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pucksandpower · 1 month ago

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The Art of Surrender

Day 19 → Spreader Bar 💋 Toto Wolff

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

Toto walks into the room, his footsteps heavy, as though the weight of the day still hangs on him. The door closes with a soft click, and for a moment, he doesn't say anything. He takes in the sight of you, sitting at the edge of the bed, back hunched, hands fidgeting in your lap.

Something’s off. He notices it immediately, but he doesn’t rush in. You’ve been together long enough that he knows — whatever it is, you’ll tell him.

He loosens his tie, eyes not leaving you. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” His voice is deep, steady, almost casual, but you can hear the faint undercurrent of concern. He moves closer, and his presence fills the room.

You swallow hard, fingers still twisting. How do you even start? The air feels thick with what you haven’t said yet, what you can barely admit to yourself. Your heart pounds in your chest, loud enough you think he might hear it.

“Toto …” your voice comes out softer than you expected, almost wavering. You hate the way it sounds. Weak. Uncertain. That’s not you, but right now, sitting there, it’s all you can muster.

He stops, eyes narrowing just slightly, sensing the shift in the air. “What is it?” He sits down beside you, close enough that your shoulders almost touch, but he doesn’t reach for you. Not yet.

You breathe in. And out. Trying to gather the words in your mind before they slip through your fingers. But no matter how many times you’ve rehearsed it, nothing comes out the way you planned.

“I’m not … I’m not re-signing.” Your words are a whisper at first, as if that might lessen the impact, make it easier. But it doesn’t. If anything, it hangs in the air between you both, heavy, unmovable. “After the season. I’m not staying.”

Silence. It’s suffocating.

Toto’s face doesn’t change immediately. He just stares at you, and you can’t tell what’s going through his mind. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t even breathe for a second, as though he's waiting for you to say more, to explain yourself, to take it back.

But you don't.

“You’re leaving Mercedes,” he finally says, voice low, as if testing the weight of those words.

“Yes.” You glance at him, eyes searching his face, trying to find something, anything. Anger? Disappointment? Hurt? But he’s unreadable, his expression as calm as ever. That, more than anything, makes you anxious. He’s too calm. “I’m going to McLaren.”

Toto’s silence is unbearable. You watch him, every second stretching longer, his gaze sharp and unflinching. He doesn’t react, doesn’t move. The tension between you both is suffocating, and you can feel your palms sweating.

“Toto, say something,” you murmur, the plea almost involuntary. You hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, but you need him to speak, to give you something.

He stands abruptly, the motion fluid, decisive, the way he moves when he’s in control — because he always is. Even now, when everything feels like it’s spinning out of control, he manages to make it seem effortless. He turns his back to you, his broad frame casting a shadow across the room.

His voice, when it comes, is colder than you expected. “McLaren.” It’s not a question.

You nod, even though he can’t see you. “I’ve thought about it for a while.”

He laughs, but there’s no warmth in it. “Have you?” He paces to the other side of the room, hands coming to rest on his hips as he stares at the far wall. His back is still to you, and you hate it, hate that you can’t see his face, can’t read what he’s feeling.

“I know this is hard,” you say softly, your hands now gripping the edge of the bed, knuckles white. “But-”

He whirls around suddenly, cutting you off. His eyes, once calm, now blaze with something you’ve rarely seen directed at you. “You’ve thought about it for a while,” he repeats, voice dangerously quiet. “But you didn’t think to talk to me before deciding.”

Your heart sinks. You knew this would come. You knew he'd be upset. But the way his voice cuts through you, cold and controlled, is worse than you imagined.

“I didn’t-” You stop, collecting yourself. “I didn’t want to complicate things. I wanted to make the right decision for myself first, before … before talking to you.”

Toto stares at you, and for a moment, you swear you see a flicker of something — hurt, maybe — flash across his face. But it’s gone before you can grasp it, replaced by that familiar, impenetrable wall he puts up when things get too close.

“McLaren,” he says again, and this time his voice is laced with disdain. “You think you’ll have more success there?”

“I think I’ll have a fresh start,” you reply, forcing the words out, even though you know they’ll sting. “I need something different. It’s not about you.”

Toto steps forward, closing the distance between you in an instant. His presence looms over you as he stands in front of you, his expression fierce but restrained. “It’s not about me? You think I don’t know that?” His voice is low, barely above a whisper, but it carries the full weight of his emotions. “It’s about you and your career. I’ve always known that. I’ve always supported that.”

Your eyes drop to the floor. “I know you have.”

“Then why didn’t you trust me enough to tell me?”

His question slices through you, and you feel the weight of it. There’s no easy answer. You didn’t tell him because you knew this moment would be like this — tense, emotional, difficult. You didn’t want to see the look on his face, the one he’s wearing right now.

“I didn’t know how,” you admit, voice breaking slightly. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You’ve already done that.” His words are sharp, but not cruel. They’re just true, and that truth hangs between you both, impossible to ignore.

There’s another silence, heavier than the last, and you feel the gravity of what you’ve just done sinking deeper. It’s not just about leaving Mercedes. It’s about leaving him, in a way. The life you’ve built together, the team you’ve been a part of for so long — it’s all intertwined with him. And now you’re walking away from it.

Toto’s eyes are fixed on you, unwavering, and it’s like he’s waiting for you to change your mind, to take it all back. But you don’t.

“McLaren,” he says one more time, almost like he’s tasting the word, testing how it feels in his mouth. Then, without another word, he turns on his heel and walks toward the closet, his stride purposeful, every step filled with determination.

You watch him go, your chest tight, heart pounding in your throat. You want to call out to him, to say something, anything, but you can’t find the words.

He disappears into the closet, and the sound of the door shutting behind him feels final.

The room is silent. The weight of everything hangs heavy in the air, and you sit there, frozen, your heart aching with the realization of what you’ve just done.

You’ve made your decision.

But the consequences … you didn’t anticipate them feeling like this.

***

You hear the sound of hangers clattering softly, shifting against the rail in the closet. It’s the only noise breaking the silence in the room, and it feels unnerving, foreign, like you’re waiting for something you don’t understand.

You shift on the bed, unable to sit still, your hands wringing in your lap. You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to figure out what to do, what to say next. You expect him to come out any second, to say something, to confront you again with the same unflinching gaze and words that cut deep. But he doesn’t.

The minutes drag on, and the sound from the closet doesn’t stop. You can’t shake the feeling that something’s happening in there, that he’s not just getting space to breathe.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the rustling quiets. The closet door creaks open, and Toto steps out.

But he’s not empty-handed.

Your breath catches in your throat when you see what he’s holding. A long, silver spreader bar, polished, gleaming in the dim light of the room. At either end, sleek leather anklets dangle, waiting. You blink, unsure if you’re seeing it right. This isn’t something you’ve ever seen before. You didn’t even know he owned anything like this.

Toto stands there, still and calm, his expression unreadable as he holds the bar in front of him. His eyes lock onto yours, and for a second, you’re speechless.

“What … what is that?” Your voice is shaky, unsure.

He tilts his head slightly, studying your reaction, not in any rush to answer. Finally, after a pause, he says, “A spreader bar.” His tone is measured, cool. “I think you know what it’s for.”

Your heart skips a beat. You do, of course. You’ve heard of them, but you’ve never actually been in a situation where one has made an appearance. Certainly not here, not with him. The weight of the moment suddenly shifts, turning from tense confrontation into something else entirely.

“What are you doing, Toto?” You ask, though you aren’t sure you want to know the answer.

He steps closer, slow, deliberate. His presence, as always, dominates the room, but now it feels different. The air crackles with an intensity you haven’t felt in a long time, maybe ever. His eyes never leave yours, dark, calculating, as though he’s waiting for you to react.

"You’re making decisions about your future,” he says, voice low, controlled. “I think it’s only fair I remind you who’s in control right now.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, but it’s not fear. No, it’s something else entirely. Something deeper, more visceral. You can’t look away from him, even though part of you wonders if you should. The other part — well, the other part is curious, intrigued by the shift in him.

He holds the spreader bar out slightly, as if testing its weight in his hand. “I don’t like being blindsided,” he continues, his voice firm, unwavering. “Especially not by you.”

“Toto,” you begin, but he cuts you off with a look, his eyes sharp, focused. You fall silent.

“I understand why you’ve made your choice,” he says, his tone still low, almost too calm. “But now, you’re going to listen to me.”

He steps even closer, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body as he towers over you. The spreader bar is still in his hand, its presence as dominant as his. “I’ve let you make decisions for yourself, always supported you. But right now, right here, I’m the one in control.”

You don’t respond. You can’t. Your throat is tight, your mind spinning as you try to wrap your head around the shift in the atmosphere. There’s a palpable tension between you, something electric and undeniable.

“Stand up,” he commands, voice smooth but firm. It’s not a request. It’s an order.

You hesitate for a moment, your eyes flicking between him and the spreader bar. But something in his gaze pulls you in, and before you know it, you’re rising to your feet, your legs a little shaky. Your pulse races, and the room feels suddenly smaller, like you’re being enveloped by his presence.

Toto watches you, his eyes narrowing slightly, approving of your obedience without needing to say a word. He steps behind you, his hand brushing against your back as he positions you in front of the bed. The contact sends a jolt through you, and you suppress a gasp.

“Sit,” he says quietly, and you do, lowering yourself back onto the edge of the bed.

Before you can fully comprehend what’s happening, he kneels in front of you, taking one of your ankles in his hand. The touch is gentle, but there’s a deliberate intensity to it that makes your breath hitch. You watch, transfixed, as he wraps the leather anklet around your ankle, buckling it with precise care.

“Toto,” you start again, your voice barely above a whisper. “What are you doing?”

He looks up at you, his dark eyes steady and unreadable. “I’m reminding you that there are parts of your life where you don’t get to call the shots.”

The second anklet is secured with the same care, and you feel the cool metal of the bar press against your calves as he connects your ankles to it. You’re hyper-aware of every sensation, every breath, the way the leather hugs your skin and the weight of the spreader bar keeping your legs apart. The vulnerability of it hits you hard, but instead of fear, you feel something else — anticipation.

Toto stands, his hand grazing your leg briefly as he rises. He’s looking down at you now, his expression calm, calculated. The spreader bar forces your legs apart, your position laid bare for him, but he makes no move to touch you yet. Instead, he watches you, as though waiting for your reaction.

“You think leaving Mercedes is what you need,” he says quietly, his voice filled with a quiet intensity. “But right now, I’m going to show you what it means to surrender.”

Your pulse quickens. You don’t know if you can even respond, your throat dry, your mind spinning from the gravity of his words, the gravity of the situation. There’s something intoxicating about the way he speaks, the way he commands the space, the way he commands you. And in this moment, you realize just how much power he holds — not just over you, but over everything in this room.

