Chaotic Gremlin

You were feeling extra small today, Sy knows this.

And whenever he's around you hide your baby cunt away from him. which means you're also in heat. you're a cranky little thing when your cunny is all sensitive and swelled.

You use your grumpy demeanor to hide the fact that you just want to be pounded deep inside your womb.

"Hey sweetie" Sy enters the room with your favorite sippy juice and some apple slices. you look at him with a disgruntled pout and bury your self further into the sushi roll you've made for yourself. you feel the bed dip as Sy sits beside you making it increasingly difficult to ignore the throbbing between your legs. you're cranky from the lack of sleep so you don't feel like the exertion of sex which makes you sexually frustrated, which also makes you cranky.

Tired and horny is what Sy can assess from your behavior.

Things would all be okay if you just let him take care of you but your heat also makes you stubborn.

"C'mon darlin" he coos in that southern drawl that makes you drip for him.

"Eat up honeybun you need your strength"

Well you are hungry...

Meekly you uncover yourself making sure to avoid the captains analyzing glare.

He sets the tray in front of you watching as you take baby bites of the apples and sip lightly at the juice.

You manage to down half of the snack too exhausted to finish the rest.

When you're done you try to retreat back into your blanket roll but Sy is quick to stop you.

"Oh no you don't sugar" Sy scoops you into his big lap setting the tray on the dresser as you try to struggle out of his grip, but the blanket wrapped around you makes it difficult.

"Whats wrong sugarbutt hm?"

You can smell him.

You can't think straight all because you can smell him.

Light teakwood mixed with his natural musk.

The cool spearmint on his breathe.

It's driving you crazy, you bury your head in the blanket trying to get a hold of yourself.

Sy's hold on you tightens as he starts to bounce you in his lap.

"C'mon baby bun look at me"

Sy speaks in a gentle tone encouragingly.

"Oh angel you can't look at your daddy,

Not even a little peak?"

You blush scarlet hiding yourself further from his influence.

"Pretty please baby..pretty please with sugar on top"

"Let me see those little baby doll eyes of yours" he says voice deepening drastically.

You feel his beard brush against your ear along with his sultry voice. you can't take it anymore

Tired or not you need him in you.

Sy starts to coax you again but pauses in his tracks as you lightly start to hump against him.

"Daddy..." You whimper as you brush your damp petals against the blanket barrier between you and sy's meaty cock.

You salivate just thinking about it. So fat and girthy, so good and it's yours.

He's all yours.

"Aw my little girl needs her daddy doesn't she"

Your pussy feels tingly as the condition of the fire in your loins is only spurred on by Sy's comments.

You nod still refusing to look into his siren like eyes.

"It just aches and aches doesn't it baby..." he whispers lowly

Sy rubs a soothing hand up and down your back as your humps become more aggressive.

They soon start to get uneven and your breath becomes scattered. This makes Sy grab your hips holding you still.

"Daddy!" You chastise lifting your head from the blanket with an angry pout dawning your expression.

"Did I say you could cum sugar?"

Now you just look guilty.

"N-no but-"

In an instant his lips are on yours. you moan into the kiss the softness of his plush pink lips putting you in a trance. you open your mouth practically begging for his tongue to be shoved down your throat, and Sy is happy to oblige. hot and heavy his tounge slivers down your throat. As you try to keep up with his you feel him peel the blanket from your form. Sy rubbing his big hands all over your warm ass, massaging it with his cold ones. you moan into the kiss loving how rough he's squeezing your ass. you whimper into the kiss when he starts smacking it aggressively your eyes roll back into your head. you pull away with your face flushed and pussy drenched "Please daddy fuck me" you plead

"Please fuck your pussy Sy I can't take it anymore"

Sy looks at you blankly deciding if he wants to make his girl suffer just a little bit longer.

"Papa please" you pout at him rubbing your hands up and down his chest.

Sy kisses you on the lips sweetly.

"Get my cock out baby" he smiles

You immediately go to fumble with the button and zipper on his cargo shorts. Sy chuckling at you being so sexually frustrated you can't get it open.

"Here honey" Sy undoes his button and zipper for you then lays back with his hands resting comfortably above his head.

You look lost on what you should do next. Sy knows you forget how to have sex when you get extra tiny.

Sy grabs your hip with one hand then pulls out his dick with the other.

"Daddy!"

You yelp in a high pitched tone as sy connects you both in one motion like a puzzle piece.

You moan lightly from his girth stretching you out shuddering everytime you move slightly as he fills you to the brim his cock already threatening to reduce you to a mess

"Move sweetie" Sy snaps you out of your daze

You gulp and swallow nervously as he eyes you coldy

You work up enough courage to bounce on his cock lighlty trying to maintain some sense of grace and composure

Sy's brows furrow in disappointment, if you didn't know him you'd think he looked kind of pissed. a strong calloused hand takes a rough hold of your neck. you squeak out at the pressure of his grip. Sy leans up bringing your face in direct contact with his ear groaning lowly as he speaks "when I tell you to ride me baby you fucking ride that cock till you pass out you understand me?

" I don't want those poor ass little baby bounces I want you to lose your fucking mind on it

" Now are you gonna be my good little pornstar or are you such a baby you can't even manage that

"No Sir! Daddy I can do it I promise please-"

"Show me" Sy commands, his rough glare making you melt under his watch and something tells you he has no intention of letting go of your neck.

"N'you look at me when you do it okay sugar"

"Yes daddy" you say ever so eager to please him.

......

You start your pace again roughly, it already being too much for your sensitive body to take.

Daddy!

You scream out as you can feel sy's cock pounding deep against your spot

Your eyes roll back as you grip the captians shirt for dear life

Your hips automatically snapping against him

You pussy clenching involuntarily as your juices drip onto the captains balls

"That's right sweetie fucking milk me" Sy encourages, loving how you tighten around him just from the sound of his voice

"I know you want my baby batter baby don't fight it"

He kisses you gently with a tinge of roughness

"Don't fight it"

Sy! You whine as your eyes water from him fucking into you so good the stimulation driving you over the edge

"Daddy please! I can't take anymore!!"

Your thrusts get sloppy and uneven as you near your 3rd orgasm

You feel yourself getting fuzzy and losing control of your body

"Did I say you were fucking done little girl"

Sy's threatening expression snapping you out of your daze

"No I-"

"Then keep going "

Sy leaves no room for argument

You whine thinking you'll break if you have to take another inch of his dick

You go to get off but Sy immediately grabs you turning you into the reverse cowgirl position only he's forcefully holding your hands tightly around your back

"Sy no!" You yell at him fearfully

Feel him grab your hip with his other hand sinking you lower till your flush against his balls

Your body already threatening to spasm again

"Daddy no I can't take anymore dick please!!"

"You're gonna be a good little girl for me and take your daddy's cock...I'll make sure of it"

Sy says sinisterly as he starts kissing your hands

"Bounce" he commands but you start to throw a tantrum again shaking your head No at the threat of even more overstimulation to your trembling pussy

"No....Ah!!"

Sy tugs you harshly by your arms while delivering a particularly devilsh slap onto you ass

"I don't like repeating myself darlin"

You sniffle lightly hating how part of you is shaking in fear while the other part aches in lust

and don't think your increased wetness or the fact that you've been clenching on his cock during your whole defiant outburst went unnoticed

you both know at the end of the day you're sy's little cock whore

you love it when he uses you till you break

you crave no you need it, you need sy to drive you over the edge

You start to rock your hips back and forth tears still staining that perfect little angel face of yours but your mouth chokes out whorish moans as your tongue hangs out like a puppy in heat

Daddy!....Daddy you choke out strangles cries to your owner

Sy watches you, in awe at his perfect little creation

He lets go looking on as you ruin yourself on him all at your own volition

You hear a faint deep groan as you ride your sir

But are only alerted when you feel white ropes of hot cum shoot into your walls

You whimper at the sensation but your hips still don't stop moving themselves on top of him

Sy let's you go for a little while longer before sitting up to bundle you in his arms

"That's enough sugar" Sy says in a soothing tone

He wraps his arms around you comfortingly

Smiling internally when he feels you still bouncing

He chuckles deeply

"C'mon now honey that's enough "

Sy holds your legs firmly to him stopping you from moving any further

He pretends not to hear the upset grunt

Sy holds you close to him as he lays down pulling the covers over you both

You whine as you feel some of the cum escape from where you're both connected, but Sy shushes you with sweet tender kisses as you both settle your heart rates

Sleep takes ahold of you both

You drift off contently as Sy is buried in you to the hilt

You both can sense you're far from done, you're just saving your energy

Mind The Gap - masterlist

The collection of you falling in love with the way older man - the boss of your (ex)boyfriend and your soon-to-be-husband and father of your child(ren). Explore the depths of your relationship with Toto through the chapters below. It all began when you started to doubt George’s love towards you…

The Other Stoddard - masterlist

Hadley Stoddard — younger sibling of Susie Wolff. Being the complete opposite of her sister, she tries to find her way through life while having the worst opinion on Susie's husband Toto Wolff. But as the veil of the perfect power couple lifts off, Hadley gets to know the other side of the unapproachable older man.

