synopsis. yn, ferrari fan and toto wolff's wife, goes to watch the formula one race from the monza grandstand.
warnings. some swearing
note. i realise that the order of the races is not entirely correct, but whatever, it is what it is
MASTERLIST; requests open
f1waggossip
liked by user1, user2 and 193,203 others
f1waggossip After the weekends race at Monza, certain rumours about Toto and yn Wolff have started to spread. Toto was seen entering the paddock alone, while yn was spotted in the grandstand. Sources inside the paddock claim that Mr and Mrs Wolff are divorcing.
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user1 it's so interesting to me that wag pages keep posting rumours about yn when she's said time and time again how much she dislikes the wag term
user2 THEY'RE DIVORCING?
user3 it's just a rumour people, calm down
user4 BUT WHAT IF THE RUMOUR IS TRUE??
user5 no no no, this not happening, they're literally my parents
user6 should we be posting baseless rumours about someones marriage?
user7 !!! by all accounts, they're very happy. this just seems like baseless claims
user8 but she went to the grandstand, that's a little bit weird
user9 the original tweet said that she was with her friends though, like maybe they just wanted to experience the race from the grandstand
user10 no, i'm sorry, but if i was married to toto wolff, i would NOT be watching the races from the grandstand
user11 but then again, you're not married to toto are you?
f1waggossip
liked by user21, user 42 and 293,323 others
f1waggossip [SPOTTED] Toto Wolff and yn Wolff on a date. The Wolffs were spotted on, what looked like, a very cozy date. This happened mere days after rumours started circulating about their apparent divorce. This leaves us wondering if their divorce is happening quietly, while they pretend that everything is fine. Could this be an attempt from Toto, who is famously composed, to hide that anything is wrong? Or is it merely a ploy to distract the public from their divorce?
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user12 f1waggossip is really living up to its name recently
f1waggossip Thank you! We pride ourselves on delivering fresh, reliable gossip!
user13 it's definitely just a ploy!! the divorce will be confirmed by miami!!
user14 this reeks of damage control
user15 finally someone else thinks the same!! toto has always been so composed, there's no way he wouldn't do damage control for this ‼️
user16 this is literally just conjecture
user17 right!!
user18 it's so stupid how people make up things like this just because yn went to monza with her friends
user19 it's so far from monza to divorce
user16 yeah!! besides, if i was divorcing my husband, i would not bring my friends to his workplace and sit there for two hours in the middle of summer in italy
user20 doing that is not divorce behaviour actually
user21 toto is too much of a control freak to not do damage control
user22 i believe in the divorce rumours as much as the next person, but going on a date to do damage control is insane behaviour
user23 i think that both yn and toto are too old to care enough about what social media says about their marriage to do damage control
user24 well yeah, but not doing anything is bad too, especially from the point of view of sponsors
mercedesamgf1
liked by georgerussell63, kimi.antonelli and 543,403 others
mercedesamgf1 welcome back to canada 🇨🇦
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user25 i cannot wait for this!!!
user26 go mercedes ‼️
kimi.antonelli hoping for a good weekend 🤞
mercedesamgf1 we're always hoping for a good weekend
user27 sooo, are we going to talk about the divorce rumours or are we just pretending that's not happening?
user28 this has literally nothing to do with them?? why did u feel the need to bring it up
user27 i was just curious, sue me for that ig
user29 no no, i think it's valid to wonder
user30 valid or parasocial, idk
georgerussell63 p1 and p2 here we come!!
kimi.antonelli yesss!!!
user31 let's goooo 🇨🇦
user32 when's the divorce going to be announced? before or after this weekend?
user33 will yn show up to the gp just to save face?
user34 probably!! i think with all the rumours toto's going to parade her around to give sponsors + fans the illusion that everything is fine, but we know that it's not fine 🤭
user35 hey, so, that's actually an insane take
user36 user34 u should seek professional help, what the fuck
ynwolff
liked by mercedesamgf1, f1 and 145,302 others
ynwolff This is genuinely getting out of hand. Toto and I are not divorcing. I don’t think I owe any of you an explanation, but the amount of rumours I’ve seen recently is crazy. I’ve watched Formula One since I was little. I root for Ferrari (shocking, I know). I went to Monza and sat in the grandstand with my friends because that is something we did when we were students, and we wanted to do it again. I’m sorry to disappoint.
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mercedesamgf1 We'll just have to learn to accept it 😔
ynwolff sorry 😇
scuderiaferrari You're always welcome at Ferrari ❤️
ynwolff I will let you know if that ever becomes necessary
mercedesamgf1 Which will be never
user36 oh, u guys really pissed her off this time
user37 i support women's rights, more importantly i support yn wolff's rights to snap at weird people on the internet ‼️
user38 YN WOLFF IS A TIFOSI. A TIFOSI IS MARRIED TO THE MERCEDES TEAM PRINCIPAL. ACTUAL CINEMA
user39 truly not something i could make up
charles_leclerc ❤️
user40 ONE OF US ONE OF US ONE OF US
lewishamilton i would've gotten you a seat in the garage, yn
ynwolff I know, Lewis ❤️ Next year?
lewishamilton next year!
scuderiaferrari it would be our pleasure to have you for monza next year
user41 let's lay the divorce speculations to rest
user42 ‼️
user43 this was not on my 2026 bingo card
user44 i think we should stop speculating on people's marriages, like we truly do not know these people
user45 agreed!!!
user46 but it's fun
user47 but you do not know these people ‼️
user48 did you clear this with toto first? i mean, this cannot be good for his image
ynwolff I am a grown woman, I do not need my husbands permission to post on social media. His image is fine, by the way
Summary: You are very young, gorgeous, controversial, and permanently glued to Toto Wolff’s side after his divorce. The paddock has opinions. The media has headlines. Toto has zero shame.
Warnings: age gap (20/54), paddock gossip, divorced!Toto, jealous drivers, chaotic Mercedes family energy, people being annoying about your relationship, Toto being embarrassingly in love, reader being a menace.
Word count: 2.8k
a/n: Well… I had a free afternoon yesterday and an idea.
The first article called you a mysterious young blonde seen leaving the Mercedes motorhome.
The second one called you Toto Wolff’s midlife crisis in heels.
The third one was brave enough to call you the paddock’s most expensive accessory.
That one made you laugh so hard you almost spilled coffee over Toto’s white shirt.
“You find this amusing?” he asked, standing in front of the mirror in his hotel suite, fixing his cufflinks.
You sat on the bed in one of his shirts, bare legs crossed, phone in hand, grin wide.
“Very. They called me an accessory.”
Toto glanced at you through the mirror.
“With your personality? They clearly haven’t met you.”
“You mean I’m too loud to be jewelry?”
“You argued with a journalist yesterday because he mispronounced my name.”
“He said Wolf. Like the animal. It is Wolff. With two Fs. Respect the brand.”
His mouth twitched.
There it was. That look. The one that started most of your problems. The one that made people whisper behind garage walls and pretend they weren’t staring when Toto placed his hand on your lower back.
The one that said: yes, she is twenty; yes, I am old enough to know better; yes, I have completely lost my mind; no, I do not care.
And he really did not care. After his divorce from Susie, everyone expected Toto to become colder. Sharper. More impossible.
Instead, he found you.
A twenty-year-old chaos machine with pretty eyes, fast comebacks, and a dangerous talent for walking into rooms like you owned them.
Nobody understood it. You did.
He made you feel safe.
You made him feel alive.
Unfortunately, the entire paddock had decided this was a group project.
By the time you arrived at the circuit that morning, the photographers were already waiting.
You stepped out of the Mercedes car first, wearing sunglasses, a black dress, and boots that made you look like trouble with a VIP pass.
Toto followed. His hand found your waist before the first camera clicked.
The paddock exploded in flashes.
You leaned slightly toward him.
“They’re going to write that you bought me the dress.”
“I did.”
“Toto.”
“You liked it.”
“That is so against the feminist image I’m trying to build.”
He looked down at you, deeply amused.
“You also made me buy the boots.”
“You offered.”
“You looked at them for six seconds too long.”
“That is a normal shopping behavior.”
“That is your version of begging.”
You gasped.
“Torger Wolff, I am an independent woman.”
“Yes. An independent woman currently using my Amex.”
You tried to glare at him. It failed because he smiled. That was unfair. Toto’s smile should have required FIA regulation.
Inside the paddock, people turned. Some openly. Some pretending to check emails. Some whispering into coffee cups.
You were used to it by now. At first, it had hurt. The comments. The looks. The assumptions.
She’s with him for money.
He’s with her because she’s young.
Classic divorced man behavior.
She’ll leave when she gets bored.
He’ll move on when the novelty fades.
They had no idea how many nights you spent curled beside him while he worked late, your cheek pressed to his arm, half-asleep while he read reports.
They had no idea how gently he held your face when you got overwhelmed.
They had no idea how often you told him he was impossible, and how often he answered, “And yet you are still here.”
They saw the age gap. They saw the scandal. They saw a headline.
You saw him. Your Toto. The man who always remembered how you liked your tea, who complained when you skipped meals, who let you sit in his office during strategy meetings with your legs tucked under you like the world’s least professional team mascot. Which, according to George, you had officially become.
“You’re here,” George said when he spotted you in the Mercedes garage. “Good. Morale has improved by 74%.”
You removed your sunglasses.
“Only 74?”
“Kimi was sulking about simulator feedback.”
Kimi looked up from across the garage. “I was processing.”
“You looked dead inside,” George corrected.
“That is my processing face.”
You nodded seriously. “Very Mercedes of you.”
George pointed at you. “See? Mascot.”
You turned to Toto. “Fire him.”
Toto, reading something on his tablet, did not even look up.
“I cannot fire my driver because he called you a mascot.”
“You can. Be romantic.”
George choked on his drink.
Kimi muttered, “I want no involvement.”
Toto finally looked up. His eyes moved over your face with open affection.
“I can make Bradley write a statement that you are a strategic emotional support asset.”
You blinked.
George whispered, “That’s worse.”
“It sounds official,” Toto said.
“It sounds like you found me in a spreadsheet,” you replied.
He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.
“If I found you in a spreadsheet, you would be the only number worth checking.”
The garage went silent. George stared at the ceiling. Kimi physically turned around.
An engineer dropped a pen.
You felt your cheeks warm.
“Toto,” you whispered.
“Yes?”
“That was disgusting.”
“You smiled.”
“I am suing you for emotional damage.”
“You can use my lawyer.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
No. You did not. That was the problem. You loved him so much it sometimes scared you. Especially in moments like this, when he stood in the middle of chaos, team radios crackling, mechanics moving around him, cameras watching from every angle, and still looked at you like you were the only person in the paddock.
Across the garage, James Allison appeared with a mug in hand and the tired expression of a man who had already seen three different PR disasters before breakfast.
“Morning,” he said. Then he looked at Toto’s hand on your waist. “Ah. The scandal has arrived.”
You grinned. “Good morning to you too, James.”
James took a sip of coffee. “I assume we are ignoring the latest article?”
Toto’s face barely moved.
“Yes.”
“It says you’ve lost your mind.”
“I have won eight Constructors’ Championships. I am allowed one recreational breakdown.”
You burst out laughing.
James sighed. “At least she laughs at your jokes. Someone should.”
Toto’s thumb rubbed softly against your side.
“She has excellent taste.”
“In men?” James asked.
“In everything.”
James looked at you. “Blink twice if he paid you to say that.”
“I would,” you said, “but then he’d start negotiating.”
Toto tilted his head. “You enjoy my negotiations.”
“That sounds illegal in a garage.”
George made a wounded noise. “Some of us are trying to have a career here.”
The chaos only got worse near the hospitality area.
Fred Vasseur was standing with a coffee, sunglasses on, looking like a man who had personally survived ten Ferrari strategy meetings and had the emotional scars to prove it.
He spotted Toto, then you, then Toto’s hand at your back.
Fred smiled. Dangerously.
“Toto,” he said. “Good to see you. And your… motivation program.”
You pressed your lips together. Toto looked bored already.
“Fred.”
Fred looked at you kindly. “You are very brave.”
You frowned. “For dating him?”
“For listening to him talk about tyre degradation voluntarily.”
You laughed. Toto gave Fred a flat look.
Fred continued, delighted with himself. “At least now we know Mercedes found performance. He smiles. Very suspicious.”
“Toto smiles,” you said.
Fred looked at you like you had announced Ferrari had made a calm strategy call.
“No.”
“He does.”
“When?”
“When people are scared of him.”
Fred nodded. “Ah, yes. Romance.”
Toto’s arm tightened around you.
“You are very funny today, Fred.”
“I know. I am thinking of changing careers.”
“To comedy?”
“To relationship counselling. First advice: try someone your own age.”
There it was. The tiny needle. Wrapped in humor. Delivered with a smile.
Your stomach tightened before you could stop it. Toto noticed. He turned his head slightly, gaze sharpening.
“Careful,” he said.
One word. Quiet. Enough.
Fred lifted both hands, still smiling, but his eyes softened when he saw your face.
“Only teasing,” he said. “She is good for you. Annoying, because you are already unbearable, but good.”
Toto’s expression eased.
You looked at Fred. “Thank you. I think.”
Fred leaned closer to you. “If he becomes too much, Ferrari has espresso.”
Toto answered immediately. “She is allergic to poor strategy.”
You nearly wheezed.
Fred placed a hand over his heart.
“That was personal.”
“Yes.”
You walked away with Toto while Fred called after him in French.
You did not understand all of it. But you understood enough.
“Toto,” you said once you were out of earshot.
“Hm?”
“You don’t have to defend me every time.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No. You really don’t.”
He stopped walking. That was dangerous too. Because when Toto Wolff stopped in the middle of the paddock, people behaved like a royal decree had been issued.
He turned to you fully.
“You think I defend you because I believe you cannot do it yourself?”
You looked up at him. At 196 cm, he had the unfair advantage of making eye contact feel like a weather event.
“No,” you said quietly. “I know I can defend myself.”
“Good.”
“I just hate that they keep saying it.”
His face changed. Softened. Only for you.
“That you are with me for money?”
You nodded once.
“And that I am with you because you’re young.”
His jaw tightened. Behind him, the paddock kept moving. Mechanics, journalists, drivers, cameras, noise. Around you, the world kept trying to turn your love into entertainment.
Toto reached for your hand.
“Look at me.”
You did.
“I know why you are with me.”
Your throat tightened.
“Do you?”
“Yes.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “Because you are insane.”
You stared at him.
He continued, completely serious. “You enjoy arguing with me. You steal my hoodies. You eat half my food after saying you are not hungry. You make my life impossible.”
You tried very hard not to smile.
“And,” he said, voice lower, “you love me.”
Your smile faded into something softer.
“I do.”
“I know.”
“You sound very confident.”
“I am.”
“Arrogant.”
“In love.”
Oh. That shut you up.
Toto Wolff had many talents. Making you speechless was one of his favorites.
Before you could answer, a voice came from your left.
“Tragic.”
You turned.
Lando Norris stood there with a grin wide enough to get him banned from three team principals’ offices.
“Oh no,” you said.
