the media started questioning your career and your place in Formula One.

After two years of you driving for Ferrari, Domenicalli, your team principal, sat you down to let you know Fernando Alonso would be joining the team the next year, and you bit the inside of your cheek, considering just retiring. The criticism was getting to you, and the perspective of living hell with Fernando as your teammate was a broken heart all over again.

When an opportunity arose to drive for Red Bull Racing, with a two year contract, you didn’t think twice before accepting. It would be your chance to turn the tide in your career.

It sent the motorsport world into a frenzy when your new team announced you and a week later Ferrari announced Fernando as their future driver. The same narrative of you running away from him was passed ahead. And of course, it got to the paddock. Most drivers that were close to you actually congratulated you, but of course, nothing was ever good for Fernando. And despite not fully talking to him, he was always willing to throw a mean comment at you any given day.

“And people said you’re washed” Fernando said right after the news broke, the second to last race of that season, his voice dripping with venom. You knew it was a backhanded compliment, he always did that when he wanted to get a rise out of you. He smirked, waiting for your feral clapback, as you always had one on the tip of your tongue.

But when he looked back at you, your face was stony, and you were looking ahead with your chin raised. You didn’t even look at Fernando, nor answered his taunting. You pretended he wasn’t there but he noticed your eyes were misty.

That had been a low blow, even for him. He didn’t know shit about your feelings regarding your career, but he knew exactly how the world had been treating it, and it made you burn with shame that he could add insult to injury this easily. You wondered why he would say something like that if, just like you, it had been years since the last time he was champion of the world. Two years pushing yourself to the maximum so you could achieve your second championship.

Fernando had been your best friend for so long, he knew exactly what buttons to push when he wanted to hurt you.

When someone else arrived, greeting you, you cleared your throat briefly before answering and plastering a smile that never reached your eyes.

“Are you running away from me?” Fernando cornered you later that same day.

“What?” You paused.

“I went back to Renault and you left, now I’m going to Ferrari and you’re leaving,” he shrugged. You scoffed.

“I’m not sure if you know, but my life doesn’t revolve around you, Fernando.”

“Well, that’s a weird coincidence, don’t you think?”

“What do you want? Why are you here?”

Fernando paused for a second, his eyes searching yours, he looked vulnerable, open like he hadn’t been in so long. He looked every bit your best friend from years before.

“I miss you, I-” He started, then cleared his throat.

“I miss the old you,” You swallowed a whole bunch of your pride just to be able to say those words.

“Things are different now…” Fernando started, his eyes full of hoping, of longing, “We could- maybe we could-”

“Fernando, we’re too far gone, what we said- what we did…” You muttered, feeling a lump in your throat, “how do one come back from that?”

“We could restart. Try again-”

“You lost me forever that day, Fernando.” You muttered, the tears holding on to your eyelashes. You didn’t need to specify the day, he knew, he had seen in your eyes the moment he lost you, “I spent so long hearing your voice in my head, telling me I wasn’t good enough, I shouldn’t be here, and I- I hated you that day. And I had to hold onto this hate, because the alternative was overwhelming sadness.”

There was a numbing silence for a couple of minutes, as you stared down at your own feet, trying to stop all the feelings you spent years carefully locking away from breaking free. So much had happened, you believed you and Fernando were too far to recover now.

“I’m a woman here, the first and only woman in so long, and the whole world was against me. You have no idea how it felt that my best friend, the person I trusted the most, was also against me,” You shook your head, feeling the tears drop.

“I’m sorry, Nena… I’ve never- I’ve never meant any of that.” He muttered, and you didn’t look at him to see if he was being genuine. You had formed walls around your heart to protect yourself from heartbreak, and you now had a hard time believing him.

“There are some things… that are not meant to be.” You didn’t look back at Fernando after you said that, choosing to walk away with this broken heart feeling ever present.

It was hard to keep going everyday. You had always faced backlash for being a woman in Formula 1, and you were used to it. But the media took a turn over the next few years. When you didn’t win more championships, when years passed and you were still there, along with other champions and future champions. They started to call you old, washed, telling you to retire and placing bets on when you’d lose your seat. It was baffling because it had been six years since your championship, but it had been seven years since Fernando’s, but still, you were the only one whose spot was questioned all the time. It was unfair, and whenever they came up to you talking about it, you’d ask them if they’d ask the same to older drivers or other champions. They would leave you alone for a week and then come back stronger, ready to throw your whole career under the bus.

Finally, you got another chance at the championship in 2013, after an unbelievable start of the season with five consecutive wins. That had put you first in the standings for the championship, and from there on, your team molded the season around you. Smooth sailing through the season, you became world champion in Suzuka, way too far ahead in the championship to anyone be able to catch up to you.

When you stood on the podium that night, you cried happy tears. You had once again proved wrong years of demerit from the world. As you looked down to search for your family, your eyes found Fernando right beside them, a proud, emotional look on his face as he kept a hand over his heart, listening to your national anthem.

He nodded at you with a small smile, and a part of you healed a little bit.

You enjoyed a couple of days of pure bliss after becoming world champion. Parties, celebrations and trips, they were all you did for the next few weeks.

When the FIA Prize Giving ceremony came, you had another bombshell to drop at the world. You were the most stunning you ever felt that year when you arrived at the ceremony, in a beautiful dark blue dress with little crystals all over the bodice, a beautiful hairstyle and even more beautiful makeup. Never in your entire career in Formula 1, you had felt so fulfilled, so happy.

Hearing your name being called as the winner, the number one, was different this time, and had much more weight, and it made your heart burst with happiness. As you walked up the stairs to the stage, receiving your trophy, you stopped by the mic.

“Thank you so much. I’d like to thank my family for supporting me from the beginning, my team for making the perfect season, and the perfect car for me to be able to achieve this. I’d like to thank all my teammates that, in one way or another, taught me some valuable lessons as a racer. Thanks to Flavio for taking a chance on my career when probably no one else would.” You said, with a smile. You took a good look around, all the people in this sport who made Formula 1 the most important category of motorsport, all your peers, all the teams. “I’m announcing my retirement from Formula 1, as of right now.”

There was a wave of shock and loud gasps in the whole room, flashes and flashes bulbing harder than before, journalists scrambling to take notes… But you kept smiling, hand firm around your trophy as you let the news settle down before speaking again.

“In 2007 I wanted to pay Flavio back for giving me the opportunity to be here today. That debt was paid that same year. After that year I wanted to win for myself, to write my name in the history books, and my dream is now realized. I feel like I should move on and make space for new upcoming talents.” Your eyes were wet with unshed tears, but you smiled, the first genuine smile in a few years.

Fernando felt his heart drop at your words. Things weren’t supposed to go like this, you two should be best friends, drive together, retire together. Go down in history together.

“I’m grateful for everything this sport provided me, the adventures, traveling around the world, the people I met and the people I lost,” there was a calm pause, and Fernando wondered if you were talking about him too, “Now it’s time to go and achieve new dreams. Thank you very much.”

You turned around and walked away under the applause.

Later, after the ceremony was done, you were getting ready to leave when Fernando came to find you. He was dressed in a beautiful suit, looking like a million dollar man.

“Nena…”

It made you pause. It had been a while since he called you like that with that specific tone. 

“What? Came here to gloat?” You couldn’t help but be defensive, worried.

“What?”

“I knew you’d be one of the happiest when I retired.”

“No, I would not-”

“You would, Fernando. You did. Many times you said I was done, that my prime was over, that I should retire…” 

“I never thought you’d easily give up!” He shouted at you, “Like you did in 2006, not competing against me.”

“That’s because they didn’t let me compete! Do you think I couldn’t have competed with you back in ‘06? I could, but every time, they would tell me to back off, to let you pass, to not fight you, to not overtake you-” You threw at his face, because you wouldn’t stand there and let him look down on you like that. You refused to back down now that you were finally free. “Pat threatened my seat if disobeyed team orders.”

“What?! Why did you never tell me that?” Fernando looked shocked. His fighting stance was completely gone now.

“You were going to be World Champion again. I would never take that from you,” You whispered, voice failing.

“Nena…” He said, like he wanted to drop everything. “Please, don’t leave. If Red Bull don’t want you, you can find another spot with another team, we can think of something.”

“Fernando, I’m not leaving because the team doesn't want me. In fact, they offered me a 3 year extension.”

“That’s not how it was supposed to go, remember? We planned that-” His voice was kinder than it had been to you in many years, “We would go down in history together. Win together, retire together.”

“When push comes to shove, only one wins… We learned that the hard way.” I say, with a sad smile, “Life doesn’t always go as planned. And I got everything I could ever want from Formula 1. Now it’s time for new stuff.”

“What new stuff?”

“I want to have a family, Fernando. People don’t stick around long for this lifestyle, you know that-” You shook your head.

With one last look at Fernando, your eyes watered, and you walked away.

Sitting on the porch, you looked up at the sky, thinking of what’s next for you. It had been months since you announced your retirement from Formula 1. The new season had already begun. It was your birthday, a refreshing new one.

You heard steps coming closer and your heartbeat sped up as you saw Fernando walking up to you. He sat down by your side, holding a pint of ice cream and two spoons. He handed one to you and in silence, you started eating ice cream.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said after a few minutes of silence.

“Was it hard to find me?” You asked, with a tentative smile.

“It only took me my whole life to find you again…” He said, wistfully, his eyes shining under moonlight and you didn’t know if those were unshed tears or not, “my best friend, my nena, my girl…”

“I’ve always been here. Right here.” You said, eyes watering. You weren’t sure you could explain what that here meant, but somehow you knew he would understand.

Fernando took your hand, gently placing it on his chest, right above his heart.

“Right here,” he whispered, pressing his hand above yours, over his beating heart, “you were always here.”

Then, he kissed you. For the first time in more than a decade, for what felt like the first time for both of you. As his other hand pulled you closer, the kiss deepened, like a prayer and a promise. Both of you knew there was a lot of resentment to navigate through, and a lot of feelings you’d both have to unravel and understand. But there was one thing that was always there, through hate, anger and hurt… And it was love, unshaken, steadfast love.

As you broke apart, Fernando pulled you into him, hugging you tight for a few minutes, before pulling away to hold your face with both hands, his eyes looking into yours with so much devotion it melted everything away.

“We will be alright.”

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where?

Came back to reread acting like theirs a happy ending💔

Velvet Bond

Mafia boss!Pierre Gasly x mafia!reader || 18+

Summary: Being the only child of one of France's most dangerous mafia bosses you were expected to take over the throne your whole life. But your father had other plans, arranging your marriage with a handsome but annoying Pierre Gasly.

Warnings/Tags: SMUT, 18+, female reader, arranged marriage, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, bratty reader, dominant/powerful/possessive Pierre, violence, slurs, cliff hanger cause I hate y'all >:( (just joking hi hi 🤭 love you! 💞)

A/N: I'VE MADE IT!!! I finally finished it. Was hoping to post it just after the Vegas GP but haven't managed to finish it until now but it's better than nothing. What to say more... It's long. Just so y'know. Enjoy! 💞

Wordcount: 7201

☆.｡.:*🌹.｡.:*☆

Arriving to your father's office early in the morning, because he wanted to talk with you about something really important, you've expected everything but not that.

Entering the office, there was a huge smile plastered on your face, a grey bag of fresh cinnamon rolls – your father's favourite – in your right hand and two cups of coffee in the left one – a sugar bomb of a cappuccino containing more milk than coffee for yourself and a  simple black one with just a little spoon of sugar for your father.

You greeted the older man happily, coming around his desk and placing a good morning  kiss to his cheek before settling the food down carefully on the wooden surface and taking a place in front of him. He thanked you for the goods, immediately taking a sip of the coffee, a satisfied hum escaping his lips.  

„So what did you want to talk about with me” 

You asked while nibbling on one of the buns. Observing your father, you noticed his presence change from a dominant and prideful father to a scared little girl. That's when a deep frown appeared on your face.  

„First of all, please stay calm. Bursting out in rage won't help” 

He warned and you already knew the talk wasn’t going to be pleasant. You nodded your head but knowing your temper the atmosphere in the office would be on fire the moment he finished talking.  

„You know well that I'm not young anymore and my end can come everyday-„ 

„Don't say that. We both know it won't. Unless there's something you haven’t told me... „ 

You cut him off. It was rude and you were taught otherwise but in that situation you just couldn’t keep quiet, not when he said shit like that. Your father was a really healthy man, he wasn’t young anymore that's a fact, but neither was he old.

With that said, the only way he could die was a murder which meant he was in danger. But why wouldn’t he tell you? You were his 2nd right hand, helping taking care of the mafia and it's business. You two never had secrets between yourself unless it was about your private life – that is you not telling him you've slept around with one of his men one time, or him not telling you about his new partner for a long time because he thought you wouldn’t accept her, but he was wrong, you were more than happy to meet the 3rd woman that made him happy. 

„You know I tell you everything honey” 

„I hope so... „ 

„Continuing. I need to be sure that after my death someone would take a good care of our empire. That is why I found you a husband „ 

You felt your heart drop down to your stomach. Hearing those words slip out of your father’s mouth so easily made you want to vomit.

How could he? How could he arrange your marriage when he always told you that you could marry whoever you wanted? He himself believed in real love and now  said something like this?

And it wasn’t even the worst. He wanted some STRANGE man to take over what's supposed to be YOURS?! You worked your ass off for the mafia, you were trained to become the boss since you were 5! And he wanted to give it away just like that?

Because what? Because you were a WOMAN? Because he thought you were too weak? Not smart enough? Blood boiled in your vains, hands curled in tight fists and face going red.

A faint sigh left your father’s lips knowing what's to come next. You shot up, full of rage and started to shout your lungs out, everyone in the mansion hearing you even though the room was soundproof.  

„WHAT?! You gotta be kidding me! That’s a fucking joke. How could you! I was supposed to be the next boss not some random dude you want to give me away to! Do you even know him or do you owe him something huh? IF YOU GOT IN TROUBLE WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME? „ 

„You promised me you will be calm... „ 

„AND YOU PROMISED ME I CAN MARRY WHOEVER I WANT! „ 

A single tear fell down your cheek. You usually kept your emotions, other than rage, at bay but this time you couldn’t help it. You felt betrayed, betrayed by your own creator, your only parent.

If only your mother was still alive, she woouldn’t even let him think of something like this. The man got up with a grunt, his arms slumped down in defeat, sad expression on his face.  

„I know sweetheart, I know... But I can’t risk getting you hurt, or worse - loosing you. You know information spreads like crazy in our world and the moment someone finds out you'll be the one in charge after I leave they might want to hurt you... I know you're a strong and independent woman and I really would love to give it to you, because you're the only one I fully trust but I really can't. For your own good. You need to understand... And Pierre. He’s... He's a really nice guy. His late father was my best friend, he was the one who met me with your mother, and watching Pierre take great care of the business I knew he was the most suitable one for you. And he's handsome, has great genes. He’s just perfect for my little princess” 

The man walked around from behind his desk and wanted to touch your cheek but you moved away.  

„Don't touch me” 

You hissed and was just about to start shouting again, when the man in question appeared. Your father was right, he was handsome, but not handsome enough to make you change your mind. No matter who it would be, the ugliest guy alive or a literal god you would never change your mind.

His green eyes shined in golden chandelier’s light, the dark blue suit he wore perfectly matched them and the aura surrounding him was quite intimidating. Standing in the door he looked between your disheveled and shaking self and your defeated father.  

„Excuse me. I was told I may come in. I'll come back later” 

He said in a gentleman manner but you shook your head in protest.  

„You can come, I was leaving anyway” 

Giving the two of them a death glare you gathered your things and left in a rush, bumping Pierre's shoulder on your way.  

„I see your daughter didn’t take the news well „ 

„Of course she didn’t... „ 

☆.｡.:*🌹.｡.:*☆

You stormed out of the building and straight to the garages where you found your deathly black Impala 1967 and hopped inside. After turning on the engine you left the garage and drove to the town to meet with your best friends – Aisha and Chloe.

The girls lived together so you didn’t have to pick either of them up on your way to the other's apartment. You parked your vehicle in front of the building and quickly walked inside. After a calming elevator drive you stormed inside the apartment without even knocking as you usually would.  

„Someone’s maaad” 

Aisha chirped from the kitchen while Chloe run into the living room hearing your displeased groan and couch creeking as you literally threw yourself on top of it. You told them everything while they jumped around you trying to make you as comfortable as they could, eventually landing you in bed of their quest room, wrapped in a cozy blanket with a huge bowl of ice cream in your hands.

You stayed there the whole day and by the time evening came the girls have managed to persuade you to go out partying. The three of you spent the next couple of days on shopping in the day and partying at night.

Until one day you went to a club you've never ever been to before. It was really fancy, great music, handsome men. You even managed to pull one of them.

The two of you were making out in the quiet corridor leading to the bathrooms. You started to unbuntton his shirt while he hiked your dress up when someone yanked him away, throwing him to the ground. You looked up at the man, it was no one else than Pierre.  

„Fuck off” 

He growled at the guy and motioned to his men to get him out of the club. He grabbed your arm tightly and pulled you towards his office.  

„What the fuck?! Who do you think you are?! „ 

You hissed, pushing away after you entered the room. Looking him up and down you noticed the vains about to pop on his forehead and neck, the way his teeth was clenched in anger, and the suit he was wearing... It suited him a little too well.  

„I'm your fucking fiance! „ 

„Kiss my ass! „ 

You turned around on your heel and reached for the door but Pierre pulled you back, tugging you harshly towards himself and forcing an engagement ring onto your finger.

You tried to pull it off after he let you go but not only did it got stuck but also something painfully stuck into your skin with each attempt. You looked confused between the ring and the man who had a wicked grin on his face.  

„You'll never take it off unless I do it. You're mine and only mine... So stop acting like a whore. Now... I need to punish you... „ 

He unbuckled his belt and was just about to take it off when you flipped his wooden desk over. Years of going to the gym have finally paid off. It landed on him with a loud thump, making him fall down and groan in pain.

You took the opportunity and quickly run away, pulling your friends after yourself and out of the club. The three of you quickly got into Chloe’s limousine and drove away.

The girls gasped seeing your ring. It was beautiful, two golden bands connected to each other, one had a rich, red ruby in a shape of a tear attached to it and the other just as beautiful tear shaped emerald, and last but not least little golden thorns.

At least now you knew why it hurt to take it off. You liked to think that the ring symbolized the pain connected with your marriage, as well as ties and loyalty to both mafias.  

„So he's your fiance! No way! „ 

„Way! „ 

You grumbled unsatisfied and slumped into the car's couch. Both Aisha and Chloe knew who Pierre was, both of them having a big crush on him, as well as any other women that knew him.

They also knew he owned the club they just left but had no idea that he might be your soon to be husband. They explained it to you and apologised the whole night, even though it wasn’t their fault and you weren’t mad at them at all.

☆.｡.:*🌹.｡.:*☆

On the next day you couldn’t stop thinking about that situation. Who did he thought he was? Just because your father gave your hand to him didn’t mean he could hurt you, unless he wanted to have his way with you that's why he took off the belt, but you prefered to think the 1st option was true.

Your father texted you as you layed on the couch in your apartment, watching some stupid reality TV shows just to kill time.  

„Pierre is organizing your engagement party. It will happen this Saturday at 5:30 pm. You can take your girlfriends if you'd like. Please don't be late and appear in something suitable. I love you with with my whole heart and I'm really sorry ❤” 

Tossing your phone to the other end of the furniture with a deep sigh, you started to ponder on what to wear. You weren’t going to listen to your pop's instead opting for something more revealing and bold that would piss both men.

Nor were you going to spare yourself alcohol, planning on getting drunk and ridicule them, maybe then the french man would give up and call off the engagement. You told your best friends about your mysterious plan and ordered them to dress like sluts too.  

When the day came you arrived late, on purpose just to make a huge entrance. Dressed in skimpy mini dresses you stumbled into the restaurant, giggles  and chuckles filled the room  as you took your places, Aisha almost tripping over her own legs. It could be seen you were a little tipsy already but you couldn't care less.  

„Sorry. We're late” 

You whispered to your father with a wide smile before sitting down next to your fiance. You could see he was pissed. His palm landed on your bare thigh, gripping the flesh and bone painfully hard that you were sure he’d leave an unwanted mark.

He got up and made a quick toast to both of you, finally letting the gathered there people eat then grabbed your hand and excused yourselves. After you’ve found a quiet place Pierre threw you to the wall and gripped your neck tightly.  

“I told you to stop acting like a slut, yet you not only arrive here late but also break my order putting on the shortest dress you own” 

His other hand slapped your ass harshly. 

“At least you wore panties... Can’t believe I’m going to marry you-” 

“You’re not so saint yourself” 

You spit straight onto his face hoping he would let you go, but he only tightened the hold on your neck. 

“You better behave or I won’t be so delicate tonight mon cheri. Now get your shit together and come back” (my dear) 

Soon Gasly let go of you and left you alone. Trying to even out your breath you started to fear of what he meant. Did he want you to stay with him for the night to pre-consume the marriage? If that was the case – he could only wish.

Throughout the whole dinner you kept shamelessly flirting with Pierre’s best friend Charles, seated just next to him. The monasque reciprocated your behaviour but more in a soft and playful manner out of respect to Pierre and not to angry you.

He heard a bout you before. A beautiful killer apple of the eye of one of the most dangerous mafia bosses in France, ready to gut out whoever tries to harm their business herself. Leclerc knew better than to angry you, especially since you weren't fully sober anymore.

Aside that the dinner went rather smoothly, much to your dissatisfaction, although you overheard a few of Gasly’s relatives and friends say that he should be ashamed of not having any control over you and letting you come drunk to the event.

Just as you expected you were suddenly left alone with Pierre, your best friends escorted out of the restaurant by your father’s men leaving with him.

You sat at the end of the long table, slowly sipping on your champagne and watching the staff start to clean everything up, when an arm wrapped around your waist pulling you up and throwing over a shoulder.

You yelped and squirmed in Gasly’s touch, the glass you earlier held falling to the ground and shattering to many pieces.  