After/Before/Now series

Rosa Wolff is your best friend and you somehow manage to wake up at her dad's place after New Year's Eve party. From that moment a little lady Wolff plays a part of being a matchmaker (sort of) only for you to end up dating Toto.

Wolff’s den

You have it all but still it’s not enough for you. You think that you have Toto wrapped around your finger but you don’t know it’s you who gets played in the end.

You have no power here, liebling , part two 18+

You divorced your possessive and dominant husband Toto Wolff, raising your daughter alone. As you navigate your ways through coparenting, Toto takes advantage of the fact that your daughter is longing to have her parents both at home from time to time and he slowly but surely gets to claim you again.

Always a brat 18+

You’re a TikTok influencer interested in motorsports and you use Toto for getting into the Mercedes garage for a weekend. He thought you’re genuine, but when he sees you lusting over his drivers, he looses it and shows you where’s your real place in his world.

Remote control (+ James Vowles) 18+

You are Toto's personal assistant, devoted to him in any aspect. It was supposed to be an innocent evening, celebrating the victory of the championship, but you're acting strange and Toto wants to know why. And somewhere along, James joins you for an unforgettable night.

The attitude correction 18+

You’re known for your arrogance and rule breaking while racing. You screwed your race again and Toto is done with you, showing you how the things will be his way from now on.

Dr. Wolff is ready to see you now , part two 18+

You hate gyno appointments, you have the absolutely sweetest female doctor on earth, but one day at your scheduled examination, you find out that there’s been a change in the office and there is a new doctor. And well, with him you discover something inside you, you never thought that existed.

Blind date 18+

Carrying a Horner’s name wasn’t always easy for you, not being on a good terms with your father since you were the offspring from his first marriage. Your friend wants to help you to set up a blind date for you, to find a great man you’d date, and you would never imagine who just appears at your table at the fancy restaurant.

One day

One whispered drunken wish can change your life the way you wouldn’t have expected.

Behind the scenes 18+

In this one Toto Wolff is a famous porn star while you’re an assistant for the production filming the explicit movies with him. One night after watching another hot session on the set you end up tasting his performance yourself.

Take a seat 18+

You’re George Russell’s manager, fighting for him in every single matter, and you’re pissed off that he hasn’t received the contract renewal yet. All you want is to make Toto pay for his uncertainty towards George by the ways you think are gonna pay off greatly. But it’s you who ends up being played by him.

Anniversary gift (+ Susie Wolff) 18+

Susie is your boss, you work as her personal assistant, the closest person in her life. For her wedding anniversary with Toto, she decides to grant him his wish and gives him his most desired gift — you.

Cold hands

Toto is your father’s friend and you fell for him, confessing your feelings. After you’re dismissed by him, you run away from your parents, the cold rain drenching your heartbroken body, but Toto is looking for you, trying to fix things.

Strategic move

It’s not easy to keep your secrets under the radar of the nosy public. Especially when you have two of them.

Innocent prayer 18+

Toto is the holy father everybody loves, giving orphans like you an opportunity to join the church. And you as a strongly religious nun are devoted to God like nobody else, trying to please him in every way. Toto knows that and he takes advantage of your innocence.

Maid (+ James Vowles) 18+

Working for Mr. Vowles got you a stable job and living with some other benefits. One night, he tries to keep you from the hungry eyes of the Wolff. Unfortunately, it ends far from his initial plan.

Chicken soup

Some kind of virus took you down and Toto is there to help you out and to take care of you.

Calvin Klein campaign 18+

Toto kept this one a secret. Your friend sends you photos from instagram, where your boyfriend is posing for this new Calvin Klein campaign. After spending some time with him at the studio for another shot, you tell him to take the underwear home for a show in the evening.

Always by your side

By finally confessing his deep feelings for you, Toto gets you into the clinic in Switzerland to help you find a solution for your endometriosis and to help you with the infertility.

Running away from you

Being a shiny, pretty little gem for a wealthy man like Toto Wolff sounded great at the beginning. But one day you need to understand that he’s just using you to get off, holding power over you by his money. His wife is actually determined to keep him and to ruin your life instead.

Love engineer

You are a development and construction engineer for a new power unit for 2026 season with the new regulations. Your work is your passion, everything revolving around engines involves you. Mercedes is your dream come true, working alongside the team and with the one and only Toto Wolff. Dancing around the feelings you both try to hide, you combine the racing, engineering and love. But what if love is not a final destination for you and you crave more than a stable relationship and a stable job?

No tears to cry

A star he loved so much, he let her burn by the sun of victory.

Blow your mind 18+

She's a rich woman, independent and selfish. Toto wants to tame her, to have her for himself, but whenever they’re together she makes it clear it's just fun. They meet again and maybe this time he’s able to crush the facade of her confidence.

Sail a way into my heart

In this one you swear to yourself to not fall for Toto, ever. But he takes his time, patient with your avoidance and then he suggests you should get on sailing trip with him.

Lesson In Favoritism (based on the blurb why is mommy angry?)

Toto arrives home after race in Spain and you have enough of his bullshit with Kimi Antonelli.

Slipstream 18+

Your marriage with Toto is full of fire and spice, so five months ago, after another huge fight, you ended up separated with you living in Austria and him in Monaco, not talking to each other. Susie is trying to get you back into game by luring you to the next race — Silverstone.

Backhand 18+

The last three tennis coaches ended up almost crazy from your stubborn and mean attitude, so your parents decided to hire the best of the best - Toto Wolff. You tried to ruin him with your brattiness, but it's you who ends up ruined.

Tastes like Mrs. Wolff 18+

Sipping from the champagne flute you clutched too hard in your palm, you scanned the dance floor, trying to figure out where your now husband is.

You had a wedding gift ready for him, but you were growing restless. Sure, he would like it, you knew he’d be over the moon.

Still, you had to manage to snatch him aside, somewhere private without prying eyes of your relatives and friends.

Finally, you spotted him near the table where the already cut cake was laid, lips twitching at his attempt to look nonchalant as he ran a finger through the icing.

Only to appear in front of you, pushing his finger past your lips for you to suck the icing off. It shook with your core at how playful he was today, all joyful at the fact that you’re finally his wife.

“You’re still in your wedding dress. Weren’t you about to change into something— into that little white dress that I almost ripped off you when you showed it to me for the first time?” Toto leaned closer to place a kiss under your ear, his hand sliding down your waist. This man clearly hadn’t enough of you.

With a chuckle, you licked your lips, lifting your gaze to look at his face. Reaching up to cup his cheek, a silver band that just tied a knot in your union grazed his skin.

Toto couldn’t help but think of nothing more sexy than your hand with your wedding ring wrapped around his—

“I have a surprise for you.” You whispered close to his lips and he hummed, brows raised with excitement.

“Really?” His hand lingered down your backside and you managed to grab him by it and lead him out of the space to the room where you were getting ready earlier that day.

A soft click of the lock was heard and Toto almost lunged at you, capturing your lips, finally having you to himself. Pushing him away softly, you smirked.

“No, no, my dear husband. This is not happening right now.” Placing a finger on his lips, you saw how his face frowned in disappointment, a low groan escaped his lips.

“But why? We have all the necessities done, and I can’t stand a minute I can’t touch you properly.”

“You have to wait. I’m sorry.” You also wanted to rip his clothes off so you could kiss him from head to his tip, but…

Taking a few steps to the corner where you had a white gift bag, you took it and turned around, Toto already in front of you.

“This is my wedding gift for you.” Biting your lip, your cheeks grew red as you handed him the bag.

With a soft chuckle, he took it in his hands, peeking inside to see a white paper sheet that smelled like your perfume.

“Liebes, what is it?” It was more of a rhetorical question, rummaging through the bag for a bit, his hand got out what looked like a small book.

You were fiddling with your fingers, breathless, watching him opening it.

Then his eyes got wide and at the same time his mouth went agape.

“Oh my god.” He breathed out, flipping through pages.

After another moment of silence, you leaned closer to look at the photo he was staring at.

“So, what do you think?”

Licking his lips, something dark flashed in his eyes. “You made a boudoir photos for me?”

“Yeah?” You laughed nervously.

“Fuck, it’s… so hot. And beautiful. Jesus, you…” his gaze trailed at the last photo, of you sitting on the chair clad only in his white button up shirt, lipstick smudged. His finger brushed over the photo where was your ankle and he noticed something written above it, on your delicate skin.

“Is that…” he was in awe at understanding that it was a small “TCW” written there in black ink.

“I thought it was good. Imagine how hard it was to scrub it off so you wouldn’t find out.” You pursed your lips with amused joy.

Toto clasped the book, locking his gaze with yours. “I want every single of them framed and hung in my office at our house.”

Your brows went up in a surprise. “You’re joking.”

“I think you know me the best to understand that I’m not.” He took another peek at one of those photos, breath hitching in his throat.

“Fuck, this is all mine…” his whisper was everything, igniting the fire in the depths of your soul.

“Mhm…” you hummed, catching his attention with a sound of the zipper that slid down your side as you let the wedding dress fall down your body, revealing your white lacy lingerie.

Toto lost the ability of speaking, eyes falling down to where you had the garter wrapped around your right thigh.

