pope cody who drops you at work and picks you up. he gets you there five minutes early. he's already in the parking lot before your shift ends. he's ready to hear all about your day. his fingers tap at the wheel, eager to see you.
pope cody who wakes up early to cook you breakfast. your plate has a protein, fiber, carb, and a green. he's always trying some new recipe. you'll come home and he's prepping to make pot roast. from scratch. playing butcher in your kitchen.
pope cody who loves seeing you interact with kids. his heart swells. he carefully watches you braid lena's hair, and send her off to school. he wants to make you the mother of his kids desperately. he fucks you with the head of his cock presses against you cervix. he cums inside of you every time.
pope cody who only allows you to touch him. he's able to talk to you without words. face alone can tell you all you need to know. his body clings to yours. he comes home to you after a job, head in your stomach. your hands find their way to his hair. he loves your touch. anyone else comes near him, he stiffens up.
pope cody who's your fucking guard dog. he makes sure you're on the inside of the sidewalk. he keeps one hand on your back at all times. he loves feeling protective over you. you're his girl.
pope cody spoils you at all times. he gets you bags, jewelry a plenty. he adorns you with everything you want and more.
A Suspicious Huckleberry 2.0 (Dennis Whitaker x Reader)
Summary: Dennis Whitaker has seemingly had a glow-up in the past few months and it has left the entire Pitt wondering (and making bets) as to what is the cause of his glow up
Warnings: takes place during 10-month gap!, fluff!, Whitaker's glow up, our Huckleberry is in love, mexicana!reader, Reader and Dennis are the same age!, reader is described as having short, layered hair
Series Masterlist
"Are you sure this is how it's done?" Dennis asked with a furrowed brow as Y/N scrunched his hair.
"Yup", she grinned with a peck to his cheek. "Your curls are gonna be so cute."
She had worked product into his freshly washed, wet hair and was now scrunching it with a towel.
"We're lucky my sister has curly hair", Y/N giggled as Dennis sat on the stool.
Dennis watched from the reflection in the mirror, sitting patiently as Y/N stood on a small stool to make sure she reached all of his head. Y/N had somehow convinced him to start growing out his hair a bit and now, she had him sitting down on a stool getting his curls styled.
Dennis hadn't thought all those months ago he'd gain a girlfriend, one that packed him lunches and lathered him in love (something he was still getting used to considering the way his family was, but something he melted at each time).
He spent most of his time now with her at her house; the only thing that he didn't do was sleep over and that was because her parents had a strict rule about that despite how much Y/N said they loved him.
"And why are we filming it?" Dennis asked.
"To show my followers how cute my Victorian ghost guerito is", she said, grabbing the diffuser next. "Plus don't pretend you don't like it after a hard day over in the ER."
It was true.
"You wouldn't believe the kind of day I had at the Pitt", Dennis voiced. "I got peed on 4 times again! Every time Robby or one of the other residents have a hard case, they call me!"
"My poor baby. How dare they make you get covered in bodily fluid", she cooed, putting down the diffuser. "But look at how cute you look with your curls! One month left and you'll be the most stylish resident on the floor."
Dennis didn't really see the difference, but his ears felt hot as Y/N began to rain lip-gloss sticky kisses all over his face and well, what kind of boyfriend would he be to ruin her happiness over her work?
"There! Now we're ready for our date!"
~
Trinity Santos liked to think of herself as a observant person. She was trying to become a doctor after all. She had to be observant so when she first noticed Whitaker constantly on his phone, she thought nothing of it.
Maybe he had finally found more friends.
Then he suddenly began to pop up with sticky lip gloss to his cheeks or lips, the occasional lip stick smeared on him.
But the damning thing was the lunches he started bringing one day.
Grand spreads that put five-star restaurants to shame that ranged from different Mexican dishes to even simple sandwiches that came with more than a big of chips with fruit salad, dessert and other things she knew Whitaker didn't have time to do.
And whoever was giving him the food knew what they were doing as Whitaker's face had begun to fill out from the food and even his hair had begun to grow into a stylish curly mullet. He was beginning to slowly look less like a Victorian ghost and more like just a sad ghost of the modern time.
"I'm not the only one noticing this, right?" Santos asked her fellow co-workers one day.
"Maybe he has a girlfriend", Javadi suggested, "you did say he's gone a lot now."
Currently, they watched as Whitaker ate a massive lunch when they also noticed Robby settling down next to Whitaker with his own fucking massive lunch.
"Okay, what the fuck?" Santos said, baffled. "What is going on here?"
"Let's just focus on one thing at a time", Mohan said with a shake of her head. "Robby's been in a hell of a good mood, he hasn't even called me Slow Mo and whoever is responsible for that is a saint."
Trinity Santos was observant, yes.
"Hell yeah to that statement", Cassie said as she passed by. "Not even Langdon being at rehab is bothering him."
But she still had no clue what the fuck was going on.
Which is why Ahmad and the others had begun a betting pool as to what was causing their Huckleberry to blossom.
Princess, Perlah and Dana had all put their money on a secret inheritance.
Donnie and Jesse had put their money on him having sold his soul, somehow.
And Mel and Robby (an odd combo in the betting pool) had gone on the conservation route: he found a girlfriend.
And her being said roommate to Whitaker, she put all her money into where Donnie and Jesse put theirs: he sold his soul.
Because this was Huckleberry they were talking about.
~
It was nearly 9 PM when Dennis finally left the ER; his body heavy and tired with exhaustion. He stunk like hospital and student debt as he gathered his things.
“Heading home, Whitaker?” Lifting his head, he saw Robby with his own bag slung over his arm.
Home?
His heart felt like it melted at the thought of his beloved, Y/N.
Those dark, sparkly eyes, her soft brown skin, her smile that felt like he was shot by Cupid’s arrow each time.
His mom was right about pretty city girls.
He was their perfect victim.
“Yeah”, Dennis dopily sighed with a love stricken smile. “I’m heading home.”
As he headed out to the bus stop (since Trinity’s shift went for another hour), he pulled out his phone and scrolled to her number.
It rang for a second before her voice rang to him, “Hi Denny! How was your shift?”
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: in which bobby can’t fathom the idea that you will one day forget about him so he tries to convince you that you guys can be more than friends.
𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠: dime by sombr
𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦: backrooms
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: latina!reader & actor!reader, different povs, two small smut scenes, miscommunication, mentions of emotional cheating (before kat and bobby go on a break.)
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: since i’m getting back into writing after almost two years, i fear i might’ve rushed this lol so forgive me if i did but anyways finn ate with his two seconds of screen time, too hot to be gone so soon. ☹️
you had only been in california for about three months and people would already describe you to be almost arrogant, never really having to work hard to get the things you need.
“don’t worry about it, the dime is on me.” you recalled back to meeting your coworkers boyfriend for the first time, buying weed from him was the start of your friendship with him. “no more freebies after this though.”
it was a total lie.
your coworker and you suddenly became best friends and she was quick to notice how attentive men were with you.
her boyfriend offered to go with her to get coffees but she quickly denied. “no offense but i’d have better luck with her to get a free drink.”
and she was right.
“the coffee is on me.” the both of you had heard from behind and cash being placed into the barista’s hand in front of you. “pretty girls should never have to pay for their things.”
then another time when you asked your boss for your check a few days earlier, he hesitatingly agreed. “this one time only.”
you knew exactly what you looked like and what people turned into when you were around, a latina with a face that would make heads turn.