“Put me down!” 

You ordered sternly as he carried you upstairs to a room, heels kicking his chest and fists banging on his back, both of which didn’t seem to affect him.  

“If you thought...” 

A groan escaped his lips as he threw you onto the bed then locked the door. He looked down at you in a predatory manner, eyes dark, filled with both rage and lust. He towered over you as you sat up and pushed away just to the very end of the bed. 

“You’ll get away with flirting with my best friend AND making an irresponsible person out of me... You were wrong...” 

The man continued with a hiss and reached for your ankles, pulling you back towards himself. In meanwhile,  you’ve managed to straighten your leg and soon your heel dug into his croch.

He released you with a loud grumble letting you quickly got up from the bed and run to the door. Just as you heard the lock click, the man’s rough hand found your neck drawing your back to his chest. You could feel his heart beat like crazy and his errection poking your bottom. He must have enjoyed it... 

“Listen mon amour... “ (my love) 

Pierre’s sharp teeth grazed your earlobe, hot breath fanning your skin. 

“You either behave and be a good girl or I won’t hesitate killing your father... Your brattines won’t lead you anywhere, everything is already written down and signed so we don’t need him anymore...” 

His threat made a knot form in your throat. People like him – like you – were never joking about death so you knew he would be capable of doing that. But you couldn’t let your father die so early so you nodded your head huffing angrily.  

“Bonne fille~” (good girl) 

Finally letting go of your neck, the man slowly hiked your dress up, his lips leaving soft kisses on your skin. 

“ Now... What should I do with you... Such an inobedient slut...”  

“Please...” 

You let out a quiet whimper, eyes shut awaiting the man’s next move. 

“Please what?” 

Pierre’s hand trailed down your hip, stopping at the hem of your underwear and starting to toy with it. 

“J-Just let me go...” 

A loud chuckle rumbled out of his chest. 

“And where’s the fun in that?” 

The man bit the shell of your ear gently while his hand traveled inside your panties, stopping at your wet folds.  

„If you want me to let you go... Then why is your body screaming for my touch? „ 

There was something intoxicating in Pierre, you couldn’t quite say what it was but it was there... And you didn’t like it.

One part of you  prayed for a release and quick escape but the other... Oh the other... The other one wanted Pierre to ravish you. You knew well, by just one look, what kind of guy in bed Pierre was. Rough. Ruthless. Passionate.

All things you haven’t received from any man in a long time and the second part of you longed for. Unintentionally bucking your hips to his front, feeling his erection even more prominent against your butt you let out a whimper that only signalled Pierre to continue.

One of his fingers dipped inside of you and started to curl devilish slow while his thumb started to rub soft circles on your clit. The man enjoyed teasing you, you could practically feel his wicked smile on your skin as he stopped leaving dark marks down your neck for a moment.

The French man loved how your walls clenched around his only finger wanting... No... Needing, more.  

„And you said you didn’t want it~” 

Pierre smirked picking you up and throwing onto the bed one again. You watched as he quickly unbuckled his belt, pulling his pants along with boxers down revealing his member.

You felt your mouth water at the only sight before the man flipped you over and put on all fours. Running his girth along your wet folds he groaned in satisfaction then pushed inside with ease.  

„Fuck... You feel so good... At least you’ll make a good wife in bed... I’ll fuck that bratty attitude out of you” 

You couldn’t help a moan as Pierre started to thrust into you in an agonizing pace, not letting you adjust to himself. The man gripped your hips so tight you were sure he'd leave marks.

Moans, grunts and pants filled the room, as you indulged in the pleasure and pain. Wet sounds of skin slapping skin were like honey to Gasly's ear,s he couldn’t help but to spank you a few times.  

„You enjoy it don't you? You dirty little slut...” 

The constant reminder that he considered you a woman of easy virtue drew you crazy. You enjoyed nightly escapeds with strangers but it didn’t mean you did it everyday.

Blood started to boil in your veins when you finally looked up, seeing Pierre take you from behind as if he was a filthy animal, in the floor length mirror of the wardrobe.

You looked like a mess, even worse than before, disheveled hair stuck to your sweaty forehead, skin was painted with hickeys, your dress barely hanging on your body while your boobs have spilled out of it a long time ago.

Pierre smiled at you as if you were just a mere thing to him, his own possession.  

„Your pussy is so tight for such a whore you are-„ 

In that moment you couldn’t hold it in anymore. Kicking him away you turned over and threw him down then straddled his lap.  

„You call me a whore once again... And I won't hesitate killing you” 

You growled before quickly lowering yourself onto him and starting to fuck him, rough and fast, just as you liked. You couldn’t care less that your legs burned like crazy, you had to show him who was the boss there. 

„Nu-uh” 

 When the man tried to grip your ass  and move you the way he wanted, you grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head.  

„If I can be a good girl...You can be a good boy... "

You hissed and pressed your chest to his face, muffling his sounds of dissatisfaction. Pierre captured one of your nipples in his mouth, licking and biting it giving you even more pleasure.  

„Mmm... I'm close... „ 

The man warned with a tug of your nippple making you yank away and grip his neck tightly.  

„You're not gonna cum until I let you... „ 

A wide grin appeared on his face, he was enjoying it... He was even more sick than you thought. You wanted to vomit at the only though of letting him fuck you, yet there you were, right on top of him, riding as if there was no tomorrow.

You chased your release like crazy, not caring about the man at all until it hit you... It hit both of you. Warm liquid spilling inside of you as Pierre couldn’t hold it in anymore. After regaining your senses you planted a juicy slap to the man’s cheek. 

“Ouch... What was that for?” 

“I didn’t let you cum” 

Growling out, another slap landed on his cheek before you spat on his face and got up. The man watched you dress with a content smile painted on his face.  

“You’re hot when you’re angry” 

“Shut up” 

You sushed him before leaving the room.

☆.｡.:*🌹.｡.:*☆

Throughout next few days you tried to ignore the french man as best as you could and focus on the wedding preparations. Pierre was so gracious he let you organise everything however you wanted but your father wasn’t happy with that information.

One day he threatened that if you didn’t include your fiancé in at least half of the preparations he wouldn’t pay for your dress. As much as you were displeased with it, you decided to listen to him at least once in your life.

You’ve tried to call Pierre for the past two hours but the man didn’t pick up. You didn’t care at all that he might have been busy. When you’ve finally reached his secretary and argued with her for 15 minutes she connected you with Pierre’s office. 

“Mr Gasly... Your fiance is on the line... S-She insisted I-I'm sorry...” 

The poor girl announced before letting you speak. 

“Listen here you little shit. Your priorities are obviously fucked up, because if you like it or not, I WILL be your wife and I should always be the most important thing for you. UNDERSTOOD? I’ve been trying to reach you for the past TWO HOURS and I don’t care what the hell are you doing YOU HAVE TO ANSWER. NOW!” 

Pierre pinched the bridge of his nose clearly annoyed. He was in the middle of an interrogation while you called... Of course you had to call in such a moment. He quickly dismissed his men and the prey before picking up. 

“What” 

The man gritted out, his hand gripping the phone so tight he could break it any minute.  

“Dad said I have to include you in the wedding activities. I’ve e-mailed you the schedule already. Today we have a cake testing at 4, don’t be late or I’ll chop your balls off... Tomorrow we’re going to pick out the dercorations at 12” 

After rambling about the plans for another half an hour Pierre has finally stopped you. 

“Okay, okay. I’ll check the schedule and won’t be late I promise just... Next time please be patient... I can’t constantly be available, I have work to do” 

“What is more important than your future wife, huh?” 

“Everything...” 

You’ve ended the call angrily not letting him finish, but the man was very relieved when you hung up.  

A few months passed since you got engaged. You already got used to the painful ring sitting on your finger and accepted your fate, although deep inside your heart burned every time you though about it.

You've spent the last weekend at your father's, discussing some wedding plans and just enjoying each other's company. One morning he called you for an important conversation.  

„Pierre wasn’t really happy with it, but we eventually came to an agreement” 

The older man started just a second after you made it to the dining room.  

„Which is?” 

You quietly took a place beside him and started to eat your breakfast. You stuffed your mouth with a pancake awaiting his response.  

„After your marriage the two gangs will morph into a big one. He will be the boss but you'll be his right hand and have a say in all the matters that once were of our gang’s. As well as all our people will have to come to you for consent if Pierre orders them something” 

“And you?” 

“I’ll stick around and help if any of you would need me. Pierre also would have to consult bigger matters with me until I’m gone” 

Your father explained. It wasn’t really what you wanted but was even more than you expected the french man to agree to. You knew better than to argue with both of them and accepted it reluctantly, which didn’t mean you wouldn’t fight for what's yours later into your marriage.

A smile appeared on your father’s face before he stood up and pulled you into a tight hug. You reciprocated, burrying your face in the crook of his neck.

Soon a door bell interrupted your little moment of affection.  

„Oh! He’s here! „ 

A groan escaped your lips as you threw your head back seeing Pierre walk in. You were hoping you won't see him until the wedding but there you were, pushed out of the manor by your father to talk with Gasly.  

“I think the preparations are going great... Aside the fact that you were late for all the appointments...” 

The fresh spring air hit your faces as you headed to your mother’s gardens. Even though you were a few months into your engagement, nothing changed in neither’s behaviour. You still were a bratty bitch while Pierre kept being a despotic dick.

The only times you two tried to cooperate were when you worked or were in company of your father. The older man had to know that his little girl was and will be well treated by his best friend’s son as well as you won’t bite off Pierre’s head the moment he leaves you alone for 5 minutes.

Gracing the fingers along blossoming and still closed flowers, you stopped and picked one up. Turning around to face Gasly you noticed his expression was different than always, soft and admiring, before it quickly changed to his usual cold one when you looked up at him and placed the picked up flower in his chest pocket.

The small gesture almost melted his heart before he regained his senses.

The man noticed he started to behave weird in your company but he tried not to show it. His heart skip a beat every time you touched him out of your own will, which wasn’t often, leaving him starved for your touch. He couldn’t fuck a chick without thinking of that night he spent with you. He had no idea what you did with him but your only glance, especially the mad or angry ones, made his heart – and pants - tight.  

“It’s gonna go great. You worry too much” 

He admitted as you kept walking further into the garden. 

“Well... One of us has to worry while the other constantly parties, taking different strange woman back home everynight” 

“Are you jelous?” 

You stopped in your tracks at the question, head snaping in the man’s direction with deep frown. Were you jelous he slept with other women? No. Were you jelous he was so laid back and couldn’t care less about the preparations, dumping them all on you? Yes. You didn’t have to say a word, your expression literally shouting your naswer at  him. 

“I’m not sleeping with the first woman that comes along. I own the club so I have to go there from time to time and check if everything’s alright” 

Pierre explained with a huff and an annoyed roll of his eyes.  

“Anyway... Here” 

The man took out one of his many credit cards and handed it to you. 

“Treat yourself to something nice. And you can keep it. Consider it aaa... Wedding gift” 

“Let me guess...” 

You took the card and started to examine it. 

“There’s only 100€ so I wouldn’t get spoiled?” 

The genuine smile you gave him along your answer made a shiver run down his spine. You chuckled along before Gasly responded with that huge and beautiful smile of his. 

“No, No... There’s not enough to buy crown jewels but should be equal to the cheapest ferrari. But don’t buy it. We don’t need another car” 

“Right! I just remembered! You promised to show me our car collection” 

Soon your conversation trailed away from the wedding, instead focusing on cars and racing. The man found out you loved to race and promised to take you to an f1 race one day to watch Charles.

Pierre admired your fascination with vehicles and loved that you’ve finally found a mutual topic. He also found out you always wanted to own a pistachio coloured ford thunderbird but was never able to find it. At least now he knew what to buy you for a wedding gift and appease you a little into the marriage.

He admired the passion in your voice when you described your favorite vehicles, aside the thunderbird mentioning impalas, mystery Machine, miatas and more. Pierre noticed your different tastes, he prefered fast sporty cars while you opted for the beautiful classics... And Miatas.  

☆.｡.:*🌹.｡.:*☆

Standing in front of a mirror, looking at yourself in your wedding gown, tears started to fill your eyes. You really didn’t want this and it could be seen. Your friends tried their best to lighten up your mood at least a little bit but it was hard considering that every, even the smallest, part of their bodies shared your pain.  

„You look so beautiful... Just like your mom... „ 

A male voice sounded in the room making the three of you turn around and face your father. He motioned for Aisha and Chloe to leave and take their places at the altar. The man walked up to you and brushed away a tear falling down your cheek.  

„Don’t cry princess... It's gonna be alright... „ 

He brought you to a tight hug and whispered to your ear.  

„Now, go get him tiger and kick his ass. He starts to get on my nerves too... „ 

You chuckled amused then pushed away with a smile. The ceremony went by surprisingly smoothly. Even both you and Pierre shed a tear. Yours was of sadness, of course, while his of pure happiness. You looked so beautiful he couldn’t help it nor could he believe he was about to marry such a god like creature. He just had to work on your behavior and you were going to be the best ever wife he could wish for.

You had a really great time at the reception, dancing with your father, friends, Pierre and his friends, eating the delicious food and deserts and playing stupid games.  

„I've gotta admit you're a great dancer... Not as good as Charles but still” 

Pierre chuckled as he spoon you around on the empty dance floor. Everyone has already left, leaving the two of you finally alone, able to indulge in each other's company. You'd rather sit at the table and eat another sweet while talking with the man but he insisted on one last, slow dance.  

„You took a good care of the preparations... I'm sorry I wasn’t there most of the time... „ 

Pierre sighed, head dropping down. You frowned a little. Sure you were mad he dumped all of that on you but you couldn’t blame him. He was a busy mafia boss so you understood it. Brushing your thumb along his jaw you made him look at you.  

„It's okay don't worry. Let bygones be bygones...” 

You softly pressed you lips against his cheek then let a quiet yawn escape them.  

„I think it's time to go to bed” 

Pierre chuckled picking you up. He carried you to your room and gently dropped down onto the bed. You let him take off your sneakers and kiss your ankles. The man pulled you back up then you untied his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. After taking it off he ordered for you to spin around, to soon unzip your dress and slid it down your body.  

„No bra? „ 

He chuckled kissing your neck then down your back. You stepped out from the dress and put it on a chair nearby before helping Pierre get rid of his pants, his eyes not leaving your breasts. When you reached for the waistband of his boxers, the man gripped your wrists and looked deep into your eyes.  

„We don’t have to do this... „ 

He whispered, bringing your hands up to his face and planting soft kisses.  

„What if I want to?... „ 

Pierre stopped his ministrations on your palms, eyes snapping to yours.  

„Are you sure? If we start there’s no going back... And I'm not gonna go easy on you...” 

He growled yanking you closer.  

„I don’t want you to... „ 

Teasing with a flirtatious smirk, you didn’t have to wait long for the french man to smash his lips against yours and throw you to the bed.  

„I'm on top first” 

You've managed to breath out between kisses, earning a displeased groan.  

„But then you can do whatever you want with me... „ 

You continued soon after and felt Pierre grip your hips tightly signaling his approval of the idea. The man shimmied out of his underwear then teared your off and flipped you over, huge palms kneeding your ass cheeks. You grinded on the man, sliding your walls against his length. 

“Didn’t thought the day you’ll fuck me out of your own will would come so quickly. Yet there you are... Ma princesse so needy for me-”  

“Can you for once shut up...” 

You whined starting to get annoyed and stopped your movement. 

“How can I shut up when I’ve just married such a goddess?...” 

“What a medieval lover you are...” 

You sighed with a roll of your eyes and continued your ministrations, trying to ignore every compliment that slip from his lips. Soon your womanhood started to coat Pierre’s twitching member in your juices as your hips rocked back and forth quickly, soft moans escaping your mouth while the man just stared at you with a cheeky grin and admiration shining in eyes.

When you finally decided to slowly lower yourself into his length he let out a moan too. You chuckled a little before lifting your thighs and slamming back down right after.

Repeating the motion you found a steady pace, going faster with every sound of slapping skin, Pierre eventually helping you by thrusting deep inside. His hands gripped your butt, nails digging into the flesh while yours firlmy rested on his chest, helping you with your balance.

The frenchman sat up, bringing your body closer to his and positioning in a way his every thrust hit your G spot. Crying out in pleasure you were sure the whole hotel and staff heard you but you could not care less too occupied by the hedonism.

The man burried his face in between your chest, kissing and nibbling them, not getting enough of the taste and softenss of your skin. He held you with one hand while the other played with your sensitive bud, circling and pinching it earning more moans from you.  

“Pierre... Fuck...” 

Your hand tangled in his hair, pulling his face to meet your lips in a tender kiss while you came undone in his grasp. Heavy breaths filled the room after you pulled away, staring into each other’s souls. 

“Why do you have to be so good at this...” 

Breaking the silence, you earned a warm laugh from your fiance. You never thought you’d hear his genuine laugh. The man gently layed you down on the soft covers and after asking if you were good to continue, to which you eagerly nodded, he once again started to move inside of you, this time slow but deep.

You’ve spent the night fucking like rabbits, not having enough even when you were out of breath, eventually finishing when you almost fell asleep mid round.  

☆.｡.:*🌹.｡.:*☆

The start of your marriage was difficult, but it wasn’t nothing you haven’t expected. Starting from jealous Pierre stalking you in Hawaii when you haven’t taken him to your honeymoon, instead taking Aisha and Chloe.

Through the man ignoring and braking the rules he established with your father. Ending at treating you like nothing more than a maid and his own possession.

But there were also nice moment like when you had a nightmare and couldn’t sleep. Everytime you sneaked into his room, Pierre welcomed you in with open arms and no questions. Or when he took a whole day off for your birthday and the two of you did whatever you wanted. Or when he finally took you to the f1 race, where you had a really great time, later on partying with Charles.

Until one night when you thought it was the end.

After complaining to your father that Pierre has been pushing you away from the gang's matters and the older man almost shreading your husband into pieces, the French man has finally let you work with him. You stormed into your mansion after a successful but very risky mission, all bruised up and hurt.  

„What the fuck is wrong with you?! „ 

Gasly shouted, slamming the door after himself and quickly following your bloody footsteps all the way to the kitchen where you tried to wash the blood off your hands.  

„I had it-„ 

„You didn’t got shit! „ 

You shouted back finally opening your mouth to him after he almost killed both of you.  

„You could have gotten us fucking killed! „ 

„ME?! I wasn’t the one driving like crazy almost crashing the car in the river! „ 

You turned around and faced him, pure anger painted on your face, as well as his. It was just supposed to be a quick check out around your territory on your way to a dinner Pierre promised to take you to, when you accidentally encountered a person responsible for an unsuccessful weapons smuggling.

You wanted to kill him right there and then, but Pierre insisted on stalking him. What was just supposed to be a slow stalk turned into a chase in a matter of minutes.

Pierre was a great driver, you had to admit, but this time he didn’t make it on so many turns, leaving the car and both of you all beat up at the end of the night.

When you've managed to puncture the guy's tires with your gun and make him stop, he started to run making you do the same. It was hard to do it in your heels, Pierre eventually overtaking you even though you were the faster one.

Heels long forgotten, you chased the guys bare foot when you heard a gunshot and saw your husband's bloodied arm. Fortunately it was just a scratch. When you tried to neutralize the man, he almost shot a bullet right through your head, one of your man who has just pulled up pushing you away last minute.

In that moment Pierre felt like his heart stopped beating. He already imagined your limp body laying in his arms, those beautiful but dead blue eyes of yours staring into his soul, while yours left your body along the liters of blood.

Just then did he understood the weird feeling he has been feeling towards you for past few months was love. The man regained his senses when he heard you laugh maniacally at your prey. A smile creeping up to his face when the sound filled his ears.  

“But you were the one throwing yourself at the guy! He almost shot you in the head!” 

“Well maybe if you weren’t such a PUSSY laying on the ground with JUST A FUCKING SCRATCH I wouldn’t have to do that!” 

You shouted on top of your lungs throwing a vase at the man in rage. Pierre made a quick dodge before looking behind himself at the broken vase, which was one of the wedding gifts from Charles, your favorite actually. The man slowly turned around to face you, fury in his eyes, hands curled in tight fists. 

“What did you just call me?...” 

He asked quietly to which you responded boldly. 

“A pussy. A fucking pussy. A cunt. A motherfucker. A himbo. A-” 

The man cut you off with a harsh hit to your face. You fell to the ground with a cry and looked up at Pierre, a glimpse of fear in your eyes but the bold attitude still beamed out of you. 

“HOW DARE YOU CALL ME THAT” 

Pierre lost control of himself, completely forgetting that you were his wife, a much more weak person, and kicked your stomach a few times before picking up and throwing across the room.

Your head hit the corner of a coffee table, body falling limb to the ground, a dark red stain forming on the light grey carpet.

The french man watched the terrifying sight in front of him, which he caused, in terror. Falling down to his knees he called for help while capturing your body in his hold, thumbs brushing your cheeks while tears fell down his. 

“Y/N...” 

HOLD ON TO HOPE SERIES | Sebastian Vettel (Spider-Man AU)

f1 masterlist | ask me anything or let's talk! great power, great responsibility (1k special)

spidey!sebastian vettel x female bff!reader | based on 2010

for more information to the reader: ❥ this series is an au (alternative universe) and it is based on the amazing spider-man movies. seb is considered peter parker and spider-man, while nico rosberg would be harry osborn (and you know who) and, y/n, gwen stacy. ❥ it contains friends to lovers trope. ❥ seb, y/n and nico are last year students of their respective degrees (seb estudies biomedical engineering, y/n studies biomedical engineering as well, and nico studies aerospacial engineering). ❥ some parts might include sensitive content. pay attention to trigger warnings at the beginning of each part.

started: AUGUST 06TH 2024 currently status: on going | last updated: august 6th masterlist under the cut !

taglist: [feel free to tell me so i can tag you and you don't miss anything!]

a/n: i'm so excited, so happy and this just came out of my head and had to post this. oh. my. god. i hope you love this short series as much as i do (it will have a second part series with retired!seb x ?!reader, any guesses?) pls tell me your thoughts, comments and fangirl as much as i do because i'm absolutely in love with spidey!seb and i fangirl about him on twitter 24/7

SEBASTIAN VETTEL KNEW THAT HAVING A DOUBLE LIFE WAS DIFFICULT, BUT HE DIDN'T KNOW IT WOULD BE THAT HARD. Since he was bitten by a radioactive spider during a school trip, his life changed completely. At first, balancing the last few months of senior year with the task of being a local hero in Heppenheim was quite difficult. However, the real problem began when he moved to Berlin to study Biomedical Engineering with his two best friends, Nico Rosberg and Y/N Y/L/N.