“You want to kill me, right?” Standing flush behind you, his fingers hooked around the fabric of that garter, his lips mapping the curve of your bare shoulder.

A gasp left your throat, trying to stay calm. “You said that I should change into that little white dress, so…”

“No way I’m gonna let you do that now…” his breath fanned over your neck, where he left a mark with his teeth.

“But…” you feigned an interest in the wedding afterparty, moving your body away from him.

Hands steadying your hips in place, you stood there, straps of your luxurious heels digging into your skin. Toto was grinding into your bum, his erection straining his black slacks.

“You’re not going anywhere, wife.” Getting on his knees, turning you around, you braced against the wall, excitement written all over your face as you watched him pull your lacy panties aside only for his tongue to delve into your already wet pussy.

“Toto…” you moaned quietly, one hand fleeting into his hair.

He put your right thigh, the one with the garter, over his shoulder to have better access to your depths.

And it fucked up with your mind even more.

His tongue lapping in your slick lips, sucking onto your aching clit, he was like a man starving, devouring you to his last breath.

“Please, oh my…” your whines were so delicious for his ears, you tugging on his hair, his hands holding you tight, fingers molding your skin.

Suddenly he let go of you with a soft pop, your arousal smeared over his cheeks, his dark eyes looking up at you.

“You know how you taste?” His voice sounded so drunk you almost came.

“No?”

“You taste like Mrs. Wolff, meine liebe.” Of course he and his jokes, you wanted to laugh but you were cut short by his needy mouth again.

Squirming at his lewd moves of his tongue, you felt it, that growing need in your body, tremor spreading down your legs.

“Show me who owns this pussy.” He murmured into your hole and you nodded, holding back your moans to not be too noisy.

But Toto didn’t care, he wanted to drive you crazy, to make you dripping wet for the rest of the night.

“Toto— I—“ you were breathless and he held you, lapping at your clit like a kitten and finally, the flood of pleasure crashed into you, making you come wildly.

Toto didn’t stop, he continued to suck onto your overstimulated bud, to the point you were pushing him away, crying out.

Letting go of you, he snatched that garter off your leg, getting up on his feet again, putting your panties to its place again.

“This is mine.” With a smirk, he shoved the garter into the pocket of his slacks, that vision making you swallow hard.

“This was insane.” You chuckled, your wobbly legs carrying you to the wardrobe where the little white dress was hanging, to put it on your body.

Wiping his face into his handkerchief, Toto smiled smugly.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be screaming my name later, I’ll make sure you won’t spend too much time partying.”

“Mmm… so bossy.” You walked towards him with your back facing him, zipper wide open and you gestured for him to help you.

His hand tugged the zipper up, taking his time to caress your shoulder with his other hand.

“You like it when I’m bossy.” He whispered with a chuckle.

“I fucking love it, Mr. Wolff.” Turning around, you stole a searing kiss from him.

Truth to be told, you never made it out of that room.

© All stories and written content created by me is not allowed to be used without my permission. If you wish to share, quote, or use any portion of my stories, please contact me directly.

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.

The skirt is short. Very short. The kind of short that makes mirrors feel judgmental and photographers feel blessed.

You look at yourself one last time in the hotel mirror, smooth your hands over the fabric, tilt your head, and smile.

Perfect.

Toto is sitting in the armchair near the window, phone in one hand, glasses low on his nose, pretending to read something important. Pretending.

Because he has looked at your legs at least four times in the last thirty seconds.

You catch him on the fifth. “Problem, Mr. Wolff?”

His eyes lift slowly. Too slowly. “No.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“You look like your strategy model just crashed.”

“My strategy model is fine.”

You turn slightly, just enough for the skirt to shift higher. Toto’s jaw tightens. Very satisfying.

“I can change,” you say sweetly.

“No.”

The answer comes too fast.

You grin. “No?”

“No.”

“You didn’t even pretend to think about it.”

“I am an efficient man.”

“You are a predictable man.”

His mouth curves. “With you? Never.”

You walk toward him, boots clicking softly against the floor. His gaze follows you with the focus of a man watching a qualifying lap on fresh softs.

You stop between his knees and adjust his collar. “Will this cause a scandal?”

“Yes.”

“Will Bradley cry?”

“Yes.”

“Will you do anything about it?”

Toto leans back, looking up at you like you are the best mistake he has ever made.

“No.”

You beam. “That’s my man.”

His hand finds the back of your thigh, warm and steady, just beneath the edge of the skirt.

“Careful,” he murmurs.

You bend closer. “You first.”

He exhales through his nose, half laugh, half warning. “You enjoy making my life difficult.”

“I keep you young.”

“You keep Bradley medicated.”

“Same thing.”

By the time you arrive at the paddock, the cameras are already hungry. The first flash comes before you even step fully out of the car. Then another. Then twenty.

You feel Toto behind you, tall and calm, his hand settling at your waist as if he is personally signing the scandal into existence.

The paddock turns. George sees you first. His eyes go from your face to your outfit, then immediately up to the sky like he is asking for divine intervention.

“Nope,” he says. “I am not commenting.”

Kimi appears beside him, looks once, and turns around. “I saw nothing.”

“You both saw everything,” you say.

George points at Toto. “Your girlfriend is trying to get the FIA involved.”

Toto looks bored. “The FIA has no jurisdiction over skirts.”

“They will after today.”

You smile at George. “You like it?”

“I like keeping my contract, so I will say you look very nice and also I have a race to prepare for.”

Kimi nods. “Smart answer.”

You blow them both a kiss.

George mutters, “Mascot behavior.”

Toto’s hand slides slightly lower on your back. “Strategic emotional support asset,” he corrects.

From behind, Bradley appears with a coffee and the expression of a man already experiencing a migraine in preview mode. He sees you. Stops. Blinks once. Then looks at Toto.

“No.”

You grin. “Good morning, Bradley.”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to do.”

“That is exactly why I’m saying no.”

Toto raises an eyebrow. “She is wearing a skirt.”

“She is wearing a headline.”

You glance down. “A cute headline.”

Bradley points at you with his coffee. “That skirt is going to have its own hashtag by lights out.”

“Great,” you say. “Organic engagement.”

Bradley turns to Toto. “Please tell me you understand the optics.”

Toto looks at you. At your legs. At your smile. Then back at Bradley.

“I understand them.”

“And?”

“And I like them.”

Bradley closes his eyes. Somewhere nearby, James Allison walks past, takes one look at the scene, and keeps walking.

“No,” James says without stopping. “I’m an engineer. This is outside my department.”

“You’re all cowards,” you call after him.

James raises his coffee in surrender.

The paddock has always stared at you, but today it stares with commitment. You feel eyes on your legs, on Toto’s hand, on the way he walks just close enough for everyone to know exactly where he stands.

Beside you. Always.

A few journalists whisper. A photographer nearly walks backward into a tyre trolley. One mechanic from another team forgets what he is carrying and has to be redirected by his colleague.

Then Lando appears, because apparently chaos has a subscription service. He slows down dramatically when he sees you.

“Oh,” he says.

Toto’s face immediately loses all humor.

“Careful.”

Lando lifts both hands. “I was going to say nice shoes.”

“No, you weren’t,” you say.

“No, I wasn’t.”

You laugh. Lando grins at you. “Respectfully, this paddock has suffered enough. You can’t just arrive looking like that next to him. It confuses the young drivers.”

Toto looks at him. “You seem easily confused.”

“I drive for McLaren. Emotional confusion is part of the job.”

You snort. Lando points at your skirt. “Anyway, if Mercedes gets tired of being scandalous, we offer papaya.”

“I look terrible in orange.”

“You don’t.”

Toto’s arm tightens around your waist. “She does.”

You look up at him. “Toto.”

“You said you hate orange.”

“I do, but I enjoy being complimented.”

“I compliment you.”

“You glare at men who compliment me.”

“Yes.”

Lando nods. “Healthy. Mature. Very post-divorce.”

Toto’s smile is sharp enough to cut carbon fiber. “You have somewhere to be?”

“Far away from your midlife crisis? Probably.”

You gasp, delighted. “Oh, that one made Twitter.”

Lando winks. “I read the classics.”

Toto leans down slightly. “She is not my midlife crisis.”

Lando’s grin softens just a little. “Yeah,” he says. “We know.”

And then he disappears before Toto can decide whether silence counts as murder.

*

The race begins with noise, heat, and the kind of tension that makes even your jokes come out quieter. At first, you stand beside Toto in the garage screens, arms crossed, watching the timing gaps.

You understand enough now to follow the strategy. Enough to know when Toto’s jaw tightens. Enough to know when George is managing tyres. Enough to know when Kimi is about to get told something deeply unhelpful like “push now.”

The opening laps are messy. A virtual safety car. One bad pit stop from Ferrari. A Red Bull complaining about traffic. Normal Sunday religion.

Toto stands behind the monitors, headset on, one hand resting on the table, completely focused.

You watch him more than the race. That is your own problem. There is something unfair about him like this. Controlled. Commanding. Untouchable to everyone else. Yours in every way that matters.

After lap twenty-two, the race settles. Mercedes is in a decent position. Nobody is actively ruining Toto’s blood pressure for once.

