THIS!!!!!!! ABC TAKE NOTES!!!!!

POINTS BABY!!!! P5!!! WOHOOOO!!!!!

(seems a bit inappropriate now that Nico passed Lewis😬😬)

nico hulkenberg appreciation post reblog if you agree

Fernando Alonso x wife!reader

alonsoyn_ ✓

liked by lance_stroll, astonmartinf1 and others 66.965 people

alonsoyn_ My destiny🤍😘

astonmartinf1 The best❤️

alonsoyn_ 😘😘

user I really want what they have

user I love a couple there 😍

user One of the longest lasting couples

user proud to say that I've been here since the beginning of their relationship Hahaha

fernandoalo_oficial My love, I love you so much. ❤️

alonsoyn_ It's not possible, I love you more❤️

lance_stroll ❤️

alonsoyn_❤️💐

landonorris I want a relationship like yours mom

carlossainz55 I also want

alonsoyn_ Just stop being naughty guys😅😂❤️

user I'M DYING WITH YN RESPONSE LOL

landonorris damn mom, you humiliated us 😂

carlossainz55 I can try lol

alonsoyn_ 😑😑

user I LOVE YN AND FERNANDO

estebanocon make your words mine.

charles_leclerc make your words ours.

carlossainz55 rt.

oscarpiastri rt.

lance_stroll rt.

landonorris rt.

maxverstappen rt.

georgerussell63 rt.

alex_albon rt.

mickschumacher rt.

astonmartinf1 rt.

user MY GOD, I WILL END LIFE

user Mom and dad 😍

user 😍😍

see all 1.689 comments

fernandoalo_oficial ✓

liked by alex_albon,nyckdevries and others 743.525 people

fernandoalo_oficial My family, I love more than anything in this world 🩷🩵

user The beauty of this family sir 😍

userbr Oi sogra,Oi sogro 😘

user what's his @? Anybody know?

user I saw a report that Nando's son doesn't like F1 and that he doesn't have social media because he doesn't really like exposure

user WHAT?????? The guy's father is literally an F1 driver and he doesn't like it??? Oh my god, if it were me, I would love it lol

fernandoalo_oficial my son doesn't have social media, because he doesn't like it, and on this subject that "he doesn't like F1" it's entirely a lie, my son studies and is quite busy, but whenever he can he goes to the paddock.

alonsoyn_ My babies, and my adorable, hot husband😍

user and what a husband uff👏🏼😮‍💨😮‍💨

user draw a fan for you to eat, preferably draw me🤭

user I want you 😋

landonorris wanting is not being able to love

user LANDOO 😂

user 😍

user I want to be part of your family,I could even be a family dog 🥺😭

alonsoyn_ You guys are awesome lol I love you🤍😂

user Yn and Nando🫦🫦🫦

see all 2.534 comments

alonsoyn_ and fernandoalo_oficial

liked by zhouguanyu24,lance_stroll and 91.102 people

alonsoyn_ My true love,I love you today and always❤️‍🩹

user I want what they have 😭

user 😍

fernandoalo_oficial I love you,I love you today and always ❤️

user God, they are so cute 🥹🥹

user the most beautiful couple in the whole world!!

user the most beautiful couple in formula 1 😍

user adopt me, i can sleep in the dog house 😭

user 😍😍😍

user Fernando's little face in the fourth photo lol how cute 🥰🥹

user Fan of your relationship 😍🫀

user The dream of all of us is to find someone who loves us like Nando loves Yn

user mother and father 😍

user their love overflows 😍

see all 1.022 comments

Where can I find a man like this?? 😩

Toto Wolff with wife reader. They had a fight and just sort of made each other laugh when they were talking. Which is why they married each other in the first place. Up to you. Thanks!! :))

The slam of a door echoes through the house, not loud enough to be angry, but firm enough to leave no room for ambiguity. You exhale sharply, your arms crossed as you stand in the kitchen, staring at the countertop. The argument wasn’t supposed to spiral like this—not over something so trivial. It was about the schedule for the weekend, who was supposed to handle what, and somehow, it had escalated into a full-blown disagreement.

