If so could you write something (2nd person) where Jenson and reader work together at SkySports and he is WHIPPED for reader? Maybe something sweet and fluffy where reader is so focused that she doesn't even realize that Jenson is flirting with her all the time?
Thank you for hearing me out, and if you don't write for JB feel free to totally ignore this!! ❤️
Thank you so much for the request! This was such a fun one to work on — I took some liberty with how much she notices or chooses to ignore his flirting, but whipped!Jenson was a delight to write regardless. I loved balancing his playful side with something a little softer (and sassy!britney I MEAN NICO ofc.)
Hope you enjoy! 💕
Tea Runs || Jenson Button One-Shot
Pairing: Jenson Button x Colleague!Reader
Summary: You’ve been working as a technical commentator at Sky Sports for a while now, focused on proving you still belong in the sport after leaving Mercedes. Jenson Button, charming as ever, has been hovering around you all season — which you chalk up to pitying kindness. But when his antics get bolder and the truth comes out, you realize you’ve been oblivious to something much bigger: Jenson hasn’t been doting. He’s been flirting. Badly.
Word Count: ~3.5K
Warnings: mild language, brief mention of mental health struggles/burnout, lots of teasing/flirting, a little pining, and a soft-but-thrilling kiss at the end.
Tags: Jenson Button x Reader, second-person POV, coworkers-to-something-more, whipped!Jenson, oblivious!Reader, teasing, fluff with a touch of tension, post-race parking lot confession, happy ending.
Have an idea or prompt for a future one shot or mini series? Check out my submission rules and send me an ask!
Rules || One Shots, Requests, & Smuts Masterlist || AO3 Works
Hospitality Suite – Morning of FP1
It was always like this on race weekends—controlled chaos wrapped in the hum of generators, the distant shriek of an F1 engine on an installation lap, and the constant shuffle of people who seemed to know exactly where they were going while you double-checked every note in your binder for the tenth time.
You kept your head down in the Sky hospitality suite, highlighter in one hand and tea in the other, breaking down sector deltas for the commentary segment you’d be leading later. You’d worked in Formula One for years, but this—this was different. You weren’t an engineer anymore. You were in front of cameras now. You still felt like you had something to prove every time the red light blinked on.
When you’d first joined Brawn as a junior engineer back in '09, you’d seen Jenson Button in the paddock more than once. He’d been world champion Jenson Button then—impossibly polished, charming, part of that untouchable club of drivers you could only admire from afar. You’d nursed a quiet, almost embarrassing crush in those early days, same as half the women in the garages, daydreaming about brief conversations that never happened and replaying every smile he sent in your direction. He was dazzling then, larger than life, and you had been too young and too green not to be enchanted.
But that was a lifetime ago. These days, you were older, steadier, tempered by far more serious challenges than a silly crush. You’d long since filed those girlish daydreams away as youthful foolishness. Whatever Jenson was now—colleague, occasional co-commentator, serial tea-bringer—he was certainly not someone who’d look at you like that.
You sighed for a moment, leaning back and letting your gaze drift out over the paddock from the Sky suite. Below, your old team, Mercedes, swarmed around their garage like a well-oiled machine, silver uniforms flashing in the sun as engineers and mechanics moved in a rhythm you once knew by heart. The smell of fuel and the distant whine of engines carried faintly through the glass, and for a moment the ache of missing that world tugged at you. You missed the pre-dawn strategy meetings, huddled over laptops with coffee that tasted like burnt tar; the white-hot adrenaline of a perfect call landing exactly as planned; the quiet pride of watching your work ripple out onto the track, almost invisible to the viewers at home but monumental to you.
But then you remembered why you’d left—and the thought always disappeared. Mercedes had been… a lot. The decision to leave had been yours, but it hadn’t come without whispered rumors and sympathetic looks. No one asked for details, and you hadn’t offered them. Health reasons was all anyone got. That was safer. Easier than trying to explain how the constant pressure, the travel, the endless performance reviews had hollowed you out.
Now, at Sky, people were polite to a fault. They called it kindness, but you knew what it really was: walking on eggshells. Crofty never spoke over you on-air, Brundle never challenged your opinions too sharply, and the other women on the team simpered over you like you might break at any moment. No one wanted to push you too hard, upset you, give you any reason to bolt again.
“Tea’s gone cold.”
You jumped at the voice, glancing up to see Jenson himself setting a fresh cup beside you. His shirt sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, forearms dusted with a faint tan, and his hair was slightly mussed in a way that made him look irritatingly effortless. You faintly registered the soft stubble along his jaw, a shade darker than his hair, before tearing your eyes away and back down to your notes.
“You really don’t have to keep doing that,” you said with a faint smile, already half-burying yourself back in your strategy commentart.
“Doing what?”
“Running around getting me tea. I’m not going to fall apart without it.”
He only grinned, leaning one hip against the table like he had nowhere else to be. “Maybe I like keeping you on your toes then. You look like you’d work yourself into the ground if left alone.”
You blinked up at him, more thrown by his tone than his words. He said it casually, like it wasn’t loaded, like it wasn’t one more person taking care not to push you too hard. Maybe he was always like this—Jenson Button, who’d always been charming, always throwing those easy smiles around for anyone within reach. Of course he’s like this, you thought. He acts like this with everyone. And with me? He’s only doting because he feels bad. Babying me because no one wants to be the one who tips me over the edge.
“Thanks,” you said finally, flatter than you meant to, waving him off as you refocused on your notes. “That’s… kind of you, but really unnecessary.”
Jenson paused, like he wanted to say something else, then only shrugged, pushing away from the table.
Over his shoulder, as he started to leave, he tossed out, “You’ll thank me when you’re not running on fumes later,” voice edged with a mild charm that you chose to ignore as you bent back over your binder.
Free Practice 1 – Commentator’s Box
The commentator’s box smelled faintly of coffee and electronics, humming with the low buzz of equipment as FP1 footage flickered across a wall of monitors. You’d tucked yourself into the corner of the desk with your laptop, headphones perched around your neck, reviewing split times for the upcoming broadcast. It was busy but oddly calming up there — a bird’s-eye view of the sport you used to live from the inside out.
Jenson, of course, had taken the seat right next to yours despite a row of others being empty. He angled his body toward you, knees pointed just so, like the rest of the room didn’t exist. When he leaned over to glance at your notes, the faint smell of his cologne, clean and a little woody, reached you, and you forced yourself to keep your eyes on the data instead of the way his shirt stretched across his shoulder.
“You’re working too hard again,” he said lightly, glancing from your screen to your face. “It’s practice, not the final race.”
You huffed a short laugh, still typing. “Old habits die hard.”
“Not all of them,” he said, voice lower, almost teasing, though you didn't seem to get the weight of it, chalking it up to his usual, easy-going charm.
"You two glued at the hip now?”
Nico Rosberg’s voice cut across the commentator’s box as he dropped into the seat opposite you. You felt a small, surprising flicker of relief at seeing him. You’d worked with Nico for years at Mercedes, and the familiarity was grounding. You’d always gotten on well with him, and he remained one of the few who still treated you like a normal, competent colleague rather than something fragile.
You rolled your eyes before glancing up from your laptop, making enough room for Nico to drop into the seat. “We work the same sessions,” you said, already turning back to your screen. “I could say the same about you and Danica.”
Nico scoffed softly, amused. “Right, that must be it.”
To your left, Jenson sat up straighter, shoulders squaring slightly as Nico settled in. Nico eyed him with a sly little smirk. “What’s with you? Can’t find shirts that fit anymore, or do you just wear them tight on purpose to hide the beer gut?”
Jenson threw him a look, half assumed, half flustered, before replying, “Don’t you have graphics of Lewis to review, Britney?”
The words were playful but carried a little bite, enough to make you glance between them.
You chalked it up to lingering competitiveness—two former drivers who’d once fought wheel-to-wheel, maybe still sparring in subtler ways off-track.
But you did notice Nico’s grin when he glanced at you, then back at Jenson. Nico chuckled and pulled on his headset. “Sure, sure. Don’t let me interrupt your… prep Jenson.”
You rolled your eyes and went back to your telemetry data. Men.
Qualifying — Grid Walk
The grid before quali was always a madhouse: celebrities posing for cameras, engineers making last-minute adjustments, media crews jostling for position. You’d learned to keep your elbows out and your head down since starting with SkySports, but it didn’t stop the occasional shoulder from knocking into you.
“Easy there.”
Jenson’s hand was suddenly on your waist, steadying you before you stumbled into a camera operator. He didn’t move his hand until you’d found your footing again, then subtly shifted his body to walk between you and the crowd.
“You really don’t have to babysit me,” you said, half exasperated.
“Who said I’m babysitting?” he replied lightly.
Then he was crouching slightly to adjust your headset so it sat more comfortably, his fingers brushing the side of your face as he worked. Years ago, that tiny gesture would’ve set off alarm bells in your younger, wide-eyed self—the one who used to blush just being in the same room as him. Now, you just assumed it was part of his ingrained habit of being gallant with women.
“There,” he said, giving the headset one last adjustment. “Can’t have you going live looking like the wires are strangling you.”
You gave him a flat, even frustrated look as you adjusted your shirt and glanced around at the bustling grid, suddenly embarrassed at the idea everyone thought you couldn’t handle yourself.
“You should worry about yourself for a change.”
Nico saddled up next to you with a microphone, smirking. “He does that plenty, don't worry.” he quipped, his mic lowered. “Jenson already spent an hour on his hair before we got here.”
The joke earned a tiny smile from you despite yourself. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Jenson shoot Nico a small look before they got on air—maybe telling him to calm it down it with the ribbing. You felt his eyes on you a moment later, but you chalked it up to some ongoing feud between them you didn’t know about.
By the time the broadcast wrapped, you’d barely noticed how close Jenson had gotten to you, his arm brushing yours, until you were walking away and the space between you returned.
Post-Quali — Hospitality Suite
If Jenson wasn’t glued to your side, he was orbiting just close enough to step in whenever you needed something before you could ask. A refill on your water. A missing set of notes. Even offering his jacket when the wind picked up between segments.
Nico caught him handing you a granola bar before your live hit and shook his head with a quiet laugh, leaning against the table with the easy posture of someone who knew exactly how to get under Jenson’s skin.
“You do realize people are going to start thinking you’re her personal assistant, right?” he teased, his eyes flicking between the two of you before landing on Jenson.
You swiveled in your chair. “Don’t encourage him, Nico, or he'll follow me home next checking on my pantry stock.”
“Right,” Nico said again, still smirking over his coffee cup at Jenson in a way that made it obvious the jab wasn’t just for fun. “He'd never do that."
Jenson seemed to tense a tiny bit beside you, his jaw flexing as though biting back a retort before finally leaning back with a quippy, “Funny, I always assumed you were her footrest at Mercedes, since Lewis was too busy winning to need one.”
The comeback had a sharper edge than his usual banter, though Nico only laughed, unfazed.
“I’ll have a name tag made for you next race then,” Nico shot back smoothly, “so people don’t confuse you for a commentator.”
Jenson brushed it off with a shrug that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
By the time the post-race debrief wrapped, most of the Sky crew had filtered out. You were still there, poring over data for next week’s race, when Jenson slid into the chair beside you with two cups of tea. There was a watchfulness to the way he settled in, like he was still puzzling something out.