You glance around. Bradley is away dealing with journalists. George is on track. Kimi is on track. James is in engineering mode.

Toto is standing behind his chair. Perfect.

You step closer. He notices without looking away from the screen.

“What are you doing?”

“Watching the race.”

“You were already watching the race.”

“I want a better seat.”

His eyes flick to you. Then to the chair. Then back to you. There is one second of silence. One small, dangerous second where he could choose wisdom.

He does not. Toto Wolff, team principal, billionaire, grown adult, public figure, man who should absolutely know better, sits down. And lets you slide onto his lap.

The garage freezes. Truly freezes. A race engineer looks at the screen with such intensity he might burn through it. Someone drops a pen. Someone else whispers, “Oh my God.”

Toto adjusts his headset calmly. You settle sideways on his lap, one arm around his shoulders, legs angled neatly enough to keep the skirt from becoming a national incident. Mostly.

His hand rests on your thigh. Casual. Protective. Possessive.

The cameras find you within five seconds. You know because Bradley’s voice comes through somewhere behind you.

“No. No, no, no. Absolutely not.”

You turn your head and smile at him. He looks pale.

“Toto,” Bradley says, voice strangled. “There are cameras.”

Toto keeps watching the timing screen. “I know.”

“Broadcast cameras.”

“I know.”

“International broadcast cameras.”

“I know.”

You lean into Toto’s shoulder. “He knows, Bradley.”

Bradley looks like he wants to resign and become a florist. James removes his glasses and rubs his face. “I miss when our biggest problem was tyre temperature.”

George’s radio crackles faintly. “Why is everyone laughing on the pit wall?”

Nobody answers. The silence that follows is suspicious.

You bite your lip. Toto’s mouth twitches. “Don’t laugh,” he murmurs.

“You started this.”

“I sat down.”

“You gave me permission.”

“You took initiative.”

“You like initiative.”

His hand squeezes your thigh once. “I do.”

You shift slightly, getting comfortable. His breath changes. Only a little. Enough for you to notice.

You smile against his shoulder. “Problem?”

“Behave.”

“I am watching the race.”

“You are sitting on my lap during the race.”

“And?”

“And your skirt is very short.”

“That sounds like a design feature.”

His jaw moves. You love when he is trying not to react. It is your favorite hobby.

Lap thirty-one. George gains a place. The garage cheers. You clap softly, still on Toto’s lap, and kiss his cheek.

The camera catches that too.

Bradley makes a sound behind you that might be the death of hope. Toto says nothing. He just turns slightly and presses a kiss to your temple.

The paddock, the internet, and every gossip account in existence probably combust at the same time.

You lean closer to his ear. “Do you think they’re still calling me an accessory?”

His fingers trace a small, slow circle over your knee. “They can call you whatever they want.”

“And what do you call me?”

His eyes stay on the screen. “Mine.”

Your stomach flips. Ridiculous. One word from him and you are done. Absolutely pathetic.

You lower your voice. “Careful, Mr. Wolff.”

His thumb stills. “Why?”

“Because when we get on your jet tonight…”

He turns his head slightly. Just enough. His eyes meet yours. Dark. Focused. No longer on the timing screen.

You smile, innocent as sin. “I have plans.”

His fingers tighten against your thigh. The race keeps happening. Somewhere. Probably.

“What kind of plans?” he asks quietly.

You lean closer until your lips brush his ear.

“The kind Bradley doesn’t need to schedule.”

His jaw tightens. You continue, whispering just enough to ruin his concentration. “The kind where you stop pretending you’re calm.”

Toto inhales slowly. “Tread carefully.”

You smile. “The kind where that black shirt does not survive the flight.”

His eyes close for half a second. Tiny. Barely visible. A victory.

Then he opens them and looks back at the screen like a man trying to remember he runs a Formula 1 team. “You are dangerous.”

“You knew that before you took me home.”

“I underestimated the operational risk.”

You nearly laugh into his neck. “Want me to stop?”

“No.”

The answer is immediate. Again.

You grin. Toto turns his head slightly, his mouth near your ear now. “When we get on that jet,” he says, voice low and rough, “you will behave until we are in the air.”

Your breath catches. He continues, calm enough to be cruel. “Then you can tell me every single one of those plans properly.”

Oh. Well. Your brain leaves the paddock. Possibly the continent.

You blink at the timing screen. “Copy.”

His mouth curves. “Good girl.”

Your heart performs a qualifying lap.

Behind you, James says, “I am going to pretend I heard none of that.”

Bradley sounds like he is seconds from spiritual collapse. “I am calling communications. And legal. And maybe a priest.”

You sit up straighter. “Bradley, relax. We are helping engagement.”

“You are creating a scandal.”

Toto’s hand settles more firmly around your waist. “She creates many things.”

James stands up. “No. I draw the line. I am leaving.”

You laugh so hard you have to hide your face against Toto’s shoulder. Toto, traitor that he is, looks deeply pleased with himself.

The race ends with George and Kimi on podium, and Mercedes avoiding disaster. A miracle.

The bigger miracle is that Bradley has not fainted. The second Toto stands, he keeps you close, one hand at your waist while cameras flash from every angle.

You know what the photos will look like. You on his lap. His hand on your thigh. Your mouth near his ear. His face calm, but his eyes giving him away.

By midnight, every social platform will have opinions. By morning, there will be articles.

Toto Wolff’s Girlfriend Causes Stir in the Mercedes Garage. Young Partner Sits On Mercedes Boss’s Lap During Grand Prix. Paddock Romance Or PR Nightmare?

You can already see the comments.

She’s embarrassing him. He’s embarrassing himself. She knows exactly what she’s doing. He should know better.

You glance at Toto as you walk back through the paddock. He looks completely unbothered. Actually, worse. He looks happy. Warm. Proud. Like the whole world can point and laugh, and he will still pick you every time.

“You know this is going to be everywhere,” you say.

“Yes.”

“You’re really not worried?”

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

He stops near the Mercedes hospitality entrance and looks down at you. His fingers brush your chin gently. “I spent too much of my life worrying about what people think.”

Your smile softens. “And now?”

“Now I worry whether you had lunch.”

You roll your eyes, but your chest goes warm. “You are impossible.”

“You love me.”

“I do.”

His expression softens. Still, after all this chaos, those words do something to him. Every time.

You step closer and fix the collar of his shirt. “Also, I did have lunch.”

“Good.”

“And I’m still thinking about the jet.”

His eyes darken instantly.

“Toto?”

“Yes?”

“You are blushing.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

“I am planning logistics.”

You laugh. “Is that what we call it now?”

His hand slides to the small of your back. “Careful.”

You rise on your toes and press a kiss to his cheek. “Never.”

Bradley appears from nowhere, holding his phone like a weapon. “Please tell me there will be no more incidents today.”

You look at Toto. Toto looks at you. You both look at Bradley.

“No promises,” you say.

Bradley turns around and walks away. James, passing by with coffee, mutters, “Smart man.”

Toto watches them go, then leans down close to your ear. “Jet leaves in two hours.”

Your stomach flips again. You look up at him, smiling sweetly. “Plenty of time to create one more headline.”

Toto’s laugh is quiet, dangerous, and entirely yours. Then he takes your hand and leads you inside, while the paddock watches, whispers, judges, and burns with curiosity.

Let them.

The photo is everywhere by 8:13 in the morning.

By 8:17, Toto’s phone starts vibrating like it is trying to chew its way through the coffee table.

By 8:21, Bradley sends three messages, two missed calls, and one email with the subject line:

URGENT — PLEASE DO NOT SPEAK TO ANYONE

By 8:26, George texts:

George: Mate.

Then, three seconds later:

George: Actually no. Boss. Sir. Respectfully. What the hell.

By 8:30, you are sitting cross-legged on the sofa in Toto’s Monaco penthouse, wearing one of his white shirts, eating strawberries from a bowl and staring at the photo that has apparently sent Formula 1 into collective cardiac arrest.

It was taken on Toto’s yacht.

From far away, clearly with a long lens, because apparently privacy is now an optional concept if a rich divorced team principal kisses his young girlfriend in the sun.

The angle is annoyingly good.

You are sitting on his lap, naked from the waist up, your body pressed into his open shirt. His hands are gripping your ass, firm and possessive, while his mouth is on your breasts. Your head is thrown back, lips parted, eyes half-closed, your face full of bliss — intimate, messy, private, and absolutely catastrophic for PR.

You tilt your head, studying it.

“Well.”

Toto stands by the window with his phone in one hand, wearing dark trousers and a white shirt that is unbuttoned far too low for a morning crisis.

Several buttons are undone. His chest is visible. Part of his stomach too.

The whole thing is irresponsible.

You look from the photo to the real version standing in front of the window and decide the scandal has excellent source material.

He looks over at you. “Well?”

You zoom in. “This angle really makes your shoulders look insane.”

Toto blinks. His phone vibrates again.

“You are commenting on my shoulders?”

“Yes.”

“My phone has not stopped for twenty minutes.”

“Your shoulders are relevant.”

He stares at you for a moment, then starts laughing.