── .✮
robert franklin knew he shouldn’t have picked you up after you shift at the furniture store, especially because kat had basically forbade him from hanging out with you but that was before.
before he called for a break he felt they so desperately needed.
“bobby?” he heard your sweet voice and felt you run a hand through his hair which brought him back from his thoughts. “que te pasa? did something happen with kat? she asked to leave early today.” (what’s wrong?)
he had not been able to think straight for the last two days — of course he couldn’t, not when you had told them you were going to move to new york for a possible acting job in a few months, not when you can possibly forget all about him.
he should have never listened to kat who had begged and begged him to help you film that stupid auditioning tape.
he smiled and shook his head, all while nervously tapping his finger onto the counter. “i actually wanted to talk to you about th-“
clark had placed a big box of lamps onto the counter so it blocked bobby’s view of you, “you think you can put these downstairs before you go?”
“pues ya me quiero ir, pero ya que.” you sighed and grabbed two of the lamps. (well i wanted to leave but since you asked.)
he had looked at bobby with a look because he knew of the situation bobby, kat and you were in — the three of you constantly going to him for his secrecy and some advice, to which the three of you never seemed to listen to anyways.
“if you love kat, you will listen to her and stop seeing that girl.” he recalled giving bobby the advice to leave you alone after hearing an argument between kat and him.
another time he could think of was when you had asked if they seemed happy together. “well they were until you came along.” and when he saw you practically frown he cleared his throat. “no offense, it’s just they’ve been arguing about you.”
you didn’t like being the reason of them having problems so when you started thinking about auditioning for a show in new york, clark encouraged it. “go for it, there’s nothing grand about this town anyways.”
clark didn’t really want to see you go, he had actually grown to like you very much — you were his best saleswoman.
way better than him anyways.
he had grown to like you but he knew you at some point would move onto something new, you had constantly told them you were never in a place for too long — you didn’t have family, not much of a friend person and you lived in an apartment close to the store so he naturally fell into a fatherly figure role for you.
then he recalled back to when kat was going on about why he just had to hire you. “because you told me you needed another girl around here, i could barely afford to pay you or bobby for helping me with my commercials but i did you a favor.”
and when he accidentally let your plans slip to kat she was overjoyed. “bobby can help her and she can finally leave!” she did a little jump and high fived him. “good work clark!”
“that’s not what i was try-“ she ran off before he could finish so he groaned and dropped himself onto a chair. “i’m getting too old for this shit.”
── .✮
kathrine taylor had been suspicious of bobby possibly cheating on her just a few months after you arrived into town.
“she’s just a friend kat, our friend.” he had placed a quick kiss on her forehead. “you have nothing to worry about.”
but she saw the way his eyes would linger on you when he thought she wasn’t looking, the lingering touches or the random visits he would do to the furniture store.
“brought you guys some lunch!” he would say kissing her on the cheek and going straight for you afterwards. “and for you i brought you a champurrada with a pan dulce!” (sweet bread)
“it’s champurrado…” you laughed as you corrected him and took the drink from him. “you didn’t have to, the shop is almost all the way across town bobby.”
while you guys were chatting, kat sighed looking down at her strawberry smoothie.
yeah he won’t be allowed around you anymore after today.
so finally when you announced that you were wanted for a live audition in new york, kat was over the moon — whereas bobby knew you would do great over there and they would definitely want you but he couldn’t seem to cheer up, he knew you’d forget all about him.
“well what can you do, she will be missed.” kat sighed and quickly changed the subject. “now that you’re almost finished with your film class, maybe we can go to th-“
“we need to breakup, i mean more of a break.”
kat knew it had everything to do with you even though he didn’t want to admit it but she trusted you to not go behind her back.
then there was bobby who was hugging a crying kat, already planning how he can get through to you and become more than friends.
── .✮
for the past month, bobby couldn’t get you out of his head and found himself seeking you out more, you had slowly been letting him after finding out kat and him were officially over.
you had been organizing the furniture when bobby took a seat on a recliner and pulled you onto his lap. “so where’s clark?”
he was glad when you finally let him touch you more, it only took an accidental slip up of him telling you that he had liked you — he was able to hold your hand as you guys walked. slide down his hand onto the small of your back whenever the two of you were standing next to each other. pulling you into his lap even if there were millions of other chairs around.
you shrugged as his thumb hooked itself to the waistband of your shorts. “trying to fix his marriage supposedly, told me to watch over the store and close up.”
weeks later when clark finally returned again, he was pacing around putting things in a bag like tools and extra clothes.
he tried to quickly explain he was leaving for a few weeks but he didn’t want to say where. “look i’ll be back and when i’m back…” clark went on as grabbed papers and a pen, almost out of breath. “i need you, bobby and kat to have made up with whatever the hell you guys have got going on because i’ll be needing you three for some research.”
── .✮
during the second month, bobby was now getting the cold shoulder from you — he stood behind you as you talked to a customer who was totally hitting on you, he tried wrapping his arm around you but you swatted his hand away.
“dejame and please just leave the store, i got it on my own.” you quietly mumbled out and moved away from him. (leave me alone)
he had invited you over to his house for dinner about two weeks ago and it was going well, way too well.
“f-fuuck. shit, baby you feel so good right now…” he moaned as he felt your gummy walls tighten around his cock each time he’d slam back into you and just before he almost finished, there was a hard knock on the door.
the both of you chose to ignore it but then another knock but harder.
he stopped his movements, leaving you to groan and tried to keep him from stopping.
“bobby! open up, i want my things back!”
he’s been telling kat for weeks now to come get her stuff and of course she chooses now to get it.
you sat up and wrapped the sheets around you. “que cosas quiere?” (what things does she want?)
his spanish was not great so he didn’t know what you had said but he noticed the hint of anger in your voice. “what?”
just before you could answer there was another knock. “for fuck-sake kat! hold on!”
he of course had her things already packed in a box, it wasn’t like he had her stuff around but you didn’t see it that way.
you had packed your overnight bag back up and as much as he pleaded with you to stay the night, you were ready to go.
“c’mon believe me baby, i only want you…”
you shook your head no. “whatever this was it’s over, i’ll be leaving to new york whenever we finish doing whatever it is that clark wants us to do when he returns.”
he quickly ran to the door and got on his knees in front of you. “please don’t say that, i lo-“
“bobby enough! you still have your ex-girlfriend’s things here, you can’t even ask me properly to be your girlfriend…”
which led you to now.
it was closing time and you were in the office organizing papers when you saw bobby had came back with a bouquet of flowers, so once you finished you grabbed your bag and began heading to the door — he was still waiting outside, when suddenly he started swatting the flowers around and his other free hand as well.
you laughed once you saw a small moth flying around him and the petals were beginning to fall off the flowers.
when he was done, you finally walked out and began locking the door to the furniture store. “is the coast clear?” you asked with a giggle.
“i’m glad you think this is funny, i had a whole apology speech ready to go when this stupid moth began attacking me.” he groaned looking down at the now ruined bouquet. “even wanted to ask you out…”
he was such an idiot.
you smiled as you helped him remove some petals off his hair. “pobrecito.” (poor thing.)
he frowned and extended his arms out to you. “yeah pobrecito me.”
you rolled your eyes and gave in, hugging him a little too tightly but he didn’t seem to care.
── .✮
it wasn’t long before you guys were in the backseat of your car, the moment you sank down onto him, you were rolling your hips and he threw his head back onto the headrest.