“Oh yes,” Lando replied. “I just witnessed romance in broad daylight. In a paddock. During a race weekend. Disgusting.”
Toto looked deeply unimpressed.
“Do you need something?”
Lando looked at you. “Yes. I’m here to rescue her.”
You laughed. “From what?”
“From wasting her youth.”
Toto’s eyebrows lifted.
Lando continued with the confidence of a man who had chosen violence before lunch.
“Respectfully, Toto, you’re a legend. Icon. Terrifying. Great hair for your age.”
“For my age,” Toto repeated.
You covered your mouth.
Lando gave you a charming smile. “And you are way too pretty to spend every weekend listening to him say ‘we need to analyze the data.’ Come to McLaren. We have fun colors.”
Toto’s hand settled at your waist again. Possessive. Calm. Very public.
“She likes black.”
“I like black,” you confirmed.
Lando sighed. “Of course you do. Corrupted by Mercedes.”
Toto leaned slightly toward him.
“She also likes winning.”
Lando touched his chest. “That hurt.”
“It was meant to.”
You gave Lando a sympathetic smile. “You’re very sweet.”
“I know.”
“And very pretty.”
“I know.”
“And absolutely not my type.”
Lando looked offended. “What is your type?”
You pointed at Toto.
“Corporate villain with commitment issues and a terrifying calendar.”
Toto looked down at you.
“I have no commitment issues.”
“You divorced a woman and then started dating a twenty-year-old who steals your team hoodies.”
“That is commitment.”
Lando stared between you both.
“You two are weirdly cute and I hate it.”
“Good,” Toto said.
“Still, when he starts talking about quarterly projections, call me.”
You grinned. “He already does.”
“And you stayed?”
“I love him.”
The words came out easily. Too easily.
Lando’s expression softened, just a little. The teasing stayed, because he was Lando, but the edge disappeared.
“Well,” he said. “That ruins my whole rescue mission.”
Toto gave him a dry look. “Devastating.”
Lando pointed at him. “Be nice to her, old man.”
Toto’s eyes narrowed.
You grabbed Toto’s arm before he could murder a McLaren driver with silence.
“He is nice to me.”
Lando nodded. “Good. Because if he isn’t, half the grid will form a queue.”
Toto’s smile was sharp.
“They can queue.”
Lando wisely left. You watched him go, laughing under your breath.
“You’re jealous,” you said.
“I am observant.”
“You looked like you were calculating how to buy McLaren and shut it down.”
“Only briefly.”
“Toto.”
“He called me old.”
“You are old.”
He looked offended.
You patted his chest. “My old man.”
“That is worse.”
“My rich old man?”
“That is what the media says.”
“My handsome rich old man?”
His mouth twitched.
“Better.”
“My terrifying handsome rich old man who owns too many black shirts and thinks flirting is a risk assessment?”
He bent his head closer.
“You love my black shirts.”
“I love taking them off you.”
His eyes darkened. You smiled innocently.
Behind you, someone coughed. Bradley Lord stood two meters away with an iPad and the haunted face of a PR man experiencing live cardiac decline.
“I heard nothing,” Bradley said.
“Good,” Toto replied.
Bradley looked at you. “Please stop saying things that become headlines.”
“I didn’t say it to a journalist.”
“You said it near air. That is enough.”
You leaned into Toto’s side. “Bradley hates love.”
Bradley looked at Toto. “I hate preventable reputational incidents.”
Toto nodded. “Understandable.”
“Also,” Bradley added, “there is a camera team waiting for you both near hospitality.”
You frowned. “Both?”
“Yes. Apparently your presence increases engagement.”
You turned to Toto slowly.
“I am the mascot.”
Toto looked smug.
“I told you. Strategic emotional support asset.”
Bradley closed his eyes.
“I am begging you not to put that on a T-shirt.”
You gasped. “We are putting that on a T-shirt.”
“No,” Bradley said.
“Yes,” Toto said at the same time.
Bradley opened his eyes in betrayal.
“You are supposed to be the adult.”
“I am.”
“You are encouraging her.”
“She is charming.”
“She is a liability.”
“She is mine.”
The words landed before you were ready. Bradley went quiet. You looked up at Toto.
His gaze stayed on you, steady and open. No shame and no hesitation. No little glance around to see who had heard.
He wanted them to hear.
You swallowed.
“You can’t say things like that in the paddock,” you whispered.
“I just did.”
“People will talk.”
“People already talk.”
“They’ll say you’re insane.”
“I am.”
Your lips parted. He brushed his thumb along your cheek.
“For you,” he added.
Oh, that was unfair. Completely illegal. You tried to save yourself with sarcasm.
“Careful, old man. You’re getting sentimental.”
“I am divorced. Apparently this is expected.”
You laughed, and he smiled. Real smile. Soft smile. Your smile.
A camera flashed from somewhere nearby. Then another. You glanced toward the photographers. For once, you did not move away. Neither did Toto. Let them write. Let them guess. Let them turn your love into jokes, scandals, think pieces, and badly cropped photos.
They could say you were too young. They could say he had lost his mind. Maybe he had. Maybe love looked ridiculous from the outside when people were too boring to understand it.
Toto leaned down, close enough that only you heard him.
“You are quiet.”
“I’m thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
“I know.”
His fingers squeezed your waist.
“What are you thinking?”
You looked up at him, at the man everyone feared, judged, wanted something from. The man who let you steal his coffee and ruin his schedule. The man who kissed your forehead before meetings and texted you from across the garage just to ask if you had eaten. The man who had gone completely, publicly, hopelessly soft for you.
“I’m thinking,” you said, “that if I’m your midlife crisis, you’re handling it very well.”
Toto’s laugh was low and warm.
“Thank you.”
“And I’m thinking,” you added, “that I love you.”
His expression shifted.
The paddock blurred. The noise faded. For one second, it was only him looking at you like you had just handed him the world.
“I love you too,” he said.
Simple and honest. Just truth.
Then George walked past holding a banana and said, “Are you two being emotionally inappropriate again?”
You sighed.
Toto did not even look away from you.
“Yes.”
George nodded. “Cool. Just checking.”
Kimi appeared behind him. “Bradley says no kissing near sponsor walls.”
You smiled sweetly.
“Toto?”
“Yes, Schatz?”
“Where are the sponsor walls?”
Bradley shouted from somewhere in the distance, “NO.”
Toto smiled. The dangerous one. The one that meant the PR department had lost.
Then he took your hand and led you straight toward hospitality, cameras flashing, paddock staring, drivers gossiping, Fred probably preparing another comment, James definitely needing stronger coffee.
And you?
You walked beside him like you belonged there. Because you did. Young. Controversial. Madly in love with him.
Summary: when Bryce lands his dream job at Mercedes, he's warned about one cardinal rule: stay away from the brilliant chief engineer. But some lessons can only be learned the hard way … and some mistakes cost everything
The hum of the Brackley factory is music to Bryce’s ears. It’s the sound of potential, of finely tuned machines and even more finely tuned minds, all working toward a singular, glorious purpose.
His new ID badge feels heavy and important against his shirt. He glances down at it for the tenth time: Bryce Prescott, Systems Engineer, Mercedes-AMG PETRONAS Formula 1 Team. It feels like a dream.
“Alright, settle in,” Jeremy says, gesturing to a sleek, minimalist workstation. “Your computer is already configured. All the software you need is loaded. Log-in details are in the welcome packet.” Jeremy is sharp, with eyes that seem to miss nothing.
“Thanks. It’s … incredible,” Bryce says, running a hand over the cool surface of the desk.
A woman with a kind smile and a headset permanently affixed to one ear rolls her chair over. “I’m Rosie. Don’t let Jeremy scare you, his bark is worse than his bite.”
Jeremy scoffs. “I don’t bark. I operate with German efficiency.”
Rosie winks at Bryce. “He’s been saying that since he spent a week in Stuttgart. Anyway, welcome. The first day is mostly just getting your bearings. HR will have sent you about a hundred modules to complete.”
“Looking forward to it,” Bryce says, his enthusiasm genuine. He’s ready to absorb everything.
“Just a bit of friendly advice,” Jeremy starts, leaning against the partition between their desks. He lowers his voice slightly. “There aren’t many rules here, besides the obvious ones. Don’t leak data, don’t crash the simulator, and for the love of God, don’t mess with the coffee machine before nine.”
Rosie chuckles. “He’s serious about the coffee. But there is one other thing. Sort of an unwritten rule.”
Bryce leans in, intrigued. “A secret F1 rule? I’m all ears.”
“See her?” Rosie nods discreetly across the open-plan office.
Bryce’s eyes follow her gaze. He sees you. You’re standing by a massive screen displaying complex telemetry data, a tablet in one hand, your brow furrowed in concentration. You’re wearing a simple black team polo and trousers, yet you command the space around you as if it were a throne room. Your focus is absolute, your presence magnetic. He feels an instant jolt, a current of attraction that surprises him with its intensity.
“Wow,” he breathes out, a little too loudly.
Jeremy clears his throat. “That’s our chief engineer. She’s brilliant. A genius, really. And she’s … off-limits.”
“Off-limits?” Bryce asks, a slow grin spreading across his face. “What is this, high school? Is she a secret agent? Does she have a jealous MMA fighter for a boyfriend?”
“Something like that,” Rosie mutters, looking away. “Just … trust us, Bryce. Admire the work, not the person. It’s just the one rule. The cardinal rule, really. It makes life easier for everyone.”
“Got it,” Bryce says, though he doesn’t get it at all. It sounds like a challenge. And Bryce Prescott has never backed down from a challenge.
***
An hour later, he finds his chance. You’re walking toward the small kitchenette, and he times his own journey for a coffee refill perfectly.
“Tough day at the office?” He asks, his voice smooth. He leans against the counter as you grab a mug.
You glance up, your eyes analytical, assessing him for a fraction of a second before offering a polite, professional smile. “First day? Welcome to the team. I’m Y/N.”
“Bryce. And thanks. I was just admiring your work on the new floor assembly simulations. That’s some seriously impressive aerodynamic mapping.” He knows his stuff, and he’s not afraid to show it.
“Thank you,” you say, your tone appreciative but concise. You turn to the coffee machine. “It’s been a team effort.”
“I’m sure,” he says, moving a little closer. “But someone has to lead the charge. Must be a lot of pressure, being the chief.”
“Pressure is part of the job description.” You press a button, and the machine whirs to life.
Across the room, Bryce can feel Jeremy’s eyes burning into the back of his head. He ignores it.
“Well, maybe I could help you de-stress after work sometime,” he suggests, his voice dropping an octave. “There’s a pub just down the road, I’m told. A celebratory ‘first day’ drink for me, a ‘you’re a genius’ drink for you.”
Your hand pauses over your mug. You turn to face him fully now, your expression unreadable but your eyes holding a new, firm light. “I appreciate the offer, Bryce, but I have a strict policy about mixing work and my personal life.”
“Policies are meant to be broken, aren’t they? That’s how we innovate.”
“Not that one,” you say, your voice perfectly even. There’s no hostility in it, just a finality that should be unmistakable. You pick up your mug. “It was good to meet you. I hope you enjoy your time here.”
You walk away, leaving him standing by the counter. He watches you go, a smirk playing on his lips. He sees it not as a rejection, but as a test. You’re just being professional. He respects that. But he’s not giving up.
***
For the next two hours, he finds subtle ways to orbit your desk. He has a legitimate question about a data channel, which you answer efficiently. He then has a follow-up that could have been an email.
“I was just thinking,” he says, leaning over your desk, a little too close, “that the simulation parameters could be tweaked to …”
You cut him off, your eyes never leaving your screen. “Send me your thoughts in an email with the proposed parameters, Bryce. I’ll review it when I have a moment.”
“Right. Of course.” He lingers. “It’s just … you know, sometimes it’s better to talk things through in person. Get a feel for the energy.”
You finally look up at him. The polite mask is gone, replaced by a flicker of impatience. “My energy is currently focused on hitting our deadline for the Austin upgrade package. An email will be sufficient.”
He retreats, but he’s not deterred. He’s just recalibrating his approach. He thinks you're playing hard to get, that this is part of the game at this level.
Rosie wheels her chair over to his desk a few minutes later, her expression strained. “Bryce. What are you doing?”
“I’m doing my job,” he says innocently. “Collaborating with the chief engineer.”
“No,” she says, her voice a harsh whisper. “You’re not. You’re circling her like a shark. We told you. Everyone told you.”
“So, what’s the big secret?” He finally asks, annoyed. “Is she married to a prince? Is she dating Lewis Hamilton?”
“Worse,” Jeremy chimes in, not even bothering to turn around. “Just drop it. For your own good.”
Bryce throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine. Message received. I’ll back off.”
But five minutes later, you stand up and stretch, arching your back after hours hunched over data. It’s an unconscious, innocent movement, but Bryce’s eyes are on you. And he’s not the only one who notices.
The atmosphere in the room shifts. It’s subtle at first, like a change in air pressure before a storm. The low chatter dies down. Keyboards click a little softer. Then, Bryce sees him.
Toto Wolff strides into the engineering bay. He doesn’t walk so much as he consumes the space, his tall frame clad in a crisp white team shirt. His presence is immense, sucking the very air out of the room. He moves with a quiet, predatory grace that demands attention without ever asking for it. He’s talking to the head of aerodynamics, but his eyes are scanning the room, taking in every detail.
Bryce feels a thrill. This is the man himself. The legend. He tries to look busy, important.
Toto finishes his conversation and his gaze lands on you. A small, almost imperceptible smile touches his lips. He starts walking in Bryce’s direction, and for a moment, Bryce thinks he’s going to be introduced, that this is his moment to impress the team principal.
But Toto walks straight past his desk and stops beside yours. He places a hand gently on the small of your back, his touch both possessive and tender.
“Progress?” He asks, his Austrian accent wrapping around the word. His voice is low, meant only for you.
You lean into his touch almost invisibly, a micromovement of relaxation. “We found a discrepancy in the wind tunnel correlation. I’m isolating it now.”
“Good,” he murmurs. His eyes then flick over to Bryce. They are chips of ice. The brief warmth he showed you is gone, replaced by a flat, cold assessment. He saw. He saw the way Bryce was looking at you. He saw everything.
Oh.
Oh.
The realization crashes down on Bryce with the force of a car hitting a barrier at 300 kilometers per hour. The “jealous MMA fighter boyfriend” joke. Rosie saying it was “something like that.” Jeremy saying it was “worse.” The cardinal rule.
It all clicks into place with sickening clarity.
Toto’s gaze holds him for a second longer before he turns his attention back to you. “Walk with me,” he says softly. He guides you away from the desk, his hand never leaving your back. They murmur to each other as they walk toward Toto’s glass-walled office at the far end of the floor.
Bryce feels his blood run cold. Jeremy and Rosie are pointedly staring at their screens, refusing to look at him. He feels like he’s been painted with a target.
Five minutes pass. Ten. It’s the longest ten minutes of Bryce’s life. He tries to work, but the code on his screen looks like a foreign language.
Then, the door to the office opens. Toto emerges. Alone. He walks back onto the engineering floor, his expression unreadable, his pace deliberate. He doesn’t go back to your desk. He walks directly to Bryce’s.