A proper laugh. Low, warm, unbothered. The kind that makes you forget the internet currently thinks you are either a gold digger, a seductress, his midlife crisis, or all three depending on which comment section has the most unemployed people.

“You are unbelievable,” he says.

“You look good.”

“You are missing the point.”

“No, I see the point. Somebody took a private photo of us and sold it to the tabloids. That’s awful.” You take another strawberry. “But you still look good.”

Toto walks toward you, phone still vibrating in his hand.

“You are not upset?”

You look up at him.

Of course you are. A little.

Somewhere beneath the humor, something cold sits in your stomach. Not because of the photo itself. You are not ashamed of loving him, touching him, wanting him. You are not ashamed of being loved by him.

But because the world always tries to turn your relationship into something ugly. A transaction. A joke. A scandal.

They never see how he looks at you when you fall asleep during a film. They never see him silently placing water beside your bed because you forget to drink enough. They never see his hand finding yours under restaurant tables when crowds make you nervous.

They see your age. His money. Your body. His divorce.

And then they think they know everything.

“I’m upset that someone invaded our privacy,” you say honestly. “I’m not upset that people know you touch me like you love me.”

His face changes. The amusement softens into something quieter. Something that belongs only to you.

He puts his phone down on the table, still buzzing like an angry insect, and sits beside you.

“I do love you.”

“I know.”

“I mean it.”

“I know that too.”

He studies your face like he is looking for cracks.

You hate that he always knows where to search. So you do the only reasonable thing. You climb onto his lap before he can start asking serious questions.

His hands come to your waist immediately, steady and warm.

You settle over him, thighs on either side of his hips, the oversized shirt riding up your legs.

Toto looks down. Then back at your face. “Schatz.”

“What?”

“You are distracting me.”

“Good.”

His mouth twitches.

The phone vibrates again. You glance at it. “So is your phone.”

“I prefer your method.”

You smile and lean closer, brushing your lips against his jaw. “I’m fine,” you say.

“You do not have to be fine.”

“I know.”

“And you do not have to pretend because I am not bothered.”

You brush your fingers over his cheek. “You’re bothered.”

His eyebrows lift.

“You just hide it better because you’re a tall Austrian skyscraper with emotional security clearance.”

His mouth twitches. “That is new.”

“I’m expanding my vocabulary.”

His phone vibrates again. You both look at it.

The screen lights up.

SUSIE

Your eyebrows rise. “Oh.”

Toto exhales through his nose.

You reach for a strawberry and pop it into your mouth. “This should be fun.”

“I don’t have to answer.”

“You absolutely have to answer.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to watch.”

He gives you a dry look. “You are enjoying this.”

“I am processing trauma through entertainment.”

“That is unhealthy.”

“I’m twenty. Everything I do is legally questionable.”

His stare says he wants to disagree and cannot.

The phone keeps vibrating.

Finally, Toto picks it up. “Susie.”

You immediately sit straighter on his lap, deeply invested.

The second Susie starts speaking, you can hear her voice from the phone. Not every word. Enough.

Her tone alone could cut through carbon fiber.

Toto closes his eyes for half a second. “Yes, I saw it.”

A pause.

“No, I did not arrange it.”

Another pause. His jaw tightens slightly.

You trace a finger over his open shirt, down the line of exposed skin, because yes, the photo was correct. His body is excellent.

He catches your wrist gently and gives you a warning look.

You smile.

Susie keeps talking. Toto’s expression shifts from patient to bored to mildly deadly.

“No,” he says. “I am not going to apologize for having a private life.”

A longer pause.

You stop teasing him for exactly three seconds. Then you shift slightly in his lap. Not much. Enough.

His hand tightens on your waist.

His eyes flick to yours. Warning. You blink innocently.

Susie says something sharper.

Toto’s gaze lifts to the window, to the bright Monaco morning beyond the glass.

Then his voice turns flat. Cold. Final. “We are not together anymore, Susie. You do not get to manage who I love.”

Your breath catches. The room goes quiet around those words.

You shift again, slower this time, letting your body press against his in a way that makes his jaw clench.

He does not look at you. That is how you know it works. His fingers dig into your hip through the shirt. Grounding. Possessive. A silent command to behave.

You do not. Because you are a problem.

His eyes darken.

Susie continues talking. Toto listens for a moment, expression unreadable, though now there is a very specific tension in his shoulders.

Then he says, “I wish you well. But do not call me to lecture me about my relationship again.”

He hangs up. No raised voice. Just one tap. Silence.

You stare at him.

He places the phone back on the table. It vibrates again almost instantly. He turns it face down.

“Well,” you say softly.

“Well.”

“That was…”

“Necessary.”

You nod.

“Are you okay?”

He looks at you then, and the question seems to surprise him more than the scandal, the photo, the calls, all of it.

His expression softens. “I should ask you that.”

“You already did.”

“And?”

“And I told you I’m fine.”

“And lied a little.”

You make a face and lean closer, resting your forehead against his.

“I don’t like that everyone thinks I’m some stupid young girl you bought after your divorce.”

His arms tighten around you. “You are not stupid.”

“I know.”

“And I did not buy you.”

“I know.”

“You are expensive, though.”

You gasp. “Toto.”

“You once made me pay two hundred euros for face cream.”

“It was a serum.”

“It was small.”

“It was powerful.”

“So are you.”

That shuts you up. His hand moves up your back beneath the shirt, warm and careful.

“You know what I think?” he asks.

“That Bradley is going to need medical leave?”

“Yes. But besides that.”

You smile faintly. “What?”

“I think they are angry because we are not ashamed.”

Your chest warms.

He continues, voice low. “They expect me to hide you. They expect you to look embarrassed. They expect us to behave as if their opinion has power over what happens in this room.”

He glances at the phone. It vibrates again.

He ignores it.

“It does not.”

You look at him for a long moment. “You’re very attractive when you’re arrogant.”

“I am factual.”

“Same thing.”

He finally smiles.

You place your hand on his bare chest. “You know what I think?”

“Hm?”

“I think this angle also made your jaw look good.”

He stares at you. “You are impossible.”

“I’m serious. The photo is scandalous, yes, but visually? Strong composition.”

Toto laughs again, and this time you kiss him. It starts soft. A thank you, a comfort.

Then his hand slides into your hair and the kiss turns warmer, deeper, a kiss that makes the entire internet feel very far away.

You press closer on his lap. His hand drops to your thigh.

Your fingers slide into the open front of his shirt. He breathes in slowly against your mouth.

“Toto,” you whisper.

His hand tightens. “You have a brunch fitting in forty minutes,” he murmurs.

“I hate that you remember my schedule during a crisis.”

“I remember everything.”

“Terrible boyfriend behavior.”

“Excellent boyfriend behavior.”

You kiss him again. Harder this time.

His phone vibrates against the table. Neither of you looks at it.

*

Three days later, Formula 1 hosts one of those glossy sponsor events where everyone pretends they are relaxed while wearing clothes that cost more than some cars.

Monaco glows outside the venue, all gold lights and expensive perfume, yachts lined up in the harbor like the universe has a spending problem.

Inside, the room is full of team principals, drivers, sponsors, influencers, former drivers, current drivers, people who do not know what DRS is but own three watches, and Bradley Lord looking like he has taken three deep breaths and none of them worked.

You arrive with Toto. Obviously.

You are wearing a dress that can only be described as a threat.

Elegant, fitted, cut in all the right places, with a slit high enough to make people suddenly develop religious concerns. Your heels make your legs look endless.

Toto, beside you, wears a dark suit and that calm, expensive expression that tells people he knows exactly what they are thinking and does not care.

His hand rests at your waist as you step into the room.

Immediately, heads turn.

You smile. “Do you think they saw the photo?”

Toto glances around. “I suspect so.”

“Maybe we should ask.”

“No.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I let you wear that dress.”

“You don’t let me do anything.”

His mouth curves. “Correct. I admire aggressively.”

You grin up at him. “That was almost romantic.”

“I can do better.”

“You can try.”

He leans down, lips near your ear. “You are the most beautiful woman in this room.”

Your smile slips into something softer. “See? Better.”

“You are also the most dangerous.”

“And we’re back to flirting.”

“I am a versatile man.”

His hand lowers slightly on your back. Not enough to be obscene. Enough for you to feel claimed.

You lean into him because you can. Because he lets you. Because he likes it. Because the room is already watching, and Toto Wolff has the emotional restraint of a man who threw his PR plan off the yacht.

Before you can answer, Bradley appears in front of you like a summoned PR ghost.

“Good evening,” he says.

“Bradley,” you say cheerfully. “You look alive.”

“Against all odds.”

Toto looks amused.

Bradley’s eyes flick briefly to your dress, then immediately away with the discipline of a man who enjoys employment.

“You both need to be careful tonight.”

You place a hand on your chest. “Us?”

“Yes. You.”

“Toto, he’s accusing us.”

Toto looks at Bradley. “Are you accusing us?”

“Yes,” Bradley says without hesitation.

You laugh.

Bradley holds up his phone. “There are sponsors here, cameras, journalists, drivers, and at least two people from Netflix.”

“Oh,” you say. “So a quiet evening.”

“Toto,” Bradley says, ignoring you, “please remember that after the yacht photo—”

“Private photo,” Toto corrects.