He steps closer again, this time standing between your legs, looking down at you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. “Do you understand?”

You nod slowly, your breath shaky, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Words,” he says, his tone softer but firm. “I need to hear you.”

“Yes,” you whisper, the word barely audible, but it’s enough.

He reaches down, his hand tracing a line up your leg, slow, deliberate, until it reaches your thigh. His touch is light but charged with intent. You can feel the tension building in the room, in your body, like a storm about to break.

“You’ve made your decision about your career,” he says, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that makes your body ache with anticipation. “But when you’re with me, I make the decisions.”

His words send a shiver through you, and you feel your body responding in ways you can’t control, heat pooling low in your belly. The spreader bar keeps your legs apart, keeps you vulnerable, and yet there’s something in the way he’s looking at you that makes you feel safe, even as you surrender to the moment.

Toto’s hand moves higher, his touch still teasing, deliberate, until his fingers reach the waistband of your pants. He pauses, his eyes locking onto yours again, and for a moment, time seems to freeze.

“You trust me?” He asks, his voice low, commanding but with a note of something softer underneath.

You swallow hard, your heart hammering in your chest. There’s no question in your mind, despite the tension, despite the intensity of the moment.

“Yes,” you breathe, and the word feels like a release.

He doesn’t hesitate. In one smooth motion, he pulls your pants down, the cool air of the room hitting your skin, sending a fresh wave of sensation coursing through you. You’re exposed now, completely at his mercy, and the reality of your position sinks in fully. But instead of fear, you feel something else — something deeper, more profound.

Toto stands there for a moment, taking in the sight of you, his eyes dark with desire, but still, he’s in control. He’s always in control. The power in that moment shifts entirely to him, and you can feel it in every fiber of your being.

Then he moves with that same deliberate calm, never breaking eye contact with you. Every inch of the room feels like it’s bending around him, like he’s the axis everything revolves around. He’s in control, yes, but it’s more than that — it’s like he’s waiting, testing, gauging just how far you’ll let him push.

Without a word, he steps over to the nightstand. His fingers brush the drawer handle, and you hear the faint creak as it slides open. You don’t try to see what he’s reaching for; your eyes are fixed on him, the tension between you two coiled so tightly it feels like a single wrong move could snap it.

Toto’s hand disappears inside the drawer, and for a moment, you don’t breathe. The anticipation is maddening, the silence louder than any words could be. When he pulls his hand back out, it’s quick, fluid, and whatever he’s holding is concealed behind his back.

Your heart races. “Toto … what is that?”

His gaze flickers with something unreadable — a hint of amusement, maybe? Or maybe it’s something darker. He steps closer to you again, still holding the object out of sight. He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he comes to stand in front of you, towering over you, the spreader bar still keeping your legs apart, your body open and vulnerable.

“You trust me,” he says, and it’s not a question this time. It’s a statement, one that feels heavier than before, laden with more meaning now that you’re here, like this, with him. You nod, but he doesn’t acknowledge it.

“I asked you a question earlier,” he says slowly, his voice soft but firm. “About whether you understand what control really looks like.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “I-I do.”

“Do you?” He raises an eyebrow, and there’s that faint smirk on his lips again, the one that makes you feel like he knows something you don’t. “Because I don’t think you fully understand yet.”

You blink, heart pounding in your chest, the anticipation stretching out. “Toto, what are you-”

He cuts you off with a look. “I told you before. You’ve made decisions for yourself, and I respect that.” His voice is even, but there’s an underlying intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. “But tonight, right now, I’m the one who makes the decisions.”

And then, with that same deliberate slowness, he brings his hand around from behind his back.

Your breath catches in your throat as you see what he’s holding.

A vibrator.

A small, sleek one, the kind that looks deceptively simple but holds a power that’s anything but. Your stomach twists, and suddenly, everything feels too much — the spreader bar, your body’s position, the intimacy of the moment, the look on his face. The realization hits you in waves: he’s not here to just talk. He’s going to push you further than he ever has before.

“Toto …” Your voice is shaky, filled with a mixture of anticipation, uncertainty, and something you can’t quite name. “I-”

He doesn’t wait for you to finish. He steps even closer, his hand moving to gently tilt your chin up so you’re looking directly into his eyes. There’s something intense, almost possessive, in the way he’s watching you.

“You’re going to learn,” he says softly, “what it means to truly let go.”

His words send a ripple through you, your pulse quickening as he kneels in front of you again, his large frame making you feel even more exposed. The cool air of the room brushes against your bare skin, the sensation heightened by the tension thrumming between you both.

He doesn’t break eye contact as he presses the vibrator to your inner thigh, not turning it on yet, just letting the cool metal make contact with your heated skin. You tense, a soft gasp escaping your lips.

“Toto … this is too much,” you whisper, though part of you isn’t sure if you mean it. It’s overwhelming, the sensations, the anticipation, the way he’s looking at you with that unyielding gaze. But there’s another part of you that wants to see where this goes, that trusts him to take you wherever he’s planning to go.

“Too much?” He repeats, his tone light but edged with amusement. “Or exactly what you need?”

You don’t have an answer for that. Not really. All you can feel is the pressure of the spreader bar keeping your legs apart, the way his hands are gentle but unrelenting as they move along your thighs. You’re acutely aware of every inch of your skin, every nerve ending sparking with electricity.

Before you can say anything more, he presses the vibrator between your legs. The first touch of it is soft, barely a whisper of sensation, but it’s enough to make you tense, a sharp breath escaping your lips. He doesn’t turn it on yet. He just holds it there, watching your reaction, waiting.

“Toto, please …” You don’t even know what you’re asking for. For him to stop? For him to keep going? You can’t decide. It’s too much, but also not enough.

He tilts his head, considering you for a moment, his thumb hovering over the button. “You always try to control everything, don’t you?” His voice is low, steady. “But you don’t need to. Not here. Not with me.”

And then, without warning, he flicks the vibrator on.

The sudden vibration against your most sensitive spot makes you gasp, your back arching involuntarily. Your legs strain against the spreader bar, but there’s nowhere to go, no way to close them, no way to ease the intensity. You’re trapped in the sensation, every nerve alight, your mind spinning.

“Toto!” You cry out, your hands gripping the edge of the bed, trying to anchor yourself as the sensation overwhelms you.

But he doesn’t stop. He holds the vibrator against you, watching, his expression calm, composed, like he’s completely in control of everything happening to you. His free hand moves to your thigh, squeezing gently, grounding you in the moment even as your body fights to keep up with the onslaught of pleasure.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs, his voice like a low hum in the background of your own ragged breathing. “I know it’s a lot. But you can take it.”

Your mind is reeling, your body caught in a loop of sensation. You try to pull your hands away from the bed, to reach for him, to find something to hold on to, but he clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

“No,” he says, his voice firm. “You stay right where you are.”

You groan, half in frustration, half in surrender. The vibrator pulses against you, relentless, driving you closer to the edge. You want to close your legs, to escape the intensity, but the spreader bar keeps you open, exposed, vulnerable.

“Toto … I can’t …”

“Yes, you can,” he says softly, his hand squeezing your thigh again, reassuring. “You’re strong. You can take it.”

You shake your head, biting your lip, trying to focus, but it’s impossible. The pleasure is too much, too overwhelming, your body reacting in ways you can’t control. Every time the vibration shifts, it sends another jolt of electricity through you, and you feel like you’re teetering on the edge of something immense, something you’re not ready for.

Toto watches you closely, his eyes dark, focused, his thumb brushing idly against your skin as he holds the vibrator steady. He’s so calm, so collected, while you’re falling apart in front of him.

“I want you to let go,” he says quietly, his voice gentle but commanding. “Stop trying to fight it.”

You can’t even respond. You’re too lost in the sensation, your body trembling, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps. Your muscles tense, your back arching as you try to brace yourself for what’s coming, but there’s no way to prepare. You’re already too far gone.

And then, with a sudden shift, the vibrations change, intensifying. It’s enough to send you over the edge, your body convulsing with pleasure as you cry out, your hands gripping the bed so tightly your knuckles turn white. The world narrows to this one moment, this one sensation, everything else fading away.

Toto doesn’t stop. He holds the vibrator against you, drawing out every last bit of your climax, pushing you further, making sure you feel every second of it. You’re shaking, trembling, your body overwhelmed by the intensity of it all, but he doesn’t let up. Not until you’re completely spent.

When he finally pulls the vibrator away, your body sags in relief, your breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. You feel like you’ve just run a marathon, your muscles weak, your mind still spinning from the force of it all.

Toto straightens, his eyes still on you, watching as you come down from the high. He’s quiet for a moment, letting you catch your breath, his expression softening just slightly.

“You see?” He says quietly, stepping closer to you again, his hand brushing your hair back from your face. “You don’t need to be in control all the time.”

You close your eyes, still trying to process everything that’s just happened. But you barely have time to catch your breath before his hand comes down on you.

Not gently, but not cruelly, either — just hard enough to make your body jolt, your mind snap back to the present moment. The sharp sound of skin meeting skin echoes in the room, cutting through the thick silence, and you gasp, your body still sensitive from everything he’s already put you through.

His hand lingers for a moment, warm, steady, grounding. But then it lifts again, and there’s no time to prepare before it comes down a second time. The impact isn’t painful, not really, but it’s enough to make you bite your lip, your legs straining against the spreader bar as your body reacts, twitching involuntarily under his touch.

“Still too much?” He asks, his voice calm, measured, as if this is just another conversation, nothing out of the ordinary.

You want to say yes, to tell him it’s too much, to beg him to stop. But you don’t. The words die in your throat, tangled up with the conflicting emotions swirling inside you. It’s overwhelming, yes, but it’s also something else — something deeper, more complicated, something that’s making you want to see just how far you can be pushed.

Instead of answering, you bite your lip and bury your face into the bed, trying to steady your breathing.

Toto’s hand comes down again, this time on the bundle of nerves between your legs, and the sharpness of the sensation sends a shockwave through your body. You let out a soft cry, the sound muffled by the bedspread. The slap wasn’t hard, but your sensitivity makes everything feel amplified, and it’s like you’re teetering on the edge again, your body primed and ready despite your exhaustion.

“Toto-” you gasp, the words half-formed, more a sound than a plea. But he doesn’t answer. His hand comes down again, another firm slap, and your legs twitch helplessly, the spreader bar keeping you in place, keeping you exposed.