He stops, towering over him. Bryce forces himself to look up.
“Bryce Prescott,” Toto says. His voice is quiet, but it carries the weight of a judge’s gavel. It’s not angry. It’s something far more terrifying. It’s calm. Final.
“Mr. Wolff,” Bryce stammers, his mouth suddenly dry. “An honor to meet you, sir.”
Toto doesn’t acknowledge the pleasantry. He places his hands on Bryce’s desk, leaning in slightly. “We have a culture here at Mercedes. It is a culture of respect. We respect the work, we respect the car, and above all, we respect each other. Do you understand this?”
“Yes, sir. Absolutely.”
“The men and women in this room are the best in the world at what they do,” Toto continues, his voice still unnervingly level. “They are here to win championships. They are not here to be distracted. They are not here to be made to feel uncomfortable in their own workplace.” He straightens up. “Your behavior today has shown a fundamental lack of judgment and a complete disregard for the culture we have built.”
“Sir, I … I was just trying to be friendly. I didn’t mean any disrespect,” Bryce pleads, his heart hammering against his ribs.
“You have been here for less than six hours,” Toto states, as if reading from a file. “And in that time, you have managed to harass my chief engineer and disrupt this entire department. That is not being friendly. That is being a liability.” He pauses, his eyes locking onto Bryce’s. “We don’t have room for liabilities here.”
The words hang in the air, cold and heavy.
“Your contract is terminated, effective immediately,” Toto says, without a trace of emotion. “Security will escort you from the building. Your personal belongings will be couriered to you.”
Bryce just stares, speechless. Fired? He’s been here for mere hours. He can’t be fired.
“But … I just started,” he whispers, the words feeling pathetic and small.
Toto’s expression doesn’t change. “And you have just finished.”
He turns and walks away without a backward glance. Two security guards, who seemed to materialize out of nowhere, are suddenly standing beside Bryce’s desk. As they lead him away, past the rows of silent, focused engineers, his gaze falls on your workstation. You’re back at your desk, already deep in concentration, your focus once again absolute. But as he passes, you look up, and for a single, fleeting moment, your eyes meet his.
There’s no malice in them, no triumph. Just a quiet, sad confirmation. Then you look back at your screen, the problem of Bryce Prescott already solved, discarded, and forgotten, a minor anomaly in the data, now corrected.
genre: smut, affair, erotic literature, angst, forbidden romance, mentions of drug abuse, age gap
word count: 15.3k
gluttony (noun) — habitual greed or excess in eating.
nsfw warning under the cut!
18+...fingering, thigh riding
inspired by red sex (re-strung) [rakhi singh] !
cherry here!...this is what i like to call a "special appearance" by the one and only non-driver i'll ever write about—welcome to the twisted world of gluttony mwah!
Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him, to all hell—fuck him.
You can’t really say why you’ve stuck around for so long. He treats you like shit, he leaves you waiting, and yet, you stay put. But right now, as you dial his number for the millionth time in a row, you suppose it’s a good enough time to call it quits.
The sound of thunder strikes harshly and the sensation of water dripping down the bridge of your nose makes you look up, cursing furthermore. Rain starts to pour with zero mercy to you and your mini skirt, leaving you to rush up to the mansion, hoping he’s home.
That same morning, you saw him. That same morning, he promised you dinner. That same morning, he could have warned you that he wouldn’t show up on time. That same morning, he said a lot of things.
And none of them turned out to be true.
Ding! Ding! Ding!
The second you get your hands on him—Benedict Wolff is a dead man.
In less than a minute, the door swings open, and you’re just about ready to let all hell break loose, but the tiny hum that comes from below stops you just in time. Jack blinks with those innocent eyes of his, frowns at the sight of you drenched and shivering, teeth chattering for good measure.
“He’s not home,” is all he says, glancing over his shoulder. “Dad!”
“No, no, Jackie, wait!” you hiss, crouching down to his level. The thought of Toto makes your stomach churn, not ready to speak to him if not necessary. And that’s the thing—it’s not. But Asshole of the Year, Benedict, has cornered you to it, so you really don’t have much of a choice than to do just that. The blond boy blinks curiously, turning back to you with a pout. You over exaggerate your grin, brushing his cheek with your thumb before giving it a soft pinch that makes him smile. “How about you just let Ben know that I called him, yeah? There’s no need to call for—”
“Jack?”
Fuck.
Large footsteps make their way towards the entrance, signaling the Austrian who soon towers over both of you. Toto frowns, glancing down at you as you hold onto the tiny boy's hands, still unable to move. He says your name once, shit, maybe even twice, but when you fail to register any of that, he takes a quick look out into the driveway.
“Don’t tell me he stood you up again?”
This gets you. Standing up, you brush your hand sheepishly across the fabric of your skirt, tugging it down as you realize just how short it falls. It’s embarrassing that even Toto knows that this habit of his son is something that’s become somewhat of a routine. It’s always you who shows up with cold glares meant for Benedict, and it’s always Benedict who always spits out all kinds of excuses for not being there for you. All of it ends with the slam of a door, you two yelling at each other angrily, and then—silence. Toto tries to not think about it too long, always gets uncomfortable picturing just what’s going on in there, so he always does the first thing he can think of: take Jack out for ice cream.
Only this time, that just won’t work. Lightning strikes as you flinch at the cruel sound, awkwardly licking your lips once before letting out a weak chuckle in a way that doesn’t seem all that true. “Jack says he’s not home?”
You ignore his initial question, okay then. He nods, face firm with an expression you can’t quite read outloud. “He’s not.” A beat. “But feel free to wait for him inside.”
You freeze. “Oh, no, that’s alright—”
“Yes!” Jack squeals, reminding you of his presence. “And we can continue watching that French film from last week!”
This time you smile sweetly over at the young boy, eyes crinkling with amusement. “For what? For you to fall asleep on me again?”
Jack giggles, which in return, finally makes Toto crack a smile. His large hand lazily combs Jack’s hair before he looks back at you with an intense stare. “To be fair, The Little Prince is a bit of a snoozefest.”
“I beg to differ!” you shriek, but you know you’ve fallen into both their games.
Toto softens up. “Come on—stay.”
Your chest tightens by the way he says it, like he actually wants you here. But deep down, you know he’s just keeping you because Jack likes your company. Either way, you feel yourself nod slowly. “O-Okay.”
The blond boy shoots back into the comfort of his house, leaving you there with a man who makes you feel like an ant. His height never failed to make you blush. “You can take a warm shower, if you’d like,” he offers when you step inside, closing the door behind you. “If not, you’ll get sick.”
You can’t seem to find your voice, being this close to him. “I, uh, should.”
Toto can sense your nerves, he can smell them just as good too. He smiles gingerly, trying to help ease them. “You know your way, sweetheart.”
Yup.
Without saying anything else—mainly because you don’t trust yourself—you tilt your head into a small nod, silently thanking him, and rush up the stairs, hearing Jack telling you not to take too long.
Benedict and you weren’t ever official, though it sure felt like it. You fought like a couple, fucked like a couple, and sure as hell struggled like a couple. There was not a single ounce of health in this ‘relationship’ of yours or whatever you want to call it, but sometimes, he thought that was enough. If you had to take a wild guess, he asked you to be his girlfriend over a hundred times, and you turned down every single one.
Sure, he was a nice one—when he wanted to be—but you weren’t that stupid. No way would you ever willingly go out with him with a label such as that one. It’d be awfully suffocating, you bet.
So then, why were you still here?
The answer is downstairs, taking care of his young son while waiting for his other.
-
You can’t keep doing this to her!
Doing what?
This! Having her wait for you like today, Benedict!
With one clumsy hand reaching up to dry your hair, the other digs into Benedict’s drawer, taking out a pair of boxers and pajamas. They fit too big, and his t-shirt swallows you whole, but that will have to do for now. You hear Toto let out a tired sigh, clearly frustrated by his eldest boy.
She doesn’t have to stick by you, you know?
Silence
Have you ever wondered why she might?
Your breath hitches.
Benedict says something, but you can’t quite hear it, so you press your ear against the wall, praying to be able to decipher the rest. But instead, you hear the Austrian man speak up again.
Because she likes you, Ben, that’s why. Because she cares for you. A beat. Aren’t you always telling me how much you love her?
“Shit,” you mumble, hoping you heard wrong. “Please no.”
I do, Benedict confesses. I’m just not good at…showing it to her.
Your eyes screw shut with horror, nibbling onto your bottom lip. Toto hums, surely patting his son's shoulder with comfort. Not that he deserves it.
Well, you’re going to have to find a way to show it because if not…she’ll soon realize that she has nothing to do here with you.
The sound of his office door clicking open is what ultimately makes you fling across the room, playing it off as if you were trying to get rid of the knots in your hair. A gentle knock then comes through. “Can I come in?”
“In a minute!” you yelp, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You count to five before you answer again. “You can come in now!”
Quietly, Benedict enters his room with his head hung low with embarrassment. After a long talk with his Dad, he’s realized, yeah, he does need to step up his game if he wants things to work out with you. Everything between you two has been out of pure luck, and it was only a matter of time until you finally came to your senses and ditched him. And he can’t have that.
“I’m sorry about today,” he apologizes, keeping the distance between you friendly. “I-I-I forgot about our—”
“It’s fine,” you cut him off, not wanting to hear him admit that he let slip your existence and that date he had begged you to say yes to for weeks. “I shouldn’t have held such high expectations when it came to you.”
His gaze flickers. “Are you serious?”
You shrug. “What?”
Benedict scoffs, crossing his arms against his chest. “I’m trying to make things right between us and you say shit like that?”
“Like what?” you rebuttal. “The truth? I waited for you for hours, Ben, and you never showed up.”
“I was busy!”
“You made me look like a fool.”
“I was busy!”
“And on top of that, you left me stranded in the rain!”
“I. Was. Busy.” he spits out, eyebrows furrowed now.
“Yeah?” you challenge, copying his stupid stance. “With what?”
His lips falter into a solid line, looking everywhere else but at you.
You nod robotically, finding his silence as the answer you had been suspecting for weeks. You could never fully turn it on him though—he owned you nothing, you two weren’t together.
“Listen,” you start. “I already promised Jack that I’d finish watching The Little Prince with him, but as soon as I’m done with that, I’m also done with you.”
His eyes glance back up, searching to see if you were being honest. Panic paints his boyish features as he rapidly makes his way over, reaching for your hands. “You don’t mean that—”
You pull away rather rudely, making Benedict flinch with surprise because this isn’t like you at all. “I’ll bring your clothes back as soon as I wash them.”
With that, you brush past him, down the stairs, and with Jack who giggles excitedly as he unpauses the movie from where you left off last time.
And Toto—who knows something is clearly wrong.
Once again.
-
“Your girlfriend hasn’t showed up in a couple days now, honey, is everything alright?” Susie questions over early breakfast, paying close attention to how Benedict reacts with his jaw tense and his smile not really there.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” he states. “She never was.”
“Really?” the blonde whispers, almost as if she was afraid of hurting his feelings with her disbelief. “I surely would have bet that you two were seeing eachot—”
“Yeah, well, we’re not,” Benedicts says, this time with more edge to his voice.
“Don’t take out your anger on Susie,” Toto warns. “I told you to fix things, and instead, you ruined them, so please, if you’re going to be mad at anyone, be mad at yourself.”
Jack quietly chews his food, stabbing his fork into a piece of melon before brushing his hair from just above his eyes. “Why would you scare her away, Ben?”
“I don’t know!” Benedict yells, making his younger brother flinch. Susie’s eyes grow wide with worry. “I think I n-need to go on a walk or something,” he declares, chair screeching violently as he takes a stand. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
Not long after, they can hear the door open and close, and just like that, he’s gone. Susie glances over at her husband who has yet to say anything, but whatever it was, it probably wasn’t anything good. And anyways, she knows she probably shouldn’t have butt in in a problem that wasn’t even hers, so she supposes she’s done asking anymore questions that can get her sniped at again.
“I should probably go drop off Jack at school now,” she hums. “Don’t want to be late.” The Austrian remains stiff, expressionless. She sighs, pecking his cheek. “I know I shouldn’t say anything, but don’t be too hard on him. He’s a boy with a broken heart right now, it must not be easy…you know that.”
He blinks.
“Alright then,” she says. “Come on, Jack, let’s get going.” A beat. “And you?”
I love you.
Finally, he loosens up, rubbing his eyes with exhaustion. “I love you, too.”
Once they’re gone and out the door, Toto stays seated, mind racing times a million about nothing in particular, but for some reason, it all comes running back to you.
That night, the last time he saw you, he didn’t like the way you left. All sad and distraught, because even though you try to put on a brave act in front of everyone, it’s almost as if he can read right through you. He wishes he could have said something—anything—to have made you feel better, but as soon as the movie ended, you offered to tuck Jack into bed, and then left. Part of him probably knew that was the last time you’d be around, so he didn’t say no, not that he ever would. He trusts you.
He’s just about to pour the rest of his coffee down the sink when he hears the doorbell ring. Sighing, he makes his way over, opening without even checking. “Did Jack forget his textbook again—” He freezes, spotting you looking up at him with a blank expression. “H-Hi.”
“Hi,” you greet, flashing a sheepish grin. “I just dropped by to give Benedict his things bacl.” You point down at the box you have at hand. “It’s not a lot, but it feels weird having it now that we don’t talk.”
He swallows. “So…things really did end between you two this time?”
You giggle, making the corner of his lips twitch at the sound. It’s nice to see that you were doing well. Maybe his son was the problem. And even though he loves him and would give his life for him, he’d be the first to admit that he put you through hell and back.
“I think so,” you admit, biting down on your lip before letting go. “I’ll miss you guys, though.” Your gaze lingers for a second too long on him before you clear your throat, shaking your head. “Escpecially Jackie.”
The thought of not having you around anymore pokes something in him, something that hurts. He really doesn’t know where this is coming from, but what he does know is that he doesn’t like it one bit. “I just want to apologize on Benedict’s behalf. He’s a good kid, but he just, uh, doesn’t know how to handle a pretty girl like you.”
Did he just call you pretty?
The fact seems to register for you both, so before you can even say anything to embarrass him any further, he says something else that makes your eyes buzz. “Can I hire you to tutor Jack?”
Long lashes flutter as you take in his proposition. “Excuse me?”
Toto panics more. “Well, it’s just that he’s struggling a bit in mathematics, and since he loves you so much, I thought that maybe if he learned directly from you, then maybe it’d make things easier for him…” He can tell you’re caught off guard. “If you want to, of course, no pressure.”
The answer to you is clear—no.
You don’t want to stick around and deal with Benedict. You don’t want to stick around and see Benedict. You don’t want to stick around, period.
But something about him just won’t let you leave, won’t let you say no.
There’s just…something.
You smile softly, making his heart pound. “I really shouldn’t—but I will.”
He grins. Dimples, wrinkles, and all.
When can I start?
-
“Twenty-seven?”
“Nuh-uh, think again.”