Bradley pauses.

“Yes. After the private photo that became public through illegal and morally bankrupt circumstances, people are watching.”

You tilt your head. “That was almost a legal statement.”

“I have practiced.”

Toto’s hand moves slightly on your waist, calm and firm. “We will behave.”

Bradley looks between you both. “No, you won’t.”

You smile. “No, we won’t.”

Bradley closes his eyes.

From behind him, George appears holding a glass of water. “Is this the crisis circle?”

Kimi steps beside him. “I was told there would be snacks.”

You beam. “Boys.”

George looks at your dress, then at Toto, then at the ceiling.

“I respect my boss and will not comment.”

Kimi nods. “Same.”

“You both are cowards.”

George lowers his voice. “After the yacht photo? Survivalists.”

Kimi adds, “I still have a career.”

Toto’s eyebrows lift. “Wise.”

George looks at him. “Boss, respectfully, that photo has ruined the garage.”

“How?” Toto asks.

“Half the mechanics won’t stop making yacht jokes. Someone labeled the simulator seat ‘private deck.’”

You burst out laughing. Toto looks deeply unimpressed.

Kimi adds, “Also someone asked if lap time improves with emotional support.”

You wipe under your eye. “I love this team.”

Bradley whispers, “I don’t.”

Then Fred Vasseur arrives with James Vowles beside him, because apparently the universe has decided to turn this evening into a tribunal with champagne.

Fred walks over first, smiling like a man who has waited three days for this moment.

“Toto,” Fred says warmly. “You look relaxed.”

Toto’s face goes blank. “Fred.”

Fred looks at you. “You look very nice. Very… headline compatible.”

You grin. “Thank you.”

James glances between you and Toto, visibly trying to decide whether this is a social conversation or a motorsport hazard.

Fred turns back to Toto. “I must say, the yacht... looked comfortable.”

George makes a choking sound. Kimi becomes deeply interested in the floor. Bradley mutters something that sounds like prayer.

Toto only lifts his glass. “It is.”

Fred nods. “Good seating, yes?”

You nearly lose it.

Toto’s mouth twitches despite himself. “Very good.”

James smiles faintly. “You do realize the entire paddock has seen that photo?”

Toto looks at him. “I read the news.”

Fred gestures between you both. “I understand now why Mercedes strategy meetings take so long. You are busy with… weight distribution.”

George walks away. He fully walks away. “I’m done,” he says over his shoulder. “I’m not paid enough.”

Kimi follows him. “Me neither.”

You laugh into Toto’s shoulder. Toto looks at Fred with the kind of patience reserved for badly timed pit stops.

“You have five seconds to enjoy this.”

“I only need three,” Fred says.

James lifts his glass slightly, eyes bright with amusement. “I will say, Toto, impressive.”

Toto’s gaze narrows. “In what way?”

James clears his throat. “A demanding young girlfriend, endless media attention, a paddock scandal every week, and somehow you still look calmer than most of us after a bad pit stop.”

Fred nods solemnly. “This is true. Very impressive stamina.”

Bradley makes a strangled sound. You bite your lip.

Toto does not even blink. “I manage.”

Your eyes snap to him.

Oh. That tone. That calm, dry, lethal tone.

Fred starts laughing. James looks into his champagne like it might save him.

You lean closer to Toto. “You do manage, darling” you say sweetly.

Bradley points at you. “No.”

You blink at him. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I am being punished for thoughts now?”

“With you? Yes.”

You place a hand on your chest, deeply offended. “That is very unfair. I was only going to say that Toto is extremely disciplined, very focused, and has excellent stamina.”

Fred’s laughter stops. James slowly lowers his glass. Bradley goes completely still.

Toto’s eyes slide to you. Dangerous. Amused. A small warning.

You smile innocently. “In every area of life, of course.”

Bradley whispers, “Please stop.”

You do not. Because stopping has never been your strongest skill.

“I mean, when Toto decides to satisfy someone, he is very thorough. Patient. Methodical.” You glance up at him, smile sweet as champagne. “He doesn’t rush. He takes his time. Makes sure every little reaction is handled properly.”

Fred’s face changes. James looks like he has just realized there are no safe exits close enough.

Bradley coughs once.

You keep going, because the room has already chosen violence and you are simply honoring the theme. “And honestly, for a man everyone keeps calling old, he has a truly impressive ability to keep going until I forget why I was teasing him in the first place.”

Bradley chokes. Full choke. Red face. Glass down. One hand to his chest.

Fred takes one step back. “No, no, I am Ferrari. I do not need this data.”

James nods immediately. “Williams also declines the data.”

Toto, without changing expression, reaches over and pats Bradley firmly on the back. Once. Twice. A little too hard.

Bradley bends forward, wheezing.

“You okay, Bradley?” you ask sweetly.

He lifts one hand. “Do not speak to me.”

Fred is laughing now, but in the terrified way of a man who knows he has wandered into another team’s private telemetry session.

James turns toward the exit. “I have remembered an urgent meeting.”

“With who?” Fred asks.

“My dignity.”

“Good. I’ll join.”

You smile after them. “But I didn’t even mention his recovery pace.”

Fred stops. James grabs his sleeve. “No. We are leaving.”

They retreat with impressive speed for men in formal shoes.

Toto watches them go, then looks down at you. His hand tightens at your waist.

“You are impossible.”

You tilt your head, all innocence and bad decisions. “And yet very satisfied.”

Bradley coughs again. Toto pats his back one more time.

This time, Bradley grabs his wrist. “Stop helping.”

*

The evening continues exactly like that. People approach. People smile too politely. People glance at you and Toto like you are a live fire hazard.

Some comments are gentle. Some less so. An older sponsor asks Toto if he is “enjoying this new chapter.”

Toto answers, “Very much,” while holding you closer.

A former driver jokes that you have “made him young again.”

You reply, “No, that’s his skincare. I take no credit.”

Toto murmurs, “You bought the skincare.”

“I improved the brand.”

You stay attached to him for most of the evening. Hand on his chest. Fingers around his arm. Hip pressed to his side. Your body leaning into his as if the entire room does not exist.

Toto allows all of it. Worse. He enjoys it.

You feel it in the way his hand finds your waist every time you move. In the way his fingers spread over your bare back. In the way his thumb traces small circles against your hip while he talks to sponsors like he is not currently turning you into a PR disaster with a manicure.

Lando stops by, because naturally he does. He looks at you, then Toto, then your dress.

“Another quiet outfit.”

You smile. “Another unsuccessful rescue attempt?”

He sighs. “I’ve accepted defeat.”

“Good.”

“But the yacht photo?” Lando shakes his head. “That one hurt morale.”

Toto looks at him. “Your morale?”

“The grid’s morale. We were already losing to your bank account, now we have to compete with yacht romance?”

You laugh.

Toto’s arm tightens slightly. “You do not have to compete.”

Lando grins. “See, that sounded humble but felt threatening.”

“It was efficient.”

Lando points at you. “Is he always like this?”

“Worse in private.”

“I believe it.”

Toto’s gaze sharpens. “Careful.”

Lando lifts his hands. “I meant emotionally.”

You snort. “Sure you did.”

Across the room, you spot Susie. She stands near a group of sponsors, elegant and composed, watching for just a moment too long.

Your smile fades slightly.

Toto notices at once. His hand moves from your waist to your lower back, subtle but protective.

“Do you want to leave?” he asks quietly.

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

Susie approaches a few minutes later.

Toto stands a little taller. You stay exactly where you are, close to him, your hand resting lightly against his chest.

Susie looks at you first. Then at Toto.

“Toto.”

“Susie.”

Her gaze flicks between you both. “I see the scandal hasn’t made you more cautious.”

You smile before Toto can answer. “Caution doesn’t really match the dress.”

Susie looks at you. For a second, you expect sharpness. Instead, something polished and irritated passes over her face.

She is trying to hide it. She is very good. Not good enough.

“You’re very young,” she says.

There it is again. The sentence everyone uses when they want to say something else. Too young. Too foolish. Too temporary. Too easy to dismiss.

You feel Toto’s body tense beside you.

But you answer first. “I am.”

Susie blinks, maybe surprised.

You continue, calm and sweet. “And I love him. Both can be true.”

Toto looks down at you.

You don’t look away from Susie. “I know what people think,” you say. “I hear the jokes. I read the comments. I know they think I’m here because of money or attention or whatever makes the story easier for them.”

Your fingers curl gently into Toto’s jacket.

“But I’m here because he makes me happy. And because I make him happy. That’s all.”

For a moment, Susie says nothing. The room moves around you, laughter and music and glasses clinking, but the little circle you stand in feels still.

Then Susie looks at Toto. “He has always been difficult.”

You smile. “Daily.”

Toto’s eyebrow lifts. Susie’s mouth tightens before it almost becomes a smile. Almost.

“Good luck, then.”

You tilt your head. “With Toto?”

“With the world watching.”

You glance up at him. His eyes are on you, warm and certain.

“I’m used to it.”

Susie studies you both for one more second. Then she nods, once. Not approval exactly, not a friendship. Something less sharp than before, though not soft either.