At first, everything was great: Seb went to his classes and, in the evenings, patrolled the city looking for loose criminals and elderly ladies in distress who had lost their kittens. The problem, much to his regret, began two months after his arrival to the German capital when what initially were minor issues of little importance turned into life-and-death situations, where the boy had to stay out on the streets until the early hours of the morning, using Hanna, a student he had met in one of his classes, and the desire of wanting to date with her, as an excuse. Except he really wanted to date Hanna.

Nico was completely fine with the idea of Sebastian living his life and even insisted that he should try something with that blonde girl who seemed to catch his attention, encouraging him to ask her out and become the most envied couple on campus. Y/N, on the other hand, was constantly worried about Seb, staying awake every night until he returned home and even trying to follow him on more than one occasion to see if her best friend was telling the truth or if he was just getting into trouble and she knew nothing about.

Knowing that all Sebastian Vettel did was lie, and seeing that those same lies were accompanied by academic results that were plummeting alongside with his increasing desperation, Y/N offered Seb help to pass his retake exams after Christmas in exchange of just one thing: whatever was going on in his life, he would tell her before he took his last exam.

With a knot in his throat, Sebastian promised her so even knowing that no one, and especially not her, could know that he was Spider-Man... at least not until Y/N started getting to know the superhero when her friend stood her up for the second time and realized that, perhaps, Spidey and Seb had more in common than they should.

© VETTELSVEE (2024). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

HOLD ON TO HOPE MASTERLIST

part 1: y/n decides that she's had enough of seb being an idiot, and tries her best to help him (coming soon!)

Set The World On Fire

Masterlist

Lando Norris had been incredibly angry when they met. Incredibly angry, but sweet enough to help her. Turns out he just needed somebody to talk to, somebody to be there for him.

He was easy to fall for, and that put her in a world of danger

Mafia AU

26.8K

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

INLOVE 😘😘

deal - cl16 (series)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it's his apartment.

Trope: Roomate!AU - slow burn

Update Schedule: every Sunday

AO3 // Wattpad

part one

part two

part three

part four

part five

part six

part seven

part eight

part nine

part ten

part eleven

part twelve

part thirteen*

part fourteen

part fifteen

part sixteen

part seventeen

part eighteen

part nineteen*

part twenty

part twenty-one

part twenty-two

part twenty-three

part twenty-four*

part twenty-five

part twenty-six

part twenty-seven

part twenty-eight*

part twenty-nine*

part thirty

part thirty-one*

Hungry Like The Wolf

Masterlist

She hadn't seen her best friend, Lando, in years. She didn't run into him the last time she was visiting her father and she doubted she'd see him this time. Things were different now. She wasn't aware of his furry little problem. Just like she wasn't aware of the vampires plaguing the town.

Vampire!Oscar x Reader x Werewolf!Lando

7K

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Seb to Lewis : these past two days away have been nice, I hope the kids have been alright without me .

Meanwhile, the rest of the grid playing the floor is lava , with Nando sleeping in the back, with Y/N throwing rocks at Lando and the rest of them chanting : sacrifice! Sacrifice! Sacrifice! .

This was so cute (gave me baby fever)

I ❤️ MILFS - Max Verstappen

Words: 9,747 Summary: Max wasn’t too sure who the woman was that was always with Logan, but he was sure that he wanted to get to know her. Note(s): Sargeant Reader, Age Gap, Older!Reader, Logan and Oscar are both 20 during the 2023 season, not 22. The 2023 driver standings are different (I am giving Logan the season he should have had). Reader has the nickname Pan (short for momma panther). Logan is sweetheart, Max is head over heels in love. I’m gonna be honest I never thought this fic would get written or finished. I got the idea for it back in December but only started writing it on March 16th. And it would have never happened without @burningcupcakefire & @pucksandpower. Thank you both so much for all your help. (also if anyone wants to see more of Max and Pan, let me know)

Taglist | Masterlist | Emergency Dental Fund

Max remembers the announcement of Oscar’s arrival to F1, the drama and hilarity of it. Sometimes he sees the kids name and has to stop himself from laughing. No nineteen-year-old had any business being that funny.

Max doesn’t remember much of Logan’s announcement to F1. Only that he was young as well, being the first American in forever, and Williams' quick admission that they hadn’t wanted to sign, had wanted to wait another year.

He wishes now that he had paid more attention.

There’s a woman standing in the William’s garage, on Logan’s side. She’s clearly there for him, with the similar pass that his trainer has around her neck, and the way her eyes intently follow Logan’s movements around the garage as he talks to the mechanics and engineers.

She also happens to be the most beautiful woman Max has ever seen.

—

She can’t help but clutch at Benny’s arm the whole race, terror gripping her along with pride.

Benny chuckles when the race comes to an end, Logan doing his cooldown lap and she finally lets go. “And just think you’ve got over twenty more races of this.” Her nose wrinkle and a hand goes over her heart that’s thudding. “Please, Benny.” He chuckles again but pats her shoulder. “You’ve got this.” “Not gonna tell me it gets easier?” He snorts. “No. This is far worse than F2 or F3 and we still were both scared watching him out there. We’ll never know a day of peace now.”

She sighs, watching the screens as it shows the top three getting interviewed and in the background you can see some of the drivers getting weighed. “He’s going to be sore and in pain.” It makes something clench inside her, the knowledge that Logan would be in pain. It was part of the job, the aches and the bruises, but it didn’t make it any easier for her to know. “I’ve already got everything set up as soon as he’s back and debriefs are done.”

Her eyes catch on the screen showing where all the drivers placed and tears prick her eyes and she shakes her head. “Twelfth in his first grand prix. I can’t believe it.”

The garage is filled with chatter as the team celebrates getting their first points of the season and their rookie driver performing better than they expected. The way they don’t even try to whisper it makes her jaw twitch. She was grateful that Williams was giving Logan his dream, but she didn’t like how they were going about it. Quickly and publicly stating that they didn’t want to sign Logan yet, wanted to wait a year. And now this.

A light nudge to her ribs makes her unclench her jaw and she gives Benny a grateful smile.

Both of their attention is quickly drawn however to the two Williams drivers entering the garage, the space filling with cheers.

She smiles as Logan grins at the team, basking in the smiles they have on their faces for him and Alex, the pats on the back he’s getting. The grin turns to a beam when he spots Benny and her and he quickly bounces over to them.

A laugh leaves her at the way Benny pulls him into a bear hug, lifting him off his feet a little. “Proud of you, kid.” He murmurs. She can’t hear what Logan says, but he’s put down and it’s her turn.

She wants to bundle him up in her arms, hold him and not let go, but doesn’t want to embarrass him in front of his team, so she raises a hand and pushes his hair out of his face. “You did amazing, baby.” He smiles at her, all bright and shiny eyes and then he’s wrapping his arms around her, hugging her tight and she’s quick to return it, rubbing his back. “You did so good, Logan. So good. I’m so proud.” She tells him again, pressing a kiss to his sweaty head. “Thank you, momma.” He tells her, hugging her tight for another moment before letting her go. She smiles up at him and god, that makes her heart ache. Her son, her baby, taller than her somehow. She woke up some days and still wasn’t sure where the time had gone and how he was taller than her shoulders. “Go shower and debrief and then Benny and me will take care of you, yeah? And I’ll get your favorite ordered to the hotel, ready as soon as you get there.” He beams at her again, darting forward to press a quick to her cheek before starting to rush away. “Best mom ever!” He calls over his shoulder and she laughs.

—

Y/N Sargeant will never forget the first time she held her son, only then at nine years old, he had been her cousin.

Logan was small, wrinkly, pink skin, and full of small cries. She could remember staring at him with furrowed eyebrows, trying to understand how he could be what her baby dolls were made to be like. She remembers her mama having her sit on the couch after asking her if she wanted to hold him and how she had quickly nodded, hoping that maybe holding him would somehow make him look better.

She remembers the sudden nerves that built in her stomach as her mama started to hand him to her. Remembers being scared that she would drop him, remembers thinking how stupid it would be if he was still weird to look at like this.

And she remembers finally holding that and it disappearing. His small cries, no more, his  wriggling calmed down, and his wrinkles no longer looked weird but cute. She remembers holding him for the first time and feeling unconditional love for the first time in her life.

—

She’s twelve when she realizes that her uncle and aunt don’t like Logan much. It didn’t make sense to her then, still doesn’t know. Because they liked Dalton just fine, but not Logan.

She remembers asking her dad about it. Asking him why they didn’t love Logan, but loved Dalton and worse, she remembers the pained look in his eyes as he realizes that his child picked up on what he and his wife had as well.

It’s the first hard adult conversation she has with her parents and it’s fitting that it’s about Logan, as they sit her down and talk to her about how not all parents love their kids, and how sometimes that includes them only loving one child and not the other.

—

She remembers clearly the first time Logan calls her mom.

It’s her fourteenth birthday and she’s got the four-year-old in her lap as she sits in a rocking chair, reading her English essay aloud for him. Logan’s eyes are closed, head resting on her chest, over her heart, and his little fingers of his one hand are curled in her shirt right by his head.

She wants to sit there forever, reading to him as she rocks back and forth. But she wants another slice of cake before Martha puts it away and Logan needs to sleep in his bed where he can stretch out fully and drool on his pillowcases and not her shirt that Martha will surely tut over but then smile fondly when she sees Logan doing it all over again.

Setting the essay down on her dresser, she runs her now free fingers through his blond hair. “C’mon Logan, time for bed.” He grumbles, fingers tightening on her shirt and she can feel it being pulled slightly. “You can put on your new race car jammies, cuddle with Ello.” He shakes his head, squirming a bit in her lap as he tries to shove himself closer. “Stay with you.” “Oh, baby.” She whispers, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Y’know I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.” His head shakes again and she has to bite her lip as his head hits her collarbone. “Want cuddles, momma.” Her heart thuds painfully in her chest at the name he called her, tears pricking her eyes. “Okay, baby. Let's get you in jammies, grab Ello, and you can stay with me tonight.”

—

She’s only been eighteen for ten hours when she asks her father for the near impossible.

“I want custody of Logan. I want to adopt him. And I need your help to make that happen.” He stares at her, no expression on his face, not even shock. “He’s,” She pauses, jaw twitching and tears springing to her eyes. “He wants to do karting, just like Dalton. And he’s good at it. I’ve taken him. They told him no. They haven’t bought him clothes in two years. They don’t know a single thing about his school, his grades, his teachers. He hasn’t called David dad since he was six and he hasn’t called Madelyn mom since he was four.” Her hands are formed into fists, nails digging into her palms as she speaks. “I have money, I can provide for him. I’ve got my shares of the company now and I’ve got my inheritance from Grandma Talls. But I know that a judge won’t sign off without some influence.” “Madelyn and Daniel?” She leans forward in her seat, a spark of hope filling her. “I already talked to them, they’ll do it.” One of his hands comes up to rub at his mouth, sighing. Then it drops to open up one of his desk drawers and he’s pulling out a bunch of papers, dropping them on the desk in front of her.

“I figured this was gonna happen and I knew after you talked to them and they called me. They signed away their rights three hours ago. Michael and Lily are waiting outside to come in so you can sign the papers.” Tears slipped from her eyes, joy wrapping itself around her entire being from his words, the fact that he called their family lawyer to be on standby, that he and her mother were so supportive. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” He smiles at her. “I couldn’t say no to you. Not when it comes to Logan. I’m way too young to have a grandkid, let alone one that’s eight, but I made my peace with that years ago.” “Thank you.”

—

Max watches the free practice session coverage intently as they focus on the Williams garage, nose wrinkling when they focus on Logan’s trainer, Benny and then James Vowles. Could it really be possible that they never once caught a shot of her? He starts to get a sinking feeling in his stomach that he's gonna have to go on Twitter when the camera moves and suddenly she’s there and he’s scrambling for the tv remote, pressing the pause button just before the camera switches to an overhead shot of the Bahrain track.

His heart skips a beat as he gets his first good luck at her. Her pretty eyes and smile. His eyes then travel down, wanting to know her name and his heart drops.

Y/N Sargeant, Mother of Logan Sargeant.

Fuck.

—

“Momma Panther!” Oscar greets to the confusion of other drivers as Logan and a woman enter the room.

Lando’s eyebrows are raised as he watches Oscar stand. Watching as his teammate claps Logan on the back, before giving him an actual hug. Before he then hugs the woman as well, whispering something to her that makes her laugh.

Pulling away from her, Oscar grins when her hand comes up to pat his cheek for a second. “Thank you for the invite, Os.” “Of course.” He sends a fond look to Logan, who's standing awkwardly by the table. “Y’know Logan and you are always welcome.” She makes a humming noise. “C’mon, let me introduce you to everyone.”

Turning around, he smirks at the table. “Everyone, Logan.” Charles lets out a laugh, as the others chuckle. He gestures to her, “This is Momma Panther or Pan.” “Y/N or Pan.” She corrects, playfully shaking her finger at Oscar. “I only let the F2 boys call me Momma Pan.” He sighs. “Okay, this is Y/N. Logan’s mom.”

Lando coughs, water going down the wrong pipe. Fernando’s eyes are wide as he looks at her. Charles, George, and Alex are all nodding. Max has a weird expression on his face and Carlos looks dumbfounded.

“She,” Carlos points at her. “Is his,” he points at Logan. “Mother?” Logan moves away from the table to stand by his mom, easily melting into her side at all the attention. The action makes Oscar smile, all too used to the easy affection between the mother and son. “I got pretty lucky right?” She shakes her head. “I’m just happy you weren’t a difficult child.” Logan both blushes and preens at the same time. Carlos shakes his head, disbelief still clear.

“Please, sit.” George says after a moment. “We haven’t ordered yet.”

The seasoned drivers and her watch amused as both Oscar and Logan usher her to sit first. Oscar easily then lets Logan sit next before sitting beside the American. The two of them sharing a grin after.

It makes her shake her head as she turns her attention to the menu, tuning out the sound of conversation picking back up.

The gentle sound of a throat clearing makes her glance to her left.

The current two time world champion smiles a bit awkwardly at her. “Have you been here before?” She shakes her head, turning her head a bit to look at him better. “No. To Australia of course, for Logan’s races and to visit Oscar once, but not here.” He nods and she can’t help but notice the way he swallows harshly. “We started coming here in 2021, it’s good food. Good drinks.” She laughs, “good gin and tonic?” He flushes a little, but laughs. “Yes. Very good. Heavy on the gin.” She nods, “I think I’ll have one of those then.”

Her eyes drift back to the menu, not even wincing at the prices next to the dishes. This was nearly cheap compared to where she had been forced to eat growing up.

“Momma, can we,” “Yes.” She answers before Logan finishes, already knowing what he’s asking. “Also you two, no hard liquor. We have plans tomorrow.” She continues, still looking at the menu.

They wouldn’t get drunk from a few drinks, but she had a feeling that Lando would try to instigate something again with Oscar, making the poor kid so drunk he could barely walk, again. And she didn’t mind people thinking that she was overbearing with Logan and even Oscar. The boys knew that if they really wanted to do something they could, even if she said otherwise. It was one of the nice things about being an adult.

Logan wrinkles his nose, glancing at the drinks part of the menu, before grinning. “They have it.” Oscar glances at what he’s pointing at, shaking his head. “You and your goddamn obsession.” “We come here like once a year.” Logan defends. “And no other country sells it.”

It’s not until after the server leaves, all of their orders taken, that conversation starts again.

“So, Mrs. Sargeant,” Lando starts. “Just Y/N or even Pan.” She sends a fond look to Oscar who had made that nickname stick. “And I’m not married.” She says, amused. “Ah.” “Not married.” Fernando shakes his head. “Now that doesn’t sound right.” She looks at him amused. “Don’t believe in premarital sex?” She teases. The older driver laughs and so do the others. “No. Just hard to believe that you aren’t married. You are a very gorgeous woman.” “Thank you.”

“So,” Lando starts again, giving Max a weird look seeing how his friend is gripping his glass of water. “Will you be coming to all the races?” She nods. “Yes, I have since Logan started his career. Haven’t missed one.” Logan shakes his head, grinning at her. “Nope, not one.” “Your work allows you to do that?” Her lips press together for a second to try and hide her smile at the gentle but obvious fishing they are doing. “I have shares in some companies and a very generous inheritance. So, no true, real work.” “You do some work for Grandpa when we’re in the states.” “I organize his desk for him, which he then messes up as soon as he sits back down at it.”

“You do not mind the constant travel? It is quite tiring.” Charles asks, curious. “No. And once I got Logan in karting, I promised him that I’d make it to all of his races. Maybe in a few years, I’ll stop going to all of them, but I am part of his team as well.” “Manager?” “God, no.” She shakes her head at Carlos’ assumption. “Cook slash nutritionist. Benny, his trainer is amazing, also doubles at being a physiotherapist for Logan, but he doesn’t know how to cook to save his life. So I make their meals.” “Mine as well.” Alex pipes in. “They’re truly amazing, by the way.” “Of course.” “Can you make mine again?” Oscar asks, leaning over Logan a bit to look at her. “I’ve missed having them.” “Sure.” She laughs. “Get me your new sheets before the next race, yeah?” “Done.”

—

Max watches from the corner of his eyes as she takes her first sip of her gin and tonic. Her brows raise a bit when the drink hits her tongue and he has to force his eyes up, to not focus in on her lips, to think about them and what they’d feel like on, he shakes his head. Forcing the thoughts, the ideas away.

“Very heavy on the gin.” She whispers, turning a bit to look at him. He rubs his hands against his jeans. “Do you like it?” “It’s nice.” She smiles. Relief fills him. “Good.”

He continues to look at her, wanting to tear his eyes away but being unable to. She was simply lovely. And getting this closer look at her, he can’t believe that she’s a mother, or at least a mother to a twenty-year-old. It didn’t seem possible. She looked barely older than him. Not at least thirty-five. She was probably more like Fernando’s age as well and he glances at the fellow two world champion, more disbelief filling him. Because how could the two be close in age at all?

—

Logan sighs as he collapses face first onto Oscar’s bed. Laying there for a solid minute before groaning and turning his head.

“Dinner was nice.” Oscar hums and he can feel the bed dip beside him. “You seemed a bit more relaxed.” “No media, and you and Pan were there. A bit more relaxed.” Logan scoffs. “Yeah, because you were so tense with media before.” As he speaks, he reaches out to lay a hand on Oscar’s thigh, giving the muscle a squeeze. “It’s nuts, isn’t it? I mean we all got told that the media was so much more, so different, but…” He trails off, shaking his head. “Yeah.” Oscar sighs and then he’s laying beside Logan, the American luckily moving his hand off and away from the other’s thigh before he lies on it.

“Y’know I have no personality, apparently.” Logan snorts, eyes opening when he hadn’t even realized he had closed him. The Australian driver also has his head turned so they’re looking at each other. “What? Have they never seen a Prema video?” He shrugs as best as he can. “I’d take that over my apparent frat boyness.” “You? A frat boy?” Oscar laughs. Logan sighs as he thinks a bit more about it, the mood turning a bit serious. “I just hope momma hasn’t seen it.” “What happened?” “She’s just worried. Thinks I haven’t noticed, but she’s wondering if she did a good job with me, done enough for me. And she’s given me everything y’know. I can’t imagine what I’d be like with them as my parents.” Oscar moves a bit closer, just a few inches between their faces now. “You’d still be amazing, still great. Maybe a frat boy.” The American rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

“I think Fernando has a thing for her. For Pan.” He clarifies. “What?” “I mean, just during the dinner y’know, he kept looking at her. And him calling her gorgeous.” “Well, he’d be dumb and blind to not notice that.” Logan scoffs, rolling onto his back and turning his head to the side, keeping his eyes on Oscar. “I’m being serious.” The younger laughs, poking him lightly. “I think Alonso has a thing for her.” Logan’s face scrunches up in disgust. “Dude, no. That’s gross. Momma isn’t even thirty and Fernando’s like forty-three. And isn’t he dating that journalist?” Oscar’s brows press together. “What journalist?” “The one that gave Fred shit.” “I thought she died?” The two look at each other, both baffled.

Logan thinks again of the journalist he’s seen around Fernando and the one that all of the Prema drivers, former and at the time current, had avoided or given shit statements too. They did look a bit different now that he really thought about it. Fernando’s journalist slash girlfriend didn’t have a fucking complex.

“Different journo.” Logan mutters. He then blinks, “wait, she died?” “Mate, you didn’t hear about that?” “No!” “She was supposed to be at Spa, remember. And we all were relieved when she wasn’t there. She died, car crash or something, I can’t remember.” “How do I not remember this?” Oscar shrugs as best as he can while laying down. “I don’t know.”

It’s silent for a moment, “you don’t think,” “No.” Oscar shakes his head, but he doesn’t sound too sure. “I mean, yeah no.” “Right.” He looks up at the ceiling.

“Okay, so Fernando is out of the running.” Logan groans, “Os, no.” “Look he clearly has eyes, but if he’s dating someone he’s out. He wasn’t the only one looking.” “Oscar, please, it’s my mom.” “She’s like my mom too, which is why we have to talk about this.” Oscar insists, wriggling closer to Logan. Their sides completely pressed together and when Logan turns his head to look at the other, their noses nearly brush. He looks at Oscar’s face, all earnest and caring and sighs. “Fine. Charles was looking, but he only dates one type, so safe from him.” “Lando was looking.” Logan snorts, “I thought this was for potential dates, not another kid.” He laughs, their noses brushing together from the movement. “Okay, no Lando. Max.” “He kind of looked weird when you introduced her.” He frowns. “I saw that too.” “But he also got all blushy when they talked.”