“holy fuck, you’re so...fucking good.” he found it hard to come up with the right words as you picked up the pace, rolling your hips and doing an occasional circle. “please s-slow down, im going to cum and i haven’t even started with you y-yet.”
you moaned softly as you dug your nails into his shoulders. “you’re so big bobby..”
“hold on, s-slow down.” and just before you could pickup the pace again he brought down one of his hands to your thigh, stopping you from moving and another to your face to force you to look at him. “te amo..” (i love you)
he saw the way your pupils were blown out and you let out a broken whine. “yo tambien te amo.” (i love you too)
he sloppily jerked himself up into you a few times before flipping you onto your back and making sure he was now the one to ruin you.
by the time you were done, it was almost pitch black in the parking lot but the both of you noticed a small light in the furniture store.
“hm. you forgot to turn off a light.” bobby pointed out before drinking out of his water bottle and passing it to you.
“huh. thought i turned them all off, that’ll be tomorrow’s problem.”
✮
finally when the both of you were tucked into bed and his arm was draped around you, you were almost asleep but could still hear him softly talking.
“after doing this research thing with clark, i’ll come with you to new york and help you settle down, maybe i can even stay there with you for awhile…”
you nodded. “maybe, i’ll skip out on the recall and stay here with you.”
“not going to let you miss that audition baby.” he hugged you tighter and kissed the side of your head. “if anything maybe i’ll pickup another film class over there so i can be with you…”
he went on about different plans you guys could work out in new york and when he knew you were sleeping, he kissed the side of your head once again and listed his last plan. “i want to love you till the end of my life.”
little did he know was that in a few days that was the only plan he would actually be able to complete…
summary: after calling your food salty, your boyfriend decides to betray you once again.
word count: 0.6k
a/n: HELLOOOO YALL ASK YALL SHALL RECEIVE this one has a lot more of spanish writing btw you’ve been warned and also mild cussing (i lowk can’t remember)
pt.1
masterlist requests
You kept throwing glances at your boyfriend sitting in the passenger seat, typing on his phone the things you kept mentioning were needed at the house.
“Are you sure you wrote everything down?” you asked, knowing he forgot at least one thing.
After repeating the list and realizing he did, in fact, forget not just one thing but three, you were left somewhat satisfied.
You kept talking, about work, friends, then asking him how he had been. You felt like you hadn’t been able to actually sit down and talk normally in a while… which this wasn’t either, considering you were five minutes away from PTMC, dropping him off for his night shift.
“Robby and I went to this restaurant the other day,” he started.
You turned to look at him, smiling, knowing they’d found time to hang out. You knew they both needed that.
“How is he doing?” you asked.
“Good, he’s good. Jake’s been visiting a lot more lately, so that’s great,” he nodded.
“I’m happy to hear that,” you admitted, truthfully. “What restaurant did you guys go to? Maybe we can go for date night?”
“This place a few blocks from his place,” he said, his face turned toward the window.
Weird.
“What was the name?”
“I can’t remember.”
Still facing the window.
You knew he was trying to shift the conversation into something else, but you couldn’t figure out why. He just went to a restaurant with his best friend, what could he possibly be so hesitant to… admit.
“You did not,” you gasped, fighting the urge to punch him.
“Listen—” he started, his hands moving faster than his words.
“No, ¿es qué tú no piensas?” you smacked his arm. “¿Cómo que te fuiste a comer a un restaurante mexicano?” you asked through gritted teeth as you pulled into the hospital parking lot.
“Baby, it was Robby’s—”
“No, no, no puedo creerlo. ¿Un restaurante mexicano en Pittsburgh?” smack. “As if I, your girlfriend, can’t cook whatever it is that you ordered, for you,” smack. “Pero está bien, de seguro te pediste un pozole desabrido porque el mío estaba ‘salado’,” another smack. “Hijo de la chingada… y cuando vea a Robby me las va a pagar también,” one last smack.
You turned to see Jack rubbing his arm, looking at you in complete confusion.
Sometimes, only sometimes, you forgot your boyfriend only spoke english. You noticed the exact moment you switched languages when he looked at you with furrowed brows, trying to decipher every word that came out of your mouth.
Sometimes he caught four or five words.
Sometimes your mouth just moved faster than your brain, making it impossible for him.
And he really wasn’t trying that hard to keep up with his duolingo streak, so you decided to blame that instead of your patience flying out the window every time you tried to teach him.
“Sorry?” he said, attempting an apology as he tried to get out of the car, only to be dragged back in by you. “Baby, I’m gonna be late.”
“Oh,” you crossed your arms. “You call my food salty, you go out to eat at a wannabe mexican restaurant when you know I love cooking for you, not as much anymore, but that’s besides the point, and then you don’t kiss me goodbye? Me odias o que?” you shook your head.
“Pero vete, no vayas a llegar tarde,” you brushed him off when he tried to kiss you goodbye.
“I understood two words from that,” he said, already halfway out of the car. “All I know is Robby better watch out next time he sees you,” he added, leaning back in to kiss your cheek. “And that you hold grudges bad, baby.”
“It was constructive criticism. You know it was salty, come on,” he teased, pressing another quick kiss to your cheek before slipping out of the car before you could drag him back inside.
“Hijo de—” you cut yourself off when you saw Jack physically stopping Robby from waving at you, rushing him back inside the ED.
rafe finding out latina!kook!reader is taking heel classes . . .
you been taking heel classes for months now. you were unemployed, without a responsibility that required you full attention. oh, and had a boyfriend that was basically your wallet. And rafe was always busy with Ward's company.
you were alone for most of the time.
so you invested in attending heel classes! you loved heels, and loved feeling sexy. so it was perfect for you. rafe didnt exactly know this though. he assumed you indulged yourself in...yourself? shopping? doing everything but heel classes. that was until a video of you popped up on his friends feed. a video of you dancing in heels and the tiniest black shirts, the song "Esclava" in the background as the other girls cheer you on. a song he only knows because one time you both fucked to that song in your room.
"oh rafe-" you squeal slightly as you walk in and he's already there. usually you have a couple hours after class until he comes. you're all sweaty, and still in heels. "hey baby." he says with a forced sweet tone, rising from his spot in the couch to embrace you. the heels give you a few more inches, but you still embrace him back. "you're here early.." you mumble, looking up at him. "yeah. and you weren't here, where were you?" you look away at his question.
his jaw locks. "when were you going to tell me you're...dancing. in heels." you sigh, glancing at him. "its not a big deal rafey." you whine, leaning on him while taking the heels off. "yeah? not a big deal when everyone can see your ass bouncing on the floor with those provocative danc-" he sighs. cupping your face. "see? you're making me sound controlling."
you gulp at his words. but its not just his words, its also the way you can tell he's trying to keep his temper in. "im sorry." you mumble, your hand sneakily making its way towards his pants. "i can..." you grin, gazing at him innocently. "show you all i learned?" his head cocks to the side as a smirk appears. "the heels stay on."
—
"fuck- rafey!" he has a whole lot more stamina today. it might be the video, or the way your heels dig into his broad back as he keeps your legs around his torso as he pounds into you. "you feel so fuckin' good." he groans, burying his face into your neck while gripping your neck. "so good, so fucking-" he groans, basically whimpering against your shoulder. you have that affect on him, making him so vocal. no girl has ever made him want to moan so much. his back arches as the hard part of the heel digs into his flesh, but he doesn't stop his pace.
"im buying you-" he bites into your neck, eyes rolling back. "all the heels you want." his hand leaves your neck to go down to your hip, making you meet his hips. "as long as i fuck you in them before you get to show them off, okay?" you nod eagerly, hands gripping at his broad shoulders.