She leaves without another lecture.

Toto exhales slowly. You look up at him.

“Well. Nobody died.”

“Excellent standard.”

“I think your ex-wife doesn’t like me.”

His mouth twitches. “She has complicated feelings.”

“That is rich-people language for ‘she wants to throw me into the harbor.’”

“Possibly.”

You grin. “You’d save me.”

“Obviously.”

“In the suit?”

“I would remove the jacket.”

“Practical.”

“I am always practical.”

“You are dating me.”

His eyes soften. “That was the least practical decision of my life.”

You gasp. “Toto.”

“And the best.”

Your mouth closes. Unfair. Completely unfair.

Then Fred’s voice cuts in from nearby. “I am sorry to interrupt emotional development, but someone is taking photos.”

Bradley appears instantly. “Where?”

Fred points vaguely. “Everywhere. It is Monaco.”

Bradley looks at you and Toto. “Please do not kiss.”

You and Toto look at each other.

Bradley’s eyes widen. “No.”

You smile. “Toto.”

“Yes, Schatz?”

“Bradley said please.”

“That was polite of him.”

“So we should respect it?”

“We should.”

You nod solemnly. Then Toto kisses you.

He cups your face with one hand and kisses you right there in the middle of the sponsor event, surrounded by team principals, drivers, sponsors, cameras, scandal, history, ex-wives, and at least one man from Netflix probably thanking every god of content.

It is not long. It does not need to be. It says enough. You are here. He wants you here. He is not hiding. Neither are you.

When he pulls back, your lips curve into a smile. Bradley makes a tiny, broken sound.

James murmurs, “Bold.”

Fred raises his glass. “To young love and terrible decision-making.”

Lando cheers from somewhere behind him.

George shouts, “I am not involved.”

Kimi says, “I was never here.”

You laugh against Toto’s chest.

Toto’s arm wraps around you, keeping you close, his mouth near your temple. “Still not upset?” he asks quietly.

You look around the room. At the whispers. The cameras. The people pretending not to stare.

Then you look at him. Tall, handsome, composed, completely yours.

Your scandal. Your impossible man. Your boyfriend with the body of an Adonis and the emotional restraint of a man who had thrown his PR plan into the Monaco harbor.

“No,” you say.

His eyes soften. “Good.”

“But I am still mad about one thing.”

His brows pull together. “What?”

You lean closer, lowering your voice. “I think the yacht photo should have captured your abs better.”

For one second, he stares at you. Then he laughs. The sound warms everything inside you.

His hand tightens at your waist. “You are a menace.”

“You love me.”

“I do.”

“Even when I cause scandals?”

“Especially then.”

You grin.

Bradley, still nearby, points at both of you. “I heard that, and I am choosing to ignore it for my health.”

You rest your cheek against Toto’s chest.

“See? Progress.”

Toto kisses the top of your head.

Across the room, cameras flash again.

You know you should behave. You know Bradley is right there. You know half the paddock is watching.

Toto knows it too. That is probably why he does it. His hand slides from your waist down to your ass. Slow. Confident. Public enough to be dangerous.

Then he squeezes. Not hard but just enough. Enough to make your breath catch. Enough to make your eyes widen.

Enough for Bradley to make a sound like his soul has left the building.

“Toto,” Bradley whispers, horrified.

Fred bursts out laughing. James turns away, smiling into his glass.

George, from across the room, says, “I saw nothing!”

Kimi immediately adds, “I saw less.”

Toto looks completely calm. The bastard.

You, despite the high heels, rise even higher on your toes and press a kiss to his cheek. Soft. Sweet. Absolutely shameless.

Cameras flash again. More this time. A little storm of them.

You glance at Bradley, smiling. “Well,” you say brightly, “now our photo will definitely make the front pages.”

Bradley looks like he needs medical assistance. “Why,” he says, voice hollow, “are you like this?”

You lean into Toto, who still has his hand very much where it should not be during a sponsor event.

“Love.”

Bradley closes his eyes. “That is not a legal defense.”

Toto’s mouth curves. “It should be.”

Let them write. Let the articles come. Let the comments explode. Let them call you his mistake, his crisis, his pretty scandal.

You already know the truth. You are the woman he pulls closer when the world stares. And he is the man who kisses you anyway.

...and sometimes he also grabs your ass in front of sponsors. Which, honestly, is very bad for PR. And excellent for morale.

✨taglist: @soleilgrec @wolff-fixation @luckysept @honeytii @stanswifties @myescapefromthislife @f1girliespop @heartsformarie @kermittaxevasion @tremog2405 @lanpastry @rash36

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

user49 tell them, yn!!

user50 this is crazy user48

You stood with your back pressed against his chest, both staring out into the darkening night sky on the patio. His hands were wrapped around yours, resting your waist. The slow beats of the music, the soft sparkle of the fairy lights and the overlapping conversations behind the pair of you were enough to lull the tipsy Henry into a gentle sleepy dance that got slowly more sensual as the music tempo increased. You felt his hips collide with your rear from a mis-timed sway and stifled a gasp as you felt something that was very much waking up. His hands smoothed over your arms and by the way he squeezed your body against his you could tell he wanted to take you home. To prove that the burgeoning hardness against your hip was a birthday treat you wouldn’t want to miss. But the alcohol singing in your veins had other ideas; you pulled away from Henry’s embrace, backing away slowly until only your fingertips touched. You watched his face tumble through sleepy, alcohol-fuelled arousal to confusion and a flicker of primal urge to take that sent a shiver down your rapidly cooling back and a flood of moisture between your thighs.

A smile curved your features and you left with a giggle, sparing him only one more glance over your shoulder as you bolted off into the garden. He’d lost you to the surrounding darkness before his brain had caught up with what happened, leaving him rock hard and wanting, hands flexing as they were left empty.

—-

You smiled drunkenly at the engagement ring sparkling on your hand. The moon light gave it an almost unreal glow. It all started as a perfect birthday bbq and then he’d pulled this tiny velvet box from his pocket and the rest of the evening was a blur. Until now.

Here you were, hiding out in the old treehouse, barely visible in the leafy canopy of the treetop. You were just about to call it quits and climb back down to find Henry when you heard the unmistakable sound of him calling your name. When you didn’t respond he stepped further into the garden, frustration clear in the tread of his feet. You fiddled with the body warm metal and stayed put, your pussy throbbing as if calling out to the very man you were hiding from.

“Sweetheart?”

Your heart almost stopped as you heard him approaching your hiding spot, his voice much closer than you thought. You lay on your back, invisible from the garden floor. But you couldn’t help the giggle that escaped as Henry called your name again. You clapped your hand around your mouth to stifle the noise. But it was too late.

“Oh is my little Kitten stuck in the tree?”

A pleased hum rumbled in your chest at the nickname and you rolled over onto your front to peer at him from your perch.The tree creaked underneath you and for a moment you thought hiding in the old treehouse might have been a bad idea. Henry cooed at you from where he stood looking up at the treehouse.

“Mmm, she’s definitely stuck… Does she need some help getting down?”

You nibbled on your bottom lip. His eyes were dark and faintly reflected the fairy lights, looking like little fireflies amongst the trees.

“Or getting off?” His voice lowered an octave as he tilted his head to the side, assessing your blown pupils and the flesh caught between your teeth. Your nails reflexively scraped across the floorboards in a rush of adrenaline, the whole evening shuddering to a halt as you watched his tongue peek out to wet his lips.

“Mmm that’s what I thought. Get down here now.”

His instructions cascaded down your spine like thick honey and your limbs obeyed helplessly at the desire in his voice. You scrambled to your feet and tried to ease yourself down the crude wooden steps nailed to the tree. You almost slipped, but Henry pulled you from the tree in a flash and you squeaked as his warm hand gripped the bare skin of your rear underneath your dress.

In a whirl of rustling leaves and a gentle breeze, you were pressed against the trunk of the tree, your dress rucked up helplessly around your waist. Your legs drifted open as Henry closed the gap, pressing his body tight against yours in a sordid mirror of the gentle dance from earlier.

Your fingers dug into his shirt, wrinkling the material underneath your hands as Henry undid his belt. You craned your neck to meet his lips, barely able to brush them from your position. He chuckled darkly, his hands suddenly pushing your thighs upwards and further apart.

“Sweetheart. Kitten.” He tutted. “You left me with this.”

He pressed his bare erection against your steadily soaking underwear for emphasis, watching you mewl, satisfaction etched onto his handsome features.

“So I think I get to call the shots. Wife.”

Your jaw dropped open, you’d never felt so possessed, so owned in such a devastatingly, overwhelmingly all consuming way that you couldn’t think of anything but the way he felt surrounding you. He pulled your underwear aside and you felt the thick head of his cock push deep, spearing you open to own you from the inside as much as the ring on your finger did. A promise to ruin you for anyone else.

He slid so deep that swore you could almost feel him in your chest. He pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in with a precise thrust that you knew would leave tree bark marks on your back.

“Oh God! Henry!” You moaned hoarsely, trying to hold back for fear of being heard.

You felt Henry’s breath ghost across your face, his forehead resting against yours as he sped up. He shuffled his grip on your thighs and changed the angle of his thrust, pulling an almost scream from your throat.