Toto had walked out to the living room, his long strides carrying him away from your raised voice. That alone had been enough to irritate you further. You can hear him now, somewhere in the house, moving things around, his presence as large and impossible to ignore as ever. You don’t have the energy to follow after him or continue the argument. Instead, you open a cabinet and begin tidying up the already-organized shelves, trying to distract yourself from the simmering frustration.

Minutes pass. It’s quiet, except for the soft clinking of plates as you rearrange them. You wonder if he’s sitting on the couch, brooding, or maybe pacing around as he tends to do when his emotions get the better of him. The thought of his long legs covering endless ground in the small space almost makes you smile—almost.

The sound of footsteps pulls you out of your thoughts. You don’t turn around, though. You’re not ready to engage again.

“Are you seriously reorganizing the dishes?” his voice comes from the doorway, a mixture of incredulity and amusement. It’s the first time he’s spoken since the argument ended in stalemate.

You set down a plate with a bit more force than necessary and glance over your shoulder. “Yes. It’s productive. Unlike—” You cut yourself off, not wanting to reignite the tension. “It’s fine.”

Toto leans against the doorframe, his arms crossed, his head tilted as he studies you. “You always do this,” he says, and there’s a warmth creeping into his voice that you don’t want to acknowledge just yet. “You get annoyed and suddenly everything in the house has to be spotless.”

“It’s better than stomping away dramatically like someone I know,” you retort, turning back to your dishes.

There’s a beat of silence, and then he chuckles—a low, rich sound that breaks through the lingering anger like sunlight cutting through clouds. “Dramatic? Me? Darling, you slammed the cupboard doors like they owed you money.”

You freeze for a moment, your hands on a glass, and then you laugh despite yourself. It’s a small, involuntary sound that you quickly smother, but he hears it. Of course he does. Toto has a way of catching even the things you try to hide.

When you finally turn to face him, he’s grinning—crooked, boyish, and entirely disarming. It’s the grin that had charmed you all those years ago, back when he was just the ambitious team principal trying to win your heart. You sigh, leaning back against the counter, your earlier frustration melting away.

“You’re impossible,” you say, shaking your head.

“And yet,” he replies, stepping closer, “you married me.”

“Regretting it now,” you quip, but your smile betrays you.

Toto closes the distance between you, his hands finding your waist. He bends slightly to meet your eyes, his gaze soft and sincere. “No, you’re not,” he murmurs. “Because you know no one else would put up with either of us.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help laughing again. He’s right, of course. That’s always been the thing about the two of you—you clash, you bicker, but at the end of the day, you understand each other in a way that no one else could. It’s infuriating and comforting all at once.

“I hate that you’re right,” you admit, resting your hands on his chest.

“Not all the time,” he says with mock solemnity. “Just most of the time.”

“You’re still sleeping on the couch tonight,” you tease, though your tone is far too soft to be threatening.

“Am I?” he challenges, his brow arching. “We’ll see about that.”

The playfulness in his voice is enough to send a flutter through your chest. It’s moments like these—when the tension dissolves into laughter, when you’re reminded of why you fell in love in the first place—that make everything else worth it. You lean into him, your forehead resting against his, and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close.

“Truce?” he asks, his voice low and gentle.

“Truce,” you agree. “But only if you help me finish organizing the dishes.”

He groans theatrically, but there’s no real protest in it. “Fine. But if I break something, it’s your fault for making me do this.”

“You’re a grown man,” you reply, grinning. “Figure it out.”

He laughs again, and the sound fills the room, warm and familiar. As the two of you work side by side, bickering playfully over the proper placement of bowls and glasses, it strikes you how ridiculous the whole fight had been. But maybe that’s the secret to your marriage—knowing how to find each other again, even after the most ridiculous of arguments.