"i want the red bottoms next." you giggle mid moan, claiming his lips in tender, passionate kiss. "ill get you all the red bottoms you'll want, baby."
Summary: You are Mercedes’ new Head of Regulations, Max Verstappen’s close friend, and apparently the only person in the paddock who hasn’t noticed Toto Wolff has a massive crush on you. Kimi notices. Max notices. Half the garage notices. You? Absolutely not. Unfortunately for your denial, Toto is done being subtle.
Warnings: 18+, age gap (30s/50s), divorced!Toto, workplace tension, jealousy, paddock gossip, body-shaming comments mentioned, protective!Toto, soft possessiveness, smut, oral sex (f reciving), vaginal sex, creampie, office sex, Toto being deeply obsessed with you in a very corporate crisis-management way.
Music theme: All of Me - John Legend
Word count: 5.9k
a/n: based on request.
You were very good at your job. Brilliant, actually.
Annoyingly brilliant, according to Max, who had once told you that arguing regulations with you felt like trying to overtake a wall.
“A very pretty wall,” he had added, because Max Verstappen, despite the public image, did occasionally remember manners existed.
That was how you ended up at Mercedes.
Not because of politics. Not because of paddock gossip.
And definitely not because Toto Wolff had looked at you across a FIA meeting in Geneva six months ago and forgotten, for approximately seven seconds, how language worked.
No.
You were hired because you understood regulations the way some people understood music. You could read a technical directive once and immediately spot three loopholes, two traps, and one sentence clearly written by a person who hated joy.
Mercedes needed that.
Toto needed that. Professionally. Mostly.
Fine, maybe not mostly. But you did not know that. Which was why you were currently standing in the Mercedes garage, tablet in hand, arguing with George about parc fermé clarification while Kimi watched you with the face of a teenage boy witnessing a soap opera unfold in real time.
“You know he likes you, right?” Kimi said suddenly.
You didn’t even look up.
“George?”
George blinked. “Excuse me?”
“No,” Kimi said, grinning. “Toto.”
Your thumb froze over the tablet screen. Then you laughed. A full, disbelieving, absolutely-not laugh.
“Kimi, sweetheart, are you concussed?”
“No.”
“Did you hit your head in FP1?”
“No.”
“Did Max put something in your electrolytes?”
George muttered, “Honestly, I wouldn’t rule that out.”
Kimi leaned against the workstation, looking far too pleased with himself. “He stares at you.”
“He stares at everyone. He is Toto Wolff. That man looks at tyre degradation like it personally offended his bloodline.”
“He smiles when you enter the room.”
“He smiles because I save him from regulatory disasters.”
“He remembers exactly how you take your coffee and somehow always appears with it before you even realize you need one.”
“That means nothing.”
“He changed shirts after you said navy suits him.”
You stared at him.
George slowly turned his head toward Kimi. “How do you know that?”
Kimi shrugged. “I observe.”
“You’re nineteen,” you said.
“And yet I have eyes.”
You pointed your tablet at him. “There is no way Toto would notice me.”
The garage went suspiciously quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that happened when people heard something ridiculous but were too polite, too afraid, or too employed to say so.
George suddenly found the floor extremely interesting. Kimi looked like Christmas had arrived early.
And behind you, someone cleared his throat. Low and dangerous.
Your soul left your body, filed a formal complaint, and moved to Monaco.
You turned slowly.
Toto stood behind you in a white Mercedes shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, expression unreadable except for the tiny lift of his brow.
Fantastic. Wonderful. A career highlight, really.
“Wouldn’t I?” he asked.
Your brain opened seventeen tabs and none of them responded.
Kimi made a noise that sounded suspiciously like he was choking on laughter.
You straightened. “I was talking about regulations.”
“No, you were not.”
“I was… regulation-adjacent.”
Toto’s mouth twitched.
“You have a meeting with FIA in ten minutes,” you said quickly, because if there was one thing you could always use as emotional self-defence, it was governance.
“I know.”
“Good.”
“I came to ask if you were joining.”
“Of course.”
His eyes stayed on you a second longer than necessary.
“Good,” he said.
Then he walked away. And Kimi, the little demon, whispered, “Wouldn’t I?”
You closed your eyes.
“I am going to report you to HR.”
“You are HR-adjacent too.”
“I hate this team.”
George patted your shoulder. “Welcome to Mercedes.”
*
The problem with Kimi was that once he planted an idea, it sat in your head like a raccoon in a kitchen. Uninvited, loud and impossible to remove.
Toto liked you? No. Absolutely not.
He respected you. That was different.
He listened when you spoke because you were competent. He asked your opinion because it mattered. He looked at your mouth sometimes because… maybe you had lipstick on your teeth.
Yes. That was reasonable.
The fact that Toto sometimes went very still when you argued with someone? Professional interest.
The fact that he remembered how you took your coffee? Good leadership.
The fact that he had once removed his jacket and put it around your shoulders during a rainy media walk without a word? Common courtesy.
The fact that Max had looked at him afterward and laughed for twenty minutes? Irrelevant.
Max laughed at everything that made other people uncomfortable. It was one of his spiritual gifts.
“You’re in denial,” Max told you that evening, sitting across from you in Red Bull hospitality like he had personally invented emotional terrorism.
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“You’re my friend. Support me.”
“I am supporting you by telling you the truth.”
“You are supporting yourself by enjoying my suffering.”
“That too.”
You threw a napkin at him.
Max caught it, smug. “Toto likes you.”
“He hired me because I’m good at my job.”
“Yes. And he likes you because you’re good at your job. And hot.”
“Max.”
“What? I’m being efficient.”
You groaned into your hands. “He is Toto Wolff.”
“Yes.”
“He’s in his fifties.”
“Yes.”
“He’s my boss.”
“Yes.”
“He’s divorced from Susie.”
“Yes.”
“He could date models. Billionaires. Someone with a perfume campaign and emotional stability.”
Max looked at you.
You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You thought it.”
“You’re scary. I respect that.”
Before you could answer, someone stopped beside your table.
James Vowles. Smiling. Warm and polite. British in that charming way that made every sentence sound like it had been ironed.
“There you are,” James said to you. “I was hoping to catch you before tomorrow. I wanted your thoughts on the updated FIA wording.”
You smiled. “Sure.”
Max looked between you and James, then very deliberately leaned back.
“Oh,” he said quietly. “This is fun.”
You kicked him under the table.
James didn’t notice. Or pretended not to. He leaned slightly closer, showing you something on his phone, his shoulder brushing yours. “You always spot what the rest of us miss.”
“That’s because I’m paranoid.”
“I’d call it brilliant.”
Max made a tiny sound.
You ignored him.
Across the paddock, Toto saw everything.
Unfortunately for everyone’s peace, Toto was not a man who enjoyed watching James Vowles stand too close to you.
James was a friend. A respected colleague..A man Toto trusted. And currently, a man smiling at you like he had forgotten basic survival instincts.
Toto’s jaw tightened.
Bradley, standing beside him, followed his gaze and immediately sighed.
“Oh no.”
Toto didn’t look at him. “What?”
“That face.”
“What face?”
“The face you make before you turn a polite conversation into a corporate assassination.”
Toto adjusted his cuffs. “I am only going to say hello.”
“Well, that has not always been true.”
But Toto was already walking.
Max noticed first. His grin became criminal.
“Oh,” Max said. “Incoming.”
You glanced up. “What?”
Toto arrived beside your table with the calm force of a thunderstorm wearing expensive shoes.