“The drivers do know, I mean Alex knows that she didn’t like birth you, right?” Logan’s frown deepens. “Of course. I mean, it’s not super well known, but it’s a little hard to believe that she naturally had a kid twenty years ago.” “Thought so.” Oscar then chuckles. “Imagine, them thinking that she did, though. Just thinking she’s got some sort of insane skin care routine.”

—

“How in the hell does she look like that with a twenty-year-old kid?” “I know right?” Alex says, looking at Carlos. “It’s insane.” Charles pokes at his own cheek. “I think I need to ask her for advice, what products she uses. I want to age like her.” “We all want to age like her.” George agrees. “What are you saying?” Fernando frowns. A few of them share a look, but Charles and Max share a different one. “Mate, you’ve got wrinkles and all these lines.” Max says. “I mean those are natural, but look at her. The skincare helps.” Fernando frowns, “Lines?” Charles touches at his own lines, “see lines. From smiling, laughing, frowning. All good things, very nice. Just not uh,” his brows furrow drawing a blank. Lando snorts at his struggle. “You just want to help your skin. Keep it healthy.” The older driver makes a humming noise, considering.

—

Her breath is caught in her throat, eyes wide as she watches the screen. Her heart feels like it is beating in double time. She wants to look away, doesn’t want to watch in case something horrible happens, but she can’t. Because Logan just overtook both Magnussen and Ocon in the same lap. Logan is in 9th. Logan is in a point scoring position with only five laps of the race left. Logan might score his first formula 1 points at his home race, at his actual home race, at his first ever home race.

Her hands are shaking, fingers locked together as she presses them against her mouth, trying to breathe, praying that Logan won’t fall back out of the points.

She doesn’t even notice that he’s lessened that gap to Pierre until suddenly he’s overtaken the other French driver, just three laps later. “Oh my god.” “Fuck.” “Benny,” she whispers, and one of her hands is dropping so she can clutch at the older man. “Benny, I think,” “He’s gonna do it.”

And sure enough he does it. Logan holds his place in front of Pierre and finishes in 8th.

“Yes!” The whole garage is cheering and she’s wrapping her arms around Benny, laughing when the trainer lifts her. “He did it! He did it!” She cheers. The garage quiets though as Gaetan starts to speak on the radio.

“Logan, you are on your cooldown lap.” “Got it. Where’s Alex?” She winces at the question, one of her hands grips at Benny’s shoulder as he sets her back down, the other holding onto her headphones that miraculously didn’t get thrown off her head or disconnected when celebrating. “Alex is P14, P14.” It’s quiet for a moment. “Okay, I’m sorry we didn’t get any points today, next race is ours right? The car felt great.” Both of her hands fly up to her mouth. “Logan.” Gaetan’s voice is full of disbelief and laughter. “Mate, you finished P8. You got us points. You got your first points.” She can see him react to the news, the car jerking underneath him for a second, before he wrangles it back under control. “What? What do you mean?” “You finished in P8. Clean race, finished ahead of both Alpines and Magnussen.” “Holy fuck.” The garage fills with laughter at his reaction and tears start to build in her eyes. “You guys,” his voice breaks. “Thank you guys so much. This was you guys, the car felt great, really.” She watches as James hops on the radio. “This was you as well, Logan. Amazing drive today.” “Thank you, James. Thank you so much for this.”

His mechanics, Benny and her, quickly go over to where the cars are parking, watching as Logan slots it into place. He’s a little shaky as he gets out of the car and he’s about to dart towards them but someone from the FIA, is ushering him to the scale.

His reluctance is clear even with his helmet on, but he goes. Letting them take his weight and as soon as it’s written down, he’s stepping off and away, fumbling with his gloves and then his helmet.

There’s an awed grin on his face, tears in his eyes, and seeing it makes the tears that have built in her own fall.

His gloves and helmet tumble to the ground as his mechanics and Benny surround him, celebrating his points.

Logan laughs when they finally let them go and his eyes light up when he sees her and he darts to her and she easily welcomes him into her arms.

“I’m so proud of you.” She tells him, squeezing his sweaty body close before running a hand through his hair. “You did amazing.” “I did it, momma.” His voice is weak and she can feel tears hit the skin of her neck where his head is buried. “You did it.”

—

“Logan did amazing, it was a good drive.” She blinks in surprise at the voice, turning in her barstool to look. “Max?” He smiles at her, cheeks flushed. “He did really well.” “He did.” She agrees before patting the stool next to her. His smile widens as he takes the seat. “I didn’t realize that Red Bull was in the same hotel.” Maybe she should have since she had spotted a few Red Bull polos, but she figured it was fan gear. “I think Aston is here as well. You aren’t celebrating with Logan?” She shakes her head. “We already celebrated. Him, Oscar, and a bunch of his friends here are throwing a party. I wasn’t really interested in watching them all get wasted, so this,” she gestures to the hotel bar, “is me having a drink to celebrate before going up to my room and ordering some room service.” “Could I join you?” His cheeks redden at the words, at the way her eyebrows raise. “Not like that. But for food? I’ve never actually eaten anywhere in Miami that wasn’t catering.” She stares at him for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. And I have the perfect place to take you.”

—

“Did I actually score points yesterday?” “You did.” “Sweet.” “Very. How’s the head?” Logan shrugs, “I mean, I drank a lot, but like I’m just dehydrated.” She shakes her head, “That will change in a few years.” “Not gonna tell me to not drink underage?” He teases, bending down to press a kiss to her cheek before grabbing her glass of juice and draining it. She snorts. “We’re in Europe most of the time and I gave you your first drink. I don’t think I have a leg to stand on. And you were celebrating.” “True.”

He sits across from her, refilling the glass and taking another drink from it before setting it down and starting to help himself to her pancakes, which she just pushes closer to him. “How was your night? You could have joined us. We wouldn’t of minded.” “I’m your mom, Logan.” She laughs. “I think the me going to your friend's parties ship sailed a few years ago.” “Yeah, but you're awesome. We like having you around.” “I know.” She smiles. “I wasn’t in the mood to watch all of you get wasted.” “Fair.” he says around a bite of pancake, which she sends him a look for and he quickly swallows the food. Giving her a smile that says sorry.

“So, how was your night?” “It was good.” She tells him, spearing a piece of fruit with her other fork. “I came back to the hotel, had a drink, and then got dinner with Max.” His brows press together. “Max?” “Verstappen.” She clarifies. “Red Bull is staying here as well, he saw me at the hotel bar and asked if he could join me for some food.”

“You went on a date?” Her eyes narrow at him. “It wasn't a date.” “You went on a date.” He scrambles for his phone. “Oscar is never gonna believe it.” “I go on dates.” “Momma, you’ve gone on like five dates. And two of those were before you turned eighteen.” She scowls at him. “It wasn’t a date. We just got dinner.” She insists. “Uh huh.” He says, clearly not believing her. “Did he pay?” “Yes.” “Pull your chair out, help you with your coat, anything like that?” Her mind flashes back to Max helping her get out of his car, his insistence on opening doors for her. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean,” Logan continues. “Did he walk you to your hotel room? Say that he had a good time and he’d like to do it again?” “Oh.” Logan grins at her, smug, as he finishes typing out a text to Oscar. “You went on a date last night.” “I went on a date last night.” And she doesn’t mention the fact that a new number resides in her phone.

—

“Logan!” He stops at the sound of his name, turning to look behind him, where Max Verstappen is nearly jogging to catch up with him. “Max.” He greets, when the older driver is next to him, nerves filling him at the eyes of said driver on him, along with how a few other drivers are also looking at the pair, shock and surprise clear on their faces. “Hey.” Max grins. “How are you feeling about the track?” He looks at the older driver in confusion. They had just left the drivers briefing, why was he asking him this? Alex had already spoken about how the team was feeling about Monaco. “The car won’t be the best here, but we said that in Miami, so we’re hoping to repeat that here. Alex has a good chance at ending in a point scoring position.” He reiterates what he's been told and what he’s been telling the press. “But how are you feeling about it?” Logan stares at the Dutchman, eyes flickering around trying to see if cameras are there, if his momma is there, but there isn’t anyone. The other drivers are already gone, so are the FIA people. It’s just him and Max. “Y’know you don’t have to talk to me because you went out with my mom.” He expects relief, like that one dick Jase, and really who puts that on a birth certificate, but Max just frowns. “I know, I don’t have to.” Logan swallows around the lump in his throat, “right.” Turning around, he starts to walk, somehow knowing that the other driver will join him. “It’s a tricky track, it’s Monaco. I was here last year and I barely got in the points.” “P10 and P9.” He throws the driver a look, because that was too much to know, but Max is just looking at him, encouraging him to continue. “The car isn’t suited for it. I mean it wasn’t for Miami, but this is different. And I’m still not managing my tyres correctly, so even if I did manage to gain positions, I’d get called in to pit and lose them.” Max huffs out a laugh. “You are a rookie in a Williams, it’s impressive that you’ve already gotten points. If you could manage your tyres, when sometimes even I struggle, well I’d put you in Checo’s seat.” “Not yours?” He laughs again, “No. I’m a bit better at it than Checo.” Logan couldn’t really deny that.

“Do you want some advice? On the tyres?” Logan quickly nods. “I’ll take anything I can get.” “Don’t fight the car too much on the turns. If you need to get it to turn properly or without going on the brakes too soon, fight it. But when you don’t, let the car be stable, keep it fluid. When you come out of the corner, press harder. It might feel like you’ll go into the wall, but you won’t.” “And if I go into the wall?” Max laughs, clapping him on the shoulder. “I think you're a better driver than that mate.”

—

“How are you doing that in the turns?” Logan looks up from his notebook, where he’d been scribbling a bunch of random words. Looking at the screen, he watches his own onboard. He thinks about saying that it was Max that told, but no one at Williams liked hearing about Red Bull, especially with Alex in the room. “Just something I thought I’d try.” “Well, it was good, continue doing it. We may have ended up out of the points, but we got close.” Logan nods. Even with his five-second penalty, he had still kept fourteenth, and Alex ended up in twelfth. “Will do.”

—

Max had thought about her in his apartment a lot, an embarrassing amount. He had also pictured it very differently. A nice dinner, wine, even though a majority of it made his nose wrinkle, perhaps some kissing on his couch as a movie plays that they both don’t care about.

He hadn’t expected lunch, with juice that he’s trying to figure out how he’s never had it when he’s lived in Monaco for so many years, and a somewhat serious conversation, though maybe he has been expecting that one or rather anticipating it.

“I like you, Max.” He flushes, “I like you too.” He really did, even though his mother was going to have a heart attack when she found out how much older Pan was than him. “And I want to continue doing this.” She gestures between them with her free hand that isn’t being held in his. “So,” sensing that there’s something she wants to say. “I’m a mom.” He blinks at her words, panic starting to fill him. He thought he’d made that clear that he knew that, understood that. He always made sure to ask about Logan. He even had Logan’s number now after talking to him about how he felt about the Monaco track. “I know.” “Logan is important to me.” Oh, god, did Logan not like him? “The most important thing to me. And if we're going to continue to do this, I just need you to know that. He’s always going to be my first priority.” “Of course.” Relief fills him, his heart slows from its frantic beating. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” She stares at him, trying to gauge how truthful he’s being before nodding. “Okay.”

“Did you think that I didn’t know that?” She shakes her head immediately. “No, it’s just. I don’t really do this.” She laughs. “Dating, relationships. Logan pointed that out to me, so I don’t really know how this goes and I just had to make it clear, put it on the table now.” “I don’t really do this either.” He hesitates to ask his next question, but does. “Logan’s father. What was your relationship with him like?” Her face screws up in disgust. “Ew.” He laughs, not expecting that reply or that word to sum up a relationship. But fair enough.

“I mean the idea of a relationship between me and Logan’s father is gross. Logan’s,” she pauses, seeming to settle on a different word. “Birth parents are my aunt and uncle.” “His what?” He could have sworn she said birth parents, but that couldn’t be right. “His birth parents.” She looks at him, concerned. “I adopted Logan when I turned eighteen. Did you think I gave birth to him?” “No.” He says, shaking head and clearing his throat. “Of course not.” She stares at him, lips pressed together. He sighs, slumping in his seat, eyes closing. “I may or may not have thought you were just a really, really young looking forty-something year old woman.” She immediately bursts into laughter and his eyes fly open at the sound. “You thought?” “The graphic for the race footage says you are his mother, I did not think otherwise. I just thought you looked great for your age.” He defends, a little embarrassed, but delighted by the expression on her face and her laughter that is still filling his ears. “I am his mother, just adopted.” “Not that either of you see it that way.” “No.” She shakes her head, laughing one last time before calming down.

“No. Logan’s mine, he’s been mine practically since he was born. It just wasn’t seen that way legally until I was eighteen and custody got signed over to me.” “Of course.” He then flashes her smile, “So can I ask how old you are?” She laughs, nodding. “Yes, Max. I think just this once it’s better to ask a lady her age than assume it.” “How old are you?” “I’m twenty-nine.” He looks at her with new eyes, the age making much more sense. “I would’ve said twenty-five.” “Really? I think you would’ve said forty-something.” “How was I to know?” He throws his free hand in the air at the tease, his other still holding hers.

—

“Hi, baby.” She greets when Logan stumbles out of his room, practically still asleep, as he drops onto the couch. “Momma.” He whines, resting his head on her lap and turning his face to press it into her stomach, trying to block out the sun. Her fingers brush through his hair as she forces her body to stay relaxed. It was always a fight when he did this.

She hated that her body didn’t bear any signs of being pregnant before, no stretch marks around her belly. She hated that she hadn’t actually gotten to carry Logan no matter how impractical it was, unless of course she was as old as Max had thought she was. She smiles at the memory of how flustered Max had looked when he realized her actual age.

He mumbles something and she turns his face away from her stomach. “What?” “How was your date last night?” Her smile widens. “It was good.” “Yeah?” She nods. “Did you see Jimmy and Sassy?” “No.” She runs her hand over his forehead, knowing that he’s thinking of Sooty. “We should talk though after you’ve had some breakfast.” “About what?” “Breakfast first.”

“What do we need to talk about?” Logan asks nearly thirty minutes later, his fruit bowl all gone and his coffee on its way to be there as well. She swallows, hands flexing. “Max.” “What about Max?” She sighs. “Well, baby, him and I talked about becoming serious last night. But that’s not gonna happen until I know how you feel.” “You know, I’m okay with it.” “I know you're okay with me dating, but this is a bit more complicated. Max is on the grid with you and we’re talking about a relationship.” Logan eyes widen a bit at the word relationship. “I mean, how does Max feel about it? About being with someone who has a kid on the grid?”

He asks knowing it will give him time to figure out how to tell her how he feels and because he wants to know, he kind of wants Max to be okay with it. He likes Max, and not just as a driver. The older driver is kind and funny, he also looks at his mom like she’s the sun, he makes her happy and that’s enough to put him in Logan’s good books. His mom deserves the best and he thinks from what little he’s seen, from how much more happy his mom has been (and god that was weird, because it wasn’t even like she wasn’t happy before) that Max might be the best for her. And Max now every time he sees Logan is always stopping to talk to him even if it’s just for a second to say a quick hi.

“Max is good with it. He knows that you're my number one and that’s never going to change.” Logan flushes at the words. “He also likes you, thinks you're a good kid.” She lets out an amused huff as the word kid leaves her mouth. It was odd to hear Max describe Logan that way, with only five years between them. But at the same time she knew it came from being practically a veteran in the sport. Max was coming up on ten years in Formula 1 despite his young age. He flushes even more. “Really?” “Yeah.” She smiles. “He always asks about you, it’s really sweet. And he knows to that if you aren’t comfortable with this or need more time then that’s what will happen.” “I am an adult.” “You are.” She was sadly well aware of that fact. “But you are my baby, my kid. I couldn’t be in a relationship with someone if you didn’t like them or if it made you uncomfortable.” He nods. “I’m okay with it. Max makes you happy, he’s nice.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.”

—

She lets out a giggle as arms wrap around her from behind, lips pressing against her cheek. “Hi.” “Hi.” Another kiss is pressed to her cheek. “Can I help?” She glances down at what she’s finishing up. “No. You could set the table, though?” “Done.” A kiss is pressed to her temple and then the blanket of heat that covered her back is gone. “What cabinet?” “First one entering the kitchen on the left.” She says, turning her head a bit to watch as Max pulls the dishes out.

Her mouth goes a little dry as she watches him. His t-shirt is tight around his biceps and chest. His skin is a little tanned after their date a few days ago on a friend's yacht. She forces her eyes to not look at his hands, instead trailing them up to his strong shoulders and neck and then to his face. Max, she thinks as he starts to put the plates on the table, is unfairly attractive. Before he can catch her staring, she checks on the final thing on the stove. “Perfectly done.” She mumbles with a smile.

The sound of the front door opening makes her smile grow wider as she grabs a pot holder. “Am I late?” “Just on time.” She tells Logan as he steps into the kitchen. “Can I,” She stops him before he can continue. “No, go wash up.” “Alright.” He bends a little to press a kiss to her cheek before turning on his heel, offering a wave to Max. “Hi.” “Hi, Logan.”

Picking up the pan, she shakes her head as Max goes to try and take it from her. “Logan and you are both going to get on too well.” “Why’s that?” He asks, a twinkle in his eye. “You both don’t like when I lift anything.” “What’s the point of having a son or a boyfriend, then?” Logan says, clapping Max on the shoulder as he comes back. Max grins at the younger, delighted as he claps him back. “Exactly. We feel a bit neglected.” She rolls her eyes, shaking her head, though a smile is stretching across her lips.

—

Max watches amused as the mother and son argue.

“Mom, it would be for two races, two, that’s it.” “One race, really.” Max chimes in, smiling when she glares at him. “Spa is nice, but Zandvoort is really what I consider my home race.” “See, it would be one race. Max wants you in his garage.” Logan says, looking at the other driver, begging for him to help but at the last sentence Max shakes his head. “I never said that. Well, I would like to see Pan in my garage, not for the whole weekend, or even a day. She’s part of your team.” Logan looks at him, bewildered. “But, it’s your home race.” He shrugs. “I’d like for her to stop by, you as well. I already have it cleared with the team. Staying for even a whole session though just doesn’t make any sense. I don’t need her on my side of the garage to know that she’s supporting me, wanting me to do well, not when you are on the grid.” “Are you sure?” Max smiles at Logan, because yes he was sure. Did he want her there, supporting him? Maybe even dressed in something with his number? Of course. But, he liked seeing her in Logan’s garage. Supporting him, wearing his merch, being a mom. “I’m more than sure.”

“Besides,” she says, drawing both of their attention. “Max and I haven’t gone public yet. Or really told anyone yet.”

—

“Well, this is a bit of an odd one.” Laura says as they stop in front of the Red Bull garage. The cameraman focuses on what she’s looking at. “Both Logan Sargeant and his mother, better known as Pan from Formula 2 fans, are in the Red Bull garage, currently talking with our current championship leader Max Verstappen, his engineer GP, and Daniel Ricciardo.” “Shall I see if I can steal one of them away?” Will asks, smiling at the camera as he holds the F1 TV microphone loosely. “Please.” She gestures.

Will steps towards the garage smiling at the small group hovering just inside. “Could I steal one of you for a quick minute?” The five exchange a look and Will stops himself from rolling his eyes at the way they all look annoyed at the idea, but Logan nods. “Sure.” “Thank you.”

He watches as Logan says something quietly to them, getting nods from them all. His brow furrows when Max squeezes his shoulder before the younger driver gives his mom a quick hug, making him shake his head. Logan Sargeant was an absolute mommy’s boy and it was embarrassing as all hell to see. He couldn’t imagine being twenty and hugging his mom in public, let alone all those videos and photos of him reaching for her hand.

Will ignored the part of him that did think it was sweet and felt bad for the kid. He couldn’t look all sappy while filming, especially not when in front of the Red Bull garage.

“Hi everyone.” Logan greets, taking the third mic from the newest crew member. “Hello, Logan. How are you feeling about this weekend?” He smiles at Laura. “I’m feeling okay, I’ve raced here before, obviously not in an F1 car, but I do have some experience with this track.” “And you and your mum’s visit to the Red Bull garage, should we expect an announcement of you switching teams?” She teases. “No.” He laughs. “No, uh, just visiting for personal reasons. Saying hello to Daniel, wishing Max a good home race.” “I mean, I’m not sure, he needs it.” Will jokes, gaining a few laughs. “So, no business to be done at Red Bull? Just saying a hello and wishing a good race to a fellow driver.” “Yeah,” he pauses, looking back at the garage where it’s just Max and his mom standing now watching him with smiles on their faces. It’s only that he continues when his mom gives a brief nod, one barely able to be seen by the camera. “And I wasn’t just wishing a fellow driver good luck.” “Oh?” Logan grins, looking pleased with himself. “I was wishing my new dad good luck.”

—

“Carlos Sainz is a cunt.” Max freezes at her words, hand still on the doorknob from just stepping into the room. “Hi, schat.” “Carlos Sainz is a cunt.” She repeats. His brain is scrambling because what exactly had Carlos done but also why was it so attractive to her say the word cunt. It had to be the accent, he decided quickly, still trying to figure out the Carlos thing. “And why is Carlos a cunt?” He finally asks, releasing the door knob and stepping further into the room.

She’s on her laptop, rapidly typing something, and he can feel anger radiating off her.