And as Toto leans over to kiss your temple, murmuring something about you being “far too stubborn for your own good,” you can’t help but think that, yes, this is exactly why you married him.

❤️

Could you do Benedict Bridgerton with wife reader? There is a festival in the Ton and they were just enjoying themselves with their children and the Bridgerton's siblings. Fluff. Thanks!! :))

Good kind of chaos

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Summary: The family Bridgerton having fun at the annual festival <3

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: flufffff

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, recommendations, vents or questions are always welcome. I love talking to you guys about anything <3

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The soft hum of excitement filled the sprawling grounds of Aubrey Hall as the annual autumn festival, hosted by none other than the Bridgertons, came alive with vibrant colors and joyful music. Booths of entertainers, games, and refreshments lined the paths, while children wove through the adults with kites and laughter. Banners of orange, crimson, and gold fluttered in the gentle breeze, matching the hues of the trees that framed the scene.

At the heart of it all stood Benedict Bridgerton, the second eldest of the infamous Bridgerton clan, his artistic gaze flickering with wonder as he soaked in the atmosphere. Beside him was you—his wife, his anchor, the woman who had turned his life into an adventure far more beautiful than any painting he could ever create.

“Thomas!” you called, laughing as your eldest son, all of seven years old, ran ahead of you with endless energy. His brown curls, much like Benedict’s, bounced with every step as he led his sister, Amelia, on a hunt for the perfect kite. “Stay where we can see you!”

Amelia, delicate and graceful despite being only five, paused just long enough to turn around and wave enthusiastically. “We will, Mama!” she promised before tugging her brother along. The two disappeared into a crowd of children eagerly awaiting their turn at the puppet show.

You turned toward Benedict with a contented sigh, adjusting the shawl wrapped loosely around your shoulders. “Do you think they’ll ever tire?” you asked, your tone teasing, though the sight of your children, wild and free, made your heart swell.

Benedict smiled warmly, his fingers brushing against yours. “If they’ve inherited even a shred of Bridgerton spirit, I’m afraid not. They’ll run until the sun sets.” He tilted his head towards the scene before you, where the other Bridgertons mingled in the festivities. “And look at that, chaos already spreading.”

Following his gaze, you saw Anthony, attempting to corral his own brood of children while simultaneously discussing the logistics of the evening’s dance with his wife, Kate. His authoritative tone didn’t quite match the image of him holding a toddler on one hip, who was pulling on his cravat.

Daphne, the picture of elegance as always, was indulging her son Augie’s request to play a ring toss game, Simon beside her with their daughter in his arms. The Duke, though quiet, wore the smallest of smiles as he watched his family revel in the simplicity of the day.

Eloise, on the other hand, seemed far more interested in a heated debate with Francesca about the importance of women’s independence while her younger sister Hycacinth was running after her brother Gregory once again.

And, of course, Colin had made his way to the refreshments table, charming a young vendor into giving him an extra serving of sugared almonds.

You smiled at the scene, feeling a wave of contentment as you leaned into Benedict’s side. “It’s a good kind of chaos,” you said softly.

“It is.” Benedict turned to you, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. “A little wild, a little unmanageable, but completely our own.”

Just then, a tug on your skirt drew your attention. Your youngest child, three-year-old Eliza, stood at your feet with a pout on her face, her tiny hands gripping a tangled mess of ribbon from her kite. “Mama,” she whined, her wide eyes brimming with frustration. “It’s broken!”

You bent down to her level, taking the mess of ribbon into your hands. “Oh, my love, it’s not broken. Just a little tangled, that’s all. Shall we fix it together?”

Eliza nodded eagerly, her earlier frustration already forgotten as you worked to untangle the colorful string. Benedict knelt beside you, his large hands gently guiding Eliza’s smaller ones as they helped with the knot. “You’ll be flying it again in no time, my little artist,” he said, a teasing grin on his lips.

Eliza’s eyes lit up at the mention of the word “artist.” Like her father, she had an affinity for all things creative, often sitting beside Benedict as he sketched, mimicking his strokes with her own colorful crayons. “I want to paint kites when I’m big, Papa!” she declared.