You don’t know how long it lasts — seconds, minutes, maybe longer. His hand moves methodically, alternating between soft touches and sharp slaps, keeping you in a state of tension, always anticipating the next move but never quite knowing when it will come. Every strike, every caress, pulls you further under, your mind a haze of sensation, too overwhelmed to process anything beyond the immediate moment.

And then, just when you think you can’t take any more, he stops. The room goes silent again, save for your ragged breathing. You’re trembling, your muscles taut, your body flushed and aching, but there’s a strange calmness in the aftermath, a sense of weightlessness that settles over you.

You feel him shift, his hand moving away, and you think maybe it’s over. Maybe he’s done.

But then, you hear a faint click.

Your eyes snap open, and you look up just in time to see Toto holding something small and silver in his hand. It’s a butterfly clamp — delicate, intricate, the kind designed for maximum stimulation in the most intimate places. The sight of it makes your heart skip a beat, a wave of anticipation rolling through you.

“Toto, wait-”

But he’s already moving, his hands deft and practiced as he positions the clamp with precision. The cool metal of it brushes against you, and before you can protest, you feel the bite of it closing around that same sensitive bundle of nerves. The sensation is sharp, electric, and you let out a soft, involuntary moan, your legs straining against the spreader bar again.

“There,” Toto murmurs, his voice low, almost soothing. “That should keep you focused.”

You’re panting now, your body shaking with the intensity of the clamp’s grip. It’s not painful, exactly, but it’s tight, the pressure constant, unrelenting. Your hands clench into fists at your sides as you try to process the overwhelming sensation, your mind scrambling for some semblance of control.

But he’s not done.

Toto reaches for something on the nightstand again, and this time, when he pulls his hand back, he’s holding a small remote. You realize what it is just a second too late. The butterfly clamp is wired — it vibrates. And when Toto presses the button on the remote, the clamp comes to life with a low, insistent hum.

The first burst of vibration hits you like a shockwave, your body jerking against the bed, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat. The sensation is too much, too intense, and you can feel your mind slipping, overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught. It’s like every nerve in your body is lit up, your muscles tensing, your legs shaking.

“Toto, please …” you manage to gasp, your voice barely audible over the sound of the vibrating clamp. “It’s too much …”

But he doesn’t turn it off. Instead, he watches you, his eyes dark, focused, as if he’s studying your every reaction. He tilts his head slightly, considering, and then without a word, he turns the intensity up higher.

The vibrations increase, the sensation growing stronger, more insistent, and you feel yourself falling apart, your body shaking uncontrollably as the pleasure crashes over you in waves. You try to close your legs, to ease the intensity, but the spreader bar keeps you open, keeps you exposed, and there’s no escape from the relentless stimulation.

“Toto!” You cry out, your voice breaking, your hands gripping the bed so tightly your knuckles turn white. “I can’t … I can’t …”

But he doesn’t answer. He just watches, calm, composed, in complete control.

The vibrations pulse through you, unrelenting, and your body responds with an intensity that scares you. You’re on the edge again, teetering, the sensation too much, too overwhelming, and you’re not sure how much longer you can hold on.

And then, just when you think you might break, just when the sensation becomes unbearable, Toto steps back.

Your heart races as you watch him move toward the door. He’s still holding the remote, his thumb hovering over the button, but he doesn’t turn the vibrations off. He leaves them on, the clamp still buzzing against you, the sensation still coursing through your body.

“Toto …” you gasp, your voice shaky, desperate. “Please …”

He stops at the doorway, turning to look at you one last time. His expression is unreadable, his dark eyes fixed on you, taking in the sight of you trembling, helpless, completely at his mercy.

“You’ll stay like this,” he says quietly, his voice calm, almost detached. “Until I decide to come back.”

Your heart drops, panic rising in your chest as the reality of his words sinks in. He’s leaving you like this. Bound, exposed, vibrating, with no way to stop it.

“Toto, no, please …” you beg, your voice trembling, but he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even hesitate.

He turns and walks out of the room, leaving the door ajar behind him.

The moment he’s gone, the room feels ten times quieter, the buzzing clamp the only sound cutting through the oppressive silence. The vibrations haven’t stopped, and your body hasn’t had a moment to recover from everything that’s already happened. Your muscles are still trembling, your body still tense, and the clamp’s relentless pulsing is driving you toward the edge, again and again, without mercy.

You try to focus, to steady your breathing, but it’s impossible. Every second that passes, every pulse of the clamp, makes it harder to think, harder to hold on to any semblance of control. Your mind is slipping, consumed by the constant stimulation, and you don’t know how much longer you can take it.

Your hands grip the bed, your legs straining against the spreader bar, but there’s no escape. The pleasure is overwhelming, building, spiraling out of control, and you feel yourself teetering on the edge, again and again, but never quite falling.

“Toto …” you whisper, though you know he can’t hear you. “Please …”

But he’s gone.

***

Time has become a blur.

You have no idea how long it’s been — minutes, hours, an eternity — since Toto left the room, since the vibrations started, since the last coherent thought slipped from your mind. Your body is trembling, every muscle tensed and weak at the same time, caught in a relentless loop of overstimulation. Every pulse from the clamp is a fresh wave of sensation, building and breaking in rapid succession, leaving no room for breath, no time for your body to come down from the edge.

All you know is this: your legs, still spread open, still bound, the wetness pooling beneath you, soaking the sheets from the uncontrollable release that came over and over, without mercy. You’ve long since stopped trying to fight it. There’s nothing left to fight.

Toto is gone, but his presence lingers in every pulse of the vibrator, in every sharp intake of breath, in every broken sound that escapes your lips. You don’t remember why he left. You barely remember why you’re here, in this position, on this bed. Your body is the only thing that makes sense, the only thing you can focus on.

And it’s too much.

It’s all too much.

Your fingers dig into the sheets, clutching them with what little strength you have left. Your mind is fogged with pleasure, with exhaustion, with need. The clamp’s grip is unyielding, and the sensation has reached a point beyond control. You’re not even sure how many times you’ve come — whether it was once or a hundred times — whether the pleasure has blurred into pain or if it’s all the same now.

You bite down on your lip, trying to ground yourself, to find something solid in the overwhelming chaos. Your breath is ragged, coming in shallow gasps, and your legs are shaking uncontrollably. You feel like you’re drowning in it, like you’ve been caught in a storm of sensation with no way out.

You close your eyes, and in the darkness behind your eyelids, you try to focus on something — anything — to break through the haze. Your name. Your purpose. Your decision to leave Mercedes and sign with McLaren. But even that feels distant, insignificant, swallowed by the intensity of what’s happening to your body. The only thing that matters is the constant, endless rhythm of the clamp’s vibrations and the way it’s pushing you beyond your limits.

You don’t even hear the door open.

But suddenly, the vibrations stop.

Just like that, the clamp goes silent, and the absence of sensation is almost as jarring as its presence. Your body collapses in on itself, trembling and weak, every muscle in your legs and abdomen quivering from the relentless tension. For a moment, there’s nothing but silence, the quiet almost deafening after the endless hum of the vibrator.

Your eyes flutter open, and you see him standing in the doorway, tall and composed, his expression unreadable. Toto’s gaze sweeps over you, taking in the sight of your flushed skin, the way your body is still shaking in the aftermath, the dampness on the sheets beneath you.

He says nothing at first. He just watches, his eyes dark, intense, like he’s measuring every inch of your reaction, every subtle movement of your body.

“Toto …” your voice is hoarse, barely a whisper. You don’t know what you want to say. You don’t know what you can say.

But his name hangs in the air between you, heavy with meaning.

He steps forward, his presence commanding, and as he approaches, you feel a fresh wave of anticipation roll through you, despite the exhaustion that’s pulling at your limbs.

He reaches the bed, his hand moving to your ankle, fingers brushing over the cuff of the spreader bar. His touch is warm, familiar, and yet it sends a shiver down your spine.

“You’ve been through a lot,” he says quietly, his voice low and measured. “But you’ve handled it well.”

There’s a softness to his tone now, a contrast to the control he’s exercised over you all night. It’s almost comforting, though the intensity of the moment still lingers in the air, thick and suffocating.

You blink up at him, trying to gather your thoughts, but it’s like your brain is still catching up with your body, still trying to process everything that’s just happened.

“How long …” You ask, your voice shaky.

Toto’s eyes flicker with something — amusement, maybe — but he doesn’t answer your question directly. Instead, he kneels down in front of you, his hand moving up your leg, slowly, deliberately, as if he’s reacquainting himself with your body after watching it from a distance.

“You’ve lost track of time,” he says softly, almost teasing. “That’s good.”

You swallow hard, your throat dry, your body still buzzing with the remnants of overstimulation. “It … it was too much,” you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible.

His gaze meets yours, and for a moment, something softens in his expression. “I know,” he says simply, his voice a little quieter now. “That’s the point.”

He unclips the spreader bar from your ankles, letting your legs fall together. The relief is immediate, though your muscles are so weak and trembling that it takes you a moment to fully relax into the new position. The wetness between your legs feels like a constant reminder of what just happened, and your cheeks burn with the realization.

Toto reaches for the butterfly clamp, his fingers brushing against your sensitive skin as he removes it with the same care and precision as before. The absence of its pressure is almost startling, and you let out a small gasp of relief.

He stands up, towering over you again, and you look up at him, still trying to catch your breath, still trying to make sense of everything.

“Are you okay?” His voice is quieter now, more gentle, and it catches you off guard. There’s a tenderness in his tone that you haven’t heard all night, and it makes your chest tighten with something you can’t quite name.

You nod, though you’re not entirely sure if it’s true. “I … I think so.”

Toto’s eyes search yours for a long moment, and then he reaches down, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs, and the sincerity in his voice makes your breath hitch.

You don’t know how to respond. You don’t even know what you feel right now. Exhausted? Relieved? Overwhelmed? Grateful? It’s all tangled up together, too complicated to untangle in this moment.

“Toto,” you whisper, your voice shaky, “I … I don’t know what to say.”

He gives you a small, almost imperceptible smile, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. “You don’t have to say anything,” he says, his voice low and comforting. “I already know.”

His words wash over you like a balm, soothing the chaos that’s still swirling in your mind. And for the first time since this all started, you feel a strange sense of calm settling over you, grounding you in the present moment.

Toto sits down on the edge of the bed beside you, his hand resting gently on your thigh. His touch is warm, reassuring, and you find yourself leaning into it, seeking the comfort and stability he’s offering.

“You’ve been through a lot tonight,” he says quietly, his voice softer now, more gentle. “But you did better than I expected.”

You blink at him, your mind still foggy from the intensity of everything, but his words start to cut through the haze.

“Better than you expected?” You repeat, your voice still shaky.