“You know,” he said conversationally, “most people would’ve wrapped up hours ago."
"What do you want, Jenson." Your voice came out sharper than intended, head still bent over your notes.
“You waiting on someone? I saw Nico still lingering around earlier.” He asked it casually enough, but there was a probing edge beneath the words, like he was fishing for something. His eyes flicked toward you, curious, maybe even a little too curious.
You glanced up briefly, confused, the insinuation stinging. “No. Why would I do that?” You weren’t following Nico around like some lost kid, and the implication left a sour taste in your mouth. That you were incapable of doing anything on your own.
But Jenson shifted in his seat, sprawling a little as he leaned back, one knee angled toward you in an easy spread, arm draped lazily across his chest. His smirk deepened, gaze lingering with a boldness you weren’t used to, and it made you all too aware of how close he actually was—and how strong he still looked despite being retired.
“So you really just can’t be persuaded to take a break then, can you?” he chuckled, though there was a question under the words you didn’t quite catch.
You shifted uncomfortably, tearing your eyes back to your notes. It was odd, the way he’d gone from casual to openly… something. But you brushed it off. Jenson was just being Jenson—still babying you like everyone else.
“Not if I want to keep my job.”
“Come on.” He smirked. “If anyone’s job is safe here, it’s yours.”
You rolled your eyes. “Flattery won’t work on me.”
“Who said I’m flattering you?” He leaned back in his chair, arm draped over the backrest, looking at you like he had all the time in the world. Once upon a time, you might’ve let yourself imagine what it meant for Jenson Button to look at you like that. But that was years ago, and you’d long since outgrown those kinds of fantasies.
You laughed derisively and shook your head. “You really don’t have to do this, you know. All the hovering. The tea. The food runs. Everyone already treats me like I need to be coddled. I don't need everyone to try so hard to be on my good side.”
The joking edge dropped from his face, his brows knitting. “Coddled?”
You nodded without looking at him. “It’s fine. I know why people do it. I didn't exactly build the nicest reputation at Mercedes, and the way I left the team wasn’t really ... subtle.”
Your throat tightened as you said it, the words tasting like something sour. You didn’t like talking about Mercedes, about that ugly, messy exit. because it always left you feeling small and ashamed, like you’d failed at something you loved.
“Everyone feels bad for me. It’s—whatever. I’ve learned to live with it.”
Silence. Long enough that you looked up, and found him leaning forward, closer than you’d realized, his expression soft and serious.
“That’s… not why I do any of that,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, stripped of its teasing lilt.
You blinked. “What?”
“I don’t run around after you because I pity you,” he said, holding your gaze. “I do it because I like being around you. Honestly, I always did — even back at Brawn. You do know that, right?”
Your brain stuttered. You were taken aback, heat creeping up your neck as you processed his words — ashamed that you’d so easily assumed the worst, and flustered that he remembered you from back then at all.
“Oh. I just assumed.”
Jenson gave a crooked, almost disbelieving smile, the realization flickering across his face that you truly had no idea he’d been flirting with you this whole time. “Well, you know what they say,” he teased, voice light but with a glint of hidde enjoyment, “assuming makes an ass out of you and me. Well—mostly you.”
The words landed with heat that climbed up your neck, and you blushed, acutely aware of the way his eyes lingered on your cheeks, his grin spreading just a little wider as though savoring your reaction.
It felt unnervingly like being back at Brawn, blushing under his casual hellos, and you hated how easy it still was for him to pull that from you. Jenson seemed to think so too.
“Ah,” he said with a grin that turned knowing, “now that face brings back memories.”
The teasing only deepened the color in your cheeks. You shot out of your chair like it was on fire. “I—uh—I should get back to my hotel.”
“Let me walk you out then.”
The walk to the lot was quiet but charged, every step weighed down by the things unsaid. Jenson kept the pace slow, falling just close enough that his arm brushed yours occasionally, his quips light but needling—“Still blushing? Thought you’d have cooled off by now”—designed to keep you squirming.
By the time you reached your car, your fingers felt clumsy on the keys, fumbling as you tried to unlock the door. “You always this bad with keys, or just when I’m around?” Jenson teased, his tone light but pointed.
You snapped back a flustered, “Maybe I just don’t like being watched,” still refusing to look at him, your embarrassment bubbling over.
Jenson tilted his head, the smugness softening into curiosity. Then, without a word, he pushed off the hood and closed the space between you, his movement unhurried but deliberate. Before you could react, his fingers brushed yours as he gently pried the keys from your fumbling grip, his hand lingering on yours for a beat longer than necessary.
“Look,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, his grin faltering into something softer. “If I’ve been coming off the wrong way, I’m sorry. Maybe I pushed it too far back there. I just—” he hesitated, glancing at you with an expression that for once looked almost sheepish, “it’s the first reaction I’ve gotten out of you all season. The rubbish flirting usually works for me, so…”
It all clicked. Every single moment. Every coffee run, every teasing comment, every time his hand had lingered just a beat too long — all of it slammed into you at once. You replayed the entire season in your head in fast-forward, cringing at how completely oblivious and stupid you’d been not to see it.
You felt your face go up in flames.
“You could’ve just said something,” you blurted, horrified at your own voice.
He chuckled, the sound soft. “I kind of did. Nico caught on. Pretty sure everyone else did, too.”
“Oh my God,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “All those jokes—”
“All those jokes,” he echoed, stepping closer, clearly enjoying himself as his shoulder brushed yours. His grin had softened into something warmer, but his eyes flicked between your hands and your face, lingering on your flushed cheeks like he was cataloging every reaction. The teasing lilt in his voice was balanced with something intent, almost hungry for more of that flustered honesty from you.
When you finally looked up, he was watching you expectantly, leaning in just slightly, his grin soft but unrelenting.
“You should’ve been more straightforward,” you muttered, your voice smaller than you intended. “Instead of all the tea and… everything.”
His grin widened as if savoring the admission, a spark of triumph flickering in his expression. His voice stayed low, teasing but steady, and it made your pulse jump.
“Noted for next time.” As he said it, he closed the space between you slowly, deliberately, each step backing you up against your car until your shoulders met cool metal.
“Next time?”
“Dinner,” he said simply, now close enough that you could feel the faint warmth of his breath. “To make up for how hopeless I’ve been at this.”
The nearness made your head swim. Your heart hammered as your senses sharpened—the faint cologne clinging to his shirt, the warmth radiating off him, the way his gaze kept dipping to your lips. You hesitated only a beat before nodding, dizzy from the closeness and the realization of how many ways you’d always found him attractive—the curve of his jaw, the strength in his shoulders, that infuriatingly easy grin—all of it crashing into you at once.
“Okay. But on one condition.”
He tilted his head, still hovering close. “Go on.”
“You don’t tell Nico.”
That earned a delighted laugh. “Deal.”
Before you could say anything else, he leaned in, one hand braced lightly against the car beside your head as his mouth found yours. The kiss was deeper than you expected, still tender but carrying just enough playful pressure, that spark of Jenson’s familiar mischief laced with something far more deliberate. It was thrilling and dizzying all at once, the kind of kiss that left no room for doubt.
He wasn’t pushing you though, his hand lingering respectfully on your arm as if giving you the option to pull away.
The sun glowed a bright orange as it dipped below the horizon, drinks and laughter flowed effortlessly among her group of friends, each accompanied by their current partners. It wasn’t something they often did, but every once in a while, the group would invite their significant others to join.
Sebastian’s arm rested casually on her thigh, completely at ease. He knew what her friends were like—cynical, much like her, the kind of women you’d call quintessential 21st-century women: independent, versatile, open-minded, and, as previously mentioned, deeply cynical.
“Yeah, she’s on her second marriage already,” one of her friends commented, or rather gossiped.
“I just don’t get why people keep getting married,” another friend interjected with a soft chuckle, sipping from her drink.
“Exactly. It’s just a piece of paper,” the first friend added.
“A piece of paper that seems to screw everything up,” y/n chimed in with a subtle grin. “Like, how many people do you know who are actually happily married?”
This wasn’t an unfamiliar conversation for the group of friends, but their respective partners seemed more surprised by the topic. Sebastian, at least, was. His future plans undoubtedly included marriage. Still, he stayed quiet. The conversation was lighthearted, and there was no need to turn it into a debate. Yet, he remained silent for the rest of the hangout—offering occasional nods and smiles, but not much more. He was definitely pondering what her aversion to marriage might mean.
She squeezed his thigh after buckling her seatbelt, a gentle smile on her face. “You okay?”
He glanced at her, instantly noticing her contentment from the hangout—the kind of brightness someone exudes after having a good time. “Yeah,” he said, “just exhausted.”
“You want me to drive?” she asked with a subtle smirk.
“Yeah, not happening,” he chuckled, still remembering the scratch that had magically appeared on his car the last time she drove.
She shot him a playful glare as he started the car. Silence filled the space again, hovering somewhere between comfortable and uncomfortable.
“Seb, are you sure you’re okay?” she asked again.
He glanced at her for a split second before turning his eyes back to the road. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, his tone lacking firmness. “It’s just… something you mentioned has been nagging at me.”
“What thing?” she asked, her voice tinged with subtle amusement.
“The stuff you and your friends said about marriage,” he replied, looking at her briefly before focusing on the road again. “Marriage is in my future plans, and so are you.”
“Oh,” she said, her tone softening with a hint of apology. “So, you want to get married someday?”
He nodded. “It’s what most couples do, you know?” he said, his tone a mix of seriousness and dry humor.
“I mean, don’t you think it’s a bit archaic and pointless? It’s just an institution that lost its true meaning a long time ago,” she argued.
He glanced at her again, an amused expression crossing his face at her sudden expertise on the topic. “And symbolically? Nowadays, it’s about commitment. Don’t you want that?”
“Do we really need to get married to symbolize commitment?” she asked with a subtle grin, giving his thigh another gentle squeeze after noticing how seriously he was taking this.
“Well, yeah,” he replied, still a bit serious.
“It’s not like I’m against it. If it’s something that matters to you, then it’s fine,” she conceded.
Sebastian glanced at her again, his expression softening. “You’d do it just because it matters to me?”
She shrugged, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “Marriage might be pointless, but making you happy isn’t.”
He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “That’s the most cynical yet romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”
She grinned. “I contain multitudes.”
He let out a deep breath, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “You know, it’s not just about the piece of paper or the tradition. It’s about standing up in front of everyone we love and saying, ‘Hey, this is my person. And I choose them, forever.’”
She bit the inside of her cheek, studying him for a moment. He meant that. Every word of it. And damn if that didn’t make her heart squeeze a little.
“Forever’s a long time,” she mused.
“With you?” He shot her a small smile. “Not long enough.”
She giggled, resting her head back against the headrest. “You and your sentimental one-liners.”
He laughed, the tension between them dissipating entirely. “You love them.”
She rolled her eyes but squeezed his thigh again, this time lingering a little longer.
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✯ authors note: I've been watching too much SATC lol
English is not my first language and I hope you liked it <3
Her eyes kept drifting between the recipe on her phone and the stove in front of her. She narrowed them so much, confused by the dissonance between the picture and what was before her, that anyone watching might have thought she needed glasses.