“That bullshit he spewed, blaming Oscar’s inexperience.” She scoffs, pausing her typing as she shakes her head. “It was an incident, a racing incident, something he knows a lot about. There was no inexperience fault.” “Oscar’s okay?” He already knows that he is, but knows it's good to ask. “He’s good. He knows that it's a racing incident.” Max winces. Wonders for a second if he should warn Carlos to keep his mouth shut, but shrugs. It wasn’t his fault that Carlos was getting in trouble because he couldn’t watch his mouth or correctly look at footage. “Can I help?” She sighs, hitting close on whatever she was writing in. “No.” She then closes her laptop, turning to face him, with a smile. “Hi. Congrats on the win.” “Thank you.” He bends to kiss her. “You okay?” “Yeah, just,” she waves her hand at her laptop, “stuff.” “Anything I can help with?” She starts to shake her head no as he sits on the edge of the bed, but she stops. “Actually, could I get your insight on something? Not just as a driver, but as someone who lives and breathes racing, loves data, really knows how the sport works.” “Of course. What’s going on?”

Another sigh leaves her, hand coming up to rub at her mouth for a second before it drops. “Why would a team not resign a driver?” His eyebrows furrow, because she knows the reasons, but he answers. “Not performing well, they want out of the team or sport, sponsorship issues.” “The driver wants to stay in the sport and the team.” Her lips turn downwards a bit at the word team. “And the driver brought new sponsorships to the team.” “They have to be not performing well.” “They’re a rookie in a back marker team.” “They have to be really performing badly.” Max says, trying to think of who in Formula 2 or 3 she’s talking about. “They already have six points and have placed ahead of their experienced teammate three times.” His mind is scrambling again, trying to find a reason, because what? “How many does his teammate have?” “Nine.” “I have no idea. Not unless there’s conflict within the team.” She shakes her head. “Is there potentially a more experienced driver for the spot?” She shakes her head. “They’re looking at another rookie or maybe someone who stepped away from the series for a year, though they’d rather take a rookie than him.” “I don’t have an answer for you. It doesn’t make sense to me.” She nods, expression falling and she’s rubbing at her face.

“What’s going on?” He asks, standing up just to crouch down in front of her, taking her hands in his. “The driver’s Logan.” “What?” “Williams isn’t sure they want to offer Logan another year.” Max stares at her. “How?” “I don’t know.” She shrugs, laughing. “There’s talks of them signing whoever wins this F2 championship or even the runner-up depending on who it is. Logan’s making too many mistakes.” “He’s costing them too much money.” Max fills in the blank, shaking his head. “That’s ridiculous. Don’t take a rookie if you can’t afford it. You are supposed to account for the worse. And he’s doing well. It’s not his fault that they built a shit car.” “I don’t know what to do.” She admits, voice just a whisper, and his heart clenches painfully at the sound of it, at the tears in her eyes. “This is his dream. I don't know what to do if that gets taken away from him.” “It won’t. We’ll figure something out.” He tells her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

—

“I think I’m spoiled.” Max says, watching as she gets ready for bed. A faint feeling of arousal pooling his gut as she pulls on one of his shirts. He absentmindedly wonders if it would be weird to wear it tomorrow to the track, the scent of her lotion clinging to it. “Why’s that, honey?” He smiles, cheeks a bit pink, and that arousal builds a bit more at the pet name, at the way she shifts in the vanity chair to loosen some tension in her back. “You come to every race, you see me win, you celebrate them, you got to see me win my third championship today.” Those words feel weird off his tongue, today, but totally sober to celebrate. He wants desperately for tomorrow to come, for the race to finish so they can celebrate, him, her, Logan, the team. “I guess you are a bit spoiled.” He gasps, clutching at his heart, making her giggle. “That’s okay though.” She says, getting up and moving onto the bed, straddling him. “I think I like you spoiled.” He groans as she dips her head, pressing a kiss to the flutter of his pulse. “Schat.” It's a warning to stop and a plea for more. “I know.” She kisses the spot a bit firmer. “Celebrations will have to wait just a day longer.” She then rolls off him, his arm immediately lifting so she can press against his side.

“It’s cruel to win with a sprint race.” She snorts, “A sprint race never stopped us before.” “It’s cruel to win with a sprint race in Qatar.” He amends. “Very true.”

He sighs, staring at the ceiling as he calms down, luckily the feeling of her fingers tapping along his stomach not making it harder. “How’s Logan feeling?” Max asks, remembering how pale he looked when they got dinner. She sighs, moving somehow closer. “Not great. No fever, but his stomach is still a bit upset.” He winces. “He gonna be okay tomorrow?” “I hope so. The team knows that he’s sick, they’ll make the right choice.” “I hope so.” He echoes, wishing that Logan felt better, hoping that he feels better by the time the race starts.

—

“We are confident in him.” Max scoffs, tossing his phone aside. “I know.” “Logan still wanting to do his new routine.” She nods, lips pursed. He shakes his head. “He did good.” It wasn’t the rookie season that Oscar had, but it couldn’t be. Oscar got lucky enough to get a seat in a near top team, while Logan got one with a back of the grid team that was sometimes midfield.

Logan scoring ten points, getting himself to sixteenth in the standings, tied with Bottas in the standings, was very good for a rookie. It was a shame that Williams seemed to think he could’ve and should have done better. At least, Max thinks, the 2025 grid was wide open for possibilities.

“Are him and Oscar still joining us?” She throws him a look. “Us?” “You.” He amends, knowing that despite him joining her, he’d get caught up in Redline and different things. He was just happy she didn’t mind that. “Only for a few days and then they both are off to Australia.” “Will Logan be joining us for Florida?” “Yes. My mom has been asking the next time she’s going to see her only grandchild.” Max laughs at the eye roll. “So, Belgium first, then Monaco,” “You go to Milton for a day after.” He nods, “then Greece, Florida, Monaco.” “Not bad for the first few weeks of winter break.” “Not bad at all.” He agrees, wrapping his arms around her waist, chest pressed against her back.

It’s quiet between the couple as Max sways them.

“Max.” “Yes?” “Your mom, she does know that I’m not in my forties right? Or thirties?” She figured that the woman did, but she also had only briefly gotten to meet her at the one race, and there had been an odd expression on her face when Max introduced her as his girlfriend. He freezes. “Max.” “I knew I forgot something.”

@ohtous @cixrosie @darleneslane @fanboyluvr @teti-menchon0604 @eugene-emt-roe @quackquackhun @rewmuslupin @copper-boom @stopeatread @crashingwavesofeuphoria @jointhehunt67 @namgification @asphalstead @poppyflower-22 @racingheartsposts @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @hiireadstuff @iloveyou3000morgan @boiohboii @bibliosaurous @skepvids @elliegrey2803

A way to ruin my mood gurl😭

million dollar man ☆ toto wolff

genre: age gap, porn with plot, angst, mentions of drugs, tragedy, erotic literature, mentions of homicide, bits of humor, child neglection, divorced!toto

word count: 16.5k

Toto Wolff, self-made billionaire, is on cloud nine; he has all he’s ever wanted. A beautiful wife, family, a great team. But when that starts slipping from his fingers, he desperately tries to keep hold of what is not his anymore. As a possible solution to cure his blues, Lewis kindly invites him to a place he runs off to when times get tough; to relieve some stress. But he just never expected a cosplaying angel, dancing around a metal pole, to be his salvation. And also, his cruelest life lesson. 

nsfw warning under the cut! 

18+…dry humping/ thigh riding, sexual tension, penetrative sex, oral sex (m!receiving f!receiving), size kink, breeding kink, praise, foreplay, riding

inspired by this and this !

STOP AND READ:

Typically, we keep it light here: occasional minor angst fics, but light, nonetheless. That will not be the case this time around. Because of that, I firmly believe that it is necessary to give a few warnings. There will be mentions of drug-use and homicide and if that is not something you are comfortable with then that is totally okay! I have more options for you to read over at my masterlist! This is purely fictional. With that, this story is based and inspired by Million Dollar Man and Yayo by Lana Del Rey (*run*)—what that means is that this story will not have a happy ending. 

cherry here!…toto is like—a special appearance, here in this blog. probably won’t write for him all the time, but hey! we love him!originally this was going to be named yayo but have since changed my mind to million dollar man. IT WILL MAKE SENSE AND I’M SORRY, ANONS. please don’t hate the villain in me. consider yourself warned. 

There was no room for love when it came to the world of motorsport. Toto’s first marriage was a transparent reminder, given its falling out. The Austrian didn’t seem to care, almost; Mercedes was at their prime, but by then, when Susie came along, he felt a gist of hope. She must’ve known the sacrifices that would be made—the expectations. 

And yet, he sat there, signing the divorce papers once again. What had he done wrong this time? He had given her everything she could have ever wanted—spent time he didn’t even have—with her. 

Neither of us were happy anymore, she would whisper apologetically, eyes trained downwards. But I’ll always love you, Toto. You must remember that. 

Suddenly, he was fifty-two and with no true purpose in life other than to stabilize his broken team. If it wasn’t false accusations from other team principals, then it was trouble with the hydraulics, and if it wasn’t that, then it was losing his World Champion. Mercedes was already dwindling down to a mess, but with Lewis leaving—it felt like he was losing his mind. 

“You understand where I’m coming from, right, Toto?” 

Looking up at Lewis and Penni, his manager, the Austrian sighs, forcing a tired smile. No. He didn’t understand—did not want to understand. But he had no right to prevent the Brit from expanding one final time before retirement. I just feel like I need to do this for myself, but thank you for the infinite support. Mercedes will always be home to me. 

Promises. Fuck them, they meant nothing at the end of the day, so why bother? 

“Do what you need to do. I’ll always be here for you; no matter what.”

It was a bittersweet feeling to have. On one hand, the brunette felt optimistic. Maybe this was a chance to start over, perhaps offer up the golden seat to Carlos or Kimi. They had proven themselves in their own way and maybe that could bring better opportunities towards the team.

On the other, he felt like this was it. Maybe it was time to move on, retire with a sorrowful smile and live out the rest of his years. He could try fixing things with Susie. The thing was, he just re-signed as team principal, so none of that would work out even if he wanted to. 

Running a large hand through his brown hair, he groans and takes a sip of whiskey. Wincing at the taste, he jumps up in alert from his seat when there’s a knock on the glass door. May I? He nods.

Entering with an easy smile, Lewis raises his dark brows in a teasing manner. “Drinking ain’t gonna help, I promise you that.”

The brown eyed man grins. “You have something else in mind, cause if so, I’d like to hear it.”

The Brit hums, tilts his head to the side. Lewis had been with Toto for as long as he can remember; he was there when Toto and Susie met, and long after when they tied the knot. He swore they were happy, and that may have been once true, but he also knows sometimes even that can’t be enough. So, when news came out to their inner circle that the two were getting divorced, he felt sorry for him. He knows what it feels like to have it all, to suddenly go to sleep alone every night. But there was always one place that always helped— even people like him.

“You up for Vegas?”

-

He should have said no. He was too old for any of this nonsense. Too mature. Only, one thing led to another, and before he knew it, he was entering one of the top-tier stripclubs in all of Las Vegas. He knows that while there is nothing wrong with the profession, he can’t help but feel sinisterly dirty. He blames it on the fact that Lewis was beaming right besides him. Maybe if he hadn’t once been his boss, then the feeling would be different.

“Oh, c’mon. Ease up. No one will even know that you were in here.”

It’s true. While the club was a part of the infamous Vegas strip, it was also exclusively exclusive. No one could get in if there was no form of proving to be millionaires, and even that was ridiculously low. NDA’s would be signed as if it were something normal. Made him wonder what kind of things occurred between these four walls. 

Toto chuckles deeply, dark eyes roaming the entire room, loud music blaring. “How did you even know this place exists?”

Lewis winks, lousy arm waving at the bouncers. “You know how everyone thinks Formula One drivers are players and are up to no good?”

“Yeah?”

He smirks. “Well…they’re fucking right.”

After a couple of drinks, a few new friends—who would make great potential business partners—and a bit of gambling, the fifty-two year old found himself having a decent time. The atmosphere was a tad bit suffocating, but one time won’t kill him. He deserved it. 

“Oh, oh, you might want to take a seat,” Lewis chants excitedly. “People get pissed if you block their view.”

Abruptly, the stage lights up. It was a bit alarming, the sudden speed these men took to claim their seats, trampling over each other to get front row. Carefully, he crouches down onto the couch of giddy men. This wasn’t a normal setting; girls were caged behind glass as if to protect them from these males and their slithering actions. A red head professionally swings around the steel pole, black skirt flowing, adding to the illusion men love to taste. 

Whoops and hollers echo the red room as the Brit nudges Toto’s broad shoulder with a wicked grin. “Good, no? She’s my favorite.”

The Austrian scrunches his nose, half joking, half not. “Is this why you were always dozing off during our meetings?”

“Exactly why.”

It was an impressive art, he’ll give credit where credits due, and his eyes were bulging out of his head, but that’s about it. When he stood up to go and order a new drink, a string of boos were thrown at him. Even Lewis shook his head with disapproval. Man, you’re missing the show! He sends a sly grin. “I’m tough to win over, but they’re great, don’t get me wrong.”

The bartender shakes his head in disbelief. “That’s what they all say. Until they lay eyes… on her.”

“On who?” He’s quickly hushed as soon as the room changes gears. The once red club enhances into a soft yellow glow, the fast paced music slows down to an angelic piano intro. 

A round of applause for everyone’s favorite girl—Peaches!

If the fifty-two year old ever thought he’s heard it all; loud cheers from fans, loud cheers for the other dancers; then he must have been mistaken, and awfully foolish. His ears ring with the sudden howls from everyone in the room. Turning around, he’s found with a girl, standing with golden angel wings. A shiny reflection colors her hair as she delicately bows, shy smile sewn onto her pouty lips. White dress wrapped around her figure as if it was tailored for her, and only her. 

Yayo.

The way she pranced inside the glass box like a butterfly makes the men grow wild as they pant feverishly. She’s barely doing anything—hasn't even done half as much as what the other girls had done—and somehow, all eyes are drawn on her like a sticky potion. Toto’s heartbeat gets stuck in his throat as he tries his best to swallow it down. Sad eyes flicker throughout the club as she spins, dress fluttering like a flower in the summer breeze. 

You’re someone desirable in all senses, and it appears as if you know it as well. 

Let me put on a show for you, daddy. 

Dropping down to your knees, you crawl towards the glass as you draw your soft brows together, as if pleading to be let out. Hot breath paints the glass before you press a kiss. 

Then, you’re looking at him, and it’s as if you could point out all the fucked up shit he’s ever done. His heart speeds up as you tie your shiny legs along the pole, sensually spinning as you throw your head back. Like a signal, water sprinkles inside the box as it lubricates you down, dark mascara trickling your features. 

Arms toss your hair back before sharing a quick wave as you step out, red lights turning back on. And just like that, Toto is left empty and alone once again.

“That shit was insane,” the Brits voice shakes him away from your spell as he flops down on the stool right next to him. “She must be new because I for sure wouldn’t have forgotten a pretty face like hers. What’d you think?”

Toto blinks. “She might be my favorite.”

-

Thank you, Ro, you say as you sign on the bottom x, waving him off as he tilts his head in agreement. Call me if you need anything. I’ll be outside, like always. 

Even after all this time, you still got trepidatious. There came times where the connection was completely off, that you just wanted to bolt away, screaming like a baby. But you needed this job to survive, plus, it paid a pretty penny. 

“Where do you want me?”

Once you spot the massive businessman, manspreading on the couch that he made out to look like a toy, you gulp. You had caught a glimpse of him already, basically performed for him, but you didn’t think he was the one who called for you.

He’s strikingly handsome in a way you couldn’t quite comprehend. Dark, untamed hair covers his face. Long nose catches your attention as you squirm. His hands are practically the size of your face and you could only imagine what his thick fingers must feel like. Curiously, your eyes dwindle down to his lap as you picture what rests between his legs.

“Oh, right. Um…”

You grin. “First time?”

He winces. “It was a friend's idea.”

“Hmph. Heard that one before.” Inching closer, you pour a glass of water. “Here. It’ll help.”

His hand swallows you whole as you gape down at the difference. Electricity zaps you as you flinch and he catches on. Bringing the cup towards his pink lips, he closes his eyes, lashes fanning his tan skin. Being taken care of by a beautiful, young lady, made him cringe in all kinds of ways. He felt like a child, then like an old man. To be fair, he sort of was.

“I’m not here for…you know.” You quirk a neat brow. You don’t want to fuck me? Your question has him choking on the ice as he raises his hand up. “N-no, I just th—”

“I’m afraid you’re just wasting my time, and time is money. Have a good day, Mr. Wolff.”

Gaining his composure, Toto storms over to you, grabbing your hand. “I’ll still pay you. Triple what you make, but please don’t go.”

Your cheeks are dusted light pink when you turn around, wings brushing against him. If you’re lucky, you reach his toned chest, but the height difference was scary. Enticing. You almost wish he would fuck you like a pornstar. 

“You know what a girl wants to hear. I’m in.”

Turns out, he just wanted a companion. Someone who wouldn’t pity him. Didn’t hurt that you were the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, either. Narrowing your eyes, you click your tongue. “She said that?”

He sighs. “Maybe I was changing.”

“Perhaps, but that’s what a marriage is for. You change, sure, but you change together. Things can’t possibly stay that same, that’s just stupid.” Tucking your legs beneath your butt, you continue. “And what? Your number one driver decides to leave out of the blue? Even after it was mutually decided that he would stick around at least until 2026?”

That was something no one knew, but who were you going to tell? Toto grimaces. “It sounds bad, doesn’t it?”

“It fucking sucks.”

The Austrian chuckles deeply at your outburst. You blush at the cunning sound. “You’re a terrific listener. I’m glad you stuck around to talk.”

“I’m glad I did, too.” You play with the hem of your dress. “You’re a kind man, Toto. You didn’t deserve any of this.”

-

He slips away that night with a tranquility he hasn’t felt in quite a while. On the way back to Monaco, he wonders if you were some kind of guardian that he had to meet in order to move on from his bittersweet feelings. Because it sure did feel like it since he felt he now knew what it is that he had to do in the upcoming season. All thanks to you. 

“…Toto….Hello?” Bono smacks his hand against the table and the Austrian flinches. They were in the talks of what position he would stay in now that Lewis was departing from his life-long engineer. “Do you want me to continue or?”

The brunette clears his throat, awkwardly. “We have a few weeks of break before the new season begins, correct?”

“Correct.”

He stands up to his full height. “Then let’s talk later. Enjoy your break, Bono. See you soon.” Then he’s walking out the sliding doors, with a dumbfounded engineer piercing his eyes at his large back.

Elizabeth, Toto’s rough voice speaks to his personal assistant. Clear my schedule for the next few weeks. Oh, and also; get me the first flight out to Las Vegas. 

-

Cursing at the dusty wind, you huddle your way into your beat up car, fingers sliding your Dior glasses down the bridge of your nose. They were a gift from a recent client, and you never shamed them away. Taking a sip of your sparkling water, you sigh in relief at the refreshing taste. Screw Nevada for being annoyingly hot. 

Tap tap. 

Squinting your eyes at your window, you only catch a glimpse of a man’s clothed crotch as you yelp. Swinging the door open, you take out your pepper spray. “Go away creep, I will use this if necessary!”

"Warten! Warten!"

“Huh?”

“I said wait,” a thick accent clarifies. You bite back a smile. “Hello.”

Bringing your hands up to your hips, you giggle. “Hello, Mr. Wolff. Back for more?”

He can try and pretend that he was better than crawling back to you, even if all you both did was have a meaningful conversation, but he doesn’t have time for lies. 

“I just wanted to thank you.” Your lips separate, slowly. “For everything. You helped me figure out lots of things.”

“Oh, wow… I, umm… You’re welcome?”

Intaking your soft aura, he closes his right eye due to the bright sun. “Can I take you out for coffee?”

-

You didn’t go out for coffee at a local cafe, but rather at his mansion he just blew his money on without batting an eye. Inhaling the yummy scent, you swoon. “This smells amazing.” 

He smiles. “It’s from Germany.”

“Authentic. How’d you get it?”

“Don’t underestimate power.” Your eyes grow wide at his cold tone and the Austrian laughs. “Relax. I’m from Germany. It’s my favorite, so I always carry one with me. Call me old-fashioned.”

“Let’s just leave it at old.”

He flashes a devious grin, lines tracing his face. “Ha-ha. But seriously, thank you for helping me out of my little…crisis.” Midlife crisis, you correct him as he glares. You snicker. 

“I’m glad I was able to help.”

“Can I ask you something?” Sure, you cheer as you sip on the hot drink. He fixes his glasses. “How did you end up working at Machiavellian Nights?” Your stomach drops. “You don’t have to answer.”

“No.” He nods. “I’ll tell you, because oddly enough, I trust you.” Okay, he whispers. “Are you close to your parents?” 

“What?” Are you? He nods again. You smile sadly. 

“That’s lovely, Toto. Appreciate that.” You release a shaky breath. “My father passed away when I was fifteen and my mother pretends to not know me.”

He gulps and you continue. “It was not always like that, though. We had a close relationship. She would braid my hair every night before bed. I would curl hers before every date. She was an amazing woman. One I could admire.”

“What happened?”

You lower your head, lips wobbling. Letting out a wet laugh, you brush a hand up against your nose. “Men are deceiving. Men are shit. Men are a complete waste of time and— I miss who my mom used to be.”

Handing you a napkin, you silently thank him. “She met him when I was only seventeen. It was fine at first; I was so happy for her. I would be moving out for college eventually, so I felt relieved that she had someone to rely on. Connor was great.”

The fifty-two year old is momentarily lost. Nothing sounds as bad as it seems, but he refrains from telling you so. “Then she got pregnant. Oh, Toto, I was so excited. A baby sister. Could you imagine? I bought everything my first job could afford. Onesies, blankies, pampers, I bought it all. And I never once expected anything in return.”

“That’s where things began to change. Connor swore I was trying to win my mom over and leave Rosie with nothing. Kicked me out before I even had a chance to defend myself. I thought —okay, I’ll just talk to her and explain that it was never my intention to do any of that. But she wouldn’t listen. She gave birth six months ago.”

“And you ended up...” You hum, bringing the mug up to your lips. 