“And I’ll be your first customer,” Benedict replied, planting a kiss on her head. You watched them, heart swelling with love, before your attention was stolen by Thomas and Amelia, who were waving frantically from across the lawn.

“Papa! Mama! Come look!” Thomas shouted, practically bouncing with excitement as he held his new kite—a magnificent creation in the shape of a dragon, painted in deep reds and greens.

Amelia, her hair tousled and cheeks pink from running, beamed up at you both. “Uncle Colin helped us choose the best one! Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Exquisite,” you said with a smile, taking in their prideful expressions. “Shall we fly it together?”

The four of you made your way to a small hill, where the children gleefully launched their kites into the sky, giggling as they raced the wind. You stood close to Benedict, who had taken Eliza onto his shoulders so she could watch her siblings, her small fingers gripping his hair as she pointed at the kites.

“Papa, higher!” she squealed, her laughter filling the air.

You glanced at Benedict, marveling at the ease with which he balanced family and love, the joy in his eyes as he watched his children. “What are you thinking?” you asked, your voice soft as you stepped closer, resting your head on his arm.

He smiled, his gaze fixed on the sky for a moment before turning to you. “I’m thinking how lucky I am,” he said, his voice low but full of warmth. “To have this—our children, our life together. Sometimes I still can’t believe it.”

You felt your chest tighten with emotion, your love for him deepening in the quiet simplicity of the moment. “I know exactly what you mean,” you whispered.

Before either of you could say more, a loud crash of laughter erupted behind you. Colin had tripped over a small table, sending a tray of pastries flying—much to the delight of the nearby children, who swarmed the fallen treats. Hyacinth and Gregory were the first to dart forward, gathering sweets in their hands as Colin scrambled to his feet, red-faced but laughing.

“Ah, a Bridgerton tradition,” Benedict mused, shaking his head in mock dismay. “A party isn’t complete without Colin making a scene.”

“I’d say it’s charming in its own way,” you teased.

Anthony, overhearing your comment as he passed by, chuckled. “Charming is one word for it.” His eyes softened as he looked toward his own children, running hand in hand with their cousins. “We certainly know how to make an impression.”

You all shared a knowing glance, the bond between the siblings unspoken yet undeniable.

As the day wore on and the sun began to dip low on the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you stood together as a family, watching as your children played, laughed, and loved. There was a peace in the air, a sense of belonging that had been woven together by years of joy, challenge, and the unbreakable bond of family.

Benedict wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice full of love and gratitude. “For giving me this life.”

You looked up at him, your heart full. “And thank you for filling it with such color.”

Together, you stood in the fading light, your children running wild, the sound of their laughter blending with the chatter of the Bridgertons around you. The festival was a celebration, yes—but more than that, it was a reflection of the love and joy that filled your life, with Benedict by your side.

A Letter To Old Days.

Warnings? None, really! Mostly fluffy, with plenty of longing. Toto Wolff x Reader. One shot.

Words: 1.176.

You remember your 19 years as if it were today, when you used to accompany your younger brother to karting classes. One day, you’re sitting by the edge of the racetrack, impatient, your face resting on the palm of your hand, your eyes wandering bored over the boys zigzagging with their karts. The next, you’re there willingly, observing every movement, waiting with a silent anticipation that you don’t dare confess even to yourself.

At first, the minutes dragged; you counted your brother’s laps on the track as if they were the beats of a lazy clock. But later, each hour seemed to dissolve between muffled laughter and glances that you couldn’t decipher. You vividly remember the days when your mother insisted you go along to the practices, your presence becoming a routine.

You thought you were there out of obligation, a shadow following your younger brother like an obedient guard dog, not realizing that your own freedom was beginning to intertwine with that space.

That’s when your thoughts began to take shape on the pages of your notebook:

So, there is this boy...