“Are you sure the pesto is supposed to look like that?” Toto teased, his head resting on her shoulder. His back was slightly slouched to accommodate their height difference, his arms wrapped snugly around her waist.
“Trust the process, okay?” she implored, her tone a mix of frustration and humor.
“Sure,” he chuckled, glancing at the recipe on her phone. He couldn’t help but laugh at how different it looked from the pictures on the website.
She turned just enough to shoot him a sharp look for his muffled giggle.
“Okay, okay, sorry. I’m sure it’ll taste delicious,” he grinned, his apologetic expression tinged with mockery.
She hummed in approval of his words and turned her attention back to the task of cooking.
Toto pressed a light kiss to her temple, his embrace tightening just a little. “You know, we could have just ordered in.”
She scoffed, stirring the sauce with what she hoped looked like confidence. “And miss out on the joy of making something from scratch? Absolutely not.”
“Joy,” he questioned. “Is that what this is?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “Character-building, patience-testing joy.”
He chuckled, resting his chin on her shoulder again. “You’re very cute when you’re trying to pretend you know what you’re doing.”
She sighed dramatically but couldn’t fight the smile creeping onto her lips. “You could be more supportive, you know.”
“I am supportive,” he countered. “I’m here, providing moral support and—” he reached for a spoon, dipping it into the sauce before she could stop him, “—quality control.”
She gasped, swatting at his hand. “Toto! It’s not ready!”
He smirked as he licked the spoon. The second the taste hit his tongue, his expression faltered—just slightly—but she caught it.
Her eyes narrowed. “Well?”
Toto hesitated, his diplomacy instincts kicking in at full force. “It’s... unique.”
She groaned. “Oh, come on!”
He swallowed, looking at her with nothing but adoration. “I love you,” he said quickly.
She huffed, crossing her arms. “You’re just saying that so you don’t have to tell me my cooking is terrible.”
“I’d never say that,” he assured her, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “But I would gently suggest that some people are born to cook… and others are born to, well—”
“Order takeout?” she finished for him, deadpan.
He grinned. “Exactly. And you, mein liebe, are very good at ordering takeout.”
She tried to glare at him, but when he pulled her closer and kissed her forehead, she found herself laughing instead.
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✯ authors note: English is not my first language and I hope you liked it <3
As she stepped into their apartment, shrugging off her coat and kicking off her low black heels, she barely had a moment to breathe before Max spoke.
“I just don’t understand,” he said, watching her intently, his tone both curious and fond.
She chuckled, rolling her shoulders to shake off the weight of the day. “First, hi. And what is it that’s so impossible to understand?”
Max was already closing the distance between them, his hands finding their way to her hips, warm and familiar, as he pulled her against him. “Why you keep working,” he murmured, pressing a light kiss to her forehead. “Just leave it. I maintain you.”
She let out a soft laugh, resting her hands on his chest. “Max.”
“I’m serious,” he insisted, but there was a teasing glint in his eyes. “You’re always saying how stressful it is, how exhausted you are. You don’t need it. I don’t need it. I just want you happy.”
She softened, brushing a hand through his hair. “Babe, I love my job.”
His brow lifted, unconvinced. “You love the thing that keeps you at the office late? That makes you groan in frustration when emails won’t stop coming in? That has you collapsing onto the couch the second you walk through the door?”
She let out a small hum, pretending to consider it. “When you put it like that…”
He smirked, pleased with himself. “See?”
She shook her head, smiling. “But it also excites me, makes me feel like I’m doing something worthwhile. And I love that feeling.”
Max exhaled, his fingers grazing soothing circles against her waist. “You know what else is worthwhile? Waking up slow, spending the whole day together, traveling wherever we want, whenever we want.”
She laughed softly, tilting her head. “You paint a very nice picture.”
“I do drive for a living,” he teased, grinning when she rolled her eyes at the pun. His voice softened then, thumb grazing her cheek. “I just don’t like seeing you so drained. I wish I could make it easier for you.”
She melted at his words, pressing a kiss to his lips, slow and sweet. “You already do., but yeah, I’m not leaving my job.”
Max huffed, though there was no real exasperation behind it, just that playful stubbornness he always had when he wanted something. His fingers tightened slightly on her waist as he leaned in, resting his forehead against hers.
“Oh, come on,” he murmured, voice low, teasing. “Just think about it—waking up whenever you want, no meetings, no deadlines… just me, all day, every day.”
She snorted. “Wow, you really know how to sell it.”
His lips twitched into a smirk. “I do my best.”
She let her fingers trail up the back of his neck, tilting her head as if considering it. “Hmm, a man maintaining a woman… kinda vintage of you, don’t you think? Very 1950s housewife. Should I start greeting you at the door in a dress and pearls with a martini in hand?”
Max let out a laugh, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t say no to that.”
She gasped, playfully pushing at his chest. “Oh my God, you are sexist!”
“I am not!” he defended, grinning. “I just think you work too hard, and I happen to be very rich. It’s called efficiency.”
She laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Well, Mr. Efficiency, I like my job, and I like working, so you’re just gonna have to suffer through it.”
He sighed dramatically, squeezing her closer. “Fine. But don’t expect me to stop trying to convince you.”
She grinned, pressing another kiss to his lips. “I’d be disappointed if you did.”
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✯ authors note: English is not my first language and I hope you liked it <3
"if the sex was half as good as the conversation was, soon they'd be pushin' strollers"
↳ Masterlist
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✯ pairing: Sebastian Vettel x GF! Reader ✯
✯ content warnings: none ✯
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She knew this moment would eventually come. He had suggested going back to his place for a drink after yet another wonderful date, and it was clear what that implied. Under different circumstances, she would have been more than eager—but instead, she felt terrified. Not of the act itself, but of whether she was any good at it.
Only a few months ago, she had been dating a friend of a friend. He was smart, handsome, and, more importantly, interesting—very interesting. Their dates were filled with amazing conversations, but when it came to the intimate part, he thought otherwise—and he was very vocal about it. That became the dealbreaker, and it planted a deep seed of insecurity in her.
Her chest rose and fell in sync with her breath, still catching up to reality, still trying to piece together the sensations coursing through her body. She felt warm, her skin sensitive, her limbs pleasantly heavy. And yet, beneath all of it, a quiet voice in the back of her mind whispered doubts she had tried so hard to ignore.
Sebastian lay beside her, his arm lazily draped over her waist, fingers tracing absentminded patterns on her bare hip. He looked utterly at ease—relaxed, content, and maybe just a little smug in that effortless way he had.
She turned her head toward him, studying him in the dim light. The mess of his hair, the slope of his nose, the way his lips still looked slightly swollen—it was all so effortless, so natural. He looked like someone who had absolutely no doubts. Meanwhile, she felt like she was buzzing with them.
Sebastian must have sensed her gaze because, after a moment, his hand stilled, and he cracked one eye open. “What’s that look for?” His voice was low, laced with curiosity and a hint of amusement.
She blinked, feigning innocence. “What look?”
His lips twitched. “The one you’re giving me right now.” He chuckled lightly, shifting slightly so that he could look at her more directly. “Like you're looking for something,” he replied, his fingers still tracing light patterns against her skin. “Or like you're expecting something.”
“Maybe some comments on what just happened,” she grinned, trying to sound as if she was joking, but she really wanted to hear what he thought about it.
Sebastian's expression softened, and he shifted so that he was propped up on one elbow, facing her. “Comments?” he replied, raising an eyebrow. “What kind of comments?” His fingers were still moving over her skin, gently tracing the curves of her waist and hips. “You want me to rate the experience on a scale of one to ten or something?” he teased, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
She chuckled slightly. “Perhaps.”
Sebastian's smirk widened slightly at her response, and he chuckled as well. “Well, in that case,” he said, his free hand coming up to trail lightly up her arm, “I'd give it a solid nine. Maybe even a nine-point-five.” He paused for a moment before adding, “But I do have one complaint.”
“What is it?” She asked, expecting the worst.
He leaned in closer as he replied, “I think you should have said my name louder.” He winked, a wicked grin plastered on his face. “I mean, I know I was pretty great, but I want everyone on the entire top floor to know it too.”
Her soft chuckle in response to his words made him smile. Yet, she still looked unconvinced—doubtful and worried, as if someone were whispering contradictions into her ear through a hidden earpiece.
Sebastian's expression turned slightly more serious, and he gently cupped her face in his hand, his thumb rubbing over her cheek. “Why do you seem so... uncertain about this?” he asked, his voice gentle. “It's like you're waiting for me to tell you that it wasn't good, or that you weren't good.”
“It's literally nothing, I was just wondering whether, um, you liked it,” she replied as lightly as possible, “since it is our first time.”
Sebastian paused, his hand stilling on her waist as he processed your words. He frowned slightly, tilting his head to get a better look at her face, hoping to glean some hint of your true feelings.
“Of course I liked it,” he said, his voice soft. “Why would you think I didn’t?”
“I don't know,” she said again with feigned casualness, “some couples just don't have bed chem” she explained, and despite the pretended nonchalance, it was clear that there was some sort of personal experience, insecurity, and vulnerability behind it.
Sebastian caught the not-so-subtle note of vulnerability, the hint of dread behind her words, and it broke his heart a little. He could tell there was more to this than just a casual, passing comment. And he knew her well enough to know that when she was hurt—really hurt—she tended to try and downplay it, brush it off like it was nothing.
He moved closer to her, his arm resting possessively over her waist. His next words were quiet, sincere. “Did… someone ever say that to you?”
“I said some couples, not that it had happened to me,” she replied softly, avoiding his gaze more than once.
He moved even closer, his body pressing against hers. His touch was light, his fingers tracing the outline of her jawline. “I know you’re lying,” he murmured, his voice filled with a soft mixture of concern and gentle reproach. “Don’t try to pull that with me.”
“Okay, yeah, maybe is based on a personal experience,” she admitted softly.
He let out a slow exhalation, his thumb stroking her cheek gently. He could see the vulnerability in her eyes, could feel the weight of those experiences hanging over her.
“You don’t have to hide it, you know,” he said softly. “I want you to be able to talk to me about things. Especially hard things.” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
“Well, maybe I’m a little insecure about it because my ex said—and I’m quoting word for word—‘if the sex was half as good as the conversation, we’d soon be pushin’ strollers.’ But, yeah, then, it was over,” she admitted, trying to say it as lightly as possible, as if it didn’t affect her much.
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
His hand slid to her cheek, tilting her face toward him, his eyes scanning hers like he needed to confirm that she was really being serious.
“Well,” he said, voice firm but teasing, “either your ex had absolutely no idea what he was doing, or he was just trying to make himself feel better.”
She huffed a small laugh. “Seb—”
“No, really,” he insisted, shaking his head, his lips curving into a slow, incredulous grin. “Because if that was you being bad at it, then I’m terrified of what happens when you decide to be good at it.”
She laughed slightly then, genuinely, and his grip on her tightened as he pressed a kiss to her temple. “You were incredible,” he murmured, his lips moving down to her jaw, then her neck. “And if you ever need more proof…” He smirked against her skin. “I’d be happy to demonstrate again.”