Jack taps his pencil against the table, thin brows curled up with concentration. “I don’t know…”
“Yes, you do, Jackie,” you encourage. “Look at your notes if you need help, but I’d suggest not to because you know this, you’re just scared of making a mistake.” His eyes wander up, filled with concern. “Which is fine, but I know you got this, and I believe in you.”
The young boy nods, erases his answer, then scribbles along the white sheet of paper and looks back up at you. Leaning across, you read his calculations before clapping happily. “There you go, I knew you could do it!”
“Yes!” he cheers, fist bumping you as he jumps up. “Can I go get a donut now? You said I could if I got that one right, didn’t you?”
Giggling, you wag your finger. “Alright, but just one, okay? I’m not sure Susie would like to know that you’ve already had two today.”
Full of excitement, he rushes towards the kitchen, leaving you to yourself as you set up the next set of problems. A bit of multiplication, some division, nothing too difficult.
“That’s actually going to be his third donut.”
Turning your attention to the deep voice that echoes Jack’s room, Toto stands there, leaning against the doorframe as he smiles. “Susie gave him one for breakfast, I gave him one before you got here, and you, well, uh…” A laugh. “That kid has a serious addiction.”
“You don’t say,” you tease, writing down on a piece of paper. “I’d be worried about cavities if I were you. Those things suck to get filled in.”
“You’ve had some?”
“Pft,” you snort. “I was prone to those growing up. It was awful.”
“Dirty girl.”
Your stomach dips uncontrollably as he continues to smile as if he said nothing out of the ordinary. But it was anything but that, and suddenly, the air felt a little warm. The window is open, though, so you knew that couldn’t be the case. It was purely him.
“Either way, Susie makes him water floss every night, I think he’ll be alright. Unless he’s not,” he jokes. “But at least then, he’ll learn from his mistakes.”
“Funny,” you reply sarcastically, but he can see a smile threatening to slip. “Can I, um, ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Is Benedict doing…okay?”
The Austrian goes from lightheartedness to high alert in the span of a second. “Why do you ask?”
Your lips part foolishly. “N-no reaso—”
Making his way to you, Toto squats down to where you sit on the floor, notebook in hand. His gaze darkens. “This is my son we’re talking about—is there something I should know about?”
Your skin loses color at this sight of him. Everything has shifted, everything about him is terrifying. “I really shouldn’t say…” His eyes narrowed down with sternness, forcing you to let out the truth you swore to keep in secrecy. “But Ben has been struggling with…” You shift uncomfortably. “He’s been sniffing cocaine.”
His face drops. “Since when?”
God, you shouldn’t have said anything. “It’s been two months.”
Toto groans, sitting down completely, resting his head in his hands. “I knew it, I fucking knew it.”
You blink. “You did?”
“Of course I did,” he snaps, making you inch back. He knows you have no fault—and that he really shouldn’t be speaking to you this way—but he can’t help but dwell over the fact that Benedict is dabbling in something dangerous. “I found some lying around, but I…”
“You what?” you whisper.
He sighs, like the weight of the world had finally caught up to him, finally struck him down. A man like him is always on point, so the fact that he’s struggling to keep his image up right now has your heart in your throat and your eyes as soft as honey. You don’t like seeing him like this—broken.
“I just didn’t want to believe it,” he confesses. “Benedict? My Benedict?”
Tears fill up your eyes as you jump onto him, hugging him like that might take away his pain. He’s startled at first, but as soon as he realizes that you’re leaking acid onto his shirt, he lets it all fall down. His large hands make their way around you, securing you in a way you’ve never felt before. Not with Ben, not with anyone.
“Why are you crying?” he asks with a certain gentleness to his accent, like he’s afraid of scaring you away.
You sob, shoulder shaking as you dig your face into his neck. “B-Because you look so…so…defeated.” Pulling away, he finally sees your face, skin pink and eyes dark with mascara that apparently didn’t do its job. And he thinks to himself: this has to be the most beautiful girl in the world. You sniffle, lashes clustered. “Because I should have told you t-that he was doing this—”
“What happened?” Jack asks, lips covered with powdered sugar as you brush away your tears and Toto’s lips remain agape.
“Nothing—”
“I got a cavity.”
Jack blinks, dazed and confused by your silly response. “A cavity? What’s that?”
Letting out a wet laugh, you signal him over as he quickly finds a way between you and the Austrian who remains with a blank stare. “It’s a toothache, Jack, and you get them when you eat too much candy, too many sweets.”
“Too much?” he repeats, almost like he’s too afraid to say it out loud.
You nod, wiping your nose with your sleeve. “And it hurts. And that’s why I’m crying.”
The young boy’s gaze flickers between both of you. “Even donuts?”
Toto laughs, finding his son's innocence amusing. “If you have too many, then yes. Those can cause cavities, too.”
“Oh no,” he mumbles. “Is that why Mummy only lets me have one every once in a while?”
“Exactly why,” you say, pursuing your lips. “Susie is a smart lady, she knows what she’s saying.”
“I should stop,” Jack plans, biting down on his nails with anxiety. “I should really stop.”
It’s your turn to laugh. “Well, you don’t have to, but you should be mindful.”
“She’s right,” Toto agrees. “Brush your teeth, floss—”
“Water floss,” Jack corrects. “Mummy says that’s better.”
“It is,” you murmur, looking at Toto from a short distance. “It is better.”
“Fine then,” he accepts stubbornly. “As long as you do that.”
The sound of a car pulling into the driveway is what ultimately gets your attention to drift. The blonde boy jumps up, taking a look and cheering. “She’s home! She’s home!” Just as he’s about to jet off, he pauses, running back to hug you. “I hope you feel better.”
You smile. “Thanks.”
Disconnecting from you, he zips past in pursuit of Susie. Toto waits a minute, measuring how much time he has left. Probably not much. “Nice save,” he says instead.
“It was, wasn’t it?” You giggle, fixing your appearance, not wanting to be interrogated by Susie as to why you might’ve been crying, though you suspect Jack will fill her in on it. Whatever, you’ll worry about that later, use some lame excuse to not get her to worry unless Toto decides to tell her which also wouldn’t be a problem. You take in a steady breath, looking up at him. “I’ll talk to Ben.”
Only, he knows that's probably the last thing you’d want to do. He shakes his head, brown hair tussling around. “You don’t have to, I know you and him aren’t doing that great—”
“Toto,” you say, making his ears perk up at the sound, the delicate clip in your voice. Something so endearing, something so beautiful, something so true. Reaching for his wrist, you tug it towards you until you fully have him in your grasp, leaving him to struggle to act like your touch alone doesn’t affect him. “I want to.”
He knows he’ll have to have a serious conversation with Benedict now that he knows with clarity what he’s been up to, but the fact that you have it in you to check up on him as well is something that pulls at his heart strings in a way he can’t admit.
“I appreciate it,” he whispers. “You don’t know how much I do.”
-
The following weeks were pretty tense, to say the least.
Every time you tried to talk to him, Benedict would just turn and walk the other way. There was not a single ounce of maturity in him, and if that didn’t show it, then you don’t know what will.
And in all honesty, it was starting to drive you so mad, to the point where you thought: You know what? Nevermind, let him figure things out himself.
But you just couldn’t do it, you couldn’t leave things alone. Not in favor of you, not in favor of him—but in favor of Toto. You promised you would do it, and this is exactly what you intend on doing.
He’s just about to leave for the third time today, still hasn’t spoken a word to you, not even a—how are you?—when you showed up for Jack a couple hours ago—and before you could let him slip by again—you called out his name. “Shit,” he mumbles, then turns to face you with a bitter smile. “What do you want?”
His distaste towards you is more than evident, it doesn’t take a genius to tell, but you guess you shouldn’t act so surprised after you ended things with him. “I just wanted to ask you how you’ve been, geez.” Brown eyes blink back at you, bored and unamused. You wince, awkwardly balancing on your tippy toes before flattening your feet once more. “I get that you’re hurt, but for God sakes, Ben, is your plan really to ignore me?”
“Actually, yeah,” he says with a smug shrug of his that you’ve come to recognize. “And I was doing quite well up until you decided to weasel your way back into our lives.”
You flinch. “Doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”
“You don’t.”
This time you feel your face pinch up like a crab. “Of course I do.” A beat. “We were together for so long—”
“We weren’t, though,” he spits, his keys jiggling as he runs a hand through his hair. It’s grown out a couple of inches, he’s due for a much needed cut, but he somehow pulls it off. Very punk rock almost. “Must I remind you that you never wanted to be my girlfriend, and yet, you stuck around for a good fuck.” In one quick movement, he steps closer, mouth near your ear that burns from his hot breath. “So don’t you dare act like you wield the right to talk to me.”
Today was not your day.
Sourly, he marches out, leaving you with lips parted and blood rushing towards your cheeks. You didn’t really have high expectations, but you just didn’t expect things to go south in the span of a minute.
Numbly, you walk over to the kitchen, claiming a spot in a nearby stool and stay still until you hear a soft voice. Susie waves gingerly, hair parted in its usual style. “Was that Benedict?”
You nod, knee jerking up and down. “It was.”
The blonde makes a low noise as she turns on the stove, surely getting dinner started. She was never around much—was always busy with travel, with work—but when she was, she always made the best out of it. Cooked homemade meals that she hoped Jack would remember when she was gone for weeks straight. Toto helped sometimes too, but he was a whole lot busier. The man spent most of his time living and breathing contracts and last minute decisions. But they seemed to love it, so maybe it was all worth it in the end.
“He’s been awfully impolite. So…unlike him.” She grabs a nearby cutting board, then pulls out a bag of carrots before she begins to peel them slowly. “I’m worried he’s doing something he’s not supposed to.” Feverishly, you kick back up, causing her to jump at the sudden sound. Your skin is drained of its usual liveliness, your lips are moist as you continue to lick them, and your lashes fan your face as you blink at an abnormal speed. “Are you alright?”
“Y-yeah,” you stutter. “I just forgot that I have to get home and—clean my room.”
If Toto hasn’t mentioned anything to her, then you weren’t going to be the one to spoil it all. There must be a reason as to why he’s kept his silence, and you’d hate to lose his trust if you told Susie what Benedict was going through.
“Okay?” she mumbles, slightly startled by your reaction. She shakes her head, choosing to laugh it off. “Do you need a ride?”
“That’s alright, I can walk,” you hurry to say, already grabbing your things, nearly tripping over your own two feet. “I haven’t worked out in weeks, this will do me some good. See you tomorrow!”
Not waiting to hear what she says, you scatter out the door, not paying much attention to where you’re going. You keep looking over your shoulder, scared she might catch onto you, so you don’t notice the black Mercedes pulling into the driveway. You shriek, flinching as the car jolts in front of you, clearly coming to an unexpected stop.
Toto squints behind his sunglasses, then rolls his window down, sticking his head out. “Jesus—are you okay?”
He’s met with silence as you jog over to the passenger seat. Instantly, he unlocks the door, seeing you climb in and pant nervously. “Does Susie know about the cocaine?”
“No,” he quickly answers, dark brows furrowing. “Why? Did you mention something about it?”
He’s not accusing you, but you can tell he’s damn near close. You shake your head adamantly. “Of course not, but given the way I reacted, I’m one-hundred percent sure she’s going to start asking questions.” A beat. “Why haven’t you said anything?”
“I don’t know,” he says, voice cracking. “I just don’t want her to worry about it, I guess.”
You purse your lips, gaze flickering towards the large house. “That’s sweet and all, but you need to tell her.”
“I will—”
“I mean, what if Jack finds it? What if he thinks it’s candy?” Oh God, he really would think it was candy. “She’ll kill you, then Ben, and then me, and then she’ll—”
“Relax,” he urges, but there’s something soothing found in his voice. And his touch. His calloused hands have made their way to cradle your face, in a way that makes everything blur, and he gently rubs your cheeks. Your breath hitches. “I’ll tell her, but please—calm down.”
“O-okay,” you whisper, round eyes flickering down to his lips and then back to his eyes that remain protected by the expensive lens. “O-okay, I will, I will…”
There’s been something about you. He knew it straight away from the moment he caught you sneaking out of Benedict’s room for the first time. It’s probably been a year since then, but he remembers it as if it was just yesterday.
He still thinks about that day. The way your hair swayed. The way you suppressed a giddy smile, tippy toeing like a thief in the night. The way you sucked on your bottom lip as you concentrated on not falling down a flight of stairs. Everything that indicated something he really didn’t want to think about, but he was once young, too. He knows what it’s like having a girl over, what happens behind closed doors.
But you weren’t just some girl—you were different.
It could have been your innocence, it could have been your pure heart, it could have been a lot of things. Which is why he can’t help but feel his restraint starting to slip fast, and before he can stop himself from making a mistake, he crashes his lips onto yours, feeling you gasp against him before you kiss him back.
It happens in one go, him hoisting you onto his lap, crowded but alive. His hands hold onto your waist now, and yours tangle themselves into his hair, tugging until he feels his grip starting to loosen. You try your best not to lean back against the car horn, but the way he nips at you makes you body melt.
Teeth grind against one another as you open your mouth wider, allowing his tongue to meet yours, and that alone gets a whine out of you. You feel his sunglasses start to slide off, and the second it hits your thigh, it taps you back into reality.
Toto blinks, chest heaving up and down as you wipe your plump lips with the back of your hand. Your saliva is still on him, your lipstick, and you can’t help but shriek, horrified by what just occurred.
“What have you done?” The Austrian struggles to think straight and struggles even more as you rush off his thick lap. “What have I done?”
Full of regret, he shakes his head as if he’s debating whether to apologize or not. He does. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me, I—”
“Shouldn’t have done that,” you finish off his sentence, eyes still wide, and your pulse skyrocketing. This couldn’t have been healthy, you were quite literally going into cardiac arrest. So then, why do your skin feel on fire? Why does your body feel alive? Why, why, why? “You shouldn’t have done that, and I shouldn’t have reciprocated.” A grimace. “Susie is inside the house, what would have happened if she saw us?”
What would have happened?
Toto swallows at the fact that you were right. None of this should have happened, and especially because he was a married man—you were his son's girlfriend. Well…not really, but still. You and Benedict have always been a thing, something without a label, but how could he have kissed the girl his son was busy losing his mind over?
What kind of father was he?
“Just forget it happened, m’kay? Easy. Let’s just pretend this never took place…”
Only, how could you? His touch lingers on your lips, and you swear you’ve never felt anything better. You wish to say that it was something you’ll forget about by the time you go to bed, but God knows that couldn’t be further from the truth.
“Fine. Yeah. Okay. Fine. Let’s just act like…nothing happened.”
Opening your door, you climb out, a sudden chill running down your spine. It’s not the weather, it’s him. With one last glance, you feel the warmth spread across your cheekbones.
“Oh. Um. Before you head in…make sure to wipe my lipstick off your lips.”
-
The taste of you is still imprinted in his soul, hasn’t let his mind rest.
He tries to focus on his Zoom calls, tries to engage, but it’s no use. Bono calls him out on it a couple times too, genuinely intrigued on what’s keeping him. He tries to listen to Jack’s teacher when he goes to pick him up from school, something about a project that’s due by next week.