“James,” he said.
James looked up. “Toto.”
The air changed. And you noticed. Because you worked with men who turned competition into breathing.
Toto’s hand came to rest lightly on the back of your chair. But not touching you
“Discussing regulations?” Toto asked.
“Yes,” you said quickly. “James had a qustion.”
James smiled. “She answered three more I didn’t know I had.”
Toto’s eyes flicked to him.
Max put his drink down like he needed both hands free to enjoy this.
“She tends to do that,” Toto said.
Your face warmed.
James looked amused. “You’re lucky to have her.”
Toto’s hand tightened slightly on the chair.
“I know.”
Two words. Calm, low and possessive enough to make your stomach do something deeply inconvenient.
You looked up at him.
Toto was already looking at you. And for one second, Kimi’s voice returned in your head.
He likes you.
No. No, no, no. Absolutely not.
You stood too quickly. “I should get back to Mercedes motorhome.”
Max smiled into his glass. “Coward.”
“I heard that.”
“You were meant to.”
James stepped back. “I’ll let you go. Thank you again.”
“Anytime,” you said.
Toto’s eyes sharpened. Max coughed.
You walked away before your nervous system filed for resignation.
Toto followed you.
“You know James was just being friendly,” you said once you were between motorhomes.
Toto looked down at you. “Was he?”
“Yes.”
“He was very close.”
“It was a phone screen, Toto. Unless he planned to seduce me with FIA formatting, I think we were safe.”
His mouth twitched despite himself.
“You think this is funny?”
“I think you being jealous is funny.”
“I am not jealous.”
You stopped walking. He stopped too.
You looked up at him. He looked down at you.
Silence.
Then you said, “That was the least convincing thing you have ever said.”
Toto exhaled through his nose.
“I don’t like how he looks at you.”
Your heart stumbled.
“Toto…”
“I know,” he said. “You are not something to own. I know that.”
The softness in his voice caught you off guard.
He stepped closer, not enough to trap you, but enough to make the paddock noise fade behind the pulse in your ears.
“I hired you because you are brilliant,” he said. “Because when you speak in a regulations meeting, everyone listens. Because you can dismantle an argument in three sentences and somehow still look bored. Because Mercedes needed you.”
You swallowed.
“But?” you whispered.
His eyes dropped to your lips.
“But I would be lying if I said I have not wanted you from the moment you walked into that Geneva meeting and made three FIA officials look like schoolboys who forgot their homework.”
A tiny, helpless laugh escaped you.
“That was a good day.”
“It was a terrible day for them.”
“And for you?”
“For me?” Toto’s voice lowered. “It was a problem.”
Your breath caught.
“Toto…”
“I have tried to be appropriate.”
“You have?”
His brow lifted.
You bit your lip. “Sorry. Continue.”
“I have tried,” he repeated, drier now, “to ignore it. To respect the position I hold. To respect yours. But then you stand there saying there is no way I would notice you.”
Your face heated.
“You heard that.”
“I did.”
“That was unfortunate.”
“It was ridiculous.”
“Toto—”
“I notice you,” he said.
Simple. Direct. Devastating.
“I notice everything.”
Your heart was now a traitor. Fully defected. Waving a Mercedes flag.
You tried to recover. “That sounds very intense.”
“I am an intense man.”
“Yes, I’ve heard rumours.”
His mouth curved. Then his expression softened.
“I don’t want to make your work complicated.”
“You are my boss.”
“I know.”
“I just started here.”
“I know.”
“This is a bad idea.”
“Yes.”
You stared at him. He stared back. And then, because apparently you had no survival instincts left, you said, “Are you going to kiss me or continue giving me a risk assessment?”
Toto’s eyes darkened.
“Both can be arranged.”
The kiss was not careful.
It started like restraint snapping cleanly in half.
One second you were standing in the narrow space between motorhomes, pretending your life was professional and sensible.
The next, Toto’s hand was at your waist, warm and firm, pulling you into him as his mouth found yours with a hunger that stole every clever sentence you had ever owned.
You kissed him back. Obviously.
You were intelligent, not dead.
His other hand came up to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek with surprising tenderness, and the contrast almost ruined you.
The man kissed like he negotiated. Focused. Controlled until he wasn’t. Impossible to ignore.
When you finally pulled away, your breathing was uneven.
Toto rested his forehead against yours.
“This is still a bad idea,” you whispered.
“Yes,” he said.
“You don’t sound regretful.”
“I am not.”
You smiled despite yourself.
“That’s dangerous.”
His thumb stroked your cheek.
“So are you.”
*
You did not plan to spend the night with Toto Wolff.
You had planned to go back to your hotel, drink water, read the updated sporting regulations, and maybe scream into a pillow like a reasonable adult woman.
Instead, you ended up in your hotel suite.
Talking first. Actually talking. About work. About Max. About Mercedes. About Susie and the divorce, which he spoke of with respect but also with the tired honesty of a man who had spent years trying to hold something together that had already quietly changed shape.
You told him about your family. About being underestimated. About how people loved calling Latina women “fiery” when they really meant “too much.”
Too loud. Too curvy. Too confident. Too visible.
Toto listened like every word mattered. And then he kissed you again. Slower this time. Less like a storm. More like a decision.
By morning, you woke up tangled in expensive sheets, your cheek resting against his chest, his arm heavy around your waist.
For a second, you forgot where you were.
Then Toto’s voice rumbled above you.
“Good morning.”
You froze. Then lifted your head.
He looked far too pleased. Hair slightly messy. Eyes warm. Smile soft in a way that felt illegal before coffee.
“Oh God,” you whispered.
His brow furrowed. “That was not the reaction I hoped for.”
“No, not you. I mean yes, you, but not like that. I mean— oh God, we have to go to the paddock.”
“We do.”
“Together.”
“Yes.”
“People will see.”
“Yes.”
“You’re very calm.”
“I have survived board meetings with Daimler. I can survive Carmen Montero noticing I had breakfast with you.”
You stared. He stared back.
Then you slapped his chest lightly. “Do not be smug.”
“I am not smug.”
“You are aggressively smug.”
He caught your hand and kissed your knuckles.
Your anger immediately lost structural integrity.
“That is cheating,” you said.
“Yes.”
“Toto.”
“Schatz.”
You stopped breathing. His smile deepened.
Oh. So that was going to be a problem.
*
Arriving at the paddock with Toto was not subtle. Arriving at the paddock with Toto wearing yesterday’s shirt under his jacket, while you wore sunglasses too large for your face and carried your dignity like a damaged suitcase?
Catastrophic.
Max saw you first. He stood outside Red Bull hospitality, arms crossed, expression blank for exactly two seconds before his mouth curved.
You pointed at him from across the paddock.
“No.”
Max lifted both hands innocently.
Toto leaned down slightly. “What is he doing?”
“Judging me.”
“He does that.”
“He’s going to text me something horrible.”
Your phone buzzed. You looked.
Max: so the wall got overtaken?
You nearly dropped the phone.
Toto glanced at you. “Everything okay?”
“Fine.”
Another buzz.
Max: proud of you. horrible taste in men but proud.
You shoved your phone into your pocket.
Then you saw them. Carmen. Alexandra. Rebecca. Standing near the hospitality entrance, mid-conversation.
They saw you and Toto at the same time.
All three froze.
Carmen’s eyes widened first. Alexandra’s mouth parted slightly. Rebecca looked from Toto’s hand hovering at the small of your back to your face, then back again, like she was watching the laws of nature collapse.