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✯ authors note: This is very random lol
English is not my first language and I hope you liked it <3
Her strict parents had started to grow suspicious of her gym visits. Every time, she would leave the house and return about three hours later. Strength training, treadmill sessions—whatever she was supposedly doing, three hours seemed excessive. She was eighteen, but her parents still kept a tight grip on her life, a frustrating consequence of choosing not to study abroad and remaining under their roof.
With her gym tote slung over her left shoulder, she headed out the door, an excited, almost giddy smile lighting up her face.
“Going to the gym?” her dad called out from the kitchen.
“Yeah,” she replied, her hand already on the door handle.
“When will you be back?” he asked, his tone casual but with an edge of curiosity.
She shrugged. “Maybe in an hour or so.”
His raised eyebrow was all the accusation he needed. “Really? Because lately, it’s been more like three,” he said, his tone growing more suspicious.
“I don’t know,” she shot back, defensive. “Depends on how busy it is, okay?”
“Okay, okay,” he said, backing off.
As she stepped outside, her smile returned, brighter this time, relief washing over her now that he hadn’t pressed further. The grin didn’t fade the entire walk to the gym, and adrenaline coursed through her veins as she approached the building.
Her workout began like any other Friday routine: lower-body exercises followed by some incline walking on the treadmill—nothing too intense. But her eyes darted to her watch every few minutes, not because she was tired, but because she was waiting.
Two hours later, he appeared. Franco.
Their eyes met across the gym, a fleeting but meaningful. Without hesitation, she pressed the stop button on the treadmill and stepped off, heading discreetly toward the restrooms. A few minutes later, Franco followed, careful not to attract unwanted attention.
His lips met hers in a hungry kiss, his hands resting on her hips, pulling her impossibly close. She wrapped her arms around his neck as the kiss deepened.
“Why don’t we go to my place?” he murmured.
“My parents have my location,” she managed between breaths.
Franco’s hands skimmed up her sides, warm and steady, before settling just beneath her ribs. His lips found her jaw first—soft, slow kisses trailing down to the sensitive spot beneath her ear. She shivered, her fingers curling against his shoulders.
“Also, I don’t have much time,” she whispered. “My parents are starting to get suspicious.”
“You’re making this really difficult,” he muttered, his voice low and rough against her skin.
She swallowed hard, tilting her head to give him more access. “Difficult how?”
He exhaled, his breath warm as his mouth moved lower, pressing a kiss just above her collarbone. “Difficult to let you walk out of here like nothing happened.”
Her heart pounded against her ribs, her fingers slipping into his curls and tugging lightly. He groaned softly at the feeling, his grip on her tightening.
“Then don’t,” she whispered.
Franco huffed a quiet laugh, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. His eyes were dark, focused, hungry. “You know you don’t have a choice.”
She did. And yet, the thought of stepping away from him, of returning home like she hadn’t just had his hands all over her, sent a sharp pang through her chest.
So she kissed him again—slow, deep, lingering. His hands slid down to her waist, pulling her flush against him, and he backed her gently against the wall, his lips never leaving hers.
He kissed her like he was making up for all the time they didn’t have. Like he could stretch these stolen minutes into something bigger, something permanent.
Her back hit the cool tile, a contrast to the heat of his body pressed against hers. He tilted her chin up, lips tracing the line of her throat, and she bit down on her lower lip, her breath hitching.
“Franco,” she murmured, almost like a warning—but not really.
His teeth grazed her skin before he soothed the spot with another kiss, his grip tightening on her hips. “I know,” he muttered. “You have to go.”
She nodded, though neither of them moved.
He sighed against her skin, then pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers, his fingers ghosting over the hem of her t-shirt. “This is torture.”
She smiled softly, brushing her lips over his. “A little.”
His eyes flicked down to her lips, then back up. “I hate it.”
“I know.”
Franco sighed again, but this time, his hands slid down, giving her waist one last squeeze before finally—reluctantly—stepping back.
“Text me when you get home,” he muttered.
She nodded, trying not to let the disappointment settle in her chest. “I will.”
He watched her for another moment, as if memorizing her, then smirked slightly. “And next time—”
“What?” she asked, arching a brow.
His grin widened, wicked and knowing. “Wear something I can take off.”
Heat flooded her cheeks, but she rolled her eyes, shoving him lightly before grabbing her tote.
“You’re impossible.”
He caught her wrist before she could fully step away, tugging her in for one last, searing kiss. When he finally let her go, his voice was softer, more serious.
“But I really like you.”
Her heart swelled, and she smiled, squeezing his hand. “I really like you too.”
And then, before she could convince herself to stay, she slipped out the door.
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✯ authors note: English is not my first language, and I hope you liked it <3
Almost two years had passed since the end of the longest relationship she had ever had. Six years that had introduced her to romantic love—and to romantic deception. She could still picture the subtle yet undeniable shift in his expression as she spoke animatedly about the future she envisioned for them. It wasn’t until much later that she realized that moment had been a warning, a quiet revelation that he did not see her in his.
She soon learned what a breakup truly felt like—the endless crying, the ache in her chest, the unbearable helplessness. Absolute hell.
Looking back, though, she couldn't help but feel grateful for the conversation that ended it all. Painful as it had been, it had given her the clarity she needed. It had hurt—stung far too much—to realize he had known for some time that she was not the one but hadn’t ended things sooner. She had spent too long wondering why. But perhaps, if he had, she wouldn’t be where she was now—with someone who loved her the way she deserved. And for that, she was grateful.
It was late morning, and as Max played with the cats beside her, she scrolled through Instagram stories to see what her friends and other people were up to. Clubbing, dinners, traveling, running—the usual things people posted. She would glance at each for just a second before swiping to the next. But then she stopped, her finger frozen on the screen as she stared, at one point almost vacantly, before tapping on the shared post.
Engaged. She stared blankly at the caption, the single word mocking her. After what—a year? He was already engaged to someone else? How? Max barely glanced at her phone at first, still focused on scratching behind the cat’s ears. But when he noticed the way she had suddenly stilled, eyes fixed on the screen, he leaned in slightly.
“Who’s that?” he asked, peering over her shoulder. “One of your friends?”
She blinked, hesitating a second too long. “Uh—”
Max smirked, nudging her playfully. “Tell me it’s not another wedding. I’m running out of excuses not to go.”
That earned a small, breathy laugh from her, but it wasn’t quite right—too forced. She locked her phone and placed it face-down beside her. “No wedding,” she said lightly. “Don’t worry.”
Max tilted his head. “Then why do you look like you’ve just seen a ghost?”
“I don’t,” she said quickly. “It’s nothing.”
His smirk faded slightly as he studied her face. “It’s someone, though.”
She sighed, knowing there was no way out of this. “My ex,” she admitted. “He got engaged.”
Max’s expression didn’t change immediately. He just stared at her, then let out a quiet huh.
For a second, she thought maybe he wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it. But then, with that signature bluntness of his, he asked,
“So why do you care?”
She turned her head sharply. “I don’t.”
Max gave her a look, eyes flicking to her phone. “You do.”
His eyes met hers again, piercing through her, almost imploring an answer. Why did she care? It had been two years. She was happy—with herself, with him, with her life in general. And yet, it felt like a hard punch to the stomach.
“I don’t know,” she sighed.
Max’s jaw tensed slightly, his fingers drumming against his knee as he studied her. He wasn’t the type to jump to conclusions, but something about this—about her reaction—itched at him in a way he didn’t like.
“You don’t know?” he echoed, his voice quieter now, but there was an edge to it.
She ran a hand through her hair. “I mean, it’s offensive,” she said, trying to explain. “That he just—engaged so fast.”
Max’s brow furrowed. “And that bothers you because…?”
She sighed. “Because it makes me wonder how long he knew I wasn’t the one.”
Max was quiet for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. Then, in a tone sharper than before, he asked,
“And do you still care?”
Her head snapped up. “What?”
“About him,” Max clarified, his expression unreadable. “Because you look like someone just punched you, and I don’t know why else you’d be this upset if you were actually over it.”
She blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in his demeanor.
“Max, no—”
“Because if you’re not happy with me, you should tell me,” he continued, his voice still controlled. “If you still want him—”
“I don’t,” she cut him off, shaking her head firmly. “I swear, I don’t.”
He exhaled, looking away for a second, his fingers tightening into a fist before relaxing. “Then why?” His voice was quieter now, but no less intense. “Why does it feel like you’re still stuck in it?”
She opened her mouth, but the words didn’t come right away. It wasn’t about her ex, not really. It was about time, about the fact that she had spent years loving someone who hadn’t loved her back the same way. It was about realizing that she had been so blind to it.
But looking at Max now—his guarded expression, the slight clench of his jaw, the way his fingers twitched like he wasn’t sure whether to reach for her or pull away—she realized that he didn’t see it that way.
Her chest tightened.
She reached for his hand, curling her fingers around his. “Max, I’m happy, the happiest I’ve ever been,” she said, her voice softer now. “With you. I swear, I don’t want him back. I just—it caught me off guard. That’s all.”
His shoulders didn’t relax immediately, his thumb ghosting over her knuckles as he studied her face, searching for something.
“Are you sure?” he asked, and for all his bluntness, there was something vulnerable about the way he said it.
She squeezed his hand. “I’m sure.”
Max exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly like he was mad at himself for even thinking otherwise. Then, finally, he tugged her closer, his hand slipping to the nape of her neck as he rested his forehead against hers.
“I don’t like seeing you like that,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “And I really don’t like the thought of you still caring about him.”
She smiled, brushing her nose against his. “I don’t.”
His lips barely curved, but the tension in his body faded just slightly.
“Good,” he murmured before kissing her, slow and deliberate, like he was grounding himself in her. Like he was making sure she was here. With him.
Max pulled back just enough to look at her, his hand still cradling the nape of her neck. His expression had softened—still serious, but there was a hint of something else now. Something almost teasing.
“So,” he murmured, thumb brushing absently over her skin. “If you’re so bothered by him getting engaged, you wanna just… get engaged too?”
She blinked. “What?”
Max shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah, why not? Even the score.”
She scoffed, shoving his shoulder. “Oh, now you want to propose, just to be petty?”
He chuckled, but there was a glint in his eyes, something more thoughtful than his usual teasing. “Maybe. I think we’d look better in engagement photos, anyway.”
She rolled her eyes while smiling.
Max smirked and leaned in again, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth before murmuring against her skin, “One day, though.”
Her breath hitched slightly.
He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his usual cocky demeanor softened by something undeniably genuine. “Not just to ‘even the score’ or whatever,” he added, his voice quieter now. “But because I want to.”
She swallowed, her heart skipping a beat at the certainty in his tone.
“One day,” she echoed, her lips curving slightly.
Max’s grin widened. “Good, and it will be a much fancier ring than that, okay?.”
She laughed, shaking her head as he pulled her into him again. “Okay.”
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✯ authors note: English is not my first language and I hope you liked it <3
✯ pairing: Sebastian Vettel x Retired Driver! Reader ✯
✯ content warnings: none ✯
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She was staring blankly at the scene unfolding outside the window: the branches of the trees swaying in the soft yet cold breeze, the clouds drifting lazily across the blue sky in undisturbed calmness, and the sun, not yet fully risen, playing a tranquil game of peekaboo. The scent of coffee filled her nostrils as she observed the scene—so still, so unchanging, it resembled a painting.