Toto’s lips curve into a small smile, and he nods. “Yes,” he says simply. “You trusted me. You let go. That’s not easy for someone like you.”

You feel a lump form in your throat at his words, the weight of what he’s saying hitting you all at once. He’s right. Letting go — relinquishing control — isn’t something that comes naturally to you. It’s something you’ve fought against for most of your life.

But tonight, with him, you did it.

You let go.

And somehow, in the midst of all the chaos and intensity, that feels like an accomplishment.

***

The bedroom air feels impossibly still as Toto watches you lying there, your body still trembling from the night’s events. Every breath feels like a chore, your legs heavy and unresponsive, a dull ache radiating through your muscles. It’s not pain — not exactly — but the overwhelming sensation of too much. Too much stimulation, too much strain, too much surrender.

Toto moves with a grace you envy. He doesn’t seem shaken by what just happened. If anything, he seems more in control than ever, and it’s a strange comfort as he leans down to whisper, “I’m going to run you a bath.”

You nod weakly, unsure if you could find your voice even if you tried. Your body feels like it doesn’t belong to you anymore. You close your eyes, listening to the faint sounds of him moving around the bathroom. The sound of water running, soft and rhythmic, is a welcome distraction from the buzzing in your mind.

Toto returns after a moment, his face softened in the dim light of the room. “Let’s get you in,” he murmurs, gently slipping an arm under your back and another under your knees. He lifts you as if you weigh nothing at all, effortlessly cradling you against his chest. You feel the warmth of his skin against yours, the steady beat of his heart, and for a moment, it’s the only thing anchoring you to reality.

You try to help, try to move your legs or shift your weight, but your limbs feel boneless, unwilling to cooperate. You can only manage a soft whimper, which Toto hushes with a quiet, “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

He carries you into the bathroom, the air thick with steam from the waiting bath. The scent of lavender fills the space, calming, though your body still feels too raw, too sensitive to truly relax. Toto lowers you into the water with the same tenderness he’s shown all night, but the moment the warmth hits your skin, a sharp sting pulls a gasp from your throat.

“I know,” he murmurs, brushing a wet strand of hair away from your face. “It’ll pass.”

The water laps around you, soothing in some places, biting in others where your skin has been left tender and marked. You sink into it slowly, trying to let the warmth do its job, to soothe the ache that’s set deep into your muscles.

Toto kneels beside the tub, his hand slipping into the water to rub gentle circles over your arm, as though to remind you that he’s still here, still watching, still caring. His touch is light, absent of the dominance he held over you earlier, replaced now with something gentler, more intimate.

You open your eyes just a sliver, watching him through the haze of exhaustion. His face is softened by concern, a tenderness you aren’t sure you were expecting, even though you’ve seen this side of him before. It’s a look he reserves for moments like these, when the intensity fades and all that’s left is the two of you — Toto, no longer the boss, the leader, the man who demands so much. Just him, here, with you.

After a while, he pulls his phone from his pocket, still sitting on the floor next to the tub. His fingers move across the screen with the same efficiency he brings to every part of his life, and before you can even wonder what he’s doing, you hear the familiar voice of your performance coach answering the call.

“Hello?” Comes the voice on the other end, crackling slightly through the phone’s speaker.

Toto clears his throat, casting a glance in your direction, as if measuring whether or not you’re coherent enough to understand what’s about to happen. “Ja, it’s Toto,” he says, his voice steady, professional. “I’m calling about Y/N’s training schedule.”

You can’t help but crack one eye open, watching as he speaks, his tone cool and commanding, as though nothing out of the ordinary has happened. It’s jarring to witness after everything, the way he can shift so seamlessly between roles, so completely in control.

“She’s, uh …” Toto hesitates, and it catches your attention. Hesitation is rare for him. “She’s not feeling well. She’ll need to take a few days off from training.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and you feel your lips curve upward, just slightly, as you crack one eye open further to see his expression. His eyes flicker to you, catching your amused gaze, and a faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Really?” Your performance coach’s voice sounds skeptical. “She was fine yesterday.”

Toto’s hand slides back into your hair, petting gently as his smirk fades, his tone back to business. “Yes. But today … she’s not well. It’s best she rests.”

You can’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes, the disbelief in the coach’s voice almost laughable given the circumstances. But you bite your tongue, too exhausted to interject.

“How bad is it?” Your coach presses. “Fever? Injury?”

“Something like that,” Toto says, his fingers weaving through your damp hair. His voice lowers, taking on that authoritative edge again, the one that says the conversation is over. “She’ll be back when she’s ready. No sooner.”

There’s a sigh on the other end, and you can almost picture your performance coach, frowning, realizing he won’t win this battle against Toto Wolff. “Alright, then. I’ll adjust her schedule.”

“Thank you,” Toto says curtly, and without another word, he ends the call, placing the phone on the tiled floor beside him.

You crack one eye open again, catching his gaze. “Sick, huh?”

Toto raises an eyebrow, his lips curving into that familiar smirk. “What would you prefer I say?”

You exhale a weak laugh, the sound soft and shaky in your throat. “I don’t know … ‘recovering from being tied up and overstimulated for hours’ doesn’t really flow off the tongue.”

His smirk widens, and he leans in, brushing a kiss against your forehead. “Some things are better left unsaid.”

You hum in agreement, your head falling back against the edge of the tub. The water has started to lose its initial sting, the heat now a welcome relief on your sore, overworked muscles. Toto’s hand continues to move through your hair, and with each gentle stroke, you feel yourself relaxing just a little bit more, the tension draining from your body as the exhaustion begins to take over.

For a few moments, there’s silence. Just the sound of the water sloshing softly around you, Toto’s fingers carding through your hair, and the steady rhythm of your breathing as you try to come back to yourself.

But the quiet doesn’t last.

“You know …” Toto starts, his voice soft, thoughtful. “I meant what I said earlier.”

You blink up at him, tired and still floating somewhere between the present and the haze of the night. “Which part?”

“About loving you,” he says, his eyes locked on yours. “No matter what.”

You swallow, the weight of his words sinking in. You remember the earlier conversation, the one that started all of this. The tension, the fear, the uncertainty when you told him you wouldn’t be re-signing with Mercedes. It feels like a lifetime ago now, but the truth of it still lingers in the air between you.

“I know you’ve made your decision,” he continues, his voice calm, though you can hear the undercurrent of emotion running beneath it. “And I respect that. I do.”

His hand moves from your hair to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing softly across your cheek. His touch is tender, intimate, and you feel your heart constrict in your chest.

“But it doesn’t change how I feel about you,” he says, his voice steady, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’ll love you, no matter which team you drive for.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words catch in your throat. There’s a part of you that wants to tell him you feel the same, that this — what the two of you have — transcends the politics of racing, of teams, of contracts.

But there’s another part of you that’s still scared. Scared of what it means to leave Mercedes, to leave the team that’s been your home for years. Scared of what it will mean for the two of you once you’re no longer bound by the same badge.

Toto seems to sense your hesitation, and he sighs, leaning forward to press a kiss to your temple. “Even if I wish it would always be Mercedes,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice barely a whisper.

Your chest tightens at the admission, the vulnerability in his words catching you off guard. You hadn’t expected him to say it, to admit that he still wants you to stay. But then again, you suppose you always knew. It’s not just about the team for him — it’s about keeping you close, about holding on to something that feels like it’s slipping away.

“I know,” you whisper, your voice soft, almost broken. You turn your head slightly, your lips brushing against his in a feather-light kiss. “I know.”

Toto rests his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. For a moment, you just sit there in the quiet, your heartbeats syncing up, the water cooling around you, but neither of you moves.

Because for now, this moment is enough.

607 notes · View notes

formulawolff · 5 months ago

Text

xix. when time stood still - t.w.

pairing: female driver!reader x toto wolff

word count: 3.4k

warnings: ANGST, so much angst, yearning, mutual pining, cursing, mentions of injury, mild violence, sexual innuendos, light smut (you'd have to squint to see it), age gap relationships, banter, yadayadayada

prev. | next.

“have you seen this?”

“seen what?” you arch a brow, shoving a bite into your mouth.

“toto did an interview with sky sports,” alex scoots closer to you on the couch. you were to his right, lily cuddled up on his left, “should we all watch it together? it already has almost one million views.”

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

you pick at your food, “that’s unusual. sky sports typically rakes in only thousands of views per video.”

“well we’ll just have to watch and see!” lily chirps, leaning forward so that she can drum along your arm with her hands, “chin up, buttercup! we’re about to watch your mans!”

alex presses play, holding the phone at an angle where the three of you could see clearly. the moment he appears on screen, your heart skips a beat.

he’s disheveled, his fluffy brunette locks sticking up on all ends, the first few buttons of his crisp mercedes polo undone, the fabric slightly wrinkled from the stressful events of qualifying.

although it was cooling down significantly as the sun had set, he wore no jacket. the sleeves of his polo were rolled up to his elbows, exposing his toned forearms, the veins prominent in the low light. there was an emotion in his gaze you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

lewis and george linger in the background, both of them waving fervently to the camera as rachel brooks begins the interview, clearing her throat.

she begins with her introduction, your jaw going slack the second she mentions your relationship. she continues, pressing on with a flurry of invasive questions. toto appears just as shocked, remaining silent for nearly thirty seconds before speaking.

“i initiated our relationship,” he starts, pausing briefly once more, “i approached her a few months ago in bahrain. if we’re being honest here, i had been crushing on her for quite some time. since the news broke of her signing to williams in december of 2022.”

alex’s thumb locates the pause button with lighting speed, stopping the video, “no. fucking. way.”

“that is so romantic!” lily squeals, kicking her feet, “alex, what are you doing? press play! i want to watch more.”

as the video resumes, you can’t help but notice lewis and george’s reactions, how their eyes are widened, lips parted as toto shifts in place, slightly swaying back and forth as rachel clarifies exactly how long he had been interested in you. he responds, focusing his attention directly to the camera, his eyes almost piercing through the lens.

he mentions susie, quenching the blazing rumors that the two you were involved in an affair. he defends her name, stating that she is not the bitter ex-wife that the headlines claim she is. he affirms that she is the founder and helm of the f1 academy, the mother of their children, and an exceptional co-parent and business partner.

you find yourself almost too invested in the words, leaning over a few more inches so that you can savor the way his voice is brimmed with passion, bursting with nothing but adoration as he catches his breath.

that’s when he mentions you.

your heart flutters, a dizzying sensation taking hold as he utters the words i love that american girl.

“oh shit,” alex murmurs under his breath, “you have that man in a chokehold.”