“It was either that or fast food. Salary is shit in that industry. And the customers aren’t bad. I could say yes or no at any given time.”

The brunette fiddled with his watch. “So, you could have turned me away?” Laughing, you nod. He fakes a smug look. “And why didn’t you?”

Tapping a lazy finger onto your chin, you close your eyes before fluttering them open. “I had a feeling you had shit locked away. Just like me.”

-

He bids you farewell, claiming he was glad to have met you, even with such circumstances. The way he hugs you goodbye makes the pit of your stomach fuel with fire as you brush away the urge to climb onto him and kiss his pain away, even if he promises to not feel any. 

Take care of yourself, you beg, head resting beneath his heart. His breath hitches. You need to look after yourself, above all. Oh. And good luck with the new season. 

He wonders why such a pretty plea makes his heart break. Perhaps it was because even though your life was at rock bottom, you still looked out for others. Or maybe it was him, but he couldn’t pinpoint it at all. He wouldn’t try either because as stated before, he was leaving for good. He could make room to visit you the next time he was here for the Las Vegas GP. Even then, he wouldn’t risk you like that.

But like a kid at a candy shop, he finds himself signing the NDA once again. Welcome back, Mr. Wolff. The usual? “That sounds great, thank you.” Taking a seat, he watches the vivid room, hoping to spot you. Set after set, he’s torn when you don’t show up. Others seem to notice you missing as they violently spit slurs of; Bring out the pretty one! 

“Would you be kind enough to treat me to a sweet drink? Paloma’s are my favorite.”

Your sultry voice salutes him like a perfect hug as he looks down to where you bite down onto the inside of your cheek. Your eyes crinkle as you beam up at him. “You’re here…”

“I always am.”

He cringes, desperation humbling him as you take a seat. “Your act…you didn’t go on and I just thought you were out sick or something?” Leaning over to take a sip of his dark drink, loopy eyes train on him before sighing.

“Ugh, I wish. I’m on my period. I asked for the night off, but I’m still up to no good. Make a little bit of money, eh.” He clenches his jaw. “What are you doing here anyways, Toto? Oh shit—Mr. Wolff.” Smiling warmly at the bartender, you hug your red lips around the glass.

“I wanted to see you.”

Choking on the fruity drink, you clutch onto his thigh. He stiffens, but still pats your exposed back. You wore a silky red dress, just like the rest of the girls strutting through the busy club, but somehow, it looked better on you. Enhancing your soft features, tugging against your curves like an envelope. Perky tits begging to be licked— sucked on. 

“Why?”

“I…I don’t know.” You frown. “I have no idea, but you’ve lingered on my mind from the moment I saw you, dancing sadly. Why was that?” 

You purse your lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He huffs. “Think a little bit harder, then.” His firm tone makes you sit up straight, drawing circles on his lap, as a tactic to not pull your strong gaze away. You don’t even notice his hard cock pushing up against the denim. 

“I had just received a restraining order against Rosie.” He deflates. “I’ve never even met my newborn sister and they got a fucking restraining order.” You scoff. “Unbelievable.”

Toto was lucky enough to be a part of his kids' lives, but simply picturing the idea of Stephanie or Susie getting a restraining order against him, crushed him. Seeing you so upset about it makes him want to track down your mother and Connor and yell at them for how they’ve treated you. But then he would probably find himself with a similar piece of paper.

“Just when I think they’ve done it all, there always seems to be more.” You laugh, taking another sip of your cold drink. “They’re getting clever.”

“How are you so okay with any of this?”

You narrow your eyes, offended by his question. “You think I am? Toto, I feel like the odd one out. My own mother makes me feel like a culprit for simply wanting to give my baby sister a pair of shoes.” The brunette furrows his brows. You giggle. “I got Rosie a pair of ballet shoes. They’re the cutest thing you’ll ever see.” 

His lips quirk upwards. “So, you’ve tried to meet her?” You shake your head, hair whiplashing. I called my mom, brought up the idea. I guess she didn’t like it because next thing I knew, hello, restraining order. It’s sick. “They don’t deserve you.”

Your mouth stays agape as you blink back at him, doe eyes ringing him in. “I’m done trying. I get tired too, y’know?” Edging closer to your seat, you cup your hands against his ear, getting a whiff of his musky, expensive scent. You almost let out a moan. “You have kids, right? Were they cute when they were babies?” 

He nods, enthusiastically. “They’re heaven sent.” Your eyes twinkle, and he feels bad for a split second. “Want to see?” He dangles his phone towards you as you beam. Do you mind? “Not at all. As a father, you must know, I like to brag about them.” Rolling your eyes, you swipe through his gallery as you coo.

“Oh my goodness! She looks just like you,” you point out when you spot a blond girl. He grins. That’s Rosa. Flickering your eyes up to him, you gasp. “Rosie.” 

“Huh? Similar…that’s funny.”

Your grin widens. “Oh, handsome. Just like his father.” Benedict, he informs you as he blushes at the comment. Swiping once more, you tilt your head. “Very cute—like insanely adorable—but he doesn’t resemble you at all.” He laughs, throwing his head back.

“That’s my youngest, Jack. He looks just like his mother.” He retrieves the phone from you before handing it back. Squinting, you analyze the older blond. “Identical. It’s almost as if you didn’t partake in the game, Mr. Wolff.”

“Oh, trust me, I did.”

Burning up, you rip your gaze away from the device, trying to erase your filthy thoughts. Especially of him and his ex-wife. “She seems nice. Beautiful, too.” He hums, slipping his phone back into his pocket. 

“I can tell you have a soft spot for kids.”

“I don’t want to scare you off, but it’s an obsession. I can’t wait to be a mommy.” He swallows a groan at your innocent wish. “I would try to be the best; I just know I would.” 

The Austrian rubs his arm. “It’s getting late. Are you still going to be around?” 

You yawn. “I think I’m out of here, too.” 

“Can I take you home?”

The sexual tension is as thick as thieves. It suffocates you whole as you stare out the window of his Mercedes Benz. His digits taps against the leather wheel, legs barely fitting from how massive he is. Head almost touching the roof of his car. I swear I’ll go back to school, God, but please help me keep the last bits of my dignity. 

“How tall are you?” Come again? You gulp. “What’s your height? Curious, that’s all.”

His head rolls back, Adam’s Apple jumping up and down. “Meters or in feet?” You bite down on your tongue. Smart-ass. 

“Feet, if it’s okay with you,” you reply sarcastically. He clicks his tongue in amusement.

“6’5.” 

“Oh my God.” You smile sheepishly when he frowns. “You’re huge.”

“They normally say that after I have sex with them, but thank you.”

Heat rushes to your cheekbones and the tip of your ears. “You know what I meant.”

“Oh, of course, my mistake.” Pulling into your small driveway, he blinks slowly. “You live here?”

“Yes, don’t drool over it, please,” you growl at his rude tone. His brown eyes spin towards you when you hurriedly grab your things. He grabs the back of your dress quickly and you freeze.

“I didn’t mean it like that, it’s lovely, but I just thought…you said you made good money?”

High heels crunch against small pebbles as you scowl at the fifty-two year old. “I want to go back to Uni and I’m saving up, is that so wrong?” He’s embarrassed now, fixated on the empty passenger seat. You scoff. “Glad we agree. Good night, dickhead.”

Toto lets out a quiet laugh. Your eye twitches at the sound. Marching over to his window, you click your fingers as he rolls it down. This is funny to you? “Not at all. You acting like a child is.” 

“I am not acting like a child—”

“Oh, you’re not? Fuck. Again, my mistake.” Grinding your molars, you glare at the brunette. He aims for a soft smile. “I wasn’t making fun of your living arrangements, please, do you really think that low of me?” You look away, wiggling your neat brows. “Come and live with me.”

“Excuse me?”

He climbs out of the car, making you stumble back. “In the meantime, while I’m here, which is not for long. When I leave, you can keep the house.”

You grow light headed from his delirious offer. “Are you asking me to have sex with you in return for a new home?” His jaw drops.

“No, I’m being a good friend. You’re a sweet girl who has dealt with some shitty people and I want to help. Please, accept.” His voice is soft but somehow demanding. As if he already knows you’re going to agree. 

Inching closer, you poke his chest. He raises his arms. “Are you real?” Super real, he states, rolling his chocolate eyes. What do you say? 

“But my things—”

“I’ll send for them.”

“My downpayment—”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Cool!” you cheer. “Let me just go grab my boyfriend.” His smile falls. Letting out an evil laugh, you clutch onto your stomach. “Ha! You should have seen your face.”

He pinches your forearm and you yelp in surprise. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“Too late,” you yodel as you skip around, back into the black Mercedes. “You’re going to regret it anyways.”

-

We still have to talk about the preparations required for the unveiling of the W15. Please tell me you haven’t forgotten? 

Massaging his temples, Toto grimaces. “I haven't, but also, we don’t have to. It’s all ready to go; George and Lewis just need to show up.”

Elizabeth gasps. “And you.”

“Elizabeth, that was implied.” The assistant hums sheepishly as she continues talking his ear off. He groans. “I’ll be there, don’t worry. You’re doing a great job, keep it up. And please, enjoy your break. You’re going to wish you had when the season starts.”

“Of course. Take care, Toto.”

Once they hang up, he picks up on reading through articles about everything and anything people have been saying about Lewis’ new contract with Ferrari. He was happy for his driver, but it still stung. 

“You look tired.”

Chocolate eyes direct over to you where you stand with an oversized t-shirt and a pair of panties. At least he hopes. “Oh, y’know. Catching up on work. Can’t be gone for too long, if not things get out of control.”

Rolling your eyes sarcastically, you slide your way closer to him. “Can I see?”

“See what?”

Squinting at the screen, your eyes glimmer brightly. “I love all things gossip. It’s my guilty pleasure.” Taking a seat on his thick lap, your delicate fingers start playing with the keypad. He grunts, placing both hands behind his head as his jaw ticks. “Charles Leclerc and Lewis Hamilton: The Unstoppable Duo.” You giggle. “He’s cute. Take it back, they both are.”

He lets out a strained chuckle. “You’re evil.” 

Tossing your hair over your shoulder, you shrug. It looks so soft, he’s itching to run his fingers through it. “I see why you’re upset about this whole—‘I want Lewis! No, I want Lewis!—thing.” His smile falters. “It’s brutal.”

Hauling you off of his lap, he places you on the chair next to him, hoping you wouldn’t notice his hard print. “Is it?”

“Mhmm,” you chirp, chin propped onto your knees. “You must not mind people talking about you.”

“I do mind. I mind a lot.”

Perplexed, you take in his exhausted state. You never wanted to be famous, and seeing him live like this made you realize you had made the right choice. With slight hesitance, you brush his hair back; he sighs in relief. “It’s good to take breaks in between. That way you don’t have a stroke, old man.” His eyes fly open.

“Just because you’re younger, that doesn't mean I’m about to drop dead, sweetheart.” You squirm, forcing his orbs back closed as he squirms at the clumsy action. 

“Wanna feel something nice?”

Toto’s mind wanders to a steamy place once you leap off your chair. His chest heaves up and down from nervousness, hearing your soft steps. Straddling him, you press a soft kiss onto his cheek. Relax, Toto. He nods, grips onto the sides of the wooden chair, knuckles turning ghost white. Digging your hands into his broad shoulder, you begin to massage him at a steady pace. He moans. “How are you so good at this?” Your lips curl.

“I like to think I was a masseuse in my past life, now shhh.” 

The brunette’s main focus was between two things; actually letting loose and enjoying the much needed massage and the urge to slide your panties to the side and fuck you senselessly. Both were pretty good ideas in his book.

“Stop grunting,” you whisper in the nook of his ear as he shudders. You bite down on your pouty lip, leaning all the way back, and his hands instinctively reach out to catch you. His brown eyes flutter open as he admires the way you tower over him, even as you lay back, but also the way your fingers push adamantly against the knots in his shoulders. He growls animalistically. “What did I say, Mr. Wolff?”

Cold stare. “What am I supposed to do, then?”

Grabbing his large hands, you place them over your hips, an inviting smile dancing across your pink lips. Squeeze if you have to. He almost comes inside his pants as you lick your lips once more before continuing your actions. And it almost seems like you want to get a rise out of him. To make him groan, moan, grunt, cry out— for you. 

Purposefully, you dig your knuckles extra hard before pinching down with your nails. He hisses, grasping your sides hard as he throws his head back, floppy hair hitting the chair. You force a whimper away as you feverishly grind against his crotch. That kind of hurt, Toto.

“Fuck…I’m sorry,” he spills out as he starts a massage of his own. You smirk, repeating the same painful actions, pushing him to do the same as before. This was no longer a peaceful massage, you both knew that. It really hurts, you whine as you place a small hand against his chest, hips moving feverishly against his rough pants. The burning sensation makes you let out a pathetic wail as you rest your head against his shoulder. “A-are you okay?”

Then, you press your forehead against his; lustful gaze challenging him while tears cover up your pretty eyes, making them shimmer even more than before. “Never been better.” With one last rub against his slacks, you’re climaxing as you plow your red nails onto him.

Gasping for air, you return to tracing soft circles against his wide shoulders as he’s left dazed and confused. His cock still hurts from how hard he is, but you don’t seem to notice. Or you ignore it. It doesn't matter, because you’re already jumping off him, lips bruised from how hard you had bit down.

“I thought your hands would hurt a lot less, Toto. You ought to be nice to me.” 

Then, you’re skipping away, back into your room like a shy rabbit.

-

After the encounter in the dining room, you pranced around af if nothing had happened. Maybe nothing had. Toto’s mind was probably playing tricks on him because there was no way you could act so nonchalant, hallowing your lips around the cherry popsicle. Is it red? You stick your salivating tongue towards him.

“That’s a dumb question.”

You frown. “Grump.” A beat. “Can I take the Mercedes on a spin?”

“No.”

The frown grows deeper. “Why not? I swear I won’t scratch it. In fact, I won’t let anything happen.”

“Tempting, but still no.”

“Fine,” you grumble, munching down on the icy treat. He smiles, fingers typing against his computer. Can I ride you? His digits freeze midair as he flickers his brown eyes over at you. Holding the car keys directly to your face, you hum playfully. Yeah. Why not, Peaches? Just take care of me! “Of course, my sweet Benz. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“You are worse than my four year old.” He inhales sharply, rolling up his sleeves as he tries to ease his crazy heartbeat with water. You giggle.

“He said yes.”

“The car talks now?”

You blush. “That’s what I’m sayinggg…”

Analyzing the strand of hair that hits your chin, he folds his hands. “How did you choose Peaches as your stage name?”

You swallow the last piece of your popsicle. “It’s not an interesting story. I have a co-worker who goes by Foxy because she once fucked a fucking grandpa in the woods and he died of a heart attack once he saw a fox. Pretty cool, huh?”

His jaw drops. “You’re crazy.” Shrugging, you kick your legs up on the armrest. He swallows. “But I still want to know. No matter how boring it may seem. I can guarantee you I won’t think the same, pessimist.” 

Gingerly squinting your round eyes, your lips for a thin line. “When I was younger, my mom would bring me a peach everyday after work. That way, when she would pick me up from school, she would have it ready. The sweetest ones were during summer, of course, but the ones out of season were still pretty good. Up to this day, I still don’t know how she got her hands on those.” He nods. “Simple as that.”

“I think it’s sweet.” His long legs stretch out to kick your chair away. You squeal. “Makes you seem a tiny bit human.”

“Hey!”

He smirks. “Way better than Foxy. That story is just a murder case waiting to be taken to trial.”

“She did receive a handsome inheritance,” you whistle and his eyes grow wide. You snicker. “I’m kidding.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he lets out a heavy sigh. “Do you enjoy your job? Is this what you want to do for the rest of your life?” You shake your head.

“Wait, let me rephrase. I do enjoy pole dancing. So many outsiders assume we’re sluts, but it’s not like that. It’s an art, whether you believe it or not.” I agree. You grin. “I have fun, but no, I don’t want to do this forever. I want to be an elementary school teacher.”

“Really?”

You wince. “Seems inappropriate, I know, but I think I could be really good at it. I would cut them slices of sweet peaches any chance I get. I’ll even figure out where to buy some more once the season ends.” Scooting closer to the table, you flick your wooden stick onto his lap. He aims for a deadpan expression. “And I just want to make it clear that I do not sleep around. But when I do, it’s because I want to. I have needs too, Toto.”

The fifty-two year old grinds his teeth together. “I’m sure you do.”

-

Wobbling against the shiny tiles, you gasp before a warm hand saves you. You let out a breath of relief, turning to see Toto shaking his head in disapproval. 

“This is why you should leave to work on time. Now you’re just a mess.” Glaring at him, you fix your rollers as you walk out onto the private driveway. You were excluded from the rest of society, but part of you liked that. “How are you even going to get there?”

Spinning around, you almost crash into his chest before you regain your composure, close proximity making you struggle to find the words. “Toto, I never told you this, but…I can fly.”

“I’m being serious.”

You shrug. “I’m going to take the bus. Go back to your precious emails.” As soon as you twiddle your finger, he scoffs. 

“I would take you—”

“But you’re busy— it’s fine.”

“Can you stop talking?” Beady eyes narrow up at him as he continues. “But I can’t because I’m drowning with work…You can take the Mercedes.” Your eyes light up. 

“Are you fucking with me?”

He wishes he was fucking you, but no. “You better treat it like your own.” You click your tongue. See, you shouldn’t have said that because now my alter ego just grew. He points accusingly and you scrunch your nose. I promise. Handing you his keys, he watches carefully as you pull away, blowing him a kiss. 

A few hours pass by before he feels the need to check up on you. He tries texting first. Busy night? Nothing. He tries calling. Nothing. He starts thinking you might've crashed on your way there, so he hurries out the door. 

Paying the taxi driver, he marches past the doors as he is handed a piece of paper. He smiles back politely. “Don’t you guys think we’re past this?” The men take a quick glance at each other before nodding. Have a lovely night, Mr. Wolff. 

Loud music makes the brunette wince, face twisting uncomfortably. Brown eyes study the club as he tries to decipher where you could possibly be. Maybe you didn’t make it and he was right after all. Jogging over to the bartender, Toto pants. “Peaches? Have you seen her?” 

The young man points to the glass box, where you start your set. He sighs in relief as he takes a seat, rolling up his sleeves as he admires. Everyone cheers as you smile erotically. The Austrian can’t help but be one of them too. 

Spotting him, you freeze. You narrow your eyes for a split second before you snap out of it, continuing your desirable movements. The music ends and just like that, you’re done. Hollering echoes the room when you brush past by. 

“What are you doing here?” 

A cheesy grin plays out. “I came to see you.” Weren’t you busy with work? He shakes his head. “Well, yes actually, but I thought you were dead in a ditch when you didn’t reply to my message or answer any of my calls.”

“Why could that be? Oh. Maybe because I’m working,” you hiss. “Listen, if you’re here as a client— fine. But if you’re here as Toto— leave.”

He narrows his eyes sharply and your breath hitches. “It’s Mr. Wolff, darling.”

You purse your lips. “Very well, Mr. Wolff.” Strutting away, you make sure you sway your hips. The brunette groans, falling back against his chair. 

The night flies by as usual, until they book you. “Mr. Straforx, sitting in the back booth,” Ro informs you as you suck on your bottom lip, listening attentively. “Interested?” 

“Very.”

“Actually, I am too.”

The rich accent makes your stomach flip as you muster up a stern glare. Toto’s lips form a firm line as he stands as tall as a sequoia. Fuming, you shake your head, perfectly done hair slapping your face. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Wolff, but I already agreed to somebody else. But rest assured, if I have time left, then I will get to you.”

“Is money the issue here?”

Your jaw ticks, temples grinding together harshly. “You think that’s all I care about?”

He shrugs. “I could lie and say no, but who am I kidding? We all care about money.”

Flustered, you scoot closer to Ro, who stands amused with the entire interaction. “Ro, tell Mr. Straforx that I’ll be there in a minute, and make sure to apologize on my behalf.” The older man nods, tipping his head towards the Austrian as he strolls away. “What are you trying to do, Toto?”

His lips flip to a teasing smile. “Mr. Wolff.”

“Oh, don’t you dare pull that card on me.” Your face pinches up. “This is an important client, I can’t say no.”

“How much do you want in order for you to come with me instead of him?” Your berry lips separate. “Name a price. I’m a self-made billionaire, sweetheart—a couple of millions are nothing to me.”

“I could never ask for you to do that,” you whisper, timidly fiddling with your necklace. “Deal with it. You’re not my boyfriend.”

His nose flares at the cruel reminder. “I never claimed to be. I’m a client.” Pause. “Two million.”

You gasp. “Are you insane?”

“You’re right, that’s childsplay. How about five?” When you still don’t say anything, he grins devilishly as he places a large hand on the lower part of your back. “Ro! Yeah, tell Me. Straforx that she’s coming with me. I’ll give you a bonus, don’t worry.” Your friend nodded happily. Press the button if you need anything. 

You roll your eyes, sourly. “Thank you, Ro. Thank you so much.” Pushing you into the private room, you yelp. “Let go of me!”

The brunette scoffs. “Calm down, I was barely even touching you.”

Shivering, you focus your attention on the luxurious drinking options. Half of these were probably worth what you make in a year, but the rich fed off of that. The brown eyed man hums. “Is that something you’re interested in?” You quirk a brow. A drink? He shakes his head. “Do you want me to touch you?”

You blink up at him swiftly, rubbing your thighs together. “You’re reading into it. I don’t.” Digging his large hands into his pockets, he clicks his tongue. Okay. Then ask me to leave. We can pretend none of this ever happened. A sad whine bubbles up your throat as you fear that he might actually walk out if you even dared to imply. “Just don’t be a jerk.”

A threatening chuckles booms past his lips as he serves himself a drink you can’t even pronounce. He takes a slow sip before he raises his glass up towards you. “You’re getting to me a  bit more than I’d like to admit. I mean, you must know that, right?” Demented, you play with your dress. 