“Fuck!”

From this angle he hit your clit directly with every movement. The tingling warmth of an impending orgasm washed through your body before you came violently around his cock, biting into his shoulder to prevent yourself from screaming his name. His thrusts became erratic, dropping one of your thighs in favour of the back of your neck, holding your face to his. His jaw clenched, his grunts morphing into moans as his eyes focused on yours. A second orgasm followed softly after your first, a gentle tingle singing through your veins as you felt Henry throb inside you one final time before succumbing to the same visceral pleasure with a low growl.

His kiss was messy as he pulled out, your breaths mingling in the still cooling evening air. Henry put your underwear back in place as you tucked him back into his jeans, peppering gentle kisses over his cheek and jaw. He held out his hand to you, tugging you away from the tree and allowing your dress to fall back into place with a gentle twirl on the spot.

A lunch date with your boss was never just lunch; especially since your professional relationship had turned private and very sexual over the last few weeks. Knocking on his door you stand with a pile of finished paperwork to hand over, a cover for your fun, while your bag is thrown over your shoulder - more for show of a lunch meeting but it held various things you knew you’d need for ‘afterwards’.

He calls you in after a few moments and motions for you to lock the door. Henry buzzes his secretary that he was in an important lunch meeting and shouldn’t be disturbed; the tinny voice on the other end answers with an agreement and ends the conversation.

You hadn’t exactly been secretive but at the same time neither of you wanted to be the talking point of the company; Henry had been sure to not give you any special treatment - at least not in public.

The office Henry occupied was the top most floor of an elegant skyscraper; the view was stunning on a clear day like today when you could see miles. Just for that reason he had kept two of the large floor to ceiling windows completely clear of any curtains or blinds.

“Mr Cavill, my apologies for being late. I was…. Held up.” You smirk and place the file stack on his large and ornate desk, your bag sits on the chair opposite his.

“Oh? May I inquire as to why?” He raises an eyebrow and cocks his head.

“Well these vibrating panties you gifted me are extremely fun and I needed just a little time to myself to really enjoy them.”

“I hope you’re not spent?” He stands and places his hands in his pockets, pulling his trousers right across his crotch.

“Most certainly not.” You assure him. “Sadly the battery ran out before I could fully enjoy them.”

“Oh well, we can’t leave you unfinished can we? However I do need an oral presentation from you first… I remember you being very talented at them.”

You blush lightly and nod “I’m sure I can drum something up Mr Cavill. How would you like me?”

Henry walks over to his door and pulls across a long and dark blind to fully block out any view from the other side of the frosted glass.

“I would very much like you on your knees…”

You look at the carpet “you’ll owe me new stockings..” just a shadow of your inner brat showing through.

“There’s a new pair in my desk drawer.” He winks “already thought ahead because those are going to be ruined by the time I’m done with you.”

You shake your hair back and tie it up out the way with a simple hair elastic that lived on your wrist for times like this; there were more in your bag along with makeup and tissues - the boss liked to cum over your face and tits, he’s promised to cum over your ass too and while you had no issues with this; you couldn’t walk around the office like that. Wrong kind of office.

Henry walks to his desk and leans on the edge, feet planted firmly on the floor to steady himself. He watches you intently as you slip off your blazer and unbutton your blouse just enough to give him a glimpse of your cleavage. You had specifically picked the ivory and pink lace bra he had gifted you because of how it made you feel; sexy and powerful.

Slipping off your shoes and setting them beside the chair you bag rested on, you sink to your knees and look up under your lashes at your boss. He simply smirks and raises that damn eyebrow again; it’s a silent instruction for you to undo his trousers and get your oral presentation underway. Never one to really argue, you slowly unzip him and make sure your fingers brush over the bulge currently being held back. His hisses and quiet growls only push you to draw this out as long as possible; even when his trousers are open and down around his hips you palm him through his tight boxers and watch his head fall back.

Clearing his throat a little, Henry rolls his neck and looks down at you “fucking tease…”

You nod and slowly, painfully slowly, pull down his boxers to free his cock from their confines. He was already hard but you knew from experience he would get harder in your mouth; choking wasn’t something you enjoyed but gagging? Gagging on that cock was something you yearned and ached for.

Just like he has taught you, you opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue over your teeth.

“Good girl…” his voice was low and sent shivers down your spine. The position you were now knelt in arches your back and presented a great view of your breasts to him; you shimmy your shoulders and pop a couple more buttons open before wrapping your hand around his cock and taking him into your mouth.

He moans and drops his head back, his knuckles going white as he grips the edge of the desk. He had told you exactly what he liked and had instructed you; since then you hadn’t needed instruction. Your head bobbed slowly as you hollow your cheeks; your tongue making sure your teeth never touch the sensitive skin. It takes little time for saliva to be running down your chin which only makes this all the more pleasurable for Henry. You moan quietly as you continue to take him, drawing his attention down to watch you again while the vibrations travel through him.

You had no intention of making him cum like this; you wanted him to have you, rough and ready, however he wanted to give it and that meant getting him as close as possible before pulling away. This wasn’t a tried and tested method. Yet. However you were desperate to find out exactly what would happen when you did.

Henry’s breathing speeds up and hitches as you keep working your mouth over him; your hand massages his balls firmly, making him hiss again.

“Good girl…. Just like that…” his voice is a little slurred and breathless as he watches you.

He was close but not close enough, breathing through your nose only you take him to the back of your throat and groan around him. He gasps and rocks his hips into you; a hand going to your hair but not pushing, just gripping. You groan again and look up, the fullness of your mouth making it hard to swallow or breathe without concentration, tears escape from your eyes and after only a few seconds your perfect makeup is ruined; streaking down your face.

He pants heavier and goes back to gripping the desk “fuck.. Jesus fuck..”

You felt his muscles tighten and twitch and just when you watched him inhale deeply ready to fill your mouth with his climax you pull away and look up at the disappointment, confused and frustrated expression on his face.

“Brat…!” He groans under his breath and leans down, grabbing your wrists and dragging you up to your feet.

You give a cheeky laugh and nod “uh huh…”

“This what you want?” He spins you to face the large window and undoes your skirt zip, pushing the material down your legs to the floor. “You wanted to get yours first?” He rakes his nails over your thighs and rips your tights in the process, proceeding to rip off the now dead vibrating panties at the shoddily sewn seams until you were naked from the waist down.

Henry wasted no time in bending you forward and spreading your legs, his hand running over you from behind “damn baby… you get that wet from sucking my cock?”

You moan at his fingers pushing into you and stretching you open in readiness for his cock.

“Answer me!” He snaps in your ear and reaches to undo your blouse fully, pulling the cups of your bra down under your breasts and pushing you against the cold window.

“Yes!” You lick your lips “gagging on your cock gets me so wet!”

Henry smirks and removes his fingers, replacing them with the length of his cock in a single smooth motion. You feel him slip into you with complete ease and fully stretch you. The first time he had fucked you, you thought he would rip you in two but instead you discovered just how much you loved him filling you and pushing deep.

You brace yourself on the window frame either side of you and push back to his hips “please…” you whisper.

“Please what?” He nips your neck lightly.

“Please fuck me.” You answer. “Fuck me hard.”

Henry growls low in your ear and snaps his hips into you, his hands holding your waist as he sets a deep and rough rhythm. You groan and push back to his rutting hips as best you could; this is exactly what you wanted. You looked out from the window and wondered if anyone else in the other skyscrapers could see you and whined at the thought of being seen.

Moving his hands down to your hips he pulls you onto his thrusts and moans louder “gonna have to re-so that oral presentation babygirl…. Very disappointed in the wrap up…”

You pant and re-steady yourself, unable to move to him and letting him instead do exactly what he wanted to you while you enjoyed his rough hands all over you, snaking around from your hips to your belly, up your ribs to your breasts and pinching your nipples enough to make you squeal in pleasure.

“Remind me to buy you nipple clamps…” he muses and massages your breasts.

You moan and lift your leg onto the low sill of the frame.

“You want it deeper?” Henry leans you up against his torso and lifts your leg over his forearm.

You chuckle at the make up marks on the window and turn your head to kiss Henry; even at this angle you were amazed how much of your mouth his tongue could explore.

Henry reaches down with his free hand and circles your swollen and sensitive clit quickly, his hips snapping up and into you relentlessly.

Moaning louder you lean your head back against him and reach up to pinch your own nipples “just there…” you pant and whine.

You hoped Henry wouldn’t take his revenge now for your oral presentation but the thought barely had time to fully fledge in your mind as you call out suddenly; you needn’t have worried, his cock hadn’t ever failed to make you climax and that wasn’t about to start now.

Collapsing back against Henry as your orgasm makes your legs weak you moan again when you feel him release inside you, your own juices mix with his seed and run down your thighs as he stands you down again.

He kisses over your neck and hums “damn good lunch meeting… you may wanna go clean up before you head out.”

“Good idea Mr Cavill… would you like to schedule another meeting before I do that?”

“How about we have a fun scenic drive home tonight? I can drop you off.”

“Sounds perfect…” you pick up your bag and take the replacement nylons from Henry’s drawer before heading to his bathroom.