“shhh!” lily hushes him, putting a finger to his lips, “there’s still more!”

rachel glances towards the camera as toto spins on his heel, starting to walk away. she calls out him, eager to dissect his previous sentiment.

“you said that you loved that american driver. do you mind elaborating on that?”

toto turns, now in the center of the frame, “yes, i did. i love her. there are many whispers that i am just using her, that she is just a little pawn in my game to ultimately sign her to mercedes. that is not the case. it is complete and utter bullshit. she is my entire world. i would never take advantage of her in that manner. i respect her too much to do that.

now that all of your pressing questions are answered, i have one thing to ask. will you all just leave us be? no more hot gossip. no more lies. let me love my american girl. that’s all. i will not be elaborating further, ms. brooks. thank you.”

that’s when rachel blinks, the hand holding the microphone quivering.

was it from excitement? from a rush of adrenaline because she was able to pry more information out of him? the exhilaration of knowing that this was going to create a media frenzy?

the camera pans to her, the reporter bearing a smug, shit-eating grin.

“well, now we know how the illustrious mercedes team principal really feels about the williams driver. perhaps tomorrow we will be able to reach her for an exclusive, one-on-one interview. perhaps will we see another post-race kiss? stay tuned to sky sports f1 for more updates here in montreal, canada! have a great evening! we will see you on the race track bright and early for more coverage!”

the video cuts out, suggestions popping up on the screen for more related content. for a minute, you sit there, completely and utterly in disbelief at what you just witnessed. alex elbows you, bringing you back to earth.

“you okay?”

“yeah,” you nod, heat burning in your cheeks, “i wasn’t expecting that.”

“and neither were we!” lily springs up from the couch, making her way over to you.

she knees alex gently, “move, move, move! i need to talk to my girl.”

“am i included in girl talk?” he teases, obliging to her request, “i want to know all of the tea! she never told me about her time in monte carlo.”

“why not?” lily’s lip juts out as she settles next to you, “hey, what’s on your mind?”

your lower lip trembles, tears blurring your vision, “i-i just miss him.”

“oh lovebug,” lily coos, wrapping tender arms around your frame, “is james still being weird about everything?”

“weird is an understatement,” alex whistles, shaking his head, “he’s on insane levels of a strict father figure at the moment. he almost took her phone yesterday because he was under the impression that she was texting toto.”

“nuh uh!” lily’s eyes widen in shock, disgust painting her features, “alex told me that part of it was due to the team’s reputation? the pr teams want you guys to maintain your distance?”

there’s now a steady stream falling down your cheeks, “y-yeah.”

“oh honey,” lily rubs your back as wails bubble up in the back of your throat, “alex, get her phone for me?”

“why?” he inquires, yet hands her your phone, “her passcode is zero-three-zero-nine-two-four.”

“isn’t that the date you won your first grand prix?” lily’s fingers fly across the screen.

“yes,” alex answers for you, placing a box of tissues on your lap, “lily, what are you doing?”

“calling toto wolff,” her chin tilts upward, towards alex, “duh! who else would i be calling?”

a few paddocks down, toto wolff paces in his office, his drivers situated in the two plush chairs, scrolling away on their phones.

there is a thick layer of frustration lingering in the air, clouding around the team principal.

it was not the heated, fiery rage of losing a race or a car malfunctioning. it was more like the fury of wanting something you cannot have. the desperation of it, the way it tugged and pulled at his weary heart. resentment for the mercedes pr team was accumulating by the second, the team principal firing blazing strings of curses under his breath.

“everyone is going bonkers over that interview, mate,” lewis’ lips are curled into a devious smirk, the driver flashing his screen, “you should see what they’re saying about you.”

“all good things i hope,” toto snorts, rolling his eyes, “in retrospect, i should have just kept my mouth shut.”

on his desk, the inbox of his work email was flooded with furious messages from the pr team, demanding that he keep his lips sealed for the remainder of the weekend. the team principal was to shoot down any pressing inquiries regarding the williams driver. they even went so far to create scenarios that provided examples of the “proper responses.” answers that he was required to give since he only “embarrassed the team and mercedes brand even further.”

“they’re loving every single second,” george tuts, skimming over the comments, “someone said, ‘well now i get it. that man really put his job on the line to admit how much he loves her. w for the american girl, and w interview.’”

“someone by the user ‘mercedesgirl’ posted,” lewis snickers, suppressing his laughter, “‘you know what? good for them. she gets to be railed by the one and only toto wolff. he probably fucks her so hard she can’t see straight. also, no man talks about a woman like that in front of a camera without being absolutely whipped. he loves that girl.’”

“oh really?” toto raises a brow, folding his arms over his chest, “i mean, they’re not–”

a vibration in his pocket interrupts him, lewis and george both setting their phones on their laps, intrigued by the potential caller.

pulling it out of his pocket, he quickly glances at the screen.

my golden girl

swiping across the cool surface, he brings the phone to his ear, “hallo, baby.”

“oh!” the voice on the other end is not familiar, “hi! um, it’s lily he, one of your girlfriend’s close friends.”

hmm. this was odd.

“i was wondering if there was any possible way we could get her over to the mercedes paddock? or your hotel room? she’s in shambles right now over that interview and i think she really could use some of your snuggles or something.”

“is she crying?” toto could pick out the quiet cries in the background, his heart sinking, “do you know why she’s so upset?”

“not really. i think she might be stressed out with everything going on with james and your pr teams,” the voice is light, airy and delicate, “but i think she could really use some time with you. in private. are you busy?”

that prick.

what else could he have possibly done or said?

“no,” toto’s eyes dart towards his drivers, “i’m not busy at all, actually. does she want to spend the night with me? i can tell you which things to pack in an overnight bag.”

lewis leans back in the chair, hands on his head as george puckers his lips, making kissy faces.

“just text me!” lily chirps, “i’ll get her ass in the shower. maybe if she knows she’s going to see you, she’ll perk up. see you soon!”

the line clicks dead, toto pointing a finger at both of his drivers, “you two! out!”

“come on,” lewis groans, “we don’t get to see your precious baby? what if i want to say hi?”

“unfortunately for you,” toto scoffs, crossing over to his desk, “i have places to be.”

“do you want me to call theodore?” george offers, rising to his feet, “i can get the car arranged so no one notices the two of you together.”

“that’s not a terrible idea,” toto dips his head, turning to lewis, “are you going to be helpful or are you going to just sit there and continue to terrorize me?”

“i can help, i can help,” the driver waves a hand, “what do you need me to do?”

“i need you to escort her over here to the paddock or to the car,” shoving an arm into his jacket, the team principal scoops his keys off the desk, frantically gathering his belongings, “will you be able to do that for me?”

“aye aye, captain!” lewis salutes, “you need me to text her?”

“please,” toto whirls around, searching the space, ensuring nothing important was left behind.

who knew that a simple rendezvous would require such meticulous planning?

well, it seemed when your pr teams desperately tried to keep the two of you apart, your friends would be the ones to step in.

especially when the two of you were two desperate, yearning messes.

and when it came to that, toto was eternally grateful.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

“i missed you.”

one hand rests on the small of your back, the other kneading into your shoulder blade as your head is nuzzled into his chest, traces of his cologne flooding your nostrils. a simple heather gray t-shirt clings to his top half, boxers hanging on his hips.

you’re in one of his crewnecks, the garment nearly framing your figure effortlessly. your lashes flutter as tender kisses pepper all over your face, covering your nose, apples of your cheeks, jawline, temple, and forehead.

“i missed you more, schatzi,” he murmurs, “do you feel better now?”

you had reunited with the team principal in his lavish hotel room approximately an hour ago, lewis hitching a ride with you so that it didn’t raise any eyebrows. george was the one who coordinated theodore’s arrival to your motorhome, meticulously choosing a time in which you wouldn’t be stopped by any lingering members of the williams crew.

it was quite ridiculous, really. the hoops you had to leap through in order to spend just a few hours with your beloved team principal.

yet, it was worth it.

so beyond worth it.

the embrace you were greeted with was unlike one you had ever encountered before. toto’s arms nearly swept you off your feet, lifting you a few inches above the ground as he held you tightly against his chest, squeezing with so much force you couldn’t breathe. strings of german filled your ears, bursting with nothing but love and adoration.

it was like he hadn’t seen you in weeks.

yet, you were on the same wavelength, nearly erupting into tears once again as he whisked you into his room.

there was a coziness that rippled in your heart as the two of you laid together, oh so joyful to be reunited once more.

“so much better,” your lashes flutter, eyelids heavy with exhaustion, “this probably isn’t our smartest idea.”

“i think we’ve made plenty of dumb decisions,” a chuckle rumbles in his chest as he drapes the comforter over you, fluffing it so that it covered any exposed area, “are you nervous for the race tomorrow? the bottom half of the grid is not where i expected you to be.”

“it is what it is,” you exhale, “i could barely get any grip on my tires.”

“it was pretty slick out there. were you distracted by other things?”

“maybe,” you mutter, burying your head into the fabric, “i don’t really want to talk about racing right now.”

“i understand,” he hand drifts, wandering to your rib-cage, “lily mentioned something about james earlier. i just want to know if he had anything to do with your qualifying lap, that’s all.”

his touch his light, nearly feathery as his fingertips drag along, “i mean, i did get into it with him a few times. nothing serious, really.”

“let me know if it’s anything that i need to address, all right?” his hands envelops your breast, his palm radiating warmth as he squeezes, “i want to ensure that you’re not being harassed or anything. i can handle it, but it would destroy me if you were mistreated over something like this.”

“you worry too much,” your breath hitches in your throat as he rolls your nipple between two fingers.

“it’s my job,” his mouth hovers by your ear, “if anything happened to you? oh god. i don’t know what i would do. lately, every time you step foot onto that track, i think my heart rate elevates. i just get so nervous that you may get hurt or something even far wo–”

tilting your chin, you glance upward, pressing a finger to his lips, “i’ll be okay, baby. that’s why the safety regulations are in place. to protect me.”

in the dim light, you notice the glossiness in his gaze, misty even as he responds, the words barely audible.

“that is true. but you mean everything to me. the safety regulations aren’t enough. i need to be the one protecting you. from everything. i hope you know i’m counting down the days.”

“counting down the days till what exactly?” the pad of your thumb wipes away a tear as it falls.

“i’m counting down the days until you’re at mercedes. the day when we’ll be able to be together for the rest of our lives. the day where i’ll finally be able to go forward with our future.”

“our future?” your heart swells as he leans in.

“yes, our future. the future in which i’ll be able to make you my wife.”

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

“and it’s lights out here in montreal! the canadian grand prix is underway!”

“push, push.” the command floods in, “you should be able to overtake magnussen.”