It isn’t until Susie asks him about it that he realizes he hasn’t fully been present. “Oh, she said that…” What had she said? “You know what? I’ll just call tomorrow and ask, I can’t seem to remember.”
“I need to do a poster board based on the Anglo-Saxons and Viking,” Jack yells over his shoulder as he starts making his way upstairs to his room. “And that I need to have it ready to present by next Friday.”
Susie clicks her tongue. “You couldn’t remember that?”
Toto sighs deeply. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been distracted as of lately…”
This time, the blonde woman softens her stare and inches closer, placing a gentle hand underneath his chin as she forces him to look at her. It doesn’t help that every time he does, guilt eats him up. “Does it have something to do with Benedict? Because I’ve been meaning to tell you that—”
“Benedict is consuming drugs.”
Crickets.
She blinks. “He is?”
The Austrian releases a heavy puff, blowing air out like that might wash away his problems. It obviously wouldn’t, but it’s nice to think about the false possibility. Toto can already hear her starting to ask him why he didn’t mention it any sooner, why he kept it to himself—but it never comes.
You need to be there for him.
He nods, because he’s known this, he just hasn’t found the way. And then Benedict’s mom has been asking questions about how he’s doing, Rosa is a bit in the dark as well because apparently Benedict hasn’t responded to any of her text messages. A lot of things are a mess, but he trusts you. He trusts that your help is what his son needs and that as soon as you do talk some sense into him, then things will go back to normal.
“I know,” he answers. “I know.”
You’re here! Jack squeals, and instantly, both his parents look up. Just around the corner, the young boy is seen tugging your wrist, but Toto can tell that you dread even showing up. Things have been weird. Too…complicated. Ever since that kiss, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him and seeing him here with his wife sure isn’t helping you not feel dirty for what you two did. “Is it okay if we go outside and play for a bit before getting started on my project?”
You can easily tell that you walked in on something—whatever it is, you don’t really want to know—but you simply shift uncomfortably, hoping Toto would just stop staring.
Susie nods, forcing a tight smile. “Alright, but only a while. I don’t want you falling behind.”
Jack giggles, pulling you out towards the backyard as you mentally sigh out a breath of relief. Everything has just been so weird ever since—well…everything. It’s always the same old story—you go to bed thinking about Benedict, you go to bed thinking about Toto. None of it is helping you sanity, and you’re starting to think this job might not even be worth it anymore.
“Benedict just bought me a new soccer ball, let me go get it,” the young boy yells, running towards the shed not so far away from where you are.
You can’t help but smile. Up until now, Jack has been the only person who gives you some sort of comfort. “Sure. I’ll be waiting.”
It isn’t until you look up toward the house that you see Benedict sitting on the edge of the balcony, making your breath catch.
“Ben?” you call out carefully, not wanting to scare him. “W-what are you doing up there?”
He’s just as surprised, hearing your voice. His eyes are red, his face is paler than usual, and his hair looks as if he’s been pulling at it for quite a while now. There’s not a single thing about him that looks okay.
“What are you doing down there?” he slurs, then hiccups. “Oh, no, wait, let me guess—you’re here for my Dad, aren’t you?”
Now you’re really starting to worry. Glancing back to where Jack is, you can tell that you don’t have a lot of time before he comes running back, and you really don’t want him to find his older brother this way.
He snorts. “I’ve seen the way you look at him, you know?”
“Ben, get down from there, you’re going to fall.” Your stomach churns at the thought. The distance is far too high for him to land and be alright.
Another hiccup. “Like you want him all to yourself.”
Fuck. “That’s not true, you know that’s not true.” A beat. “You’re drunk.”
I can’t find it! Jack shouts.
“Keep looking!” you instruct, not daring to rip your gaze from the brunette. “Can we talk? I’ve been meaning to talk to you—”
“Is that why you never wanted to be my girlfriend? Because you were too busy crushing on my Dad?”
You can feel your head start to hurt from all of this. This is exactly why you shouldn’t have gotten involved. But now, you have no choice but to try and fix this. “I don’t like him, Benedict. Not in that sense, at least…”
Your words taste like cardboard, and his expression appears to flatten down into a tiny pout. “Then tell me you’ll do it.”
“Do what?” you ask, body running cold when his grip slips, making you close your eyes with the fear of seeing him fall.
He doesn’t, though. “Tell me that you’ll say you want to be my girlfriend.” A beat. “You’re the reason I’m like this, anyway.”
You wish to say: You know I’m not. You know that you’ve been getting high for some time now, for some reason that’s not me, you’ve been doing it a lot more often than before. It’s not my fault you’re like this, but a guy like you would never understand.
But you don’t.
“If I say yes, will you get down?”
“Sure,” he says, staring at you with high hope.
“And will you stop messing with all that shit that kills your brain?”
He thinks about this one. Benedict hums, rubbing his chin in a deep, sarcastic thought. “For you—yes. I will.”
One last question enters your crowded mind, but you contemplate even asking. And yet, you do.
“And will you please—and I mean never—say those things about me and your Dad ever again?”
A slow smirk starts to creep onto his dry lips as he cocks a brow. “Was I right about it, then?”
Of course he’d find this funny. Shaking your head, you pray he believes you when you say: “No. But you can’t be saying things like that when you know they aren’t true.” Benedict clicks his tongue, stands, and looks down at you. Your stomach drops. “Don’t do that, get down!”
Back and forth, he walks along the ramp, jokingly swaying as your heart pounds rapidly. I’m being serious, Ben, you’re going to hurt yourself! With one last laugh, he jumps back onto the floor of his balcony, watching you release a loud breath of relief.
“Alright,” he agrees. “I won’t bring it up again.”
Just then, Jack comes rushing back, kicking a bright orange soccer ball along the tall grass.
Benedict smiles at his younger brother. “There you go, Jackie, you’re getting better!” Jack grins proudly, chasing the ball, calling your name. Benedict winks at you, pointing. “Go. I’ll call you later.”
It’s only until then that you realize that your mouth is completely dry. Licking your lips, you nod, walking away before he holds onto you for any longer.
“Hey,” his voice rings through the air. “I was kidding, by the way. Of course you’re not in love with my Dad, that would be fucking sick of you.”
You don’t utter a single thing, just continue walking.
-
Things between you and Benedict picked up from right where you left off. The only difference was—
Benedict smiles, sliding his hand closer to you. And sat right in front of you, Toto’s eyes flicker quickly to where you two intertwine, where you stare off into space. It isn’t until he clears his throat when your attention shifts to him. The Austrian forces a generous grin, lifting his glass of wine as some mockery toast. Which it was. It’s just that no one noticed it, but you.
“Congrats. That’s a big step coming from you two.”
Given your past history with your now boyfriend, you know that’s true, but did he really have to say something like that? Because to you, it seems like he’s making fun of the situation—for not being mature. Were you? No, not really, but he didn’t get to decide that.
Reflecting his actions, you lift your own glass. “Thank you, Susie.” So, you’re ignoring him now? “It means a lot to have your support.”
The rest of dinner is anything but peaceful, on your end at least. The entire way through, your spine is tense and straight. Your teeth are clenched. Your eyes dart everywhere but towards him. You have to remind yourself to keep up with that one quite a couple of times. By the time you’ve wrapped up, the moon is hung low, and you’re ready to bolt.
“This was nice,” you comment. “The food was delicious, Susie, you ought to teach me a thing or two.”
“Well, now that you’ll be around more often and not just for Jack’s tutoring sessions, I could teach you whenever you’d like.” She beams, standing to pick up the dishes and walk them over to the sink. “You just let me know.” Pursing your lips, you smile, going in to help before she lifts her hand with decline. “You’re our guest, please, enjoy the rest of your wine.”
You shake your head. “I don't mind—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Benedict speaks up. “I can help out, Suse.”
She doesn’t turn him down, just nods gratefully and makes her way, the tall brunette following right behind. The fact that the Austrian is mere inches away makes your skin flush as you pour yourself another full glass. This time you settle on white wine rather than red. Not as good, but whatever.
“This is your way of helping my son with his drug addiction? By promising to be his girlfriend?” You try not to let him see you flinch. He scoffs, rolling his sharp jaw. “Does that not count as a bribe?”
“I didn’t bribe anyone,” you mumble. A sip. “But even if I did, at least I helped him out. Unlike you.”
Toto’s gaze darkens, resting his forearms against the table as he glares at you. “I was, but you insisted on wanting to talk to him first.”
This time you snicker, raising a neat brow, the rude noise making his blood begin to boil with irritation. “And it worked, didn’t it? I got him to stop snorting that shit.”
“For now,” he snaps back, causing you to jump in your seat, your eyes finding his own. His irises are blown, with something sinister, and you cautiously think this might be your end. Must be. “But what happens when things go haywire with you two once again, huh? He’s just going to—what—run back to drugs?”
“He won’t—”
“Oh, but he will,” Toto hisses, trying to keep Susie and Benedict from hearing your heated conversation. “Because he hasn’t actually received the help he needs. Because he put that all on hold and the second you two fight, he’ll just switch back to old habits.”
“Look,” you pronounce bitterly. “I fixed him, okay? I did that. Not you. Not Susie. Not anyone else. Me. So why don’t you just shut the fuck up and say thank you instead of acting like some bitter ex?”
It’s as if you just slapped him across the face. “You think I’m saying all of this out of…jealousy?”
“Aren’t you?”
“I-I’m not. I’m simply saying that what you two are doing isn't going to make past problems go away.”
“Watch me make them,” you spit back, a slow smirk starting to creep onto your lips. A chill runs down his spine as he falls back against his chair just in time to see his wife making her way back with dessert. Who wants pie? “I actually think it’s time for me to go home,” you say, orbs focused on the Austrian for a second longer before you smile her way. “I’m starting to feel very sleepy.”
Susie deflates. “Oh—”
“Then just stay.” Tilting your head to face Benedict who has also made his return with a loopy grin, your mouth parts lamely, looking for an excuse to not stick around. Your boyfriend nods. “It’s not like your parents mind you staying out.”
That’s true. All the times you’ve slept over at Ben’s, they’ve never gotten upset. You think maybe it has to do with the fact that they hope you two wed, but that’s neither here nor there. The point is, they didn't care then, they wouldn't care now.
“Okay then.” You nod in stages. “Just like old times…babe.”
The pet name gets three different reactions: Susie swoons at young ‘love’. Benedict laughs it off, used to it from before. And Toto? Well, Toto looks like he just swallowed a frog. “Only this time, you don't have to sneak out,” your boyfriend jokes, rolling his eyes. “I’m honestly impressed that we’ve never been caught.”
You let out a laugh, genuine this time because it’s true. How have you not? “Let’s go. I think I might want to shower.”
Benedict’s face lights up with excitement. “Alright, goodnight everybody.”
Watching you two walk back upstairs, Susie sighs happily. “I’m glad things are better between them.” A beat. “And I know they have their problems, but those two…”
They’re made for one another.
Toto winces at the thought that, yeah—that might be true.
-
One thing is certain: Benedict has changed.
And for good, too. He grew into the habit of always greeting you with a soft kiss, taking you out on dates, and buying you flowers. And as the days go by, you sort of start forgetting what you ever disliked about him.
You two met at a party.
“I’m not actually from here,” he shouted over the music. It sort of worked, it sort of didn’t. “My parents are divorced, so I mainly come and visit my Dad.”
“Oh,” you say, slightly dizzy. “O-okay.”
And that was it. Until a mutual friend of yours invited you to a last minute rager. Right away, you could tell that whoever lived in that house was loaded. So you went, of course you went, it almost would have been weird not to.
Entering, you’re instantly hit with a cloud of smoke. You remember coughing, ducking, blindly making your way through before you bumped into someone.
The same brunette from a week ago looked right back at you. “It’s you.” How could he forget such a pretty face? “H-How did you…”
“I got an invite from Alexis.”
“Rodgers?”
Your brows furrow. “You know him?”
He grins, nodding up and down adamantly. “He dated my sister a couple years ago, but we’re cool.” You don’t really know what to say to that, so you say nothing at all. You should probably look to find your friends, though. “I’m Benedict, by the way. Houseowner. Well. My Dad is.”
You giggle, charmed by his boyish behavior. “I like the place.” A new group of people enter the mansion, and by now, it’s packed. “Too bad it’s going to be ruined by the time all of this is over.”
“Nah.” He waves you off. “My family will be gone for an entire week. I’ll just hire a cleaning crew to get rid of the mess.”
“I can respect that,” you chant, making him grin.
Benedict pointed behind him. “Want a tour?”
Under these circumstances? “Sure,” you respond because you really don't have anything better to do.
“Great,” he says, leading you into the unknown. The so-called ‘tour’ is all over the place, you can’t really keep up with what he’s saying, but the second you two enter his room, you swear you let out a breath of relief. His brows pinch up with concern. “Are you feeling okay?”
You gulp, but even that feels like hard labor. “Yeah, I’m just having a bad trip.”
Quickly, his eyes grow wide with panic. “D-Do you need anything?”
“Water, maybe.” you mumble, taking a seat on his bed, not even asking for permission. You're far past that. “Yeah, yeah, water, please.”
“Water,” he choruses, darting towards the exit. “Water, water, wa—I’ll be back in a jiffy!”
As soon as he’s gone, you let out a groan, head thumping with pain, and the colors start to talk to you. This isn’t unusual, but it sucks to say the least. This is what you get for settling with the cheap shit rather than sizing up to the real deal.
Rolling over, you cup your mouth, trying to ease your mind. Breathe in, breathe out—just like that. You repeat the pattern until it's the only thing you know how to do. It helps a tad bit, but not really,
“Oh God,” you huff, screwing your eyes shut, and when you open them, you notice the picture frame that's been sitting on Benedict’s night stand. Eyes wander and analyze every person in—Benedict for starters, whose smile meets his eyes. A young blonde with long hair, who you guess is his sister. His baby brother, who snuggles into his mom’s shoulder. She’s stunning, with a short bob that makes her look wise beyond her years.
And then, there’s him.
You remember wanting to know his name badly. You remember thinking he had to be the most handsome man alive. And you remember thinking—damn—I feel much better now.
Rushing in, Benedict calls out your name, signalling the glass of water. You try telling him that you're over it, it didn't last that long, but he insists on you drinking every last drop. For his sake. And even if you don't need it anymore, you still do it.
“Hm…done,” you say, placing the cup down. “Thank you.” All he does is nod, a bit skeptical. He really doesn't like the idea of someone overdosing inside his house. You make a noise, capturing his attention once again. “Is that your family?”
“Yes,” he responds, relaxing because you really did look a whole lot better. “It was taken last Christmas.” He snickers. “I hate that sweater. Made my neck itch.”
Only, you don't care about him and his stupid sweater. “And is that the ‘Houseowner’ in question?”
You're teasing, he can tell. “The Man, The Myth, The Legend—Toto Wolff.”
You like to try and convince yourself that you stuck around for plenty of other reasons: because you liked Benedict, because you came to adore Jack, because you looked up to Susie, or because you got along with Rosa, even though she wasn't around as often as the rest. But that was never actually true in any sense.
You stuck around for Toto.