You remembered the bathroom in Monaco. Their voices behind the door. Not knowing you were inside. Not caring, probably.
“She dresses like that because she knows men stare.”
“Her body is so much. Like, does Mercedes have no dress code?”
“The curves are a bit vulgar, no?”
“And the way she walks? Please.”
You had stood there, hands still under the dryer, your face perfectly calm while something small and old twisted inside your chest.
You had heard worse. You had survived worse. But it had stayed. Not because you believed them. Because some insults didn’t need belief to bruise.
Now Carmen’s expression changed in real time. Shock became calculation. Calculation became sweetness.
“Oh my God,” she said, stepping forward with a bright smile. “Hi! You look amazing today.”
You looked at her. Toto looked at her. Max, somewhere nearby, definitely stopped walking.
Carmen’s smile stretched. “We should have coffee sometime. I feel like we barely talk.”
You blinked once.
“No, thank you.”
Her smile faltered. Alexandra looked down. Rebecca suddenly found a fascinating invisible object on the floor.
Carmen laughed lightly. “Oh. Well, I just thought—”
“I know what you thought,” you said calmly.
The air sharpened. Toto’s gaze moved to you.
You kept your voice soft. Pleasant, even.
“That’s why I said no.”
You walked past them before the hurt could show. Toto followed, slower now. He said nothing until you reached his office.
The door closed behind you. Quiet. Safe.
Then he turned to you. “What was that?”
You took off your sunglasses and set them on his desk.
“Nothing.”
“It was not nothing.”
“Toto.”
“What happened?”
You looked away. Big mistake.
Toto could smell avoidance like burnt tyres.
He stepped closer. “Schatz.”
The word was softer this time. It nearly undid you.
You folded your arms. “They said things about me.”
His expression changed.
“What things?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
You let out a small, humourless laugh. “Of course it does. You are currently in your protective CEO era.”
“I am always in my protective CEO era.”
That almost made you smile. But his face stayed serious.
So you told him. Not all of it. Not every word. Just enough. The curves. The body. The comments about your bust, your hips, your glutes, your clothes. The way they made your body sound like something inappropriate just for existing.
Toto went very still. Quietly furious.
“They said this?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Monaco.”
“And you did not tell me?”
“I had just started working here. What was I supposed to say? Hello, boss, your paddock social circle thinks my body is a public debate?”
His jaw flexed.
You sighed. “I didn’t want drama.”
“You were hurt.”
“I was annoyed.”
“You were hurt,” he repeated, because apparently he had decided to be emotionally accurate today, which was rude.
You looked down.
“I’ve heard comments like that my whole life,” you said quietly. “Too much. Too curvy. Too distracting. Too Latina. Like my body is something I’m doing on purpose to offend people.”
Toto crossed the room slowly.
He stopped in front of you.
“Look at me.”
You did.
His eyes were dark and warm and furious in a way that was not aimed at you.
“Never,” he said carefully, “let small people make you feel ashamed of taking up space.”
Your throat tightened.
“I know.”
“No,” he said, stepping closer. “I don’t think you do.”
Your breath caught.
His hand lifted, but he paused before touching you. Waiting. Asking. Your heart softened.
You nodded. Only then did his hand settle at your waist.
“You walk into a room and people notice,” he said. “Not because there is something wrong with you. Because there is something impossible to ignore.”
“Toto…”
“Your mind first,” he said. “Always. That is what made me hire you. That is what makes you dangerous in every meeting.”
His thumb brushed gently over your side.
“But the rest of you?” His voice lowered. “The rest of you is not too much.”
Your lips parted.
“It is not vulgar. It is not inappropriate. It is not something you need to hide.”
His other hand came to your cheek.
“It is you,” he said. “And I adore every inch.”
The office felt smaller suddenly. Warmer.
Your pulse beat hard under your skin.
“You’re very good at this,” you whispered.
“At what?”
“Making it impossible to stay upset.”
His mouth curved faintly.
“I am trying to make it impossible for you to believe them.”
That did it. Something inside you cracked, softly. Like a door opening.
You stepped into him.
Toto wrapped his arms around you immediately, pulling you close, one hand spread over your back, the other cradling the back of your head.
For a while, he only held you. Just his warmth, his breath near your temple, his steady heartbeat under your cheek.
Then you lifted your face. His gaze dropped to your mouth.
“You should kiss me,” you said.
His eyes darkened.
“I should do many things.”
“You’re in your own office.”
“I am aware.”
“That door locks, right?”
A slow smile touched his mouth.
“You are trouble.”
“You hired me.”
“I did.”
“Poor leadership decision.”
“No,” he murmured, bending closer. “Excellent decision.”
The kiss started soft. Tender. Almost careful.
Then you made a small sound against his mouth, and Toto’s restraint became a thing of the past.
He lifted you onto the edge of his desk with surprising ease, stepping between your knees as your hands found his shoulders, then the back of his neck, pulling him closer.
The papers behind you scattered. Something fell.
Neither of you cared.
“Toto,” you breathed, half laughing, half gone already.
He kissed your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.
“Still think I don’t notice you?”
You shivered.
“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”
“No.”
His hands firm settled at your waist. Like he meant every touch. Like he wanted to prove a point directly to the places other people had tried to make you doubt.
His mouth brushed your ear.
“You are beautiful,” he said. “Brilliant. Infuriating. Dangerous.”
You smiled breathlessly. “That’s a performance review?”
“That is the short version.”
You laughed, and he kissed the sound from your lips.
Outside, the paddock carried on. Engines. Voices. Cameras. Politics.
Inside, Toto looked at you like the whole world had narrowed to one woman sitting on his desk, wearing his attention like a crown.
And when his hand found yours, fingers threading together, his voice dropped into something softer.
“If you want me to stop, you tell me.”
Your chest warmed.
“I don’t want you to stop.”
His eyes held yours.
“Good.”
Then he kissed you again. Slower. Deeper. Until your doubts blurred at the edges. Until the voices from Monaco became small and distant.
Until there was only Toto, his hands, his mouth, his quiet devotion, and the steady certainty that he did not want you smaller.
He wanted all of you. Your sharp mind. Your stubborn mouth. Your curves. Your fire. Your softness. Your laugh when you were trying not to laugh. Every inch.
Every part.
Toto started kissing your jaw, slow at first, but unlike a few hours earlier in the hotel — where he had taken his time, where every touch had felt deliberate, patient, now there was something far more dangerous in the way he touched you.
Hungrier.
His mouth trailed down your neck, his lips hot against your skin, and his hands moved with far more confidence, far more urgency, as if restraint had become entirely optional. You let him. God, you let him.
Your breath caught the second his fingers made quick work of your blouse, buttons barely surviving beneath his determination before he pushed the fabric off your shoulders. Your bra followed almost immediately, and the moment your full breasts spilled free, he actually groaned.
“Beautiful.”
The word sounded wrecked. Starved.
And then his mouth was on you.
He wasted no time, taking one nipple between his lips, sucking hard enough to make your entire body jolt while his thumb circled the other with maddening precision. The sensation was immediate — sharp, hot, devastating.
“Oh God—”
He switched, because apparently your sanity had never been part of his agenda.
His tongue flicked, sucked, teased, worshipped each breast like something sacred, like he could spend hours there and still not be done, his hands sliding over your waist, your hips, your thighs, pushing your skirt up, then off, until it joined the growing mess on his office floor.
Your panties were next. And you let him take those too.
Until suddenly, you were completely bare.