“Morning,” he mumbled, making his way to the kitchen island while rubbing his eyes.
“Morning,” she replied, a faint smile crossing her face at the sight of him.
She took a sip of her coffee, remembering how, not so long ago, she had almost relied on caffeine to keep up with her hectic schedule and combat jet lag. It had definitely been a drastic change—and a considerably sudden one.
“You’re going for a run?” His voice was raspy with sleep, and he didn’t bother hiding the mild horror in his tone.
She took another slow sip of her coffee, amused. “Mhm.”
He frowned slightly, eyes scanning her running gear like it had personally offended him. “It’s too early for that.”
She smirked. “It’s eight.”
“Exactly,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face before stepping closer. Without warning, he tugged at the sleeve of her jacket, pulling her toward him. “Come back to bed. It’s warm there.”
She huffed a laugh, steadying herself with a hand on his chest. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want to be awake alone.”
“I don’t want to be awake at all,” he corrected, voice muffled as he buried his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling the faint scent of coffee on her skin. “And you’re warm. And you smell nice.”
She smiled, fingers threading lazily through his hair. “So I should stay because I’m a personal heater?”
He nodded sleepily, arms looping around her waist to keep her in place. “Mhm. And because you love me.”
She chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “I do love you. But I also love running.”
Sebastian groaned dramatically, tightening his hold around her. “I’ll love running when I’m actually awake. Right now, it sounds terrible.”
“Everything sounds terrible to you before coffee.”
“Exactly,” he agreed without hesitation. Then, lifting his head slightly, he gave her a lopsided smile. “If you bring me back one, I’ll reconsider letting you leave.”
She rolled her eyes, nudging his nose with hers. “You always reconsider letting me leave.”
He sighed, closing his eyes again. “Fine. Five more minutes like this, then you can go.”
She let out a soft laugh but didn’t move away. “Deal.”
As always, running served as a window into her thoughts. The cold breeze that rustled the trees also stirred her mind, setting it into motion as she kept her stride. Despite maintaining a mindful pace, she couldn’t shake the habit of quickening slightly whenever another runner came into view—just enough to pass them. Whether it was competitiveness or something else, she wouldn’t admit it. She’d simply insist it was her natural rhythm.
Morning thoughts had a peculiar way of blending into shower thoughts, often feeling like a seamless continuation. And lately, one thing in particular occupied that space—her abrupt transition into retirement. It was a natural thing to think about, inevitable even, but there was an edge to it. After all, not many drivers found themselves retiring alongside another driver.
Sebastian was leaning against the kitchen counter, nursing his second cup of coffee—now properly awake—when she walked in, dressed, hair and makeup done, looking effortlessly put together.
But he noticed. The way her lips pressed together just a little too tightly, the way her brows drew in ever so slightly, the way her gaze flickered toward nothing in particular, lost in thought.
He set his mug down, tilting his head as he studied her. “Alright, out with it.”
She blinked, caught off guard. “Out with what?”
He raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Whatever’s making you look like you just lost a tenth in quali.”
That made her huff a quiet laugh, but it faded just as quickly. She exhaled, leaning against the counter across from him, fingers curling around the edge. “It’s nothing.”
He waited. Just looked at her, the way he always did—patient, steady, like he had all the time in the world. And, inevitably, that was enough.
She sighed. “I think I’m overthinking.”
“That sounds about right.” He smirked, but his eyes were soft, urging her to continue.
She hesitated, but the words were already pressing against her ribs. “It’s just… this is different, you know?” She gestured vaguely between them. “Us, now. Life now. I love it, I really do. But I can’t help but wonder if one day, we’ll just… be bored.”
Sebastian frowned, his expression shifting into something more thoughtful. “Bored?”
“Not with each other,” she rushed to clarify, then winced. “Or maybe? I don’t know. What if we only ever worked because we were in that world, in that chaos? What if we needed it?”
He took a sip of his coffee, considering her words. Then, setting the mug down, he stepped closer, closing the space between them. “You think racing held us together?”
She shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “Maybe. It’s what we knew. It’s how we started. And now…”
“Now, we don’t have that excuse,” he finished for her, watching her carefully.
She nodded, finally meeting his eyes. “Exactly.”
He was quiet for a moment, then exhaled a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You are overthinking.”
Her lips parted, ready to protest, but before she could, he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead—slow, warm, grounding. “Do you know how many people have relationships that survive their careers, not because of them?” He pulled back just enough to look at her properly. “We had racing, sure. But that was never us.”
She swallowed, her chest tightening at the sincerity in his voice. “Then what was?”
His hands found her waist, thumbs brushing over her hips. “This,” he said simply. “The mornings. The coffee. The running even though I still think it’s ridiculous at that hour.” She laughed lightly, and he smiled before continuing. “It’s the way you still steal the blanket even when you swear you don’t. The way you think you’re being subtle when you’re deep in thought.” His voice softened. “It’s the way I look at you now, and I know we’re more than where we met.”
Her breath hitched slightly, and before she could say anything, he tugged her just a little closer, pressing his lips to hers—gentle but sure, like there was nothing in the world he’d ever be more certain of.
When he pulled back, she let out a slow breath, the tension in her shoulders easing. “That was a good answer.”
He grinned. “I know.”
She rolled her eyes, but her heart felt lighter. “I really was overthinking.”
He smirked, brushing his nose against hers. “It’s one of your talents.”
She hummed, hands settling on his chest. “At least I balance it out by having excellent taste in men.”
Sebastian laughed, shaking his head as he kissed her again. “That, you do.”
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✯ authors note: I feel like this story could go along with He is Retiring and Retirement and a Failed Proposal , as in they are all technically thought as the same storyline but work independently.
English is not my first language and I hope you liked it <3
Jenson had given it a lot of thought. He already had the ring—he’d bought it weeks ago—and now carried it everywhere, waiting for the perfect, most special moment. What he wanted more than anything was to catch her completely by surprise.
After a long dinner date, where he’d brought the ring in his pocket but decided against proposing—it felt too cliché, not special enough—he tucked the box away again. Once they arrived home, while she grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, he slyly hid the small velvet box behind a bowl of fruit on the counter.
“A selfie, really?” she teased, noticing him pull out his phone with a mischievous grin.
“What? You look stunning, so do I. Why can’t I document the moment?” he shot back playfully, smirking.
She posed slightly for the picture, unaware that the box was peeking out from behind the fruit bowl in the background.
“Gorgeous,” he said with a sly grin, admiring the photo.
She laughed and tossed her hair dramatically, still oblivious to what lay behind the fruit.
Jenson found the whole situation hilarious. It gave him an idea: to keep snapping pictures of her with the ring secretly nearby, adding a layer of humor to his elaborate plan. Over the following days, he made it his mission. He placed the ring box subtly in the background while she stood in line at a store, lounged by the backyard pool with a book, and even while she was absorbed in her favorite TV show. Each time, she was none the wiser, and each time, his excitement grew.
One morning, he woke up early while she was still sleeping soundly. The ring, safely tucked in the drawer of his nightstand, called to him. Quietly, he retrieved it, unable to resist another sneaky photo. Kneeling beside her sleeping form, he propped the ring in one hand and snapped a selfie with the other.
“Jenson?” she murmured groggily, her voice thick with sleep. She rubbed her eyes and blinked at him. “What are you doing?” she asked, catching sight of him kneeling beside the bed, phone in hand, camera open.
Jenson flinched as she caught him mid-photo, the phone in his hand and a guilty look plastered across his face. Her groggy, half-asleep expression shifted into confusion as she squinted at him.
“What are you doing?” she asked, sitting up slowly, her voice a mix of suspicion and amusement.
“Uh…” he faltered, his mind scrambling for an excuse. “Nothing. Just, uh, taking pictures of… the sky?” he offered weakly, clearly regretting it the moment it left his mouth.
Her brows shot up, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “The sky?” she repeated, her tone dripping with disbelief as her gaze flicked to the window. The curtains were closed.
“Yep! Beautiful morning sky,” he added, doubling down on the lie as he subtly slid the small velvet box behind his back.
Her eyes narrowed as she caught the movement. “Jenson, what’s behind your back?”
“Nothing,” he said far too quickly, taking a small step back like a kid caught stealing cookies.
She tilted her head, her amusement growing. “Are you seriously trying to hide something from me? I just woke up. My brain isn’t even working yet, and you’re still this bad at it?”
He sighed, knowing he was absolutely cornered. “Alright, fine,” he muttered, bringing his hand out to reveal the little box.
Her jaw dropped, and her sleepy brain suddenly kicked into overdrive. “Is that…?!” she exclaimed, her eyes darting between the box and his sheepish grin.
“Technically, yes, it’s the ring,” he admitted, opening the box slightly so the sparkling diamond inside peeked out. “But don’t get too excited—I wasn’t about to propose right this second. I was just... experimenting.”
“Experimenting?” she echoed, her tone somewhere between disbelief and laughter.
He winced. “Okay, look. I thought it’d be funny to take pictures of you with the ring sneakily in the background. You know, like a little game to see how long it would take you to notice.”
Her mouth fell open in shock before she burst out laughing, the absurdity of the situation hitting her all at once. “Are you serious?!” she managed between laughs.
“Yes! And I was doing great until this morning!” he defended, though he couldn’t help but laugh along with her now. “You were completely clueless!”
She shook her head, still giggling. “How long has this been going on?”
“A few days,” he admitted, his grin widening. “You have no idea how hard it’s been to keep a straight face.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t notice,” she said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “You’re such a dork!”
Jenson shrugged, completely unbothered by the label. “Honestly, I thought you were going to catch me much earlier. I mean, I’ve been not-so-sneaky about it,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “You’re way too smart for this kind of thing.”
She laughed, nudging him gently. “Well, clearly not that smart if I missed all your ridiculous setups.”
“You’d be surprised,” he said with a smirk. “There were so many close calls. I thought I’d given myself away behind the fruit bowl. And don’t even get me started on the pool photo—I was sure you were going to notice.”
She leaned back slightly, raising a teasing eyebrow. “So, what’s the plan then? Keep doing your secret spy act until you finally get the nerve to propose?”
Jenson chuckled, wrapping his arms loosely around her waist. “You know, I read somewhere that most women prefer when their boyfriend helps them get ready before a proposal. Like, makes sure they have their nails done, their hair perfect—the whole works.”
Her eyebrows shot up, her curiosity piqued. “Oh, really? And what do you think about that, Mr. Button?”
He grinned, leaning in slightly. “I think it makes sense. You deserve to look your absolute best in all the pictures we’ll show off later.”
She couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head at how well he knew her. “So, let me get this straight—when you’re ready to propose, you’ll just casually send me off for a manicure and a blowout? What’s next, picking out my dress too?”
“Hey, if it helps make the moment perfect, why not?” he teased, his grin widening. “Though I think you look perfect no matter what. Hoodie, messy hair, bare nails—you’re already the full package.”
Her cheeks flushed as she rolled her eyes. “That’s dangerously smooth, even for you,” she said, her voice softening as her fingers toyed with the fabric of his shirt.