Because you had no self-cotnrol. Because you always wanted more of him. Because you were always eager to see him. There was always an overindulgence when it came to the Asutrian—God, even you knew it. You liked knowing that you could show up, and he’ll be there, standing with a dark smile. That you can tell him all the ways his son is messing things up between you two, and that he’ll always take your side. You were excessive, too, looking for ways to stand out, Short dresses, tight skirts, You caught him staring a couple times, but he had killer self-restrain. Fine. You could work with that, and you would—and you did.
You played to win. You lingered for a year, even if you were ready to leave a month in. You did it all for him, for him, for him, because you wanted him. And because you knew—you knew—that could have him,
Does it have a name? You don’t know—but you always yearned for more.
And now—you actually get to have it.
Waving him off, you blow a kiss over at Benedict. From the window, Susie and Jack smile that identical smile of theirs. “Don’t finish watching Amélie without me! Not until I get back!”
“Promise!” you yell at Jack, laughing at the sight of his hair blowing in the air as he sticks his head out of the car like a dog. You can see Susie’s tight grip around his waist, making sure he doesn’t hurt himself. “But you promise to bring me something back from your trip?”
“Like what?” he screams, but a little less clear.
“A postcard. Anything.”
“I will. Bye!”
“Bye, Jackie, stay safe,” is the last thing you say before the car fully departs. Sighing, you turn on your heels, walking back up towards the house. You could probably go back home if you really wanted to, but you didn’t. Perhaps you could stay and wait for Ben to get back from dropping them off at the airport, nap in the meantime.
As soon as you enter the mansion again, you come face-to-face with the tall brunette. Toto blinks. “I figured you went with them—”
“Too long of a drive.” A beat. “Boring.” Your fingers play with your bracelet, giving it a twirl before you tilt your head, signaling upstairs. “I’ll just wait for Ben in his room.”
His lips remain firm as he gives you a solid nod. “Sure.”
And you nearly make it past him—fucking nearly—but did you really have to brush past him like that? With your lingering touch that grazes his finger, that makes him inhale your scent? All of it has him at a breaking point. How could it not?
You feel his large hand wrap around your wrist, tugging you towards him with a loud giggle flying past your lips. Your eyes crinkle with amusement and he can tell—
“You stayed behind on purpose, didn’t you?”
You make a small noise, let out a small shrug. You’re still smiling devilishly.
Toto clicks his tongue, placing his hands down onto your waist. And if you two weren’t close before—then you definitely were now.
“What are you scheming, huh?” he taunts, playing into your game. You stay still, blinking up at him like a lost bunny. And fuck if that didn’t mess with his head. “With me? With Ben?”
“Nothing,” you lie, long lashes fluttering beautifully so. “Why? Do you want me to?”
The Austrian’s jaw clenches. By now, he’s rock hard, having you pressed against him like the dirtiest thing to come along. You try to hold your head up high, like it hasn’t hit you the same way it’s hit him, but the effect is slowly starting to pool in between your legs.
Warm. Wet. And weak.
It was a God awful thing.
“Well…should I?” you challenge, plump lips pouting in a way only you could ever get away with. One that doesn’t make him roll his eyes because he’s actually too busy trying to remain calm. Your head tilts, grabbing one of his hands and bringing it to lay on top of your ribcage. “Should I start a little trouble between you two?”
Because I can, you promise.
Toto feels you gently drag his hand lower. And lower. And lower. Until he feels you guide him underneath your dress, slide your panties—and press his long fingers against your tiny hole.
You whimper, he groans, and none of this is okay anymore. It shouldn’t be a thrilling thing, standing with him here like this, but you can’t help it. This is what you want. This is what he wants. He has no more self-restraint when he starts to circle around your clit, seeing your head drop forward onto his chest. Small heaves slip past your bitten lips, and he has no choice but to smile, pecking the top of your head like a loving neighor—something he’s not.
Because this isn’t something ordinary. Not something romantic. Not something that’s a routine. This is wrong, and sinful, and…gluttonous.
You should have left a long time ago. The second you realize you didn’t actually like Benedict, you should have left—but you stayed for more of him. The second you realized how much Toto caught your eye, you should have left—but you stayed for more of him. And God, the second he dipped his fingers into you, making you let out a strangled moan, you should have left—but you stayed for more of him.
You craved for more of him.
Juice flows down his hand as you leak, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, he curls his fingers, to which you clench around as a response. You act almost as if you hadn’t put yourself in this exact spot of vulnerability, too innocent. You weren’t, though, you weren’t as innocent as he had once thought. And now he knows.
You shake around him, clutching onto his arm for steadiness. But Toto himself isn’t as steady as you might believe. He was struggling to stay afloat, just wanted to do more than this to you. But he can tell that you can barely handle his touch. With the way your whimpers turn into whines, the way your nails dig into his skin. It doesn’t even hurt him in the slightest. And if it did, he was high off adrenaline.
“What are you doing to me?” he whispers—wonders—as he sees the way you force yourself to look up at him, tears lingering onto the corner of your eyes. Those eyes that chant his name over and over again. The same ones that have had him captivated ever since Benedict introduced you to him and Susie, but he knew you, he knew of you long before you knew of him. Maybe that’s why he’s much more invested in such a fucked up thrill just like this one.
Maybe.
“H-hurts s-s-so good,” you stutter, feeling the stretch burn immensely, but the pressure also building up. Your core tightens when he starts to cross his fingers deep inside of you. This is the moment he finds out exactly how you like it—rough, fast…reckless. All of which excites him—what man wouldn’t be excited to be with a girl like you?
“Mmm.” The tip of his fingers brush against your g-spot. Your mouth flies open as you frantically begin to tippy toe, almost as if you’re too scared to actually come. The Austrian coos, kisses you cheek swiftly as he softens his stare. “Relax for me, won’t you? You’re too tense.”
“It’s c-c-cause I’m standing,” you try to snark back, but it comes off more as a petty excuse. “But I can try…holy shit.”
He chuckles deeply, fingers picking up speed. You’re starting to break a sweat, your feet aren’t completely planted back down against the cold tiles, but he sort of likes seeing you heap over the edge like this. Like you’re chasing something only he can give you. Not someone like Benedict—him.
“You’re no good for one another.” Your breath hitches as a white cloud paints over your eyes. “Can’t you see?” Just then, you squeal, feeling a gush of liquid break free as the older man grunts, finally pulling you up to kiss you. And if you could believe it: his lips felt a thousand times better than the actual orgasm itself. “Don’t be with him…” Teeth crash. “Be with m—”
“Jack forgot his teddy bear!”
It’s a record speed, really, the distance set between you two the second you hear Susie’s voice, ever so cheerful and light. While you leap onto an open chair and cross your legs, attempting to fix your wrinkled dress, the Austrian wipes his hand down his pants, leaning against the kitchen counter.
The blonde woman raises a neat brow, laughing. “He does this every time.” A beat. “Toto, darling, have you seen it?”
And there it was, right in front him. Jack must’ve forgotten it in the kitchen when he was busy grabbing a donut for the road. He just never learns, that boy. Toto forces a grin, nodding and picking up the white bear. “Here you go.”
“Ah, thanks!” Walking over to her husband, Susie leans up to peck his lips, making you flinch at the sight. “Okay, we really do have to get going, and—” She blinks, barely noticing that you were still here. “Oh! I thought you had left.”
You freeze. “I’m sticking around, actually.” A cough. “To wait for Ben and whatnot.”
Susie waves you off with a toothy grin. “No need, why don’t you come with us? I’m sure he’d appreciate having some company on his way back.”
“I, um…” Jesus. “Sure. Why not?”
“Great, let’s go!” she cheers, already making her way back out. “Don’t forget about your call, Toto!”
He had actually completely forgotten. The Austrian rubs his eyes. “O-of course. Text me when you get there.”
She hums, spinning back to nod. “Also, you should really wash those pants, don’t you think? They look a bit stained.”
Your stomach drops. His does too. Only, he hides it a bit better.
“I will. You’re right.” Then he turns to look at you. “Well, you should get going, too, no?”
“Right,” you say numbly, standing and following his wife who’s already announcing your arrival to an enthusiastic Jack who whoops. “Goodbye, Toto.” The Austrian clams his lips shut, simply sending you off with a slight head tilt, watching all four of you leave for the airport.
And the whole way there, you couldn’t get over the fact that your thighs still felt sticky with cum.
-
Everything became a game between you and him.
It’s like the forbidden apple. Sweet, tempting—due for ruins. Nothing good could even come out of something like this, but neither you or him care much about any of that. All he knows is that it’s driving him crazy seeing you cozied up with his son every given day.
Benedict nuzzles his face into your neck, spreading kisses and caressing your thigh as you adjust yourself on his lap with a giggle. It physically makes the Austrian recoil and he just has to look away. He thinks about leaving, flying out to be with his actual wife instead of losing his mind over some girl, but for some reason—he can’t.
He thinks it has to do with the fact that he doesn’t even want to leave you two alone to do God knows what. Well. He knows what, but still. It’s just not something that he wants to do.
No, he hears you whisper, but he can almost tell that you don’t mean it. Benedict groaned, clumsy hands giving your hips a squeeze. You gasp, to which your boyfriend laughs. Come on, he says, he won’t even notice, he’s too busy with work.
Toto only types faster, wishing to drown on whatever it is that you’re planning. It doesn’t end up doing much, though, you only seem to talk louder. It’s dark out now and he’s starting to think about asking you to go home. Anything, really, to not have you here with Benedict anymore.
Only then—the whispers stop. Your boyfriend sighs, standing with a loud yawn. He stretches out like a cat before shooting an easy brow over at his Dad who seemed far too occupied with emails. “I think we’re going to head up now.”
The Austrian pretends not to care, not even glancing up to face his son a single inch, even though he really wants to. He nods, laser focused on his screen. “Sounds good. Rest well, you two.”
Making your way closer to Benedict, you link your arm around his and wonder why the older man just hasn’t made a move of any sort to show that he cares. That he’s losing his mind. And if he’s not showing it, then you’ll make sure to find a way to make him mind.
You hum, catching his attention now as his brown eyes meet yours. You smile with satisfaction and he realizes what he just did. “You work too much, Toto. You should really take a break.”
His jaw ticks. Once. Twice. And then he shakes his head, reading along with the screen again. “I should, shouldn’t I?”
Benedict lets out another yawn, this time rubbing his eye in a sleepy state of mind. “Don’t stay up too late, alright?”
Toto’s shoulders release a bit of tension, but still not enough. “I won’t.” A beat. “Go on now.”
The minute you reach Benedict’s room, he’s no longer tired. He runs his hands into your hair, kisses you like he means it, and begs for him to—
“Let me me fuck you,” he groans, a certain strain in his voice that makes your ego boost. “It’s been so long since we last—”
“I know, baby, I know,” you tease. “But we can’t. Because your Dad is downstairs, don’t you think he’ll hear us?”
“I really don’t care if he hears us or not, right now,” he confesses with a breathy laugh, enjoying the way you grind against him before you finally land on his bed, him on top of you. He cocks his head with subtle humor. “And anyways—since when do you?”
You blink, tangled hair flares down onto the mattress. “I-I-I don’t,” you stutter—lie. And in order to prove it to him, you pull him in by his shirt and drag your mouth against him until you feel him smirk like some sort of victory. You suppose it was for him.
None of it feels the way it should. You feel empty, you feel used, you feel disconnected. He keeps saying things like: Come on, baby, don’t worry, nothing is going to happen. Let me hear your pretty little moans, no? Brown eyes are fully blown as he fucks you sloppily. But you just don’t feel anything at all.
A warm finger flies down to pinch your nipple, rolling it cruelly, which gets you to let out a whine. Benedict takes that as a good sign, continuing his movements. You think to yourself—how much longer is this going to take? It’s mediocre, at best, and you’re simply trying to play along, until…
The picture frame gets your attention. With every thrust, you slide up higher on the bed, and you see it clearer every time after that. The family picture, the same one that has sat on his bureau since you first set foot in his room. Only this time, you ignore everyone else in it and admire the only man there ever seems to be when it comes to you and your loyalty.
Toto Wolff.
It’s embarrassing how wet you become after that, becoming louder with pleas of things to be harder, for things to be faster. Your core tightens strictly in the blink of an eye, and all it took was him.
You picture that it was Toto fucking you sore. You picture that it was Toto who was praising you like a doll. You picture that it was Toto who kissed you hungry. All of it—you only have him in mind.
“Mmm,” you whimper, biting down on your lips harshly, the feeling all too much. “I’m gonna c-cum!”
Benedict grunts. “I’ve got you, baby, you got this.”
With one final sound, you gush around his girth, gasping out at the fact that you had squirted all over him. Not long after, he finishes after you and smiles cockily at the liquid that lathers his body like an oil. Pink blush feathers onto your cheeks as you huff out, realizing what you had done.
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be.” Benedict chuckles, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “You were great. Better than that, actually, you were….”
A fucking goddess, Toto hears Benedict say just above a whisper, hearing your sweet laughter follow. His fists clench, his jaw ticks, and he can’t help but wish for one thing.
That Benedict Wolff—his own son—was fucking dead.
-
You were going to kill Benedict Wolff.
“What the fuck is this?”
“That’s was taken a long time ago—”
“No, it wasn’t, stop lying to me!”
“It was! What else do you want me to say?”
Glaring coldly, your hand shakes as you show off the picture of him and some random girl making out. And you’re sure that it’s not something from a long time ago because you already know that he’s been acting differently. He’s going back to his douchy ways, and stuff like this being sent to you shouldn’t be too surprising, and yet they still were.
You let out a bitter laugh, placing your phone back into your back pocket and crossing your arms. How stupid were you to think that someone like Benedict could ever change? This is what he knew how to do best—let you down time and time again. And despite being used to it by now, you still feel the slight sting of embarrassment. For letting him get away with it. Well—not anymore.
“This isn’t working,” you say out loud before you can fully stop yourself.
Benedict freezes. “What isn’t wor—”
“You. Me. Us.” Time stops. “We’re not working out anymore, and I think we should break up…for good.”
“For good?” he repeats, almost sarcastically if it weren’t for the small trace of ache. “After everything we’ve been through, this is your breaking point?”
“What? You want me to act blind and forget you’ve had your tongue down someone else’s throat?” you snark back, eyebrows narrowing down towards him. “Because I can guarantee you that that isn’t going to happen, I do have enough dignity to leave you.”
The brunette blinks feverishly, trying to comprehend what's happening. But he can tell—he can tell that you’re set on your decision. He knew he should have gone to that fucking party, he knew it, and he went anyways. And now you know. “Fine then—leave. See if I care.”
He does, he really does care, and a part of him is bleeding watching you leave. The thing is, he isn’t a bad guy, he never has been. But when it comes to you—he always seems to mess things up.
“I will,” you declare, holding your head up high.
He scoffs. “But that also means that you can’t step foot in my house for any other reason. Not for Jack, not for Susie, not for anyone.” A beat. “If you leave, you leave for good, do you understand?”
He’s giving you the option to choose, that much is clear. He knows that he still holds a certain power over you, he knows how much you care for his family, but you just never thought he would use them against you. You gulp, taking in a steady breath, one you hope he views as confidence.