Naked beneath the sharp lights of his office, shamelessly braced against his desk, breathing harder with every second that passed under his gaze.
And Toto looked at you like a man staring at religion.
His hands glided over every inch of exposed skin, his voice low, rough.
“Beautiful…”
His palms traced your hips.
“Perfect…”
His fingers kneaded your thighs, spreading you wider.
“Made to be worshipped.”
The words alone nearly ruined you.
By then, you were already wet — achingly so, your body practically trembling with need, and the way he looked at you only made it worse.
Then he knelt.
A man like Toto Wolff — powerful, intimidating, impossible — dropped to his knees in front of you like that was exactly where he wanted to be.
His hands hooked under your thighs, pulling you closer to the edge of the desk, his eyes dragging over you from below with such open adoration it nearly stole your breath.
Then his mouth found your pussy.
You cried out instantly.
His tongue slid through your wetness, slow and deliberate, tasting, savoring, while one hand spread you wider and the other found your clit, circling it with devastating precision.
“Toto—”
He groaned against you at the sound, and the vibration alone nearly sent you over.
He licked deeper. Slower. Then harder. Like he was learning exactly what broke you apart fastest and had every intention of using it.
Your hands flew to his hair, your hips moving shamelessly, your thighs trembling around his shoulders as he devoured you without hesitation, without pause, like your pleasure was the only thing in that room that mattered.
“Please—”
He didn’t stop.
His tongue flicked faster, his fingers thrusting into you then, curling just right, and suddenly you were gasping, whining, completely beyond dignity.
Then... he stopped.
You nearly sobbed. And when you looked down, he was watching you. On his knees. Lips swollen. Your arousal glistening on his mouth.
You spread your thighs even wider, desperate and entirely past shame.
“Please,” you begged, voice wrecked. “Toto… fuck me. Right here. On this desk.”
He rose immediately. And kissed you. Hard.
You tasted yourself on his lips, and the realization alone nearly drove you insane.
Then you felt him. His cock. Hot. Heavy. Pressed against your entrance.
Your breath caught.
Toto’s forehead rested briefly against yours, his voice low enough to own you completely.
“You are beautiful.”
A pause. His hand gripped your hip hard.
“You are perfect.”
His mouth brushed yours once more.
“And you are mine.”
Then he thrust into you in one deep, powerful stroke.
The sound you made was obscene.
You felt every inch of him, stretching you, filling you so completely your body almost didn’t know how to process it. He gave you no time to recover.
He started moving immediately. Hard. Deep. Each thrust slammed the desk against the floor, your body jolting with every movement, your breasts bouncing beautifully between you, and Toto... God, he noticed.
He noticed everything.
“Beautiful…”
A brutal thrust.
“Perfect…”
Another, deeper somehow.
His hand gripped your hip hard enough to leave marks while the other slid to your ass, squeezing, kneading, controlling the angle exactly how he wanted it.
And you let him.
You met every thrust shamelessly, chasing him just as hard as he drove into you.
“Toto—”
“I know,” he groaned. “I know, Schatz…”
Then suddenly he lifted you. Like you weighed nothing.
He kept himself buried deep inside you as he pinned you against the wall, one hand gripping beneath your thighs, the other bracing you as he pounded into you with even more force.
The new angle destroyed you.
Your head fell back.
Your breasts bounced with every punishing thrust, and Toto’s gaze dropped to them with something dangerously close to worship.
“Look at you…”
He sounded almost feral.
“So fucking beautiful.”
Your orgasm built fast, too fast, your body tightening, shaking, your nails digging into him as every nerve ending caught fire.
“Toto— I’m—”
“I know.”
One particularly deep thrust.
“Come for me.”
And you did. Hard.
Your entire body convulsed around him, pleasure crashing through you so violently you cried out his name without restraint.
The way you clenched around him was enough.
Toto groaned — deep, wrecked, absolutely gone — and buried himself as deep as possible before he followed, his body tensing, his grip bruising, his release hitting with a broken sound against your neck.
For a moment, neither of you moved. Just ragged breathing. Shaking limbs. His forehead against yours.
And then, between uneven breaths, Toto kissed you softly, almost absurdly tender for a man who had just ruined you against office furniture.
For a second, you couldn’t do anything except breathe.
Or at least… try to.
Your lungs felt useless, your heartbeat somewhere beyond reckless, your entire body trembling in the aftermath as if Toto had completely rewritten your nervous system and left it gloriously malfunctioning.
“God…” you whispered, though it came out more like a breathless, disbelieving laugh.
Your forehead dropped to his shoulder. And then, because dignity was clearly no longer invited there, you just melted.
Completely.
You curled into him, still shaking, your arms sliding around his neck as if your body had already decided exactly where it belonged.
With him. Against him.
Your cheek pressed to his skin, warm and slightly damp, and for the first time since he had dragged every coherent thought out of your body and replaced it with pure sensation… you just felt. Happy. Not flustered. Not overwhelmed. Not overthinking. Just… Happy.
Toto, meanwhile, went still in that particular way he did when something clearly affected him more than he had expected.
Because this? This soft, instinctive little collapse into him? Far more dangerous than your teasing.
His arms tightened around you immediately. Protective. Like some deeply buried part of him saw the way you clung and instantly decided the world could wait.
One of his hands slid slowly up your back, soothing, grounding, while the other cupped the back of your head with surprising tenderness.
And when he spoke, his voice was lower than before. Softer.
“You alright?”
The fact that this man could absolutely destroy your ability to form sentences and then ask that so gently was honestly offensive.
You laughed weakly against his neck.
“No,” you mumbled.
He immediately tensed. “No?”
You lifted your head just enough to look at him, dazed but smiling.
“No,” you repeated, lips twitching. “I think I died.”
For one terrifying second, Toto looked genuinely concerned.
Then he realized. And laughed. Deep, warm, completely unguarded.
“Oh, thank God,” he muttered, closing his eyes briefly. “Do not do that to me.”
“You’re saying that as if you weren’t the direct cause.”
“I am aware of my contribution.”
“Contribution?” You stared at him. “That was not a contribution, Toto. That was a full-scale hostile takeover.”
His mouth curved.
“Successful, though.”
You should have rolled your eyes. You wanted to roll your eyes. Instead, you just grinned like someone deeply compromised.
“Arrogant.”
“And yet…”
He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his knuckles lingering against your cheek.
“You seem very comfortable here.”
Your entire heart did something deeply inconvenient.
Because he was right. You were. Still naked. Completely ruined. Leaning against his office wall after making choices that would absolutely horrify HR.
And somehow you had never felt safer.
Your expression must have shifted, because Toto’s smile faded into something quieter. More serious.
He studied you for a moment like he was trying to memorize that version of you too — the softened one, the one without walls, the one tucked against him like she didn’t need to prove a damn thing right then.
His thumb traced your cheekbone.
“You know…” he said softly, “for someone so determined to believe I wouldn’t notice her…”
“Oh my God,” you groaned immediately, hiding your face in his chest again. “You are never letting that go.”
“Never.”
“This is psychological warfare.”
“This,” he said, kissing the top of your head, “is consequences.”
You laughed again, quieter that time. And Toto absolutely treasured the sound.
He shifted carefully, carrying you back toward the desk, not for anything reckless that time, but simply to sit, pulling you into his lap with an ease that felt almost absurdly intimate then.
You went willingly. Mostly because your legs were currently decorative.
“You are insufferably smug,” you mumbled.
“And you are sitting in my lap.”
“Temporary weakness.”
“Of course.”