Jenson’s expression shifted, his playful grin giving way to something softer. “I mean it, though,” he said, brushing a thumb along her cheek. “Whatever happens, I just want it to feel like us. Perfect because it’s ours.”
She smiled affectionately, and she leaned in, brushing her lips against his in a kiss that was warm and lingering. When they pulled apart, resting her forehead against his.
“Alright,” she said, her voice still teasing but laced with affection. “But you’d better follow through on this nails-and-hair thing. I’m not about to risk an off-day for the biggest moment of my life.”
Jenson chuckled, tightening his hold around her. “Deal.”
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✯ authors note: It's inspired in this article
English is not my first language. I hope you liked it <333
Her relationships always seemed to have an expiration date—a rapid ascent, like a rocket, followed by an inevitable crash, gravity grounding what had been weeks of euphoric floating. The cycle repeated itself, a perpetuation of fleeting highs and a final, definitive ick that always ended it.
Romantic love, she had come to realize, was so different from its non-romantic counterpart. One was a firework—intense, intoxicating, but ultimately brief—while the other was a candle, steady and enduring. Perhaps the movies never showed the happily ever after because it didn’t truly exist, she often thought.
And then she started dating Sebastian. Gosh, Sebastian. His copious traveling meant the relationship grew at a slow pace—painfully slow, even. But there were calls, messages, and hours of conversation that built something she hadn’t expected.
After a year together, she braced herself for the crash, for the inevitable descent. Yet it never came. Instead, on a day that had drained her entirely, when she called him trying to sound okay but failing miserably, he noticed immediately. And it hit her, in a way that almost left her breathless—he had become her best friend.
That very same night, after what had been an undeniably gloomy day, she decided to do something wildly impulsive, the kind of romantic gesture that only ever seemed to happen in movies. It felt ridiculous, but it also felt right. Without overthinking it, she booked a late-night flight to the city where the race was taking place. The flight was painfully long—long enough for her to stare out the window, sleep-deprived and questioning every ounce of her decision-making. “Why am I doing this?” she muttered under her breath, smirking at her own absurdity.
With the hotel name and room number handed over by his ever-resourceful assistant—a detail that felt straight out of a rom-com—she finally arrived. By the time she reached the hotel, it was late. Her body screamed for rest, her eyelids heavy and betraying her exhaustion, but she kept pushing forward, driven by something she couldn’t quite explain.
And then there he was, standing in the doorway, his wide, disbelieving grin lighting up his face like the sunrise. “What are you doing here?” he asked, immediately pulling her into his arms without hesitation.
Her head found its home on his shoulder as her body melted into his embrace. The sheer warmth of his presence—and maybe a surge of dopamine—momentarily erased the exhaustion.
“I just felt like it,” she said softly, her voice laced with sleepiness.
He chuckled, shaking his head as if trying to comprehend the spontaneity. “You just felt like it?” he repeated, his laughter bubbling over. “You’re unbelievable.”
Sebastian’s grin softened as he stepped back and took her hand, leading her into the room without a word. She followed, her feet dragging slightly, exhaustion evident in every movement.
“You must be tired,” he said as he closed the door behind them, his voice low but still carrying that unmistakable warmth.
“A little,” she admitted, though her yawn gave her away.
Sebastian chuckled and, without much thought, tugged her gently toward the bed. She didn’t resist, letting him guide her as she kicked off her shoes and crawled onto the soft covers. He followed her, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight as he settled in beside her, lying on his back with one arm stretched out.
She instinctively curled into his side, her head resting on his chest, the sound of his steady heartbeat grounding her. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, holding her close, as her body relaxed completely for the first time in hours.
“You know,” she said softly, “I realized something, and don’t let it get to your head, but I think you’re my best friend,” she admitted with a gentle smile.
“What?” he chuckled, clearly confused, “Are you friendzoning your own boyfriend?”
She giggled, shaking her head. “No, no, that’s not what I meant.” She pulled back slightly, meeting his eyes. “I mean, apart from being my amazing and beloved boyfriend, you’ve also become my best friend,” she explained, her smile warm.
He raised an eyebrow, teasing. “You just realized this after a year of dating?”
She nudged him playfully, rolling her eyes. “What I mean is that I’ve never felt anything like this before,” she said, her tone affectionate. “Like ever.”
Sebastian’s teasing grin softened into something more genuine as he looked down at her, his fingers brushing absentmindedly along her arm. “Well, I’m honored,” he said with a mock seriousness that earned another small giggle from her.
“I’m being serious,” she insisted, though the warmth in her voice betrayed the smile tugging at her lips.
“I know,” he murmured, his expression softening even further. “And I like it. Hearing that.”
She let her head rest on his chest again, her smile lingering as his steady breathing soothed her. “Like I think this is the first time I have truly been in love,” she said.
Sebastian’s chest rose and fell beneath her as she traced small, lazy circles on his shirt with her fingertip, her mind spinning with thoughts she couldn’t keep to herself any longer.
“You know,” she started softly, her voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t think I ever really knew what romantic love was supposed to feel like until you.”
Sebastian stilled for a moment, his hand pausing in its soothing motion along her back, before continuing again, gentle and steady. “Yeah?” he asked, his tone calm but curious, inviting her to say more.
“Yeah,” she murmured. “Gosh, I sound so cheesy,” she chuckled, “but what I mean is I doubt I’ve ever fallen truly in love before.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, his hand stilling briefly on her arm before he shifted to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Then I’m the lucky one,” he murmured, his voice tinged with something almost reverent.
She let out a soft laugh, the sound laced with affection. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
He grinned faintly, his lips brushing against her hair as he held her closer. “I know,” he teased, his tone playful but warm.
“But I mean it,” she said, her voice quieter now.
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✯ authors note: I just started watching Sex and the City and I thought this scene was too cute:
English is not my first language and I hope you liked it <3
The door closed slowly, agonizingly unhurried, as though she were giving him every possible second to come back and unbreak her heart. But he didn’t.
She stood there, frozen in place, as time stretched into something unmeasurable—too long and too short all at once. Her vision blurred, her eyes filling with the saltiest of tears that threatened to spill over, her chest tightening with the ache of unshed sobs.
Her legs betrayed her, refusing to move, trembling under the weight of the moment. She clung to the doorframe, as if it were the only thing tethering her to reality. Her knuckles whitened against the wood, and she gasped for air that wouldn’t come, as if the closing door had stolen it along with him.
She sank onto the cold, unforgiving ground, her back pressed against that damn door that now felt like a wall between her and everything she had hoped for. Curling into herself, she wrapped her arms tightly around her knees, as though holding herself together could somehow pacify the crescendo of sobs erupting from her chest.
The silence around her was deafening, she was lonely, she felt lonely. She cried loudly, her sobs raw and unrestrained, the kind of cry that couldn’t be muffled, even if she tried. Yet, there was no strength behind them, only the jagged, broken gasps of someone unraveling, as though the pain was pulling the very life out of her.
It wasn’t graceful; it wasn’t quiet. It was the kind of heartbreak that consumed her entirely, leaving her crumpled on the floor with nothing but the echo of her agony filling the empty space.
A few weeks had dragged by since that night, a drought of contact with him she had stubbornly enforced upon herself. She remembered those weeks as the ones where her smiles were the brightest, her laughter the loudest—so exaggerated that her cheeks would ache from the forced effort. But behind it all, there was nothing genuine, nothing real.
She threw herself into college and her friends, burying her pain beneath the distractions of study sessions and social outings. Did it work? In a way, yes. She could almost pretend it was enough, almost believe the ache had dulled.
But pain is insidious. It’s not something you can outrun or bury forever. It lurks in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike. And when it does, it floods your entire being like an unstoppable army, conquering every corner of your mind and body with ease. It leaves you breathless, vulnerable, and utterly defeated, no matter how hard you try to fight it.
She froze, her breath hitching as she opened the door to find him standing there, his expression weighed down by an apology she hadn’t asked for. The sight of him was enough to twist the knife deeper into the wound she’d been trying so desperately to heal. Why was he here? To prolong the torture that had already stretched her to her limits?
“Hey,” he said softly, his voice tentative, as if testing the waters.
The simplicity of the greeting only made her blood boil. Her anger flared, not the cold, detached kind, but the fiery, all-consuming anger that stems from love—love that’s been suffocated, left with nowhere to go, until it combusts into something unrecognizably painful.
In that moment, she hated how much she still cared. She hated the way her heart betrayed her with its rapid thudding, how her chest ached not just with anger, but with yearning. She wished for numbness, for the sweet relief of feeling nothing at all. But instead, she felt everything—love, hate, hurt, longing—all at once, each emotion clamoring to overpower the others, leaving her standing there, staring at him, drowning in a storm she couldn’t control.
“What do you want?” she asked, her voice sharp with bitterness, a contrast to the indifference she had tried to muster.
He sighed, the weight of her tone sinking into him, her pain more palpable than she likely realized. “I just wanted to check on you,” he said softly, his expression softening as he met her guarded gaze.
“I’m fine. You can go now,” she replied, her voice cutting and resentful, each word like a wall she was building between them. She moved to close the door, her movements hesitant, torn between slamming it shut to protect herself and leaving it ajar, hoping he’d stop her, close the distance, and kiss away the anger and pain she didn’t want to feel.
“C’mon,” he murmured gently, his hand stopping the door from closing entirely. His tone was coaxing, as if trying to reach the part of her that still cared. “Can we just talk?”
“About what?” she snapped, the bitterness flaring again as she let the door swing open fully, stepping back and letting him inside. Her anger gave way to conflicted resignation, her heart screaming one thing while her pride clung to another.
“About how sorry I am for you thinking we wer—” he began, but she cut him off before he could finish.
“Getting the wrong idea?” she interrupted, incredulous. “So, it was my fault?”
“No, that’s not what I meant,” he tried to explain, only for her to cut him off again.
“Then what the hell did you mean?” she snapped, her voice rising with each word. “Because maybe you’re the one who put us in this situation.”
He sighed heavily, the guilt settling deep in his chest as he saw just how hurt she was.
“No, no, don’t you dare give me that sympathetic look,” she said, gesticulating wildly, her frustration bubbling over.
“But I am sorry, truly,” he said, his voice soft, almost pleading.
She huffed, her frustration only growing. “You being sorry won’t make me feel better. And you standing there all composed while I’m a fucking yelling mess won’t either.”
“Is there anything I can do?” he asked sincerely, though he already knew deep down that no amount of sincerity could fix this in the moment.
Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, the redness in them betraying the storm of emotions she was struggling to contain. It was as if her anger and heartbreak were battling for control, neither willing to relent.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice low and filled with regret. “For everything.”
Her lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out. Instead, she stood there, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, her heart waging a war between forgiveness and self-preservation.
Franco took a step toward her, his movements slow and deliberate, as if any sudden gesture might shatter the fragile moment. His hands hovered awkwardly at his sides, his heart aching as he watched her struggle to keep it together.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
She let out a bitter laugh, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand. “No, I don’t,” she said, her tone sharp, though it cracked under the weight of her emotions. “Because saying anything doesn’t change the fact that I’m standing here feeling like an idiot for—” Her voice caught, and she shook her head, looking away as tears spilled over.