Tonight, you were cosplaying a wide-eyed devil. There was nothing threatening about your appearance, not if you didn’t count your crimson red lips. Plump, round, tempting. Your black gartner drives him to complete insanity as you bite down on your bottom lip, nervously. Your red dress is too short for his liking, but only because others get to enjoy the sight of your heavenly legs. The ones he was drooling over to nuzzle his face in between. Then your horns tussle your hair messily as you pant. He hasn’t even touched you and you were already dripping.

“That’s not true, Mr. Wolff.” The grin widens.. 

“You can call me Toto when we’re alone, sweetheart.” You shiver, lowering your gaze. No, you were right. It has to stay professional in this setting. The brunette rolls his tongue before squinting his eyes at you, fine lines forming. The sight alone makes you melt. “You should have thought about that before you came all over my thigh.”

Shocked at his vulgar words, you bat your eyes, flustered by the reminder. You had done that. But you had the upper hand that day and that was long gone as he towered over you. Inching closer, he drops down to his knees, him still appearing taller even with the action. You squirm. 

“You were not playing fair that day. How come you only got to finish, and I didn’t?” You were hurting me, you cry out like a child as he scoffs at your weak attempt. Tugging you closer to him by your smooth legs, he droops them over his wide shoulders. Oh God. Turning his head to the side, he presses warm kisses. Your skin burns with every single one. “You know that’s not true.” Then, he’s hiking your tiny dress up.

Toto is hit with instant lust as he spots the wet patch of arousal. You whine, legs shutting around him. Do something—anything—but please, touch me. The corner of his lips lift up as he bites onto your red undergarment, pulling it down. Oh, you sigh at the intimate vision. Once you’re on full display, he groans. Your pussy glistens back at him, begging to be stretched out. “You’re…”

Humming, you place your soft palm against his cheek. “Toto…”

Like a starved man, he dives in, lips sucking on your clit as you fly forward, eyes screwed shut. He eats you out as if this was his true calling in life, the way he pinches your hips when you rock yourself against his face. He’s enjoying every second, every drop, as you find pleasure with the way his tongue swirls inside of you, finding new places you didn't know existed. The brunette nips quickly as you gasp, then he strikes his tongue. Warm sensation settles inside of your stomach. T-toto, holy fuck, oh my God. 

You can feel the way he grins against your pussy as he continues his handy work. Slurping your juices, his dark eyes find yours as you pant, light sweat fanning your face. His large hand presses your dress down, further adding to the friction as your tummy is pushed down as well. Wailing, you writher an embarrassing amount that would normally have you pouring out apologies if it weren’t for his strong gaze. 

“Taste so sweet,” he chants, kitten licks taking place. Your head rolls back against the couch, hand clutching onto his hair as he grunts. “Open your eyes for me, schatzi.” But you’re too busy trying to make this moment last, ignoring his command. Pressing his nose against your small hole, you squeal and look down. A coy expression takes over as he pulls away and rubs his fingers against your puffy clit. 

“You s-so fucking good at this,” you pant, chest rises up and down, horns sliding down a bit before he extends his long arm, pushing it back. Your chest tightens. “I know what you’re going to do…Go easy, please.”

Taunting circles edge you further as he bites the squishy part of his cheek. “What am I going to do?”

“You’re going to try and make your fingers fit.”

Your words come out menacing as you scrunch your eyebrows together, a worried look clear to the Austrian. Kissing the inside of your thigh, he nods. “You’re an extremely smart girl.” Another kiss. “I’ll go slow. You won’t even feel any discomfort, just pleasure.”

“Wait!”

Panic strikes his face as you disconnect his left hand from your breast. Bringing his hand up, you inspect the wedding band. Why are you still wearing this? He groans. “Publicity. No one knows yet. They won’t know for a while, so I can’t take it off until then.” You hum, then slide his ring finger into your mouth. You can taste yourself, long digits immediately hitting the back of your throat as you gag. “What are you—”

Then he feels it. Your soft tongue and the way it lubricated the steel before you gently bit down and started pulling his hand back. His cock grows more pained from how hard he’s become. With a pop you smile, eyes crinkling as you show off the metal. “Better.”

“You’re…” I know, you seductively whisper as you return his hand to where it laid. Is that not what you like about me? The man practically growls as he slams two thick fingers inside of you. Your body jolts as you cry out. So good, Toto. His cock twitches at you ragged praises. His fingers barely even fit inside your tiny hole, but it sure as hell reaches your g-spot. White splotches burn your eyes as you dig your nails onto the side of his thick neck. 

“Just like that. Oh, Toto.” He adds a third finger, and you hiss at the burning sensation. “That’s too much! Fuck.” He makes up for it, drawing figure 8’s between your velvety walls as you open up to him. Your legs start to slip down his shoulders as he spits. Keep them in place. You whimper, but obey, nonetheless.

The pad of his fingers continue assaulting your sweet spot, curling at a perfect angle. Your moans grow louder. Chocolate eyes flicker up to face your fucked up state. “Close?” You nod, vigorously. A warm strip teases your slippery lips. “Good. You’re doing so good, Peaches.”

Your hips buck suddenly as you suffocate him with your body, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all. Picking up on your candy nectar, he groans like a madman, greedy tongue swiping to lick every last drop. Shuddering at the feeling, you push his head away from in between your legs and grab him by the collar. For a second, he thinks you might kiss him, but when you don’t he realizes he’s disappointed. Instead, you plant a kiss on his cheek, hot breaths wrapping around his skin.

“Guess that makes us even, Mr. Wolff.”

-

“And then I rode a pony! I begged mama to let me get on a horse instead, but I just got a good scolding. But you would’ve let me, right papa?” Toto theatrically grins at Jack. 

“Don’t tell her, but yes. I would have let you because you're a big boy now, aren't you?” The four year old nods, blond hair covering his eyes as he brushes it away with powdered hands from his donut. I miss you. When are you coming back?

Pressure tugs at the Austrians chest as he sighs. Jack was too young—he wouldn’t understand that he and Susie would no longer be living together. It was a mutual decision to tell him when the time was right, but it still killed him to lie to his son. Especially when he beams back with bright eyes. Toto winces. “Soon.” A pin drops. “Have you eaten your vegetables for the day?” Jack sprints away.

A soft laugh is heard from the other side of the screen as Susie comes to view. “He has not, by the way. Hi, Toto.” The brunette waves. “Are you actually busy with work or are you trying to forget about all your fatherly duties?” 

“Is it that obvious?”

The blond chuckles. “Whatever it is, it’s great that you’ve taken time to yourself. Just don’t take too long.” Signing off, the fifty-two year old is left staring at his own reflection. 

“He’s cuter than the pictures.” Toto flinches with surprise. Standing in a summer dress, you lick your lollipop. “His voice is super squeaky; it’s adorable.”

“Do you need something?”

His question may seem rude, but it’s not meant to come off as so. His voice is filled with genuine concern as he furrows his brows. You shake your head. “I’m bored, that's all.”

The brunette scoffs. “And by all means, you came to bother me.” A giggle dances out of you as you brush your hair back. Your sweet scent reaches him, even though you stand far enough away to make a run for the hills. “But I do have time. What do you have in mind?”

“I want to talk to my mom.” Your words shock him but he listens attentively, watching you as you sit on top of the table, legs swinging with rigidness. “I want to try and fix things.” He frowns. But you’ve done nothing wrong. You shift in an uncomfortable manner. “Well…”

“What did you do?”

“Remember how I got a restraining order, but I’ve never stepped close to Rosie?” He nods. You nibble on your thumb. “I s-sort of lied.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’ve met her, kind of…” You pout, hazed expression carving out through your doll features. “But I can explain.”

He sighs. “Please do.”

Your cheeks flush. “A few weeks before I met you, Connor called me. And I picked up. He told me he was willing to let me meet my sister, but only if I let him borrow fifty grand. To be honest, I don’t care if I never get my money back— I just wanted to be able to recognize Rosie’s face. Of course I said yes.” The Austrian listens carefully, loopy eyes dedicated to you. “I bought her ballet shoes, the one’s I told you about.”

“She was perfect. She giggled like the most angelic thing and her eyes crinkled in a way that made me love her instantly. I asked why Connor needed the money and if they were in trouble, but he only ignored me. Then he tried to kiss me.”

“He what?”

A timid smile plays out. “It’s okay, he does that sometimes, but I’m always able to push him off because most of the time he’s drunk out of his mind. I don’t normally care, but he had Rosie… What if because of some stupid mistake he put her in danger? I gave Rosie her gift and paid an Uber to take them back home.”

“My mom found out about the meet-up and marched right to my work. Don’t ask me how she got in. She yelled at me with such anger that I almost wanted to cry. She said I wanted to steal both Rosie and Connor from her. I promised that wasn’t true, but she didn’t care. Then I got my restraining order.”

The brunette’s words get stuck as he gapes at you. Clearing his throat, he drums his fingers against the table. “You should have told me the truth,” he begins. Hurt slashes your face—you thought he would understand. He offers a friendly smile. “But still…you’ve done nothing wrong.” A beat. “I can help you. Well, my lawyers can.”

Tears form inside your jello eyes. “Are you serious?”

He nods. “Your sister can’t grow up in a household that doesn’t want her, but keeps her just to twist the knife. Connor will pay for what he’s done to you.” Leaping off the table, you cross your arms. No. You can’t bring that up. He sends a sharp glare. “What he did was wrong, can’t you see?” Your bottom lip wobbles. She’s going to hate me even more. Tenderly, he sighs as he strolls over, cupping your face. “She shouldn’t, but if she does, at least you’ll be free from him. Has he only tried to kiss you?”

Closing your eyes, you release a wet breath. “He’s touched me a couple of times.” The Austrains eyes darken. Pushing his hands down, you quickly take a step back. “But by then I was due to move out, so it doesn’t really matter!”

“It matters a little,” he growls. “None of this is normal.” You flinch at his strong tone. “Sweetheart, tell me one thing; what would you do if God forbid, he did the same thing to Rosie?” 

You gasp. “I would murder him.”

“So, you agree that we have to do something about this?” Hesitantly, you nod. “I’ll reach out to my attorney as soon as possible. I promise you that all of this will get taken care of.” Muscular arms drape over your shoulders as he hugs you. Bewildered, you blink as you stiffen. “You don’t hug much?”

“Nope.” 

He booms with laughter, chest vibrating as you smile at the feeling. Everything about this feels right, so then why does that scare you?

-

He vows to be back as soon as he’s done with the car reveal. I don’t care, you reply as you pop a mint into your mouth, getting ready for work. 

You’re going to miss me, watch.

And damn him, the fucker was right—you did. A part of you wishes he would rush past the doors, yapping about he thought you were dead and didn’t ask for permission to take the Benz. But he was across the world, smiling wide at media duties as you watched behind a tiny screen. It’s good that he’s taking time to see Jack, too.

“Why are you sighing so sad?” Roxy asks, fixing her combat boots. “Not getting any clients? Though I doubt it. They love you.”

You let out a forced laugh. “I’m not sad—tired.”

The red head furrows her brows suspiciously before hugging you. Your arms dangle lazily as you scrunch your nose. She giggles. “Does this have to do with Mr. Toto Wolff? He’s hot—crazy hot.” She untangles herself from you. “He must be the devil himself.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh yeah,” she cheers happily. “But also, you’re totally in love.” Your stomach drops. No, I am not. Roxy rolls her eyes. “You’re a good liar, but you’re not that good. I’ve noticed the way you look at him. Like you want to eat him alive as you kiss him until your lips snap.”

You wince at the image. “You have a way with words…”

She beams, thin brows raising up. “I’ve also noticed that you haven’t gone into the private room since he walked in through those doors. So what, you’re just going to keep pretending?”

“You’re such a creep!” you squeal, delicate hand slapping her thigh. She squeals lightheartedly. You’re missing out on a shit ton of money. We’re talking dough. And yet you don't bat an eye because you don’t want anyone but him. Did I nail it?

You pinch your fingers together as you huff. “You’re crazy. Crazy. There is no way I could be in lo—” Hey! The ringing sound makes your blood run cold as you fear to turn around. Look at me. Foxy stares back at you with anxious eyes. Do you know her? Looking down onto your lap, you nod. “That’s my mother.”

“Oh shit.”

A dry hand yanks you by the arm as she spins you around. “I’m talking to you. Why won’t you look at me?” 

You flinch. “I’m working, you can’t be doing this—”

“I don’t give two shits if you’re working or not, if I say we need to talk, then we need to talk.” Ro shakes his head, distressed as he apologizes. I’m so sorry, Peaches. She said she was your mom and I…I didn't know what to do. You smile back softly. 

“Don’t worry. Can you get me a room?”

As soon as your mother enters the dark area, she whistles. “Fancy, but really? Bending over for any man willing to pay you a couple cents? That’s disgusting.”

Your cheeks burn up as you fight back tears. “What do you want? Is Rosie okay?” Panic rushes through your veins as you grab her by the shoulders, shaking her violently. She’s so thin, you think you might break her. “Is she okay, I said?”

“She’s fine,” she yawns. “So…this is what you’re up to? It always…catches me by surprise. Not really.”

“I had no choice,” you whisper meekly. “You gave me no choice.”

The older woman smirks. “Don’t you dare blame me. No one makes you do anything— this was your decision.” 

You let out a tired sigh. “Just tell me what you want…”

Her eye twitches, as if she remembers why she was so angry to begin with. “I got your complaint; you’re suing me for being a bad mother and Connor for…assaulting you? Do you realize how stupid that sounds?”

“I’m not lying—”

“Really?”

“Why would I lie?” you yell back, acid sliding down your cheeks. “I would never make up such a thing. He assaulted me countless times as you never did a single thing.”

“I never saw anything.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “You walked in on it! You called me a slut! I was seventeen for fuck sakes. But no—you blamed me for sleeping with your husband instead.” You take a good look at her; dark undereyes, frail figure, needles imprints everywhere. “You can’t keep doing this. You need to think about Rosie—”

“Rosie, Rosie, Rosie—I could not care any less about her! She just bugs with all her crying. It’s exhausting.”

“She’s just a baby.” Grabbing her hands, you soften your gaze. “If you don’t want her, fine, let me raise her…I swear I can do it.”

Your mother perks up. “You would do that?” Yes. Of course I would, you respond instantly. You’ll never hear about us ever again. Her thin hand cradles your cheek warmly, and for a moment, you let yourself lean against it. Then she pulls away and strikes you harshly, causing you to stumble back. “Why would I ever please you like that?”

Bring your hand up to your stinging flesh, you sob. “I-I…what?”

“Here’s what you’re going to do; you're going to drop the charges against me and Connor.”

“No.” 

She clicks her tongue. “Are you sure?”

Rising up with shaky legs, you keep a firm face even though it begs to howl in pain. “I said no. You’re not going to hand her over willingly, okay…Then I’m taking you to court.”

“Like hell you aren’t.” Tugging your arm, she presses her face insanely close to yours. You wince at the smell of intoxication; you can’t even tell what kind. “I will fucking kill you, do you hear me?”

You let out a wet laugh, ripping your arm away from her tight grip. “I don’t care. I don’t care anymore, but I am saving my sister from you two—no matter what.” Her nostrils flare as she heaves. You let out a sad whimper. “When did you become so inhuman? You used to be kind, beautiful, ha—”

“Heartbreak does that to a person,” she simply states before walking out, leaving you to yourself as you finally come crashing down.

-

He didn’t expect for there to be a racket, but the house felt awfully quiet. He knows you weren't at work—he had checked. He thought maybe you could have been out with friends, so he sighs before resting on the couch. He sits there for an hour or so before heading upstairs to take a shower. 

As soon as he enters the bedroom, he finds you covered with thick blankets as you cry. Alarmed, he rushed to your side of the bed. Oh my God, you shriek at the anonymous person before squirting. “When did you get here?”

“That doesn’t matter—what’s wrong?”

You hope brushing your tears away would stop him from asking questions. “What makes you think something is wrong?”

A pinched up expression maps out. Your chin forms a peach seed as you let out a weak sob and stand on the bed, making you the same height as him, throwing your arms around his neck. He’s stunned, but snaps out of it as he hugs you back, calloused fingers playing with your soft hair. “What’s wrong?”

“My mom visited me at work. She said some nasty things, but that doesn’t matter to me, what does is that she won’t let me adopt Rosie,” you muffle against his neck, salty tears wetting his collared shirt. “She’d rather raise her out of spite. She’s not made for this, she's malicious.”

“What else did she say?”

You pause, sniffling before pulling back with a reindeer nose. “That’s it.”

The Austrian lowered his gaze with subtle threat. “No, tell me everything she told you.”

“I swear that’s all.”

His brown eyes scan your face, but you remain still, only shaky breaths being released. He clenches his jaw. “Where does she live?” Your face drops. Why do you want to know? “Where does she live?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Stop being so stubborn and let yourself be helped—”

“I don’t need your help anymore, Toto!” You purse your lips, trembling hands brushing your hair back. Anger rushes over him as he inspects the purple bruise.

“Who did this to you?”

Sitting back down on the bed, your nose twitches. “I’m moving out.”

“Who fucking did this to you?” His voice is lethal. Thank you for trying to fix things, but I’m sure I can do it myself from now on. “What you don’t seem to understand is that you don’t have to. It was your mother, correct?” Forlorn, you agree with your silence. “What have they done to you?” he whispers, pain lacing his raw voice.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into all of this,” you whisper, salty tears sliding down. “I’m going to kill your image—they’re going to hate you because of me.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” the brunette ricochets back. “All I care about is that you’re okay. That you find the happiness you deserve to have.”

Grimacing, you sniffle, shaking your head. “I’m starting to think that doesn’t exist. Or at least I’m so unlucky that I won’t get a piece,” you joke. “The closest thing I’ve felt to that is when I met you.” His heart melts as he stares back, adoringly. “You’ve helped me in so many ways, Toto. Thank you for that.”

“But—”

“I know.” Rising up on the fluffy bed, you tower over him a bit, pressing kisses on his temples, cheeks, nose, neck. “You’re the only man who's ever made me feel something real. I can’t explain it, but I hope it makes sense.” 

He gulps. “It does. You want to know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve made me feel the exact same way from the moment you stepped into my life.” He closes the gap between you two as you stumble back against the mattress, but his large hands prevent you from getting away. “You’re not perfect—you’re flawed. You don’t have your life together—but you’re trying to. You’re not the tough girl you make yourself out to be—but that’s because you feel the need to build up walls to protect yourself from others.” Your stomach churns with every word he speaks. “And somehow…you have me wrapped around your finger.”

It happens so quickly, the way he presses his lips against yours. He can taste the saltiness but doesn’t dare to pull away. Like an animal, you move your mouth against his, whimpers flowing to his ears like symphonies. Toto knows why you never made the first move; you were scared to admit your feelings. But he was too.

Almost as if you read his mind, you run your fingers against his scalp as he breathes out, against your open mouth. “You won’t do the same, right Toto?” 

“What, sweetheart?”

Gloomy eyes reflect against his own. “Leave?”

“Unless you ask me to, then no.” He pecks your temple. “I can’t even imagine living without you anymore.”

That’s all it takes as you jump on him, silky legs wrapping around his torso like a piece of ribbon. He grunts loudly when you bite down on his bottom lip before letting go. “God, Toto, you’re—” As soon as he sucks on your throat, your sentence dies. Writhing against him, you try pushing him off as he chuckles, then he sets you down against the white sheets.

Immediately, you crawl back to the edge of the bed to where he still stands. Frisky hands tremble as you aim for his belt. Such a pretty girl, he thinks as you slip it off. You don’t have to do this. “I owe you, remember?” Then eager hands push his pants down, along with his boxers.

You knew he would be big, but that was an understatement. Toto was huge. Being 6’5 should have been a warning itself, but still. Drooling over his cock, you lick your lips, doe eyes fixating back to him. “I might not be able to take it all in my mouth,” you sheepishly state, red faced. The fifty-two year old has probably had a much better encounter; you were just making a fool out of yourself. Running his thumb against your cheekbone, the corners of his lips fly up. 

“I’ll walk you through it.”

Humming, you delicately wrap your hand around his length. Even just feeling it makes the heat in your belly grow. He clenches his jaw. Jerking him off, you wrap your lips around the pink tip. The Austrian releases a dirty groan, hips bucking as you smile around him. Pulling back, you stare up expecting the next step. Start off how you normally would. 

Pouty lips welcome him down your throat as you whine, the vibrations sending him into an orbit. When your palm slithers to what you can’t reach, he tsks. “You haven’t even tried.” Soft brows pinch together as if to say; Probably because I know I can’t either way. His nostrils flare. “Relax your jaw.”

Doing as you’re told, you gag as you squeeze your eyes shut and curl your toes. Your back arches, ass flying up as you struggle. A large hand reaches out to smack it. Yelping, you ease your mouth, thick member sliding down furthermore than you could have even imagined. There you go. 

Swallowing around him, you bob your head at a steady pace, reliving the steps, too scared to mess up. The Austrian throws his head back, sharp jaw in clear display as he pants. “Just like t-that, fuck. You’re doing so…shit.” While he’s enjoying himself, tears burst out as you clench your eyes, lashes becoming darker. The feeling is definitely getting him off, but he wanted to make things easier for you. 

Brushing your untamed hair back, he traces the bridge of your nose. Your orbs remain closed, and he finds himself missing them. “Breathe through your nose.” Ragged breaths fly out as your fingers dig against his thighs. He hisses. But gradually, it gets better. Glossy eyes stare up at him, lips stretch around his cock as you continue your filthy movements. 

As if to prove yourself to him, you deepthroat him even more as his head rolls back, floppy hair following along. Soft fingers brush against his legs as he shudders, face twisted with pleasure. Pulling away, you swirl your wet lips against his tip, feeding off of his precum before forcing yourself back down. 

Thick ropes of cum slide down your throat as you moan loudly. The brunette grunts, shaky breaths flying past his lips. With a teasing pop, you kneel up as you open wide. He moans at the sight of his release swimming inside your sinister mouth, then you swallow. Even though your throat is extremely sore, you still beam at him.