You rested your head under his chin, his shirt half-open beneath your fingers, and for a little while neither of you said much.
Outside his office, the paddock still existed. Meetings. Engineers. Politics. Drivers. Cameras.
Inside? It was just his heartbeat. Steady. Solid. And one of his large hands absently drawing lazy circles over your back like he was calming himself down too.
Which… Oh. That realization made you tilt your head slightly.
“Wait.”
“Hm?”
“Are you… emotionally compromised?”
Toto looked down at you with immediate suspicion.
“Excuse me?”
You narrowed your eyes.
“You are being very soft right now.”
“I can be soft.”
“Kimi would pay actual money to hear this.”
“Kimi would disappear.”
You laughed so hard you nearly wheezed.
Toto’s expression immediately shifted.
“Too much?”
“No,” you said quickly, still smiling. “No, I’m okay.”
He studied you.
Then, quieter: “Good.”
And there it was again. That thing. The one you were starting to realize was so much more dangerous than lust.
Because yes, Toto desired you. Obviously.
But this? This carefulness? This attentiveness? This terrifyingly sincere way he checked if you were okay like your well-being was somehow tied directly to his own?
That could ruin a woman.
You looked at him for a long second. Then, before common sense could interfere, you said: “I’m really happy I was wrong.”
His brow furrowed slightly.
“About what?”
You smiled.
“That Toto Wolff wouldn’t notice me.”
And for maybe the first time since you had met him you actually left him speechless. And something shifted in his face. Something warm. Almost disbelieving.
Like he still couldn’t quite believe you were there. In his lap. Saying things like that.
His hand rose to your jaw. Tilted your face up. And when he kissed you that time, it wasn’t hungry. It wasn’t desperate. It was worse. Slow. Meaningful.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
“Schatz,” he murmured.
“Mm?”
“There was never a world,” he said quietly, “where I wouldn’t notice you.”
And honestly? Your poor, doomed heart never stood a chance.
*
Later, when you finally emerged from his office with your hair not quite as neat as before and Toto following behind you with a deeply satisfied expression he did not even try to hide, Kimi took one look at you from across the garage and grinned.
You pointed at him.
“Not a word.”
Kimi raised both hands.
“I said nothing.”
George walked past, glanced at Toto, glanced at you, then muttered, “This team needs HR.”
You lifted your chin. “I am regulations.”
Toto’s hand brushed your lower back.
“And she is very good at her job.”
Kimi’s grin widened.
Max texted you three seconds later.
Max: so. Mercedes strategy finally worked?
You looked at Toto. He looked at you. Calm. Impossibly smug.
You typed back.
You: unfortunately, yes.
Max replied immediately.
Max: disgusting. proud. still judging.
You smiled down at your phone.
Toto leaned closer. “Max?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“That he’s judging us.”
Toto hummed. “He can take a number.”
You laughed before you could stop yourself. And Toto smiled at you like that sound alone had just made his entire weekend. Which was, frankly, dangerous. But then again… so were you.
౨ৎ spiderman!choso who has an undeniable infatuation with you
spiderman!choso who can swing through nyc easy peasy, fighting off bad guys and getting his ass beat. but talking to you? absolutely no fucking way did he have the balls for that.
spiderman!choso who you recall to have about a few classes with. the quiet booksmart emo adjacent choso kamo, making eye contact with him when he passed by the campus’s local Starbucks. you’d be chatting away with a friend of yours but couldnt help but notice the coffee he had stacked on top of all his books, black rimmed glasses tipping over the bridge of his nose, striking black tattoo that always infatuated you laying right beneath them. he never forgot the day he practically almost ruined his laptop with all his school stuff and coffee in his hand, you coming over to him and helping him like the generous angel you were. “cho,” you giggled. “you gotta be more careful!” choso felt the heat rise to his cheeks, the nickname, your little laugh, the way you smiled up at him, this was practically his first interaction with you besides a ‘good morning’ when you entered your shared lecture.
spiderman!choso who knew it was utterly pathetic. crushing on some pretty girl just because she helped his clumsy self? if only he could show you how cool he could be, maybe if he was in his spidey suit he could be smooth, more chill. he fought bad guys and criminal day and night, then why the hell couldnt he talk to a pretty girl?
spiderman!choso who’s head raised when he heard his name come from one of your friends mouths. “did you see what spiderman did last night? isnt it so crazy that he can just shoot webs like that?” he tried to not to eavesdrop, but he just couldn’t help it. “spiderman this, spiderman that, whatever! he’s just some other run of the mill guy that thinks he’s some great superhero for just being a good guy.” choso’s ego shattered a little bit, wincing, pretending to be deep into whatever photography work he had due on his laptop. you weren’t impressed with spiderman huh? well, there was only one thing he could do then—choso just had to change your mind.
spiderman!choso who was just finishing up one of his nightly takedowns, blood prickling down his lip under his mask. he was gonna throw in the towel for the night, webbing up his victims tied to a pole, leaving the rest of it to nypd. it was rather late at night, about to be 1 am. his head turned when he heard a familiar giggle, none other than you; the pretty girl in his literature lectures. you stumbled out of the nightclub, waving clumsily for a yellow taxi. you were alone, your coat falling from your shoulders to reveal your pink glittery mini dress, your matching tory burch sandals flipping against the dirty concrete. his heart warmed at the sight, but his spidey senses heightened when he noticed the two men that stood behind you, he already knew their intentions.
spiderman!choso who after beating up a couple of low life douchebags, turns to your side, drunk shock written all over your face when you catch him in that alleyway, throwing out the trash. “sp—spiderman?” you hiccuped, clutching your purse. he looked over to you, flushed and a couple pieces of your hair fraying on your cute little head. he choked for a moment, before remembering he had his mask on. “that’s—thats me!” he choked out nervously, bringing his hand up to scratch his neck. he watched as your eyes widened when he walked closer to you, “dont come any closer!” you squealed, choso spiderman putting his hands up in the air, the two white eye holes of his mask widening comically. “relax, im not here to hurt you sweetheart.” you stumbled on your sandals, almost dropping your pink little coach purse. choso used his webs to grab it before it hit the dirty brooklyn floor. your breath hitched looking up at him, his hand already around you, helping you stabilize yourself. “cmon, let’s get you home.”
spiderman!choso who swings with you to your dorm, you holding onto his neck. he wanted to be for sure you had maded home, so he took it an extra mile of dropping you off at your window. he tucked you in bed, as you croaked out a sleepy drunk “bye, spidey” before he jumped out the window, a tingly warmth in his chest at his proximity with you.
spiderman!choso who tried to eavesdrop again to hear if your opinion on spiderman changed ever so slightly, but all he got were little moments with you—however he wasn’t complaining. “you’re so smart, choso!” you smiled when he solved a math problem for you for one of your business classes. heat rised to his cheeks at the compliment, “it was nothing” that was until one of the cafe tvs played the news headlines again from the nightbefore. “spiderman, at it again! last night in the brooklyn area two juveniles wanted for robbing a nearby bank were found tied up in webs, finally being turned into the police.” the tv then displayed a couple blurry shots of civilian pictures of choso in his suit swinging around. choso watched your face intently to see if he you were forming a newfound opinion. “spiderman, huh?” choso chuckled. you took a sip from your latte, biting your pen. “hes okay.” you stated, with an incoherent demeanor. “now, cho, show me your new photos!” you changed the subject. okay, choso thought. just okay? sure he didn’t do much, but he needed to gain your approval. a normal person wouldve just left it alone at an okay. but no, choso needed more.