“I’m sorry, but the only one who can truly get rid of me is your Dad. Whether he fires me as Jack’s tutor or not, it’s up to him. I’m leaving because I don’t want to be with you anymore, the problem is that and that alone.” His jaw clicks with fury. Another gulp. “But I’m staying for Jack.”
He doesn’t speak for the longest time, leaving a big gap in between your sentence and his next one. But when he finally does, you can’t help but feel your shoulders fall. “Why do you care so much about staying?”
You have to look away. “I’ll come back for my things.”
Walking towards the door, you hear him choke on his next question. “Did you ever really like me?” Your feet stop dead in their tracks as you curse, breathe your breath before turning to face him again. He raises a brow. “Did you?”
You bite down onto your tongue. It was never about you, Ben. How could it have been when your Dad was always in the picture?
“When a person acts out…they push away everyone who has ever cared for them.” Your use of past tense makes his stomach churn, awfully and painful and slow. You shrug with a subtle smile. “But you can’t honestly be surprised by any of this, can you? These are the consequences of your actions.”
Benedict flinches. “Then why do I have the feeling that there’s somebody else?”
You blink, lips parted as you try to deny, but what’s the point?
“You really need to get your shit together, Ben,” you advise just above a whisper. “And I’m not talking about your faithfulness…I’m talking about your addiction.”
His face strikes with something odd. “I gave all of that up—for you.” A sharp laugh. “I’ve been clean every since then—”
“What about the Xanny you have hidden underneath the rug?” His attention darts to small lump that no one should have been able to notice, but apparently you have. “What about the marijuana stashed up inside your shoe box? The cocaine?”
You have a serious problem.
“No, I do not.”
“Yes, you do!” you shout, frantically waving your arms with self-defeat. “And it’s only a matter of time before your mess catches up to you, don’t you see?” Pause. “You don’t need a girlfriend, Ben, what you need is to find help.”
And it’s as if his mind catches up to you. To what you’ve been up to. He lets out a faint sound, something that sounds similar to a huff. “Is that why you said yes to going out with me? To try and pretend that I'm not some kind of druggy?”
Your breath catches. “Of course not—”
“No, that is what you were trying to do, weren’t you? To erase my problems…” The brunette runs a clumsy hand through his hair, pulling left and right. “And here I was thinking that you loved me, but all you wanted was to be some shitty hero, right? To earn a ticket up to Heaven, isn’t that so?”
“That's not it,” you argue. “I simply wanted to—”
“Just—shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up.” Benedict grinds his teeth, staring at you with a rage so red that you begin to wonder if he’s currently high. Although, something tells you he might be. “I don’t ever want to see you again.”
With that, he pushes past you, exits, and it’s not until you hear the door slam that you realize that he’s left. “What the fuck was that?” you whisper to yourself, not at all sure of what just happened between you two anymore. You stand there until you feel your heels turn when you hear a small knock that alerts you.
Toto frowns. “Are you okay?” He takes a step inside the large room that he makes seem small with his presence. “I heard everything from inside my office.”
A beat. “You were right…”
His frown deepens. “What do you mean?”
“You said things weren’t going to last between us, and they didn’t.” Tears fill up your eyes as you attempt to push them away with the sleeve of your sweater. “God, I really thought I could help him get over his…” You trail off.
The Austrian face pinches up with concern. “He never stopped consuming, did he?”
You can’t find the strength to answer, to let him down. He warned you. He tried to by saying that things were going to revert back to what they were, but you never listened. You pushed him away, felt all high and mighty thinking your affection could be enough for Benedict, but it never was. Instead, your legs give up as you fall onto the floor, sobbing so loud that Toto thinks your vocal strings might snap.
“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he coos, running to kneel down beside you, wrapping his arms around and holding tight onto your trembling body. Each time, you shake harder than the time before, and he can barely even hear you talk if it weren’t for your close proximity.
“I tried to help him—in my own kind of way—but I really did, Toto, I swear,” you cry out, grasping his bicep as your vision gets more and more blurry by the second. “You said this would happen, you said we would fight and break up, and that’s exactly what just did, and—”
“It’s not your fault, though, sweetheart,” Toto says with a soft voice. “Benedict had the opportunity to be with you and he blew it.”
“I k-k-know,” you hiccup. “But if I had just left things alone, if I had just let you fix it all, then maybe Benedict would have been clean by now, and we wouldn’t have fought, and—”
“I’ll take care of him.” He kisses the top of your head gingerly. “He’s my son, I should have been the one looking out for him, not you.”
“But I wanted to help—”
“I know,” he states, pulling away from you and smiling warmly, watching your bottom lip tremble. “And I'm full of gratitude, but that must’ve been extremely stressful for you. Doing it all alone, I mean.” His brown eyes flicker down onto your pink, bitten lips, and you feel the knot in your throat begin to loosen up, almost as if something inside of you is calling for him. “But I’m here now…”
I always have been.
It happens in the blink of an eye, his mouth clashing against yours, and you don’t really know why you’ve been holding back for so long. Why either of you have been pretending not to want this? But you do. You always do.
Laying you down flat against the carpeted floor, Toto makes out with your lips, then your neck, and then back to your lips. It’s a whirlwind of a sin, but that’s the least of your worries. His touch burns—electrifies you whole—and it takes all of you not to arch your back as some needy girl, begging for more.
Only, you don’t have to utter a single plea for him to know what you need. The older man hums politely, making your head spin some more at the fact that he knows you better than you know yourself. Better than his son knew, too.
His large hand slides down to unzip your tiny shorts, pulling them down your legs before looking up to face your pretty little puffed up eyes. By now, your mascara is completely running down your face, and your nose is bright pink, but all of it is what makes his cocks strain harder than before. Adjusting his thigh in between your legs, he nudges your hips, signaling you to move. You do, at a snail's pace, and begin to drag your core against him, feeling the effect right away.
“Oh,” you pant softly. His thigh flexes as he enjoys your calculated moves, longing for more than just a simple rub that scratches the surface. “Mmm, Toto…” You grind faster, your back clumsily hitting the floor with every twitch. “But I—”
“I know you do,” the Austrian says. “Come here.”
Sitting up right, he fixes himself so that you can crawl on top of him, claiming him as a chair. Without wasting a single second, he dives right back to find your sweet lips, hearing you whine. He smiles, his hand traveling inch by inch until he’s sliding your panties aside and curling his fingers into your tiny hole.
“Ah. Ah,” you moan, adjusting to his thick digits that seem to be splitting you in half. But it doesn’t take long for you to start bouncing on them as if they were his cock. Toto grunts, seeing the way his fingers disappear then reappear, each time more of your liquids sliding down his hand. “Give me another, y-yeah? I can handle a-a-another.”
He already has two fingers deep inside your cunt, but he’ll give you just about anything you ask for. Carefully, he fills you up with what you want, and you’re left moaning louder than before. They swirl around, trying to find your sweet spot and once they do, your hands tighten around his wide shoulders, hoping to keep in place.
Toto lifts up his head with amusement. “Right there?”
You nod fiercely, grinding once again like your life depends on it. “Spread them inside of me, Toto, won’t you? Until you can’t do it any more, but please, do it…”
He does just that, sees the way your head lolls back, your neck on full display. Leaning up a bit, the Austrian sticks his tongue out, pressing it flat against your collar bone and licking up until he reaches your cheek, forcing you to tilt your head to kiss him again. This time, though, it feels dirtier than before, if that’s even possible. With a single brush, you feel the tip of his fingers graze the gushy part inside of you that makes you see stars.
“There you go,” he coos. “Ride my fingers just like that, sweetheart, just like…that.”
It’s getting a lot harder to stay composed, but he manages to push back his need to fuck you because the only thing he wants to focus on is your pleasure, not his. For now, at least.
“God, this is way better than a stupid vibrator,” you admit before a choked out sound gurgles out of you as you close your eyes, loving the way he feels. Toto chuckles, pecking your temple once, then scissoring his fingers inside of you. A broken squeal exits your mouth as you clutch onto his forearm.
“Tell me—did Benedict ever make you feel this way?”
And with a weak smirk, you shake your head. “Not even fucking close.” And then you’re gushing all over his hand. He tries to drown out noise by covering your mouth, but the muffles are just as loud. “Mmm,” you cry out, then tap his thigh, making him grin smugly and remove his hold over you. You’re practically glowing, really, and he has to convince himself to not say something he might later regret.
But you don’t care if you regret it today, or tomorrow, or a year from now. You say—wonderstruck—and you mean it with pure sincerity.
I love yo—
“Toto!”
Freezing, you two stare at each other as you hear Susie’s cries begin to draw in closer, and it takes another scream for you to snap up, rushing to put your short back on and panic. “Fuck!” you hiss. “What do I—”
“Hide,” he instructed, already pushing you towards the closet.
You stare blankly, before you're fully in, and entirely in the dark. You can’t really hear what they’re saying, what she’s yelling about, but you can tell that none of it is good. You were pretty certain that she wouldn’t arrive back home until tomorrow, but looking at it now, she did say there was a small chance that her trip could have been cut short. She’s crying, Toto’s voice is adamant, and still, you don’t really have a clue as to what’s going on. It’s not until they both leave Benedict’s room that you carefully make your way out, peeking as if you were trying to get away with some slacked off crime.
You think about escaping once you get the opportunity, but thought it was best not to risk it. No. You’d just wait it out, and surely he’d find a way to get her out of the house and then you’d have an easier way to leave. You trust him, you know he would do just that—
Click.
The main entrance door closes, indicating their departure. You let out a sigh of relief, gathering your stuff from Benedict's bed and dart out of his room and stumble down the stairs. You really did think you had gotten rid of your worries, but that was just the tip of the iceberg.
Once you step foot outside of the mansion, you realize that there's a lot of things you hadn’t noticed. Like the blaring rings of the siren. Or the flashing red lights. Or the fact that Susie had shown up just in time. You were too busy fucking her husband to have noticed any of it.
“Benedict,” Toto whispers, dragging his son's body onto his lap. The same one you were just on. You can tell that he’s close to breaking out into a full hysteria, but that he’s merely keeping it together for the sake of Susie who was busy sobbing, rubbing her Benedict’s legs as some sort of effort to wake him up. “Come on, buddy, you’re okay, you’re okay—”
He keeps repeating himself and you stand there numbly, staring at Ben’s limp stature. His skin is pale—more than before—and he’s not reacting despite both him and Susie talking to him. The paramedic says something and it takes all of Susie and a couple of other people to make him take a step aside and let them take him. They’re rushing, scooping him up into the stretcher before pacing him inside the ambulance.
All you hear is overdose and he’ll be just fine for you to let out a breath, finally moving towards them. Susie is the first to spot you, pulling you into a warm embrace. “Oh, honey, I’m so glad you just showed up, I was about to call you…” She sniffs, eyes burning red. “Benedict, he—”
“Where’s Jack?” you ask, ignoring the rest. “He’s not here, is he?”
“God no,” she gasps. “No, thankfully he’s with my parents, but we just really need to get to the h-h-hospital.” Shakily, she reaches for her car keys, looking back at her husband who has remained silent up until now. “We must notify Stephanie as soon as possible—”
“I’ll call her,” he replies, not even wanting to picture the horror his ex-wife would be dealing with at the sudden news of their son being taken away. He blinks hastily, as if he's having trouble comprehending anything at the very moment. “Y-you should be the one to go with Benedict.”
She doesn’t question him as to why he wouldn’t want to be the one to go with him, just nods firmly and hurries towards the ambulance that finally takes off. The chaos has finally drowned out, and it just leaves you two to yourselves.
“He’s fine,” Toto states blankly, staring off as the sirens get a little less loud each time.
You purse your lips. “I feel like this is all my fa—”
“I should go.”
Your lips part, taken aback by his sudden coldness.
The Austrian pulls his phone out, looking to dial Benedict’s mom. And he’s just about to press on her contact name before he pauses, looking down at you. He swallows, stoic as can be. “I’m not blaming you, okay? I never have and I never will, but…” A beat. “I have to do what’s best for my son, you know?”
You blink lamely. “Y-yeah. Yeah. Of course you do.”
Toto disconnects his gaze like a sudden pull of a band aid. A breeze picks up, signaling an upcoming storm. Similar to the one that occurred when this all started. This whole dilemma. And even though you knew what was coming, you still felt his words fell on you like an unwanted tear.
“Having you around wouldn’t do him any good,” he whispers, as if he was struggling just getting his words out. The Austrian grimaces. “I’m going to have to fire you…”
You always hear that all highs come with plenty of lows. But things get better. They must, right? And usually you’d hold onto a little bit of useless faith, but something deep inside his eyes makes you think: Nope. Don’t even bother this time.
You let out a wobbly smile, shrugging as if it didn’t hurt. “Yeah, I know…” A lump enters your throat. “Will you tell Jack and Susie that I said goodbye?”
A lot of things won’t make sense to them, but he nods anyway. “Of course.”
And that was the last time you heard and saw Toto Wolff in all his glory. But you’ll always remember him in the most beautiful way. Strong. Kind. Magnetic.
And you? To him you would always be the purest of intentions. He never meant to hurt you, though he knew he had. And hopefully one day, you’d realize that.
Pulling out of the driveway, he makes sure to check his rearview mirror, seeing you walk the opposite direction—further and further away from him for good. He can’t really tell how long it’ll take for him to forget you, but he does know that it won’t be easy. He dials Stephanie’s number, instantly hearing her voice lather with fear as she promises to make it as soon as possible before hanging up, surely already booking the next flight out.
It isn’t until he has to maneuver the steering wheel when he notices that your sweet juice still slightly stains his fingers. Faint, but it’s still there. A small trace, but it’s still there. Just a dot, really—but it’s still there.
Toto smiles, bringing up his fingers up to his lips.
Toto Wolff x Ferrari Team principal wife reader
Word count: 1204
Summary: A glimpse into a marriage between two Formula 1 team principals who seem like opposites on paper but fit together in the quiet, ordinary ways that matter most. From shared paddock moments and soft hotel-room silences to inside jokes, family chaos, and small acts of understanding after brutal race weekends, their love exists both in public scrutiny and private comfort, in a world built on competition, they always end up choosing each other.
Genre: Fluff, cute moments caught on camera, married couple, lovers and rivals
𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕
People always expected your marriage to be complicated, and you honestly couldn't blame them.
You were the Ferrari team principal, and Toto was the Mercedes principal.
On paper, it sounded like a disaster just waiting to happen.
In reality, it mostly meant your house was filled with way too many arguments about race strategies and an unhealthy amount of red and black mugs.
And somehow, against all logical explanations, it worked.
The first time the paddock realised that a lot of their assumptions were wrong was during a race weekend in Monza.
Mostly because when Toto walked straight past three journalists trying to get his attention, he spotted you standing outside the Ferrari hospitality unit.
You were halfway through reading an email on your phone when a familiar hand settled against your lower back, and without looking up, you immediately leaned into his side.
“Hey.”
“Hi, Schatz.”
You still hadn’t looked at him yet. “How was your meeting?”
“Terrible. How was yours?”
“The same.”
A moment passed.