“Where have you been all my life?.” Climbing over you, he lays you flat, slipping your dress off. He’s stunned to find out you’re completely naked. Cherry red feathers on your cheeks. “Are you sure you didn’t know I was going to be back?”

Your lips curl. “No idea.”

He wraps his mouth against your bud as you whimper, hand massaging his head as he repeats his actions to the other. You could definitely fall asleep to this. When you open your eyes, you’re impressed to find out he’s completely stripped down, toned body exposed. The sight makes you grow excited, nervous.

“Are you on birth control?”

You curse softly. “I’m not. Crap.” Disappointed, you’re expecting him to climb off, but he doesn’t. Instead, he let out a raw chuckle. “I t-told you I don’t fuck men on the regular—”

“I don’t need the reminder,” he grunts. His brown eyes soften. “What’s your wish in life?”

Confusion paints your face. “To have you?”

“Cute.” Flustered, you focus on his contracting abs. Foaming at the mouth, you try to picture rubbing your core against them. “The other one,” he demands.

“Oh…” No. He can’t possibly mean… Your heart stops beating. “To be a mom.”

“There it is.” 

Briskly, he pushes into you as you wince in pain. I know, I know, he coos. But it’s better this way. It won’t feel so bad in a few minutes. Crying against his humid chest, your jaw hangs open. “It really hurts, Toto. Oh…it burns.” Hot tears reestablish themselves inside your orbs. “You’re too big.”

“Breath, sweetheart, breath.” His voice calms you down as your mewls lessen. “See?” You hum. “I’m going to move, alright?”

“O-okay,” you respond, dizzy. The feeling returns—less painful—but returns, nonetheless. Panic expands through your chest as you begin to think he might split you in half. His cock was just so thick and veiny. But it felt delicious between your velvety walls. “Fuck, baby,” you pant.

“I knew you could do it.” A warm peck lingers on your shoulder. “You feel so tight, schatz. So warm.” He sighs in relief as your tiny cunt compresses against his length, easing the pain from being as hard as a rock. Worse. Strong arms pick your legs up over his bare shoulders, making him travel deeper. 

“Toto, Toto, Toto—”

Eyes entertained against your slippery hole, he raises his brows. Yeah, baby? Getting a hold of his hand, you bring it over your stomach. His jaw clenches. “I can feel you.” Writhing in ecstasy, you toss your head to the side, small whines echoing between the vaporized walls. Pouding into you at a faster pace, he growls, bite marks being left behind on your legs. You hiss, clamping your eyes even harder, which makes you clench around his cock even more.

“Do that again,” he begs. “Do it—” You oblige, attention set on how he moans feverishly, hands adding pressure to your legs. For sure his imprints would be left behind. Taking advantage of the little power you have, you untangle yourself, greedily climbing onto his thick lap. 

“Looking good, Mr. Wolff.” 

He looked more than good—he looked eternal. The way his chest heaves, his soft pants, sweaty hair framing his handsome face, dark eyes praising you as if you were Athena herself. A confession finds into your brain as you halt. Beads of sweat cover his long nose as he appears concerned by the sudden break. Is everything okay? Rubbing your eyes as if you just had the worst nightmare, you blink hastily. 

Roxy couldn't have been right—she never was. Except, she is this time. It's as if a warm glow towers over him, your chest feels awfully vacant, but you’re not scared because you know your heart has found its home in the palm of his hand. You laugh in amusement as you touch his face all over. He smiles, eyes crinkling. “What’s so funny?”

“I love you, Toto Wolff.”

A lump forms inside his throat as he tilts his head. “You do?”

You shrug sheepishly. “I do.” Kissing his lips, you sigh with content. “I love you, I love you, I love you; I adore you.” He can hear the clock ticking as he stares back with his lips slightly parted. “You don’t have to feel the same, you dont have to say it back—I don’t care, but I can’t keep living a life of regret…”

“I love you, too.” Cartoon eyes blink back at him as he chuckles. “Do you believe me?”

“Uh…” Your lips stretch out. “Yes.”

Shifting on top of the Austrian, you make sure to slip him back inside as you moan in unison. Riding someone has never felt so addicting. Gasping at the raw feeling, you dig your nails onto his shoulders. When you look down at him, you are pleased to find him struggling to catch his breath. His fingers pinch your hips harshly as you bounce harder and faster, as if he would regret his words and leave you. “So big.” You drool, hair flourishing around you. “Stretching me out so good, Mr. Wolff.” He growls at you captivating words. “Making it so easy to ride you, huh? Cock brushing against the perfect sp—oh my God.”

Your face twists up with pleasure when the tip of his cock brushes against the mushy part that makes you almost black out. Movements slow down but it’s not long before he lifts you up and slamming you back down. “Toto!” you squeal, flimsy arms reaching out to balance yourself on his wide shoulders. Everytime he hauls you up and you look back at him, he represents like a giant. Your eyes roll back, mouth hanging wide open. “I-I’m close-e-e.”

“Me too,” he grunts. Like a devilicious man on a mission, he slaps your face carefully, forcing you to connect your glossy orbs with his loopy ones. “Gonna let me cum inside? Carry my baby, just like you’ve always wanted?”

“Yes,” you chant. “Yes—all of it—yes.” Cradling his cheek against your sweaty palm, you smile. “Cum inside of me, Wolff.”

With one final push, you both release loud moans, a strong wave of orgasms crashing violently against one another. Huffing, he makes a ponytail with your messy hair before letting go. “You think it worked?” You giggle.

“We’ll have to wait and see.” Leaning towards him, you kiss him gingerly. His mind grows blurry with how meaningful you make it seem. I’m yours—my heart is all yours—but please don’t break it, it seems to tell him as his enormous hands squish you closer to him, as if that were possible. 

“I know of a few ways we can make sure.”

-

Though you had mutually admitted your feelings to one another, there still didn’t appear to be a proper label to it all. Time was slipping, he would soon have no other choice but to leave and face all his responsibilities. 

But you can come back with me, he would desperately bring up as he fucked you against the wall. Tits would be bouncing at a hasty speed as you look back with your mouth in an O. I want you to. You won’t ever have to worry about anything, I promise. You can go back to Uni. You’ll get custody over Rosie, and Jack will be over the moon. We could have a family of our own, just you and I, Peaches. Huh? How does that sound, baby?

It sounded perfect; like a dream. You could taste it already. Early morning calls that you wouldn’t mind because he’d be laying down next to you. Quiet time as you jot down notes and he stresses over the next big decision for the team. And at the end, you would be glad you made the choice to choose him. Just like he chose you.

With shaky hands, you brush his messy hair back as he dotes on your bambi eyes. The way they glimmered extra bright that night; like starlight. The brunette’s face would soften up when you trace his nose, the curve of pink lips, his lines. Everything about him was breathtakingly dominant. 

You’d be a fool to deny. 

So, you accept. 

-

If Toto were to be told that he had died and ascended to heaven; he wouldn’t second guess the possibility. Because being with you felt exactly like that. Every passing second only adds to the amount of love he bottles up for you. It would overflow and he’d be okay; bring out the next. Oh, that one’s full, too? Okay, next. 

All of it made sense. You matched perfectly in sync with him like a cozy glove and he wouldn’t have it any other way. There’d be whispers from others, but he doesn’t care. He’d deal with just about anything for you. 

“You’re leaving so soon.” A click. “Have you thought about quitting?”

He can see you grow as stiff as a tree. Your back faces him, but he can still spot your reflection. Of course you looked absolutely lovely, but there was something different about…God. He doesn’t even know what to call it. 

“I’m not quitting.”

The Austrians' lips form a thin line; shoes clicking against the floor even more. A boom of lighting fills the room as you flinch. He smiles slowly. “Right—not yet, at least. Not until you move to Monaco.”

More heavy silence. “Sure.”

Now he’s worried. Strolling closer to you, he brushes his warm hand against your shoulder, kissing your exposed skin. “What is it?”

His heart stops when he notices you blinking back tears; bloodshot eyes tracing his tall figure. His first assumption is the most obvious; your mother and Connor. They had probably done something, said something, and now they’ve got you—

“I’m taking the car. See you later.”

He blinks. The cold demeanor was something unusual on your behalf, but leaving without a goodbye kiss was alarming. Toto tries to suppress his feelings with a bottle of scotch, but nothing seems to work. He has to see you. 

Gathering his wallet and house keys, he strides out the door before he spots his laptop wide open. As soon as he returned, he would have to answer endless emails, but for now, that wasn’t his priority. Inching closer, he reaches down to slap it shut when his pulse runs cold.

We should think about Jack.

He’s too young to understand anything of what’s going on, Suse.

Let’s just try one last time. I swear I’ll change. 

I love you. 

He knew instantly; you had read the messages. He had sent them, there's no doubt, but that was so long ago. The date was right there; all before he met you. Before opening up to you. But he doubts you spared enough time to spot the tiny detail. You saw his texts and that’s all; the rest was blocked.

Toto’s palms get sweaty, ears burning red, and heart racing faster than a fucking F1 car. How must you feel? You had made him promise that he wouldn’t hurt you and now this? The confusion was completely explainable, but he had to get to you fast.

It’s as if he owns the place, marching fiercely past the open doors that swing once they spot the Austrian. NDA’s were rather foolish when it comes to him now because he just held that much power. That much respect. But he can’t think of why something feels off.  You were hurt, and he felt awful, but no…there’s something else. As if there were an actual wolf lurking deep in the woods; ready to pounce. The hair in the back of his neck stands up, goosebumps forming, and eyes flickering all over the rich club, hoping to find you.

“Hey,” he pants when he spots the familiar redhead. Foxy lives up to her name because her laser glare has him scared for his life. She doesn’t even spare him a second glance before strutting away, a row of men following. The Austrian pushes past them all, pleading just like any other, but for a completely different reason. “Have you seen, Peaches?”

“Yes.”

“Great! Where is she?”

“Around.” 

The dancer beams at the group of businessmen who relax against their seat, hunting down without shame. They wore wedding bands, but who cared, right? Toto’s large hand grasps her wrist, tugging her away as she gasps, causing a commotion. He doesn’t care, he just has to find you.

Brown eyes glimmer threateningly but also soft because they’re both aware he needs her, for she only knows where to find you. “Listen, I know she told you what happened, but it was all some misunderstanding! The messages..they were sent to my ex-wife a long time ago. Before any of this, I swear…you have to believe me.”

Foxy narrows her thin brows, digging a sharp nail against his toned chest. “No, you listen—Peaches is one of the sweetest girls I have ever met; she's my other half, so when you hurt her…” A beat. “That’s it. She doesn’t forgive.”

His shoulders drop like an avalanche. “B-but it was a...you don’t mean that.”

The redhead struts away, long legs prancing like a vixen. “Believe me; don’t believe me—I don’t care. Just leave her alone.”

But he can’t do that anymore, he's in too deep. No matter how many times Foxy cursed him to leave, he just wouldn't. He would explain. Even if it were that last thing he did. All's fair after that. 

“Mr. Wolff?” A red drink is extended out towards him kindly, to which he shakes his head with a forced smile. If you can even call it that. He’s sure he looks awful, dressed in all black, but it perfectly represented him for who he is and how he was feeling. It’s almost as if he were ready to show up to a funeral. 

As time ticks at a snail's pace, he grows more nauseous. There’d be a moment where you see him and he doesn’t know how you would react. Fuck—he doesn’t know how he would, either. To some it may be embarrassing to weep in front of a group of worldly men, but if you looked at him a certain way where he knew it was over? He’d be the first, and without hesitation or shame. 

He’s come to recognize your set as fast as a racing strategy. The stage would light up a soft yellow; swallow the room like the early sun. The piano keys would start off slow, taunting, and almost sinister—Yayo. And of course, you’d prance around like a broken angel, wings brushing your hair like his long fingers would.

But this is strange.

He’s too busy analyzing the colorful club when the lights burn black, only the glass box raining a bright red. He doesn’t even recognize it’s you. 

The intro isn’t the notorious piano lullabies, but rather scratchy violins. Million Dollar Man slithers across the crowded room like a venomous snake, waiting to strike anyone who doesn’t lay their attention on them. 

And this time, you’re no angel, you’re no devil. You’re both. It’s confusing and alarming, but also beautiful and breathtaking. While your dress is cotton white, your makeup is dark and tempting, lips dark red. Your knee socks are tied with a simple ribbon, making men drool like some type of fuckery. You look miserably broken. If anyone were to guess, then they’d say that you’re high off drugs, but that’s not the case. You're high off heartbreak. 

And the simple necklace you wear, with his marriage ring attached to it, is a pelluid indication. Even if it was new level petty.

Toto is in such a trance that he doesn’t even feel when a group of hands push him to sit down, eager to have a clear view of their own. They all secretly envy the Austrian when they notice that he had landed himself the best seat in the house without even trying. 

So, was it fate to be sitting here, in front of you? Was it fate to have met, then hurt you without the means? The music is almost terrifying, along with your black wings and white halo. All of this is utterly puzzling; was he supposed to be into this, or fear it? Was he supposed to feel his heartbeat in the pit of his stomach, drumming against his ribcage, or was he supposed to be at ease? But most important; would you spare him this time to apologize, or would you kick him out of your life? The last notion scared him the most as he sat like a tired soldier, brown eyes blinking to where you start to seductively twirl.

I don’t know how you convince them and get them. Shiny legs drag behind your delicate figure as your eyes roam the room, sighing with every lustful stare. This is purely pathetic, it didn’t make you feel the way you intended for it to do, but shit. All you wanted to do was flee the state and never look back. But there were too many things tying you back; Foxy, Ro, Rosie…A stinging sensation begins to form behind your orbs and you fiercely blink them away, refusing for the thought of Toto to be what brings you down. 

But in a moment like this, what were you supposed to think about? Toto was many things; devilishly, cunningly handsome, tempting, brilliant, intoxicating; but he was also a fucking no-good, professional heartbreaker, a screwed up man who roamed earth without a sense of direction, who truly never deserved to fall in love again, especially with someone was tainted and loyal as you—

But the eyes don't lie. He’s become known by you; someone in your favorite book whom you look for in every page, despite it all. His orbs remind you of your favorite kind of dark chocolate, swirly and dreamy; enough to make you swoon, but they’re filled with more than just that. They’re desperate, as if ready to run endless miles if that's what it took for you to speak to him. They’re loopy, blazing nervously when you spot him, brows knitted with concern.

And he deserves it…you think.

Still, that doesn’t stop your stomach from churning, causing you to panic at the thought of spilling your lunch in front of everyone eyeing the glass box you're hidden behind; it could only ever do so much. Everyone can see your usually tantalizing persona fly out the window, a frail—shattered—girl taking your place. 

He’s tricked you. He made you let your guard down, let him in, and then ramshackled you whole; and he hadn’t been nice about it either. How could you have ever thought he would choose you over someone who actually held his kid for nine months? You had seen the messages that sunny morning; birds chirped, flowers bloomed. He had been busy doing God knows what, and when his bright laptop dinged, you couldn’t help but peek. As you once told him; you loved gossip.

Jack is asking if you remember where he last left his stuffed bear? You know, the one with the white spots? 

Susie. You had heard a lot about her—you’ve read, a lot, too— she was someone to admire. Helped create a path of perseverance for young girls; it was astonishing. The thought of Jack made you smile, then the bear, then her. Which is why you aimlessly scrolled once, playfully, and then you came to a rude halt. 

If someone were to grovel that way for you, you would helplessly fall for it. Fuck, he pratically begged for a second chance. Heat weaved through your body, anger rising, and then falling cruelly with a sense of undeniable ache. You had cried; sobbed. Then you got ready for work.

When he had asked what was wrong, you wanted to stab him with the nearby knife, and the thought scared you half to death. You could tell he was deeply wounded by the cold shoulder, but why the fuck should you care? 

Here—in Machiavellian Nights—trapped behind a transparent case, with disgusting men eyefucking you, you realize; there’s no place to run. An attraction is what you are; tourists are what they all represent. Toto’s massive figure swallowed his seat whole, long legs spread open naturally. And you hate it how handsome he looks, dark clouds painting his usually happy eyes. His chest dances up and down, wrestling to catch a breath. The hollers make him flinch in the slightest, grimacing.

The Austrian is apologizing, cryptically. I’m sorry—I’m so fucking sorry. His lips aren't moving, but you can hear his pleads as the music continues. 

C’mon! Dance, someone demands from afar, rough hand smacking the glass. Gasping, you purse your lips, continuing. Ignorance is horrible; especially coming from you. The idea of going on without you feel like a nightmare—torture. He tries standing up, and he doesn’t really know what his game plan is exactly in order to get to you, but heads turn and harsh arms force him back down. 

It isn’t that hard, boy. To like you, or love you. It was as if you got yanked back into what is truly your reality. You can’t have good things in life. Your father hadn’t died—he had abandoned you. Your mother did too. And Toto…

Toto Wolff was just the same.

You’re glad no one can hear you choking back on tears, you wouldn't dare to fall. But emotions were running high, your throat felt raw, your eyes stung, knees felt wobbly, and it was too much. But aside from your hurt, an eerie feeling hugged your chest, forcing your rib cage to poke you as a warning. You allow yourself to look back up, rapidly scanning the unlit room. Everything was blurry—which didn’t help—but what was it?

You’re no longer focused; your legs sway, your gartner slides down, your nose is starting to get runny, and it was all a mess. Connecting your gaze back to his, you narrow them down like deathly blades. This is all your fault, they scream at him, enraged. If you hadn’t walked into my life, then I wouldn’t be this way. 

You’re screwed up and brilliant. 

“You fucking ruined me!” Running towards the glass, you violently slap and punch, over and over until you no longer feel any pain. Red bruises form rather quickly and everyone begins to murmur.

Look like a million dollar man.

“I hate you, Toto Wolff!” Muffled whimpers flow like a waterfall as everyone turns to face the fifty-two year old who sits with a hurt expression. 

“I can explain,” he pleads, instantly rising up to his scary height and rushing over to where you’re caged. His large hand pathetically grasps it, fingerprints painting the shiny protection between you and him. “Sweetheart…”

So why is my heart broke?

“I’ll regret you for the rest of my—”

Chaos ensues; the volcano erupts. It’s suffocating, the way everyone tramples over one another, scattering like lab rats. The yells of terror make his blood run ice cold, swiftly turning around to face the open room. Foxy lets out a scream filled with agony as she crawls over to the stage. Acid slides down her face, makeup running. The other dancers run to hide where the bartender stands with his mouth wide open, orbs flickering with urgency. He doesn’t know what the hell is going on, but he has to get you out of here.

“Open it!” Foxy cries, hands hitting the clear box so forcefully that her nails begin to chip, light gore beginning to slide down. “Open the fucking stage right now!” She lets out a string of pleas, but no one is listening—they can’t even try to with all the loud noise. The alarms go off and that’s what snaps him out of his spot of confusion and what makes her cry and fall back against her arms.

The glass isn’t shattered like in the movies, all over the floor, no. There’s just a singular hole, scratches circling around it—and spikes of blood coloring the crystal clear mirror. 

Even with eyes closed, face sticky with tears, and blood spurting out of your mouth and chest, pooling around your angelic body, you were still beautiful. The ring lays flat atop your unbeating heart, shining one last time against the cherry lights. You were gone as soon as the bullet hit, but Toto was the last person you had seen. And you wish you had time to tell him you never meant any of it. You could never hate him; you loved him, you loved him, you loved him.

“I…no. No. No.” Fists punch urgently, cuts finding a place in his pale skin. “Open it!” More pounds. “Let her out! Why is no one letting her out?” Trepidation sleeks over him as he stops his actions, taking a second to look at you. Your dark wings had somehow turned darker, your white dress is now drowned in crimson red, your halo is no longer on your head, and your lively skin is now ghostly pale, almost gray. “Peaches…” His voice quivers so much, he almost doesn't realize it's coming from him. “Get up, sweetheart—come on, just stand.”

His chest tightens when you go unresponding. “T-think about Rosie! She loves you; she needs you. I need you,” he declares, voice cracking. “The text messages are a mishap! I only love you, Peaches, that’s all! I swear I do, I swear it’s you…”

He dreads to turn around and face what was now his life. The music cuts, but the frightful screams continue. Toto blinks back the stingy feeling as he flickers up to make eye contact with who’s responsible for ripping you away from him.

You share the same eyes, but hers are sullen now. Her hair looks as if it could have once been glossy, but is now as dry as the desert. Her lips are nastily chapped, but an uncanny curl slips through as she ticks anxiously when Ro and the rest of the guards hold her without an ounce of remorse, cuffing skinny, needled wrists.

Your mother looks down at the gun, at her daughter, then at Toto. An unhinged stare strikes her impentent face.

“I brought her into this world…I can also take her out.”

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Kevin alvarez finally saw my story guys

TUMBLR HAS DARL MODE NOW

Y’all so um Diego lainez dad!!! YES HIS DAD FOLLOWS ME ON INSTA

Sooooo Joao saw my story😍😍

PEROPINCHE KEVIN DIDNT 😒 and memo ignore the shit out of it☹️

GUYSDD SO ON SATURDAY I WENT TO THE GAME MEXICO VS HAITI AND I ALMOST GOT A HEART ATTACK CUX OFMFJSJFJEJ I FINALLY SAW DIEGO LAINEZ AND MEMO OCHOA IN PERSON WELL IT WAS LIKE 100 feet away Pero it still counts but like heheh my delulu ass I swear he wants me cuz he was to shy to look back to where I was sitting like he Fr Fr wants oh and he saw my FUCJING STORY HE SAW IT LIKEM OMFGGG KEKDJEKSJD I STILL CANT BELIEVE IT (I need help Pero I don’t wanna get help) I hope u could spot him on the second pic

I miss my man that isn’t my man but he knows he’s my man but he don’t wanna be my man but he got no choice to be my man so he’s my man

🤷🏻‍♀️

How do I tell my mother that I’m not mad I’m just not in the mood to celebrate someone’s birthday..