Tall, dark-haired, with a smile you couldn’t decipher. He was a bit odd, too quiet for someone who dealt with speed and adrenaline. There was a shyness there, something you couldn’t quite identify at first.

Always observant, always attentive to details that escaped others. Maybe it was this quietness that caught your attention.

Back then, you weren’t good at understanding boys’ behavior. You thought he simply hadn’t noticed you in the same way. Maybe he was just another attentive instructor, too focused on his job to pay attention to the girl who was always hanging around, pretending to be disinterested.

Until your best friend, always more perceptive, said something that caught you by surprise: “You two are flirting. But in the most awkward and innocent way possible.” And suddenly, everything made sense.

The way he hesitated when talking to you, always looking for an excuse to prolong the conversations. The fleeting glances he’d throw your way while adjusting your brother’s helmet, as if he wanted to make sure you were really there. And those smiles... those restrained smiles you thought were just professional courtesy. Casual questions about university exams, musical tastes, anything that could prolong that shared moment.

And, somehow, even without fully understanding it, you started to write more about him in your notebook, as if each word could capture what you felt and the things you didn’t know how to say out loud.

By the time you realized what could have been between you, he had already left the racetrack. So, he ended up being just a few more pages in your notebook, mixed with notes on dreams and random thoughts.

He had dropped out of university, changed jobs, and moved to another country to pursue his dream of becoming a driver. And there, facing the void he had left behind, you found yourself wondering if it had all just been your imagination.

Maybe it was just a game your mind played.

And that was okay if it was. Because, in that moment, you discovered what it was like to fall in love for the first time.

You fell for him.

The first year of university passed in a blur. You threw yourself into studies and social events, not because you were particularly interested, but because it felt like the only way to silence that nagging sense of something missing. You changed majors twice, joined a few clubs, even went to a couple of parties where you pretended to have fun, but nothing really clicked.

Your friends found it odd—how you always seemed a little disconnected, a little too preoccupied. They teased you for being too serious or too grown-up. You’d smile and brush it off, but deep down, you knew they were right. You were trying to outrun something you couldn’t quite name.

Ten years had passed, and your life had taken a direction that the impatient and rebellious nineteen-year-old you once were could never have imagined. Today, you worked in international tax consulting, dealing with numbers, laws, and complex agreements that filled your days and drained your energy. But, even surrounded by folders and endless spreadsheets, motorsport still managed to find its way into your life.

Your brother, now older and even more determined, continued his journey in karting. What began as a youthful passion had turned into a dream he pursued with surprising tenacity. You found yourself frequenting the racetracks again, watching his practice sessions, now as a spectator and supporter, no longer as a reluctant guardian.

Your fiancé — or rather, your ex-fiancé — shared the same passion. He was a fascinating, elegant man, and like so many others, absolutely obsessed with motorsport. You traveled together to watch races, discussed drivers and teams, followed the transfer market with enthusiasm. In the beginning, it seemed perfect. He understood your past, your involvement in the sport through your brother.

Your best friend still kept in touch with him, the boy from your teenage years, and would occasionally update you on his life. This connection, however tenuous, was enough to stir a sense of familiarity, a bittersweet nostalgia that made your ex-fiancé uneasy. He’d raise an eyebrow whenever your friend's updates slipped into conversation, sensing a thread that seemed to pull you back to a past he couldn’t reach.

It wasn’t long before that subtle tension unraveled the engagement. You found yourself standing alone in a bridal boutique in Paris—Rosa Clará, one of those elegant places with gilded mirrors and delicate lace draped over every surface—returning the wedding dress you had once chosen with such certainty. There was an odd comfort in the transaction, as if letting go of the dress was the final step in freeing yourself from a future that no longer felt like your own.

As you handed the dress back, the shop assistant gave you a sympathetic smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. You wondered briefly if she knew the story behind every gown that was returned. The dress, so carefully chosen, now felt like a stranger in your hands—something beautiful and full of promise, yet utterly disconnected from the woman you were now.