“Good.”
The journalists nearby looked extremely confused.
You finally looked up at him. “Why are you smiling?”
Toto’s facial expression immediately became innocent. “I have no idea what you mean. I wasn’t smiling.”
“You absolutely were.”
“Fine, well, I saw you.”
You rolled your eyes in return. “As if I haven't been here all morning.”
“Yes, but now I am here.”
Which was somehow his entire argument.
Then there was the infamous Bahrain incident, which neither of you ever lived down.
It had been a long day, the kind where everything that could have gone wrong went wrong.
You had both finally made it back to the hotel after midnight, exhausted, barely functioning and done with everyone.
You were standing in the bathroom, removing your jewellery when Toto appeared behind you.
Neither of you said a word.
He simply wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on your head.
A minute passed, then another, until finally you looked at him through the mirror.
“Toto.”
”Hm?”
“What are you doing?”
There was a brief pause.
“Recovering.”
You laughed at that.
His eyes closed as he started to sway you both gently “You are warm.”
“That sounds romantic.”
“It is practical.”
“Of course it is.”
His arms tightened.
Neither of you let go for another five minutes.
One of the things about being married to someone in the same sport was that nobody else really understood, not completely anyway.
Especially after a difficult weekend, whether a race had gone badly, the pressure had become unbearable, or the criticism felt endless.
And on those nights, there was never any need for explanations.
There was just understanding.
One evening after a particularly brutal race weekend, you came home to find him sitting on the balcony, in silence, just staring out over the city.
You didn’t ask questions, didn’t ask how he felt or what happened to make him this way.
Instead, you walked over and sat down beside him, passing over a mug.
His favourite coffee.
He accepted it immediately.
And the two of you were there for almost an hour without speaking, just sitting in comfortable silence.
Eventually, he nudged his shoulder against yours gently, “Thank you, mein engel.”
You smiled softly. “For what?”
His eyes remained on the ocean view. “For not making me explain.”
And maybe that was one of the reasons your marriage worked so well.
Because you understood what the other carried, even when they didn’t have the energy to put it into words.
Of course, there were other viral moments besides those sweet emotional ones.
For example, the great lasagna debate, which had somehow lasted five years.
Five years all because Toto insisted his recipe was better than yours, while you insisted yours was.
Neither of you had actually ever changed your opinion.
One Sunday afternoon, your daughter finally got sick of listening to the argument.
“Can’t we just ask someone else what they think is better?”
You looked up. “Ask who?”
“Like literally anyone.”
Toto looked offended. “This is an important discussion.”
“You have been discussing cheese proportions since breakfast.”
“Exactly.”
She looked at you, then him, then stood up.
“I’m going to my room.”
“That’s a tactical retreat,” Toto called after her.
“It's self preservation,” she corrected, then the door slammed upstairs.
You started laughing immediately.
Toto lasted three seconds before joining you.
Race wins were always special, not because of the trophies, or the headlines, not even because of the points.
But because, even after all these years, the first person you both looked for was each other.
One evening after Ferrari had secured a massive victory, the garage was pure chaos.
Engineers celebrating, mechanics hugging, champagne everywhere, the usual madness.
Someone was speaking to you, but you couldn't remember who.
Because across the garage, Toto had appeared.
You caught his eye.
His smile was immediate, warm and proud, not because Mercedes had won or even finished on the podium.
Because they hadn't.
And not because he had anything to gain from your success, but because he loved seeing you happy.
You smiled back, a small one, barely a second, but somehow enough.
But the favourite moment happened purely by accident.
A broadcast had caught it, unfortunately for both of you.
It was late, and the race weekend was almost over.
You had been standing outside the garage talking with a group of engineers when Toto was walking past carrying a coffee.
You reached out without looking, guided purely by instinct and years of knowing your husband, gently tugging on the sleeve of his jacket."
He stopped immediately and looked down at you.
“Yes, Liebling.”
You pointed towards the coffee, and he handed it over automatically, no hesitation, no questions.
You took a sip, made a face, and then handed it back.
“That tastes terrible.”
Toto took another drink. “Well, it’s my coffee.”
A photographer also captured the exact moment you realised that.
The look on your face, his expression, the way he was already laughing at you.
The image went viral within hours, and the comments were ruthless because the internet found it hilarious that two of F1’s most intimidating people behaved like that with one another.
You still have the photo framed at home.
But if you were honest, your favourite moments were never the public ones.
They were the ordinary ones, the quiet ones, like the mornings when you found him already awake, reading through a report with his glasses sitting low on his nose.
Or in the evenings, he would appear behind you while you cooked dinner and steal pieces of whatever you were making.
Even the nights when one of you came home later than the other and still found a light left on, waiting, just in case.
Years later, after championships and losses and victories and headlines, after countless flights and race weekends and impossible schedules, those were the moments that mattered most to you.
Not the podiums, not the trophies, the success.
Just him.
Standing in the kitchen at midnight, sleepy and smiling, holding out a cup of tea he'd made for you without being asked.
As if loving you had become something as natural as breathing.
And honestly, maybe it had.
Author's note: I honestly imagined most of these moments were caught by Drive to Survive. I hate tagging so much. I never can remember what I actually need to tag, so I just try my best.
would you write something for toto and susie, where maybe r is a sports physician and toto falls off of his scooter or trips and he goes to her and gets checked out, starts to take a liking to her, tells susie and both start to make things up to talk to her/be checked by her and then someone, maybe one of the drivers or bono, point it out to her and they get together??
if you don't feel comfortable writing this I'd totally understand, I'm still going to thank you in advance though<3
hope you have a great day/night and remember to stay hydrated!!
fell for you
pairing: poly!toto wolff x reader x susie wolff
summary: in which toto and susie start faking injuries to see you
warnings: none!
a/n: hi my love!! tysm for requesting. <33 i'm sorry this took so long, i hope you like it!!
the first time toto wolff walks into your medical tent, he's holding his knee like it betrayed him.
"i fell," he says. "scooter. too fast. stupid."
you blink. "how fast?"
"fast enough that i stopped it with my face," he mutters.
you fight a smirk and gesture to the table. "right. sit."
he limps past you with exaggerated dignity and a wounded expression that’s only half fake. he’s tall, lean, annoyingly handsome for someone bleeding from the knee, and absolutely trying not to look embarrassed.
"you know," you say, tugging on gloves, "those scooters have brakes for a reason."
"i panicked."
"you’re six-foot-five and run a multi-million dollar team. and you panicked?"
he gestures with one hand. "it came out of nowhere."
"what, the turn?"
"the speed."
you huff a laugh as you kneel to examine the scrape. bruised, mostly. he’ll live. definitely not worth the dramatics.
"your pride took the biggest hit," you say, taping down a bandage.
"well," he says, and you can feel him smiling even though you’re not looking up, "you patched that too, ja?"
you glance up. he's watching you a little too closely. his smile is boyish, like he's getting away with something.
"you’re flirting."
"i’m injured."
"mhmm."
he shows up again three days later, holding his wrist this time.
"i fell. again."
"on the same scooter?"
"new scooter. same corner."
you raise an eyebrow, but say nothing. the wrist isn’t even swollen.
"toto," you say, gently flexing it, "did you actually fall or did you just miss me?"
he pauses.
then smiles.
"bit of both."
you don’t call him out on it. you probably should. but it’s harmless. and sweet. and — fine — maybe you’ve thought about him a little too often lately.
it’s susie who shows up next.
you recognize her instantly, of course — even if she’s not in uniform, even if she doesn’t say her name. she’s poised in a way that doesn’t bend to the noise of the paddock.
"shoulder’s tight," she says, hopping onto the exam table with ease. "figured i’d get it looked at before i talk myself out of it."
you press along the joint, slow and careful. it’s tight, sure, but not injured.
"you been training?" you ask.
"not enough to strain anything."
you glance up. her expression is unreadable.
"did someone send you?"
"what do you mean?"
"toto’s been by. twice."
"oh?" she smiles, not even pretending. "he didn’t mention that."
you pause, fingers still pressed to the edge of her collarbone.
"you’re faking this too."
"i never said i wasn’t."
you shake your head. "you two are ridiculous."
"he said you were brilliant," she says, voice soft now, less teasing. "he undersold it."
you straighten, flustered despite yourself. "right. well. you’re cleared."
she hops down, brushes imaginary dust off her shoulder. as she leaves, she says, almost casually, "we usually don’t share. but... we’ve been thinking about making exceptions."
and then she’s gone.
after that, it’s game over.
you catch them doing synchronized slow stretches in the middle of the garage. they pass your tent like they’ve got nothing better to do. toto somehow finds six different reasons to need his wrist checked. susie starts bringing you coffee “just because.”
and through it all, you pretend you don’t notice.
but you do.
of course you do.
and worse — you like it.
it’s bono who finally calls it out.
you’re leaning over a performance tablet when he sidles up next to you and murmurs, “you know you don’t have to keep pretending you’re just their doctor.”
you blink. "i— what?"
he nods toward toto, who’s wincing again as he adjusts that same wrist you cleared days ago.
"he’s not even trying anymore. look at him. he’s doing it for attention."
you glance at susie, who’s walking past your tent doing the slowest neck roll known to man.
"you’re kidding."
bono gives you a look. "you’re a professional. they’re just two married idiots who don’t know how to flirt like normal people."
you snort. “i’m not their type.”
“you’re exactly their type.”
and then he walks off like he hasn’t just thrown a bomb into your carefully organized emotional filing cabinet.
you confront them that evening, by the back of the hospitality suite, where they’re sharing a quiet moment like they don’t know how noticeable they are when they’re together.
you cross your arms. “so. this is a thing now.”
susie raises an eyebrow. “what is?”
“fake injuries. flirting via bandages. unsolicited coffees.”
toto at least has the decency to look sheepish. “i did fall the first time.”
“and the wrist?”
“...fell emotionally.”
you groan.
susie smiles. “we like you.”
“is that what this is?”
“we were going to ask if you wanted dinner,” toto says. “no scooters. no ice packs. just... us.”
you study them. they look like opposites on the surface — soft blonde and tall shadow — but they move in sync. speak in rhythm. they’re magnetic.
and they’re looking at you like you belong.
"...okay," you say. "but if either of you fakes a limp tomorrow, i’m out."
the first date isn’t dramatic.
quiet restaurant. low lights. susie orders dessert first. toto insists on pouring your wine. they ask about your life like they want to know everything — not just the shiny parts, but the boring middle bits, too.
when the night ends, susie kisses your cheek.
toto’s hand lingers on your waist a second too long.
your heart’s still racing when you get back to your hotel.
the next few weeks are a blur of long days, longer nights, and something soft growing under all of it.
you don’t tell anyone. not really. but the team notices. bono starts calling you “doctor love.” kimi winks whenever you hand susie a coffee. george offers to crash his own scooter if it means getting a date.
and through it all, they’re... there.
toto, showing up with your favorite snacks when you’re working late. susie, leaning against your desk like she’s always meant to be part of your day. sometimes they bicker. sometimes they kiss in front of you. sometimes they just sit, letting you rest your head on one of their shoulders during a red flag break, no words needed.
you stop pretending this isn’t real.
and they stop pretending their injuries are, too.
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You barely made it three steps into the paddock before Toto’s hand was on your waist.
Not the casual kind of touch, ir was the full, possessive, don’t even think about it grip that sent heat crawling up your skin.
You were used to attention. You were a model, after all. But this was different. This was Monaco, the center of the motorsport universe, where glamour bled into competition and eyes were always watching.
And Toto was watching them.
Like a hawk.
“Are you cold, liebling?” he asked, tone casual but sharp around the edges.
You blinked up at him, confused. “No. Why?”
His arm tightened just slightly. “Then why is every man in this place staring at you like they’ve never seen a woman before?”
You smiled sweetly, fully aware your silk champagne toned dress hugged you a little too well, the slit high, the back low.
“Because I look good?” you teased, eyes dancing.
He let out a low growl, the kind that sent a thrill down your spine. “You look like sin. And I’m starting to regret letting you leave our suite dressed like that.”
“Toto,” you giggled, brushing your hand over his chest, “you picked this dress.”
“Yes. For my eyes.”
Still, his lips were on your temple a second later, his fingers splayed on your hip as you both moved toward the Mercedes garage. Everyone around you said their polite hellos, but no one dared linger too long. Toto’s presence was like a warning: she’s taken, don’t even look.
You played innocent. Sweet smile, gentle nods, pretending not to notice the fire in his eyes every time a photographer leaned too far, or a junior driver stuttered your name.
But inside?
You were thriving.
—
The press pen was chaos.
You were watching from the side, sipping water, sunglasses on, when Charles Leclerc walked by and gave you a polite double-take and an “Enchanté.”
Toto noticed.
Of course he noticed.
You watched your husband excuse himself from his own interview mid answer. His stride was purposeful, his face unreadable but you knew better.
He came to you like a storm.
“What was that?” he asked, dipping his head low so only you could hear. His hand curled around your wrist, firm but gentle.
“just Charles being Charles,” you said with a little smile. “He’s sweet.”
“He was flirting.”
“He was being French.”
“Same thing,” he muttered, jaw tight.
“Toto,” you whispered, amused now. “Are you....jealous?”
He didn’t answer. Just leaned in closer, nose brushing your cheek, voice husky.
“I’m furious.”
Before you could laugh again, he pulled you against him, right there in front of everyone. His hand slid down the small of your back, resting far too low to be appropriate. His mouth ghosted over your ear.
“You keep smiling at other men, I’ll take you to the hospitality bathroom and remind you who you belong to.”
You gasped, swatting him lightly. “Toto!”
He grinned now, eyes dark with heat. “That’s my name, schatz. Say it a little louder, hmm?”
—
By the time the day wound down, he hadn’t let you more than two feet away from him. You were half draped in his team jacket, even though the sun was still out, your heels dangling from your fingers as he walked you back to the hotel.
The moment the suite door closed, he pressed you against it.
“You think I didn’t see how you were batting those lashes all day?” he growled, lips on your throat. “You think I didn’t see every man in that paddock wishing they were me?”
“Toto...” you gasped, but it turned into a moan as he kissed you, deep and claiming, hands already bunching up your dress.
“No one else touches you,” he muttered against your mouth. “No one else hears you laugh like that. No one else gets this.”
You tangled your fingers in his dark hair, breathless now. “I only want you.”
That’s all it took to break him.
The rest of the night blurred your dress forgotten somewhere on the floor, his voice rough in your ear, whispering in German and English, over and over:
“So beautiful… mine… all mine.”
—
The next morning, you were wrapped in his arms, draped across his chest like you belonged there. His hand was lazily running up and down your back, every few seconds pulling you closer, like he was scared you’d disappear.
“You were a little possessive yesterday,” you murmured, tracing a finger over his collarbone.
“‘A little?’ Schatz, I was one second away from fighting half the grid.”
You laughed into his neck. “You’re insane.”
“I’m in love,” he corrected, lips brushing your hair. “Madly, completely. And I’m never letting you go.”
You tilted your head up and kissed him soft. “Good.”
He smiled against your lips, voice a little rough, a little tired, but full of absolute devotion.