Franco’s chest tightened. He couldn’t stand it anymore—the sight of her breaking down, the sound of her voice trembling, the way she refused to meet his eyes. It all hit him like a punch to the gut.
Without thinking, he moved closer, cautiously, as if approaching a wounded animal. “Hey,” he said softly, his tone gentle, almost tentative.
She didn’t respond, her arms wrapping around herself defensively.
He hesitated for just a moment longer, then reached out, his hand brushing her shoulder. She flinched slightly at the contact, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he stepped into her space, his arms slowly wrapping around her in an embrace that felt both tentative and desperate.
“I hate you for this,” she mumbled, her words muffled against his chest.
“I know,” he whispered, his chin resting lightly atop her head. “And I hate myself for hurting you.”
She didn’t push him away, though her body remained tense at first. But then, as the warmth of his embrace surrounded her, something inside her gave way. Her hands clutched at his shirt, her tears soaking into the fabric as she let herself fall apart in his arms.
Franco held her tightly, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles on her back. He didn’t say anything more, didn’t try to fix what couldn’t be fixed with words. He simply held her, grounding her as best he could while the weight of her emotions poured out.
Minutes passed, or maybe it was only seconds—it was hard to tell. When she finally pulled back, her face was streaked with tears, her expression raw and vulnerable.
“Why do you do this?” she asked, her voice breaking as she searched his eyes. “Why do you keep pulling me in if you’re just going to push me away again?”
His throat tightened. “Because...” He paused, struggling to find the words. “Because I can’t stand seeing you like this. And because...”
Her gaze was locked on his, waiting, pleading for him to finish the sentence.
“Because I care about you more than I know how to say,” he admitted, his voice barely audible, as if saying it any louder would make it too real.
Her breath hitched, the walls she had been trying to rebuild threatening to crumble all over again. And before she could stop herself, she stepped closer, her lips brushing his in a kiss that was equal parts anger and longing.
He didn’t pull away. Instead, he kissed her back, his hands framing her face with a tenderness that belied the storm of emotions swirling inside him. It was a kiss that spoke of everything he couldn’t say—every unspoken apology, every hidden feeling, every piece of himself he was too scared to offer her before.
When they finally broke apart, their foreheads resting together, she whispered, “If you’re going to push me away again, don’t kiss me.”
“I won’t,” he promised softly, though his voice carried the weight of uncertainty.
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✯ authors note: English is not my first language, and I hope you liked it <3
✯ pairing: Toto Wolff x Previously Divorced! GF! Reader ✯
✯ content warnings: none✯
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The sound of her soft footsteps and the clink of the water bottle she set on the counter caught Toto’s attention. He looked up from his laptop, his reading glasses sliding low on his nose, and immediately closed the screen. His gaze softened as he took her in—the way her shoulders were just slightly slumped from a long week, yet she still carried that quiet strength he admired so much.
“Long day?” he asked, his voice warm, the Austrian lilt wrapping around the words like a familiar melody.
“Not too bad,” she replied, smiling faintly as she leaned against the counter and took a sip of water. “Philip was his usual energetic self, though. He didn’t make bedtime easy.” She glanced at him, her gaze sharp enough to notice the flicker of thought behind his expression. “And you? Still glued to emails?”
Toto chuckled, pushing his glasses off and setting them aside. “A few more than usual,” he admitted, standing up and stretching his long frame. “But I’m done now.”
He approached her slowly, his movements as deliberate as ever, though tonight, there was something more measured in his demeanor.
“Did you eat?” he asked, his hands finding her waist as if they belonged there.
She nodded. “Yes, I grabbed something earlier. You don’t need to fuss,” she said, her voice light but edged with affection.
“Fussing over you is one of my favorite things,” he replied softly, brushing a thumb along her hip.
She smiled at him, shaking her head with a mix of exasperation and warmth. But he didn’t step away, and she noticed the way his jaw tightened slightly, as though he were bracing himself.
“What’s on your mind, Toto?” she asked gently, her brows knitting together.
He hesitated, just for a moment, before stepping back to lean against the counter opposite her. Crossing his arms loosely, he took a breath. “I’ve been thinking,” he began, his voice calm but carrying a weight she recognized.
She tilted her head, wary now. “That sounds ominous.”
A small smile tugged at his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s not,” he assured her. “I just… I want to talk to you about something important. About us.”
Her smile faltered for a moment, her grip tightening on the water bottle in her hand. “Go on,” she said cautiously.
He stepped closer again, his hands sliding down to take hers. His thumbs brushed over her knuckles in a soothing rhythm, grounding her even as her pulse quickened.
“The last five years with you have been… more than I could’ve imagined,” he said quietly, his gaze locking onto hers. “Raising Philip together, building this life… I’ve never been happier. You’ve given me something I didn’t think I’d have again.”
Her chest clenched, his words both warming and unsettling her.
“But,” he continued, sensing her unease, “I also know that we’ve both been here before. And that makes this… complicated.” He paused, searching her expression, his eyes warm in an attempt to calm her evident nerves. “I want to marry you. I’ve wanted to for a while. But I know this isn’t something you’ll take lightly. I don’t take it lightly, either.”
Her breath stuck, and she quickly turned away, setting the water bottle on the counter and crossing her arms. “Toto…” she began, her voice steady but low.
“I know,” he said softly, stepping closer but not crowding her. “I know you’re hesitant. We’ve both been through divorces; we know how hard it can be. I don’t want to push you into anything. I just… I wanted you to know how I feel.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly. “It’s not that I don’t love you,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “You know I do. I just… I don’t know if I’m ready to go down that road again. What if—”
“What if it doesn’t work out?” he finished for her, his voice gentle.
She nodded, her throat tight as she turned to face him. “I don’t think I can survive that again.”
Toto cupped her face with both hands, his thumbs caressing her cheek affectionately. “I don’t have all the answers,” he admitted. “But I know this: I love you. I love Philip. And I want to be able to call you my wife, no matter how long it takes for you to be ready. Whether it’s next year, in five years, or never… you’re it for me.”
Her eyes searched his, and the sincerity in his gaze nearly unraveled her. “You’re too good at this, you know,” she whispered, a weak smile tugging at her lips.
He chuckled softly, his forehead resting against hers. “Only for you.”
For a moment, they stood there in silence, the weight of the conversation settling between them. Then, her arms slid around his waist, holding him tightly as she buried her face against his chest. Toto watched her, his eyes soft with affection. She tilted her head, eyebrows arching with a hint of playfulness.
“Alright,” she began, her tone light but pointed, “let’s really think about this. It’s just a piece of paper.”
Toto smirked, leaning against the counter across from her. “A very nice piece of paper, I might add. You get a fancy certificate and everything.”
She rolled her eyes, though the corners of her mouth twitched upward. “We already act like a married couple, Toto. What’s the point of making it official? It doesn’t change anything.”
He stepped closer, his voice dropping slightly. “It changes everything. You’d officially be mine—legally, publicly, and in every way that matters.”
Her smile widened at his words, but she refused to back down. “We already have a life together, a kid together… isn’t that enough?”
“Not for me,” he said simply, his eyes locking onto hers. “I want to stand in front of our family and friends and tell the world how much I love you. I want Philip to know that his parents are committed to each other, officially.” He smirked, “plus, you would look wonderful in a wedding dress.
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she teased, her expression softening for a moment before she straightened. “And what about the paperwork, hmm? Marriage licenses, name changes, tax forms… It’s a bureaucratic nightmare.”
Toto chuckled, reaching out to gently take her hands in his. “You underestimate how much I enjoy tackling complicated paperwork. It’s like running a Formula 1 team—challenging but worth it.”
She laughed despite herself, shaking her head. “That’s the most unromantic thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I’m a practical man,” he teased, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “But I’m also a man who loves you. And I’m willing to do all the boring paperwork if it means calling you my wife.”
She sighed dramatically, though her smile lingered. “I still think it’s unnecessary. We’re happy as we are.”
“We are,” he agreed, stepping closer and slipping his arms around her waist. “But this isn’t about fixing something that isn’t broken. It’s about celebrating what we have.”
Her resolve wavered, her eyes searching his as he held her close. “You make it sound so… sentimental,” she said softly.
“That’s because it is,” he murmured, his forehead brushing against hers. “You deserve to be loved out loud, in every way possible. Let me do that for you.”
She sighed again, her hands sliding up to rest on his chest. “You’re really not going to let this go, are you?”
“Never,” he said with a grin. “I’m stubborn, remember?”
She laughed, shaking her head. “Fine,” she said, her voice tinged with mock exasperation. “I’ll think about it.”
Toto tilted his head, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Think about it, or say yes?”
He chuckled softly, gently taking her left hand in his. “Just imagine,” he began, brushing his thumb over her fourth finger, “the biggest diamond you’ve ever seen right here. Something so absurdly huge, you’ll need a personal trainer just to lift your hand.”
She burst out laughing, shaking her head at him. “Oh, please. Like I’d ever want something that impractical.” She smiled, finding his insistence more than comforting, almost reassuring. “Maybe it’s a yes,” she finally conceded.
Toto's face lit up instantly, his eyes widening in disbelief before a wide, boyish grin took over his features. "Wait, maybe it’s a yes?" he teased, though his voice was tinged with unmistakable joy.
But before she could answer, he scooped her up in a hug so exuberant, her feet left the ground. She let out a surprised laugh as he spun her around once, his strength making it effortless.
“Toto!” she exclaimed between giggles, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. “Put me down!”
“Not a chance,” he said, his voice muffled slightly as he pressed a kiss to her cheek, then her temple, holding her as if letting go wasn’t an option. “You just said maybe yes to marrying me! Do you know what that means?”
“That I’m crazy?” she quipped, her voice still playful as she tried to catch her breath.
He stopped spinning but kept her firmly in his arms, his forehead resting against hers, his smile as radiant as she’d ever seen it. “No,” he murmured, his voice softening. “It means you’ve made me the happiest man in the world.”
Her heart skipped a beat at his sincerity, and her fingers toyed gently with the back of his hair. “It’s just a maybe, you know,” she reminded him, though her teasing tone couldn’t hide the affection in her eyes.
“Maybe, yes. Maybe, no. I’ll take it all,” he said, finally setting her down but not stepping away. His hands rested on her waist, anchoring her to him. “But for the record, I’m very persuasive.”
She laughed, rolling her eyes playfully. “Oh, I’m well aware.”
“Good,” he replied, his grin still firmly in place. “Because this ‘maybe’ is about to become the most certain ‘yes’ of your life.”
She shook her head, biting back another laugh as she leaned into him, resting her head on his chest. “You’re impossible,” she whispered, but her voice carried more love than exasperation.
“And you’re mine,” he murmured, his arms tightening around her.
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶
✯ authors note: English is not my first language and I hope you liked it <3
His hand had rested casually on her waist all evening, a gesture so simple yet so comforting that it left a radiant, almost triumphant smile on her face. At that moment, she felt undeniably wanted, utterly enough, and unmistakably his. Meeting his friends had felt like a monumental step in their still-blooming relationship, yet everything about it seemed effortless, as if this was exactly where she was meant to be. It was a lively celebration—he was Argentinian, after all—marking the beginning of his racing career.
She felt herself leaning into his touch, the warmth of his hand securing her in the chaos of the evening. It wasn’t something they ever really discussed—this easy intimacy between them—but it had grown naturally, like a quiet understanding they both shared.