When you realized it, you had taken a few days off work and flown back to Styria. You were sitting in Café Strauss, waiting for your friend, your eyes drifting to the door every few minutes. You had just ordered a latte and a slice of sachertorte, letting the steam from your cup calm your nerves, when someone gently asked if they could join you.

“Can I join you?” The voice was tentative, as if testing the waters.

You looked up, expecting your friend, but instead, there he was. The same intense, unwavering gaze, with a more confident smile, yet still that familiar hint of shyness.

“Oh…” You paused, a smile tugging at your lips as you gestured to the chair. “Hi, Toto.” And in that moment, you knew—your friend wasn’t going to show up anytime soon.

And you are still falling.

Inspired by this quote: not very attractive with the girls. Here: Speed Dating with Toto, Lewis, and Valtteri – Part 2! 👏 …as well as this photo: Instagram

I'm just an old lady🙃

ao3 turns 15 today

reblog if youre older than ao3

REBLOG IF I CAN MESSAGE YOU 'HEY' AND START A FRIENDSHIP.

always gonna re-reblog

🔥🥵

Toto Wolff with wife reader. He always goes to the gym or exercises in order to keep in shape. One day she wanted to do it too but instead spent the entire time there staring at him. Fluff and maybe suggestive. Thanks!! :))

In Shape and In Love

Word count: 1.1k

Pairing: Toto Wolff x reader

______________________________________________________________

Toto Wolff was a man of unwavering discipline, a trait that had served him well in both his career and personal life. Every morning, without fail, he woke up before the sun, slipping out of bed quietly so as not to disturb you, and headed straight to the gym. It was his sanctuary, a place where he could channel his focus, clear his mind, and maintain the physical condition that had become as much a part of his identity as his role at Mercedes.

You had always admired this about him. The sight of Toto in his workout gear, muscles rippling beneath taut skin, his brow furrowed in concentration as he pushed himself to his limits, was a sight you never tired of. Yet, despite your admiration, you had never joined him in his early morning routines. Mornings for you were about lingering in the warmth of the bed, savoring the last few moments of sleep before starting your day.

But this morning was different. You had decided to accompany him, curious to experience firsthand what had kept him so committed all these years. The night before, when you’d mentioned your plan, Toto’s eyes had sparkled with surprise and amusement.

“Are you sure, Mäuschen?” he’d asked with a teasing smile, wrapping an arm around your waist. “I’ve never known you to willingly get up before sunrise.”

“I want to see what all the fuss is about,” you had replied, grinning back at him. “Besides, maybe you can teach me a thing or two.”

That morning, you found yourself in the gym, dressed in workout clothes that felt a little too new, a little too stiff. The space was quiet, save for the rhythmic clink of weights and the low hum of Toto’s breath as he moved through his routine. He was already deep into his workout when you entered, the definition of his muscles accentuated by the sheen of sweat that covered his skin. He hadn’t noticed you yet, too focused on the task at hand.

You had intended to start with some light exercises—maybe a bit of stretching or some gentle yoga. But the moment you saw him, all thoughts of working out vanished. Instead, you found yourself drawn to a bench where you could sit and watch him without interrupting. It was a sight you rarely got to see so up close: the sheer power in every movement, the way his muscles flexed with each lift, the intense focus in his eyes as he pushed himself harder and harder.

He was wearing a sleeveless shirt that clung to his broad shoulders and chest, the fabric damp with sweat. Each time he exhaled, his chest rose and fell in a way that was hypnotic. The veins in his arms were prominent, a sign of the strength he had cultivated over years of dedication.

For a while, you simply watched, completely mesmerized by the man before you. The way he moved was almost sensual, each repetition a testament to his strength and control. You felt a warmth growing within you, a subtle yet undeniable pull that had nothing to do with the exercise you had planned and everything to do with the effect Toto had on you.

“Enjoying the view?” Toto’s voice cut through your thoughts, snapping you back to reality. He was standing in front of you now, a playful smile tugging at his lips. He had caught you staring, and the heat in your cheeks betrayed the thoughts you had been entertaining.