“got it,” you swallow thickly, adrenaline coursing through your veins, “let’s fucking do this.”

as george flew out from the pole position, max hot on his tail, your mind hones in from the chaos of the starting stretch, focusing on the task at hand.

if you were able to overtake kevin magnussen, then you would more than likely be able to do the same to the ferrari boys as well. that would prove to be a challenge, as both of them were vastly competitive, but the determination set your heart ablaze, goading you to step on that pedal.

this was it, the canadian grand prix.

one of the crucial races. just another rung up the ladder to that final destination.

the world driver’s championship.

and by god, you were going to get there by any means possible.

yet, kevin was hellbent on maintaining his position, veering in your path.

on the track, every inch was necessary in order to overtake another car. if you miscalculated the distance by even a hair, the results could be catastrophic.

cursing under your breath, you alleviate the pressure on the pedal, “he’s not giving me any fucking room guys.”

“you’ll have your opportunity,” james’ voice chimes in, “just be patient, american girl.”

“well i want it now,” you counter, gritting your teeth, “how the fuck am i supposed to be the world champion if i can’t even manage a fucking pod–”

that’s when a horrific crunching noise cuts you off, the world around you slowing as you’re propelled several feet into the air, the wind whistling.

it was like everything all around was frozen, your car rolling, barreling towards the barrier. blood roars in your ears as you gasp for breath, the panic crashing over you like a tidal wave.

oh god.

this was it.

squeezing your eyes shut, you brace for impact, one last image flashing across your mind as the car collides against the rigid surface.

toto and his beautiful eyes, the mocha depths glittering like stars as he dimples form, bearing a wide, radiant grin as his nose scrunches.

that damn smile.

it was going to be the death of you.

i love you.

you hear a voice. his voice. so rich and brassy, thick with the accent you had grown to absolutely adore.

that’s was the last thing you hear before everything goes dark.

in the stands, fans jump to their feet, their attention lasered in on the scene before them. alex albon of williams racing screeches to a halt, scrambling out of his car.

he stumbles slightly the first few steps, desperate to reach his fellow driver, buried among the wreckage. he shouts across the track, his field of vision blurred as his voice falters.

“fuck, fuck, fuck! i’m coming! i’m coming for you! hold on!”

calls come buzzing across the radio waves.

“red flag! we need the fucking red flag!”

“red flag! fuck! where is the safety car?”

“where is the fucking safety car?”

“hello! we need a red flag!”

“where is the medic? we need a fucking medic!”

in the mercedes paddock, a team principal rips off his headphones, his chest heaving as he frantically makes his way towards the entrance of the garage, scanning the track.

he makes out the outline of alex albon, desperately tugging you out of a pile of crumpled metal and tires.

as his line of sight falls on you, all he can see is the way your head rolls, limbs lolling as he lays you on the ground, his pleas crying out.

“where the fuck is the medic? she needs help!”

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

taglist: @k3ira13 @prettiest-at-the-party @annewithaneofthegreengable @zoeyjadetice2010 @sinners-98-world @statuewoman @laura-naruto-fan1998 @nebarious @joalslibrary @swifth0lic @strangegirl974 @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @msbyjackal @annaaepf1 @paigelouise @bborra @bblouifford @s-awturn @upsteadsstuff @omgsuperstarg @younxii @toldyouitwasamelodrama @kravitzwhore @persona1lies @pucksandpower @gisellesprettylies @wonderwolffs @xxforeverinadayxx @theseerbetweenus @simply-the-best23 @ringdingdingdingx @leilanixx @marknolee @rylieverstappen-sargent @whoisss @ajthefujoshi @m-1234 @ihateyougunthersteiner @racecardilfs @nicaeno @5sospenguinqueen @hookhausenschips @ashy-kit @totowolfffcheco

let me know if you would like to be added for chapters xx. & xxi! as always, thank you all for the endless support on this series! the compliments, comments, and asks i have received over the course of the past month or so have meant the world to me! i love you all so much! <3

#toto wolff #toto wolff x reader #f1 #formula 1 #formula one #formula 1 x reader #toto wolff x you #alkaline: female driver! x toto wolff #alkaline #alkaline series #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #lily he #alex albon #james vowles #williams racing #mercedes amg petronas #george russell #lewis hamilton

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futurewdclandonorris · 1 year ago

Text

What Are Friends For | George Russell⁶³

Pairings: George Russell x fem!bestfriend!reader

Summary: George is frustrated after a bad race and as his best friend you take it as your responsibility to make him feel better

Warnings: smut

A/N: this could be taken as part 2 of this, but you don't have to necessarily read it

George was charging through the Mercedes motorhome to his driver's room. Barely catching up to his long strides, you followed after him. Immediately, it was obvious that something was wrong. He didn't even stop to take off his helmet, much less check on you. The last time he had sprinted into the hospitality like this, he had collided with a TV crew and sent them rolling across the concrete floor.

The race started good, excellent even. The lead-in to the start was exciting. The initial straightaway was wide and flat, then leading down into a series of lazy curves. He blazed past the other racers with ease. Everything indicated that he was going to win that one, or at least end up on the podium. But everything took a wrong turn in the end.

Like he didn't know you were behind him, he almost slammed the door shut in your face.

"George!" you pushed through, but it was like he didn't even notice you.

He was in a state of frenzy, pacing around the room, his helmet still on and his eyes wild and unfocused. You had seen him like this only a handful of times before, and it always meant trouble. You knew how important this race was for George. He had been working tirelessly for weeks, preparing for this moment only to be taken away in a matter of seconds.

A stream of muffled curse words left his mouth as he finally began to remove his helmet.

"George, it's not your fault..." you knew better than to speak up right now, but you felt like you should say something when you're already there.

George turned to you with a look of anger in his eyes. "Not my fault?! Do you even know what happened out there?!" he shouted, dropping his helmet on the desk. "I was leading the race, and that idiot just had to ram into me and send me spinning off the track!"

You took a step back, not wanting to push him further, but George continued his tirade. "I had it in the bag, I was going to win, but now it's all ruined!" he yelled, pacing back and forth across the room.

"I know, George, but it happens to the best of them," you said, trying to calm him down.

George turned to you, his chest heaving with anger. "I don't want to hear it," he spat. "I'm sick and tired of this. I pour my heart and soul into this sport, and for what? To have it all taken away in an instant?"

You watched as he ran his hands through his hair, his eyes filled with frustration and disappointment. You knew that George was a perfectionist, and losing was not an option for him.

You nodded, understanding. "I'm sorry, George. I know it's tough."

He let out a heavy sigh. "I don't know what to do. I feel like I let everyone down. My team, my sponsors, myself."

"You didn't let anyone down, George. These things happen. It's part of the sport," you said, trying to reassure him.

"But I was so close to winning. I could taste it," he muttered, staring off into the distance.

"You'll have another chance," you said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You're a great driver, George. You'll bounce back from this."

George glared at you, his voice low and dangerous. "I don't want to just win the next race. I wanted to win this one. This was my chance and I lost it."

You took a step back, unsure of what to say to him. You knew that he was in a delicate state, and any wrong word could set him off again. There was a moment of silence, as the two of you stood there, the weight of the disappointment heavy in the air.

"If there's anything I can do to help-"

"How could you possibly help?!" he snapped again, turning around.

You flinched at the tone of his voice, closing your eyes and reassuring yourself that he wasn't mad at you. He slumped onto the couch, covering his face with his hands. After a moment, he dragged them down along his face exhaling deeply.

"I'm sorry." he said more softly, his eyes searching for yours.

"It's fine." you said. "I've gotten used to it. I know you're not actually upset with me." you gave him a weak smile.

"I don't want you getting used to something that shouldn't even happen in the first place." he looked at you apologetically.

"I don't mind-"

"You should." he cut you off.

"Alright then, let me help you feel better." you walked up to him and stood in between his legs.

George looked up at you, exhaustion evident in his eyes. "I don't think anything can make me feel better right now," he said, his voice flat.

"Well, there's one thing I can certainly try to ease the tension." your hands undid the collar of his suit and found the zipper, pulling it down.

"Wh-What are you-"

"Just relax, George." you smiled, your hands removing the overalls from his broad shoulders and revealing his black fireproofs.

George's eyebrows furrowed as he watched you, confusion written all over his face. He was still too caught up in his own disappointment to understand what you were doing. You leaned in closer to him, your fingers trailing over his chest. Your palms slid down his abdomen as you sank down to your knees in front of him.

George's eyes widened as he watched you sink to your knees, his breath catching in his throat. He couldn't believe what was happening, but he also couldn't deny that his body was responding to your touch, his eyes darting back to the door for a moment before returning to you. You could see the tension in his body slowly dissipating as you continued to touch him.

Just when you were about to take his racing suit further down, he caught at your wrists.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice shaking slightly.

"Yeah, you helped me last time, now I want to return the favor."

"You don't have to do this. You don't owe me anything." he looked more intensely in your eyes.

It's been a few weeks since the event that occurred in George's kitchen, but neither of you has mentioned it at all since then, as per your request. Although you didn't let it show, it was lingering in the back of your mind, constantly nagging you.

"I know." you said like it was obvious. "But I want to. Let me take care of you like you took care of me."

George hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours. Then he nodded, his grip on your wrists loosening as he leaned back on the couch. "Okay," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, your fingers continuing their exploration of his body, taking in the contours of his muscles and the warmth of his skin. George inhaled sharply as your hands continued to undress him, his hips lifting up to help you, revealing the tight black boxers he wore underneath. You ran your hands over the bulge in his shorts, feeling him start to harden under your touch.

"Is this okay?" you asked, your eyes meeting his.

His eyes seemed to soften, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. He nodded slowly, "Definitely."

You dug your fingers in the waistband of his underwear, but there he was, stopping you again.

"It's not too late to back out of this if you want." he put his hands over yours.

"George, I swear to god if you interrupt me again I just might. I am not backing out." you said, your voice firm and unwavering.

"Sorry." he put his hands up in defense, smiling a little.

You slid his boxers down, taking in the sight of his growing cock, shiny and wet with a small drop of pre-cum. You rubbed your thumb over the head, feeling the pre-cum spread over his shaft. George moaned, his hands going to your hair, running his fingers through it. He let his head fall back on the couch, his eyes closed as his hips started moving in small circles.

George's cock was nice and long, and seeing it only made you want to taste it. You let your hand crawl up the column of his cock, teasing the underside with your fingers.

"Ahh, y/n..." he groaned, a look of pleasure on his face.

You felt a shiver run through your body at the sound of your name. The amount of passion and lust in that one word was like music to your ears. You felt your confidence rise at the sound of it, your lips wrapping around his head.