At one point, someone across the table, a friend of a friend she didn’t really know, leaned forward with a playful smirk. “Okay, I have to ask,” they said, pointing between the two of them. “How long have you two been together?”
The question caught her off guard. Her heart skipped a beat, and her cheeks acquiring a subtle shade of red, the radiant smile that had been lingering on her face freezing in place. She glanced at Franco instinctively, unsure of what to say.
Franco, however, didn’t miss a beat. He let out a light chuckle, his grip on her waist loosening slightly as he leaned forward, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Oh, we’re not dating,” he said casually, shaking his head. “We’re just friends.”
Just friends. She tried to keep her expression neutral, her lips curling into a polite smile as she quickly looked down at her drink, suddenly very interested in the condensation on the glass. She felt something break very badly inside of her, sure that if the ambience had been less loud, there would be some auditory proof of it.
“Really?” the friend pressed, raising an eyebrow. “You two seem… close.”
Franco shrugged, his tone easy and unaffected. “We’ve known each other forever. She’s one of my closest friends,” he said, glancing at her with a warm smile that made her heart ache just a little. “That’s all.”
She forced herself to laugh lightly, as if she wasn’t affected at all, as if her heart had not been brutally assassinated by merely two words. “Yeah, nothing romantic,” she added, her voice steady.
The conversation moved on quickly, the group returning to their lively chatter and jokes. Her mind was felt like a scratched record, iterating over those two words. Just friends. Franco’s hand had slipped away from her waist, and suddenly, she felt unmoored, the radiant glow she’d been basking in all evening fading into something much colder.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur, the joy she’d felt earlier replaced by a gnawing sense of uncertainty. She couldn’t stop wondering if his words had been an honest reflection of how he saw her—or if they were just a way to keep things uncomplicated in a world that already demanded so much from him. Perhaps she was just lying to herself…
The closeness returned once they were back in the Uber, his thigh brushing against hers in the most familiar way. She seemed devastated, though her expression could easily be mistaken for simple exhaustion. Perhaps that was why he stayed silent, not just with his words but with his hands, refraining from his usual playful touches.
He stepped into her place, turning around to face her with a smile lingering on his lips. “I know you're exhausted and everything, but—”
“Just friends?” she interrupted sharply, her tone a far cry from gentle as the door clicked shut behind her.
The abruptness of her question caught him off guard, his expression morphing into one of genuine confusion, which only fueled her already simmering anger.
“Franco, I don’t fuck my friends,” she snapped, her voice trembling as her eyes glistened with unshed tears, her frustration coloring her cheeks a deep red.
The bluntness of her words, the utterly devastated expression on her face, hit him like a ton of bricks. He stood frozen, unable to summon a response, as if her pain had rendered him mute.
She huffed, her breathing ragged with a mix of anger and hurt, her gestures frantic and unsteady. "Do you just look at all your damn friends like that? Do you kiss them like that? Do you fuck them and tell them they’re yours?" she shouted, her voice trembling with emotion.
The silence that followed was deafening, long and stretched, the kind that tore through her like a blade. Her teary eyes pleaded for an answer, for anything, but his hesitation was all the confirmation she needed. She had been a fool.
A groan of pure frustration escaped her, her hands running through her hair as she tried to hold herself together, unsuccessfully. “Are you being dead serious right now?” she yelled, but the fire in her voice was fading, melting into sadness that threatened to engulf her.
Franco’s jaw tightened as he watched her, the rawness in her voice cutting through the silence like a knife. He didn’t move closer—he didn’t dare. Instead, he looked down, raking his hand through his hair, the tension in his posture undeniable.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he finally said, his voice low and uneven. “But... I don’t know if I can give you what you want.”
Her heart sank at his words, her worst fears confirmed. She blinked back tears, forcing herself to stand tall, even as the weight of his confession threatened to crush her. “What do you mean by that?” she asked, her voice trembling but firmer than before.
Franco hesitated, his gaze darting around the room as if searching for an escape, for anything but the heartbreak written all over her face. “I didn’t think it would get this... complicated,” he admitted, his words slow and deliberate. “I care about you—a lot. But I don’t know if I’m ready for something... serious. For labels. For all of this.”
Her chest tightened, her throat burning as she swallowed back the lump rising there. “You don’t know if you’re ready?” she repeated, her tone filled with disbelief. “Franco, we’ve been acting like a couple for months. You kiss me, you stay over, you hold me like I’m the only person in the world. But when it comes to actually saying what this is, suddenly you’re not ready?”
He winced at the frustration and hurt in her voice, but his hands stayed planted at his sides, his shoulders stiff with unease. “I didn’t plan for it to be like this,” he said, his voice soft but defensive. “I didn’t plan for you to mean this much to me. I just thought we’d have fun, you know? Keep it casual. And now... it feels like more, and I don’t know if I can handle that.”
She took a step back, her arms wrapping protectively around herself as though shielding her heart from his words. “So, what?” she asked, her voice breaking slightly. “You get to decide when this is real and when it isn’t? You get to act like you want me but not actually take responsibility for it?”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” he replied quickly, his voice rising as if to cut through her pain. “I’m trying to be honest with you. I don’t want to lead you on. I just—” He stopped, his words faltering under her intense, tear-filled gaze.
“You already did,” she blurted out, her voice so hurt it made him shiver.
Franco’s head dropped, guilt heavy on his shoulders. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to fix this. He had been so sure of his boundaries, so certain that they could keep things simple. But now, as he looked at her—hurt, angry, and so heartbreakingly beautiful—he wondered if he’d been lying to himself all along.
“I’m sorry,” he said after a long silence, his voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean for it to get this far.”
“Well, it did, Franco. And you don’t get to take it back just because it’s inconvenient for you now,” she uttered.
She turned away, grabbing the door handle as her breathing hitched. “I can’t do this anymore,” she said, her voice cracking. “I won’t be some ‘casual’ thing for you to figure out when it suits you.”
She held the door open, her hand gripping the edge tightly as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. Deep down, she wished he wouldn’t leave. She wished he’d turn around, cross the distance between them, kiss her like it was the last time, and tell her he loved her too much to walk away. But he didn’t.
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶
✯ authors note: English is not my first language, and I hope you liked it <3
His affectionate lips trailed along her neck as soon as she stepped into his place. She had taken the train, despite his countless offers to pick her up—a choice he clearly didn’t approve of.
“You’re too stubborn,” he mumbled against her skin, his arms wrapping securely around her waist from behind as she set her purse on the countertop.
She turned her head slightly, only for his lips to catch hers in a playful kiss. “Am I?” she teased with a chuckle.
He hummed in mock disapproval. “I’ve told you like a hundred times—I can pick you up. Instead, you decide to take three trains.”
She sighed softly, turning to face him, her back gently meeting the edge of the kitchen island. “It’s not like I live nearby,” she replied, her smile warm and amused.
“You just don’t want to be stuck in a car with me for so long, right?” he teased, his hands instinctively finding her hips. “I promise, no singing or talking too much this time.”
She giggled, her gaze soft as she shook her head. “Seb, it’s fine,” she reassured, her voice full of affection.
“You’re not doubting my driving skills, are you?” Seb teased with mock offense, raising an eyebrow.
“Doubting the driving skills of an F1 driver? Me?” she laughed, her tone playful as she smiled fondly at him. “It’s not that—it’s just that I live too far for you to come and pick me up every week, okay? The train is fine.”
“Trains,” he corrected with a mischievous grin, emphasizing the plural. His tone held a teasing edge, clearly pointing out the ordeal she put herself through just because she was too stubborn to let him drive her.
“Seb, really, it’s fine, okay,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck, her voice gentle but firm.
“Okay, okay,” he conceded with a grin, pulling her closer. “For now,” he added teasingly.
He held her tightly, savoring the moment. Her scent filled his senses, intoxicating in the best way, while his eyes traced her features as though she were a priceless piece of art—too precious for the world, yet somehow, she was right there in his arms.
“You know,” he began, his voice brimming with mischief, “I’ve been bragging about you in the paddock.” There was a genuine warmth behind his teasing words. “I think you should come and see your very cool, charming, and insanely talented driver boyfriend in action. Don’t you think?”
She chuckled at his playful self-praise. “Oh, where is this boyfriend of mine you’re talking about? Because mine isn’t quite like that,” she teased, her tone dripping with humor.
He nudged her lightly, pretending to be offended. “Right in front of you,” he replied with mock arrogance, grinning. “But seriously, I want you to come.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, a suspicious smile tugging at her lips. “Why do I feel like there's a catch to this?”
Seb grinned, his hands casually rested on her hips. “No catch. I just think it’d be fun if you came to a race. And—” he paused, his eyes sparkling with mischief, “—we could make a day of it. You know, go shopping for the weekend together.”
She blinked at him, her smile fading into mild disbelief. “You hate shopping.”
“I don’t hate it,” he said, though his face betrayed the lie immediately. “Okay, maybe I’m not the biggest fan, but I’ll survive if it means spending time with you.”
“Now I know there’s a catch,” she said, her tone teasing as she folded her arms.
Seb’s grin widened. “No catch,” he said innocently, leaning closer. “Well... maybe just a small condition. I’m paying for everything.”
She shook her head immediately, pulling back slightly from him. “Sebastian, no.”
“Yes,” he said firmly, his hands catching hers to keep her close. “Why not? It’s not like I can’t afford it.”
“That’s not the point!” she exclaimed, exasperation lacing her words. “I don’t want to feel like you’re just… throwing money at me. I can pay for myself.”
“I know you can,” he said, his tone calm but insistent. “But I don’t want you to. This isn’t about money—it’s about me wanting to treat you, to make things easy and enjoyable for you. It’s not a business transaction, it’s me wanting to share something important with you. Can you let me do that?”
Her lips parted as she struggled to find a counterargument, but his earnestness disarmed her. He wasn’t trying to control her; he was just being Seb—thoughtful, stubborn, and a little too giving for his own good.
“Seb, I don’t need fancy hotels or first-class flights,” she said softly, her hands resting lightly on his chest now. “I just want to be there with you.”
“And you will be,” he said, his voice dropping as his gaze softened. “But you’re not taking three trains for this one, okay? You’ll fly, you’ll stay in a nice hotel, and you’ll let me spoil you. Please.”
She stared at him for a moment, biting her lip as she weighed her pride against the sheer joy on his face. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
He laughed, leaning down to press a quick kiss to her forehead. “So I’ve been told.”
She sighed dramatically but smiled. “Fine. But if we’re going shopping, I’m picking out whatever I want, and you’re not allowed to complain.”
“Deal,” he said instantly, though the slight grimace on his face made her laugh.
“And,” she added, poking his chest, “I’m buying my own clothes. Don’t even think about pulling out your wallet.”
“We’ll see,” he said, a cheeky glint in his eye as he kissed her again—this time slower, softer, and full of the kind of love that made her heart ache in the best way.
She shook her head when they pulled apart, laughing despite herself. “I don’t know how you always manage to win.”
He grinned, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s because you love me,” he teased.
“Debatable,” she replied, though the smile on her face said otherwise.
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶
✯ authors note: English is not my first language and I hope you liked it <3