A sheepish smile spread across your face as you tried to play it cool. “I might be,” you teased, your tone light but your heart pounding in your chest.

Toto chuckled, a low sound that sent a shiver down your spine. He set the weights down and approached you, his gaze never leaving yours. There was a gleam in his eyes that told you he knew exactly what was going through your mind. “You know,” he murmured, reaching out to gently lift your chin so your eyes met his, “you’re supposed to be working out, not just watching me.”

“I was getting inspired,” you quipped, though your voice was softer now, betraying the effect his proximity was having on you. Your hand instinctively reached out, resting on his chest where you could feel the steady, powerful beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

Toto’s smile deepened, and he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “If this is how you want to spend our gym time,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, “I’m not complaining. But I might have other ideas for how to make this morning even better.”

The suggestiveness in his tone sent a wave of heat coursing through you, and you couldn’t help the way your body responded, leaning into him slightly. “Oh?” you replied, your voice barely more than a breath. “And what might those ideas be?”

Toto’s hand slid from your chin to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “How about,” he began, his lips so close to yours that you could almost taste him, “we skip the workout and focus on a different kind of exercise?”

Your breath hitched at the implication of his words, a surge of anticipation flooding through you. “I think I could be persuaded,” you murmured, your hand moving from his chest to the back of his neck, pulling him even closer.

Toto’s eyes darkened with desire, and he closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both tender and demanding. It was as if the morning’s workout had only served to heighten his need for you, every ounce of his energy now directed towards the way he kissed you, the way his hands moved over your body, igniting every nerve with a burning need.

The gym was forgotten as the kiss deepened, his hands moving to your waist, pulling you up from the bench and against his solid frame. The feeling of his hard body pressed against yours was intoxicating, and you found yourself completely lost in the moment, in the way he made you feel so utterly desired.

“Toto,” you whispered against his lips, your voice breathless as you felt his hands slide under your shirt, his touch sending sparks of electricity through you. “Maybe we should… take this somewhere else.”

Toto pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression a mix of love and raw desire. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

You nodded, your heart racing. “I’m sure. I think we have some unfinished business at home.”

His smile was wicked, and he didn’t need to be told twice. Within moments, you were both heading back to the apartment, the anticipation between you palpable. The workout may have been cut short, but the morning was far from over. You knew that what awaited you back home would be a different kind of exercise entirely—one that you were more than willing to dive into with the man you loved.

Couldn't get to see him at KL due to me couldn't go💔😭😭😭 But thank you Lewis for years with us. Gonna miss you so much!!! Please visit us again!!!! ❤️👋🏻 Wish you luck🤞🏻

Lewis arriving at the farewell event in KL 🫶🏾

Nando is the sweetest husband ever!! 😍😍🥺❤️

Home is you - Fernando Alonso x Reader

fluff.

age-gap. not specifically mentioned but the reader is younger.

approx. 1000 words

fernando alonso masterlist - here. f1 masterlist - here.

Seated in the luxurious confines of his private jet, en route to Bahrain for the electrifying Grand Prix season opener, you found yourself ensconced in a cocoon of anticipation and desire. Across from you lounged the man who ignited flames of passion within your soul, his intense gaze igniting a firestorm of longing and yearning deep within you. As you gazed out of the window, ensnared by the mesmerising spectacle of clouds stretching endlessly across the cerulean expanse, his voice, velvety and laden with desire, pierced through the tranquil ambiance.

“Go on a date with me,” he murmured huskily beside you, his words dripping with an intoxicating blend of sincerity and playful allure.

You turned to him, a soft laugh escaping your lips at the unexpected proposition. “Pardon?” you replied, your voice laced with amusement and a hint of teasing.

“Please~ go on a date with me?” he pleaded, his smile infused with the heady scent of whiskey that hung in the air, a testament to his valiant efforts to ease his nerves during the flight.