George let out another groan, his body arching towards you. You bobbed your head up and down, your tongue curling around his cock as you moved.

It was warm and smooth, and you couldn't get enough of it. The taste flooded your mouth. You felt yourself getting wet, the sound of George's heavy breathing spurring you on. You continued to work his cock, letting it hit the back of your throat before letting it slide back out, your hands softly cupping his balls.

George let out another moan as you nailed his sweet spot, his cock hitting the back of your mouth over and over. His hips started to buck against you as he approached his climax, a hand gripping the back of your head.

Your jaw was getting tired from sucking him off, but you didn't want him to finish just yet. You released him from your mouth, lapping at his tip, letting your tongue circle around him. You let go of him, taking a break before you took him back in your mouth, sucking on him even harder than before, letting your spit drip all over his cock.

"Please, don't stop." he panted, his voice hot and heavy.

You hummed a little around his member, your hands gripping his hips as you deep throated him more. You watched as his toes curled, his eyes closed shut, his face completely lost in pleasure.

"Ahh.. ahh..." he gasped, his body tensing up. "I'm coming." He let out one last moan before you felt his cock throbbing in your mouth.

Then he released, warm cum shooting into your mouth. "You don't have to... Fuck, you swallowed."

You let the salty liquid slide down your throat, massaging his cock as you slowly released it, sucking the last of it from the tip while keeping eye contact. You licked your lips, savoring the taste.

"Wait," he said, and ran his thumb over the corner of your mouth, wiping off any leftovers.

You grabbed his wrist and put his finger into your mouth, sucking and twirling your tongue around it.

He sighed, his body feeling lighter than it has in a long time. "Holy shit."

You released his thumb with a pop, smiling mischievously. "Is that all you can say?"

"I'm still recovering from this," he said, his voice light and airy as he looked down at you. His chest heaved heavily as he caught his breath, his hands moving to brush through your hair, lightly gripping your scalp. "God, you're amazing."

"So... You feel better?" you asked, your eyes watching his, a light from within them that wasn't there before.

He nodded, a smile on his lips. "Much better."

"Good." you said, the sight of him making you feel good.

"Uh, I should clean up..." he said.

"Oh, right," you exclaimed, pulling up his boxer for him and standing up.

"Wait," he said, grabbing your hand. "Can we... not let this get awkward between us?"

Maybe George finally understood how you felt the last time when you asked the same from him.

You nodded, your hand still in his. "Of course not."

"Great," he said, his free hand grabbing yours. He pulled you towards him, his hand running up and down your side. "I really, really enjoyed this."

"I did too," you replied, your hand on his chest.

"Thank you." he kissed your forehead and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

As you sat at the desk, you couldn't help but think about what you had done. Even though the gesture was for George, there was a part of you that knew it was for yourself too. Ever since he helped you get off that one time at his place, your mind wouldn't stop replaying the memory. You knew that something like that could never happen again, but now that you've repaid him -even though he would have never asked- there was a weight lifted off your shoulders.

You understood that no matter what happened between you two, that even if things were awkward at first, in the grand scheme of things everything would be okay. Your friendship was stronger than anything else. You've overcome it before, you can certainly do it again.

That was, until…

Next part

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giuseppe-yuki · 4 months ago

Text

fashionista

zhou guanyu x teacup pig shapeshifter!reader

w.c.: 1.5k

warnings: none :)

part of my shapeshifting!reader series

summary: you get a new outfit (ft. a trip to the convenience store)

pictures credits from pinterest :)

as one of the unofficial fashion moguls in the paddock, it was your job to serve face whenever you appeared in the paddock. the sound of paparazzi camera shutters clicking were almost always a sure sign that you were near.

today, you entered the paddock hand-in-hand with your boyfriend zhou. he, of course, was dressed to the nines next to you. your baggy parachute pants paired with a tight cutout top and zhou’s baggy jeans with an almost see-through mesh top looked like the pinnacle of haute couture streetwear.

you smile directly at the cameras following you both, sending a small wave at a man dutifully taking what looked to be at least twenty pictures of you per second. continuing down the paddock, you stop a few times in order for zhou to sign a few pieces of merch. you adjust your slim sunglasses on the bridge of your nose to hide your eyes from the blazing hot texas sun. as you pass the vcarb motorhome, you spot daniel ricciardo dressed in a cowboy outfit. he clicks his tongue and sends finger guns to you and zhou when you walk by.

zhou leans towards you and whispers into your ear, “baby, we should have dressed more like that, for cota!”

you turn to face him, wrinkling your nose. “no way am i ditching my outfit for cowboy boots and a cowboy hat, zhou!” you tilt your head, looking at him with a questioning look. “i mean, would you rather wear that or the outfit that marc jacobs sent you tomorrow?”

he sends you a chagrin smile. “point proven, i guess.”

before you could continue your walk, a snow white samoyed bolts out the mercedes motorhome next door. it sniffs zhou twice before plopping itself in down. lewis runs out of the motorhome a second later, skidding to a stop next to the dog.

“holy cow, you need to calm down,” he says pointedly to the dog. he bends, hand on his knees, panting. “i’m getting old, and i swear im not going to be able to catch you anymore!”

the dog shoots lewis a look, as if rolling its eyes. lewis looks up, as if just noticing you two standing if front of him.

“well, if it isn’t the best dressed couple on the grid,” he says, chuckling. he scans both of you up and down. “nice outfits, by the way! i think you two are possibly the only people that can outdress me.”

“thanks!” zhou replies. “i honestly think you are still the undisputed fashion icon of the paddock, though.”

you nod, agreeing.

“why thanks!” lewis says, beaming. he then glances at his watch, and frowns. “oh shit,” he says, “i think fp1 is starting soon! i gotta go. you guys should probably run to the garages too.” he waves at you both and starts sprinting away, samoyed at his side.

“you ready to go?” your boyfriend asks, smiling at you.

you take a second to fix your sunglasses again, and give him a quick nod. zhou grabs your manicured hand, and you both dash towards the kick sauber garage.

“omg, wait for me!” your boyfriend shouts, hands still on the driver’s wheel. but, you had already leaped out of the barely stopped alfa romero 33 stradale, clutching your snakeskin birkin.

the sun had already set in the texas sky, painting everything with a dark blue haze, including the white car that you had just jumped out of. by the time zhou had turned off the engine and hopped out of the car, you were already in front of the convenience store, giddy with excitement. he lightly jogs to you, briefly turning his body to lock the alfa romero with the car key lob. you press a light kiss on his cheek when he arrives next to you.

after getting a pretty good result in both fp1 and fp2, you had promised zhou that you would both go on a run store, pick out a ton of snacks, then go back to the hotel to watch a movie and possibly “celebrate,” if you get my drift. unfortunately, after multiple meetings and an unplanned dinner with valtteri, it was too late to go to any normal store, so the next best choice was the convenience store that was open 24 hours.

you grab his hand and run into the store, dragging zhou behind you. you walk past the candy aisle, hot dog warmers, and stunned cashier, arriving at the chips aisle. the colorful packages jump out at you, advertising for you to “face the intensity” or warning you that it was “dangerously cheesy.”

“which one should should we choose, zhou?” you ask, turning to him. he too, is looking through the wide variety of snacks in front of him.

after a few seconds of pondering, a grin spreads across his face. “my trainer is probably going to kill me, but all of them!”

after fetching a big basket from the front of the store, you and zhou fill it to the brim with different kinds of chips. next, you walk over to the drinks area. both of you choose your favorite drinks, all the while giggling at the blue printed pictures of checo and max on the redbull cans on the shelf.

your boyfriend walks over the cashier counter with the basket with the snack and is about to start checking out, when you spot the slurpee machine in the corner of the store.

“zhou, come look! they have the famed slurpees here!” you exclaim, pointing at the thrumming machines stirring brightly colored concoctions.

“i know we have a few drinks in the cart, but we should totally get some,” he says, looking at the bright letters spelling out SLURPEE.

you nod in agreement, and grab a cup from the row of cup bottoms sticking out from under the counter. when you hold up a cup, your eyes grow the size of saucers. “there is no fucking way. this cup holds fucking 22oz of liquid and it is only the second largest size there is!” you cry. you look next to you, and sure enough, zhou is holding a cup that says MEGA on the side that holds 40oz of liquid. he laughs at your reaction, but starts laughing even harder when he spots another cup to the right of you. it has bubble lettering spelling out DOUBLE GULP on the side, and it holds a whopping 50oz of liquid.

after a laughing fit and a slurpee overflow mishap, you both walk to the counter to check out all your snacks.

the cashier, still stunned, slowly scans the mountain of snacks next to him. gathering up his courage, he looks at the two of you shyly. “you’re zhou guanyu and you’re his girlfriend, right? i’m a really big fan of you both and i always love your paddock outfits.”

zhou thanks the cashier, and you give him a warm smile in appreciation.

after bagging the snacks, you and zhou load everything into the trunk of the alfa romero. it looks out of place next to the few battered chevy pickup trucks still in the lot at the dead of night. instead of climbing into the car after, you and zhou take your giant slurpees and a few bag of snacks and sit on the edge of the sidewalk. from an outsider walking by, you both looked like a typical couple, (albeit very fashionably dressed one at that) with zhou’s arm around you and your head on his shoulders.

later, when your tongues are stained with blue and you brush chip crumbs off of your baggy parachute pants, you find yourself looking at the plaza opposite of the convenience store. zhou, strolling back to you from throwing away the empty chip bags and melted slurpees, nudges your shoulder.

“watcha looking at?”

you gesture with your head towards the store on the other side of the street, where a sign blares in bright red, “Pet Shop.”

he shoots you a smile tinted with blue food coloring and takes your hand in his.

right as you enter, you are pulled by zhou into a random aisle.

“wha-?” you splutter out as he continues to pull you down the walkway. your voice echoes throughout the deserted shop. that’s when you notice the products around you. pet clothes. you recognize his intent immediately. “absolutely not, baby,” you declare disgustedly, pulling against his grip. “those cheap costumes are not going an inch near me.”

“come on,” zhou says, trying to reason with you. “it’s not that bad!”

he points to a little cowboy outfit on the sea of costumes, that has a little red hat, blue bandana along with four little cowboy booties. “perfect for cota, no?”

you glare at him.

you find yourself in front of a horde of photographers and camera people the next morning when you arrive in the paddock. zhou adjusts you in his arms, tilting the red cowboy hat in a fashionable way and tightening the bandana on your neck while also smoothing down his brown leather jacket. you let out an oink as a sign of appreciation. you know what, you think contently, this outfit is starting to grow on me.

a reporter, holding a mic out, approaches you both. “martin brundle, for sky sports. excellent drive yesterday, for fp1 and fp2 yesterday, zhou. also, you and your erm- teacup pig here, fantastic outfits. may i ask, who is the designer behind her outfit for today? is it perhaps ralph lauren? or tom ford?"

taglist: @ilivbullyingjeongin @ale-522 @formula1-motogpfan @aceyalonso @my0hmary @mbappebby @madkohi @ralshatos @heartsforleclerc

#f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf fic #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 imagine #zhou guanyu x reader #zhou guanyu x you #zhou guanyu x y/n #📝

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crows-of-buckets · 2 months ago

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Anyways I think all my playthroughs this time are gonna be on normal bc I wanna unlock all unit supports but NEXT time baby we are so doing a cf maddening no recruit run I'm gonna make me hate this game so hard

Fire emblem three houses gets me mentally pacing around because I love it so MUCH and I miss it and it's my favorite thing ever and NO I don't want to open the game right now <- guy who is grinding supports on normal mode

#fire emblem #fe3h #crow rambles #im also gonna be playing hopes so who knows when or if im even gonna get through all the routes #my current plan is crimson flower -> scarlet blaze -> verdant winds -> golden wildfire -> azure moon -> maybe azure gleam #ive only seen bits of azure gleam but from what i know i do NOT appreciate the way they treated edelgard #you may notice that silver snow is not there. this is because i am a little bitch and cant bring myself to not side with edelgard #shes my wife i cant imagine a world where byleth doesnt choose her... wails...#like its easier in vw and am bc you dont HAVE the choice to side with her #(side note verdant winds totally should have had that choice okay okay)#but silver snow. shudders. but also the toxic yuri....#ive watched the cutscene before but seeing cutscenes in game is so different #im gonna die mad that crimson flower didnt get a reunion cutscene btw #gonna learn to animate just to make one /j #i dont like animating too many sketches #im already mentally planning that maddening run btw #i may do holy knight byleth or dark knight idk thays what im running this time #im thinking of doing bow knight for my next verdant winds run #the real question is will i be able to stop myself from romancing claude in vw #im a lesbian but good LORD that man had me blushing during his s support #im incapable of not romancing edelgard during cf because wifeg. theyre soulmates i fear ...#my am run i wanna romance mercedes #and i may play dudeleth in vw and romance yuri #idk. well see :P

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pickingupmymercedes · 6 months ago

Text

Not just a pretty face - Lewis Hamilton

Sequence: Not just a pretty face / I need you to let me go / Fly on my own / Leap of faith (bonus)

request: Special request for Lewis being free practice dating around as a Capricorn sun, meeting with a Leo sun a fan of his but ends up clingy to her presences in his life but she just friendzoned him due to his commitment issues.

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: kind of a slowburn

wordcount: +1K

a/n: Leo Sun girly coming right up.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

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The winter of 2024 was proving to be colder than usual in Europe, but the lack of heat was certainly not reflected in the blaze set off by the news that Lewis Hamilton would be driving for Ferrari in 2025. The rumors had been swirling for days, but seeing it confirmed had sent shockwaves through the motorsport world. Lewis had always been a Mercedes man, the Silver Arrows an extension of his very being. But now, a scarlet future awaited him.

And amidst all that he found himself in the opulent driveway of an estate that screamed old money, the kind that bought influence as easily as it bought rare vintage cars. He glanced around, appreciating the perfectly manicured lawns in the hot Californian winter, the sprawling mansion, and most importantly, the gleaming 1962 Ferrari 250 GTO California parked under the portico. The car was a masterpiece, a relic of a bygone era, but he wasn’t there for the car; he was there for Y/n.

Y/n was a whirlwind wrapped in couture, with a knowing smile and a glint in her eye that could either promise trouble or adventure, depending on her mood. She strolled out of the house, her walk as smooth as the car’s curves. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she approached him, wearing a dress that flirted with the summer breeze.

“Lewis Hamilton, as I live and breathe” she teased, her voice a melodic blend of sophistication and sass. “I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

Lewis grinned, slipping on his sunglasses. “And miss a chance to see you? Never.”

She laughed, a sound as intoxicating as champagne. “Flatterer. But I’m not the main attraction today.” She gestured towards the Ferrari, and he followed her gaze.

“Your dad’s 250 GTO,” he said appreciatively. “It’s a beauty.”

“Of course it is,” she replied, walking over to the car and running a hand along its sleek body. “And today, it’s all mine. Well, ours.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You’re letting me drive it?”

She laughed again, this time with a touch of condescension. “Oh, Lewis, sweetheart. No one drives my family’s babies except me. But you can ride shotgun.”

He mocked shock. “You know, I do have a bit of experience behind the wheel.”

She rolled her eyes playfully. “And I have experience keeping these classics in one piece. Trust me, you’ll enjoy this more from the passenger seat.”

With a shrug and a smile, he acquiesced, walking over to the passenger side as she slid into the driver’s seat. The leather was cool and supple against his back, the interior a time capsule of luxury and craftsmanship.

As she started the engine, the car roared to life, a throaty purr that screamed Ferrari. She shifted into gear with practiced ease, and they were off, the car gliding smoothly onto the winding roads that led away from her family estate.

“You seem to know your way around this car” he commented, watching her handle the vintage machine with confidence and skill.

“Of course I do” she shot back. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know. My dad made sure I knew how to handle every car in his collection. And this one,” she patted the steering wheel affectionately, “just so happens to be my favorite.”

Lewis watched her, impressed. He had always known Y/n was different, not content to just sit on the sidelines. She was a force of nature, and he admired that about her. “I have to say, I’m impressed. Not many people can handle a car like this.”

She flashed him a smile, her eyes twinkling. “I’m full of surprises, Lewis. You should know that by now.”

He chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “Oh, I know. It’s one of the things I like about you.”

“Just one?” she quipped, throwing him a sidelong glance.

“Among many” he admitted. “You know, I’ve always been serious about us.”

Her expression softened for a moment, but she quickly masked it with her usual bravado. “I know. But you’re a f1 driver, Lewis.”

He nodded, understanding. “I get it. But I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“Yes, you are” she agreed. “And I have to say, you’ve impressed my dad. He wouldn’t let just anyone near his prized possessions. The fact that he allowed me to take you for a ride in this car means you’ve earned a soft spot in his heart.”

“Did I?” Lewis asked, genuinely surprised. “I was sure he hated me.”

She laughed; a musical sound that made his heart skip a beat. “He doesn’t hate you. He’s just… protective. But he sees something in you, something he likes. Maybe it’s your determination, or your passion. Or maybe he just thinks you’d actually be good enough for me.”

Lewis eyed her with a hint of curiosity “And what do you think?”

She was silent for a moment, her eyes focused on the road ahead. Then she glanced at him, her gaze intense. “I think you might be worth the risk.”

He reached over, taking her right hand in his. “I’ve told before, but I’ll gladly say it a hundred more. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me to leave.”

She smiled, a sad but warm smile that almost lit up her face. “Sure, Lewis.”

As they drove through the countryside, the sun starting to settle behind them, casting a golden glow over everything. Y/n handled the tight corners and straightaways with a finesse that spoke volumes about her driving skills. Lewis couldn’t help but be impressed. He knew how difficult it was to master a car like this, especially one with so much history.

“So, what’s next for you?” Y/n asked, breaking the comfortable silence. “Apart from the big move to Ferrari, of course.”

Lewis sighed, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “I don’t know, honestly. It’s a big change, leaving Mercedes. They’ve been like family to me. But Ferrari… it’s a dream, you know? Every driver wants to wear red at least once.”

She nodded, her eyes flicking towards him briefly. “It’s a huge opportunity. And you��ll be amazing, no doubt about it.”

“Thanks,” he said, appreciating her confidence in him. “What about you? What’s next for Y/n?”

She shrugged, a playful smile on her lips. “Oh, you know. The usual. Jet-setting, managing the family business, keeping an eye on our car collection.”

He laughed. “Must be a tough life.”

“It has its moments” she admitted with a small chuckle.

They drove on in companionable silence for a while, the scenery flashing by in a blur of greens and golds. The sun was dipping lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the road.

“Do you ever think about settling down?” Lewis asked suddenly, his voice thoughtful.

She glanced at him; one eyebrow raised. “Are you proposing, Mr. Hamilton?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Not yet. But I’m serious. You and me… do you think we could make it work?”

She was silent for a long moment, her eyes focused on the road ahead. Then she sighed, a wistful smile on her lips. “I don’t know. You’re always on the move, always chasing the next big thing. And I’m not sure I want to keep up.”

“I’d slow down for you” he said softly.

She shook her head. “And that’s exactly what I don’t want. I don’t want you to change for me. I want you to be you, the Lewis who’s always pushing the limits, always striving for more.”

“And what about you?” he asked. “What do you want?”

She smiled, a sad sort of smile. “I want someone who can match me, who understands my world and fits into it. Someone who doesn’t just see me as an accessory, but as an equal.”

“You are my equal,” he said firmly. “In every way that matters.”

She glanced at him, her eyes softening. “Maybe. But it’s not that simple, is it?”

“No” he admitted. “It’s not. But we could figure it out. Together.”

She was silent for a long moment, her eyes thoughtful. Then she nodded slowly. “Maybe we could.”

The sun had almost set, the sky a riot of colors. It was a perfect moment, one neither wanted to end.

“Tell me something,” she said suddenly. “Why Ferrari? Why now?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s something I’ve always wanted. It’s the pinnacle. And after everything with Mercedes, I felt like it was time for a change. A new challenge.”

“And you think Ferrari will give you that?”

“I believe they can try” he said confidently. “And I’m ready for it.”

She nodded, a thoughtful expression on her face, the undertone to the question not lost on him. She wanted to know how he felt about jumping into the unknown for a promise.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for, Lewis. Really, I do.”

“That means a lot.” he said, his voice sincere.

As they pulled back into the driveway of her family estate, the car’s engine ticking as it cooled down, Lewis turned to her. “Thanks for the ride, Y/n. It’s always fun with you.”

She smiled, a genuine, warm smile that lit up her face. “Anytime.”

He leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. “I meant what I said. I’m not going anywhere.”

She nodded, her eyes softening. “I know. And maybe… maybe that’s enough.”

As he got out of the car, he glanced back at her, his favorite firecracker, the one woman who had him hooked for years now. The one who had him chasing her around the globe just to wish on shooting starts. The one he had never had.

As he walked away to his car, he heard her call out to him.

“Lewis!”

He turned, a smile on his lips. “Yeah?”

“Don’t be a stranger” she said, her voice soft but strong.

He nodded, his heart swelling with emotion. “Never.”

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