Amused by his endearing persistence, you leaned in closer, revelling in the magnetic pull between you. “I don’t know if my dad will approve of you, sir,” you teased, a mischievous glint dancing in your eyes.

“What!” he exclaimed, his offence giving way to a grin of delight. “Let me talk to your dad, sweetheart, I’m sure I could convince him.”

After a brief pause, he regarded you with a dreamy expression, his eyes alight with adoration. “You’re pretty,” he declared softly, his gaze tracing the contours of your face with reverence. “D- Do you have a boyfriend, pretty?” he hiccupped slightly, his smile widening with each passing moment.

You nodded, a tender smile playing on your lips. “A husband, actually,” you replied, your tone infused with affection and determination.

His brow furrowed in confusion, his expression a mixture of disbelief and jealousy. “Leave him, be with me!” he urged, his words slurred with the remnants of alcohol. “Who is this man?” he demanded, his concern palpable.

With a knowing smile, you retrieved your phone, turning the screen towards him to reveal his own reflection staring back at him. “Wh- Wait, I am your husband!” he exclaimed, realisation dawned on him. “So can we go out on the date I planned?”

You nodded in agreement, squeezing his hand affectionately before attempting to release it. However, he held on tightly, his grip a reassuring anchor in the swirling sea of emotions.

Later, in the privacy of the opulent hotel room, he began to sober up (barely), the lingering effects of alcohol fading away as he prepared for the evening ahead. With meticulous care, he adorned himself in his finest attire, his efforts a testament to his unwavering devotion to you. As you emerged from the bathroom, your beauty was enhanced by the artful application of makeup, his breath caught in his throat, his heart swelling with an overwhelming surge of desire.

“Whoa… Hola Cariño,” he joked, his voice husky with desire as he approached you, his hands tracing the curves of your body with electrifying precision. “I could just cancel dinner, then we could skip right to dessert?”

You blushed, a playful glint dancing in your eyes. “Shut up,” you countered, a coy smile playing on your lips. “But no— I just dressed up all nice for you— so you are gonna wine and dine me.” With a gentle press of your hands against his chest, you planted a tender kiss on his cheek, his grin widening as he playfully smacked your ass before guiding you towards the door, anticipation burning like a blazing inferno between you.

Under the soft glow of twinkling fairy lights strung overhead, you and your partner find yourselves nestled in a cozy corner of the enchanting garden café. The air is still alive in the evening, with the melody of chirping birds and the gentle rustle of leaves, lending an ethereal quality to the evening.

As you sip on glasses of sparkling champagne, your fingers intertwined with Fernando's, you can't help but marvel at the sheer magic of the moment. Across the table, his eyes sparkle with affection, mirroring the starlight above as he leans in closer, his breath mingling with yours in a sweet symphony of intimacy.

With a playful twinkle in their eye, your partner reaches for a delicate rose nestled in a vase on the table, presenting it to you with a flourish. "For the most beautiful woman I've ever set my eyes on," He whispers, his voice a tender caress against your ear.

Your heart swells with warmth as you accept the flower, its petals soft beneath your fingertips. "Thank you," you murmur, your voice filled with gratitude and love.

Together, you share laughter and stories, each moment infused with a sense of joy and wonder. The world fades away as you lose yourselves in each other's company, the hours slipping by unnoticed in the embrace of your love.

As the night deepens, he rises from his seat, extending a hand towards you with a smile. "May I have this dance?" he asks, his eyes sparkling with mischief and longing.

You accept with a smile, rising gracefully to your feet as he leads you to a makeshift dance floor bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. With gentle movements and whispered promises, you sway together in perfect harmony, lost in the rhythm of the music and the embrace of each other's arms.

In that moment, time stands still, and all that exists is the two of you, wrapped in a cocoon of love and affection. With every step, every touch, you feel your bond deepening, your souls intertwining in a dance as old as time itself.

As the song draws to a close, you find yourselves reluctant to part, the magic of the evening lingering like a sweet, lingering dream.

el fin