Authors Note: Hey lovies… 🧍🏻♀️I’m still alive! Sorry I’ve been gone for so long. I finally had a small chance to sit down and write something again. As you know, I don’t write smut all that often, so I hope this lives up to your expectations. This doesn’t mean I’m officially back, I just wanted to post something for you all. I hope you’re all doing well and taking care of yourselves. Lots of love xx
Summary: After weeks of being separated, you and Lewis finally reunite and make the most of your time together.
Warnings: sexual themes - oral sex (female receiving)
Fingers curled tightly into the crisp hotel sheets beneath you, the expensive fabric bunching in your grasp as ragged breaths filled the room. Each inhale came quicker than the last, swallowed almost as soon as it escaped.
The sturdy wooden headboard knocked occasionally against the wall behind the bed, the muted thuds echoing through the suite and blending with the steady hum of the city far below. Warm afternoon light painted the room in shades of amber and gold while sheer curtains swayed gently in the breeze from the cracked balcony door.
An inked hand found its place around your throat, the touch firm yet reverent drawing a breathless cry from your lips before it was stolen away by his own.
Lewis kissed you like a man who had spent far too many sleepless nights imagining this moment, every brush of his mouth carrying the weight of weeks apart. It wasn’t rushed – it was desperate in the quietest way, lingering and hungry all at once. As though he was trying to make up for every mile that had kept you separated.
Your fingers slipped into his soft natural curls, threading through the dark strands until your hand settled at the nape of his neck. You gave the gentlest tug, just enough to draw him impossibly closer.
A low, involuntary groan rumbled against your lips. The sound vibrating through the space between you before he deepened the kiss, reluctant to leave even the smallest breath unshared.
A hand settled firmly against your waist, drawing you effortlessly closer. His touch lingered as though he needed reassurance that you were truly here, his thumb absentmindedly tracing slow circles against your side.
“Been too long, sweetheart…” he murmured, the words barely more than a breath against your lips. The raw ache woven into his voice made your body stutter.
Sensing the way your body melted beneath his touch, his lips wandered from yours. Lingering along the curve of your jaw in unhurried kisses before tracing a slow path down the column of your neck.
Every touch was deliberate lingering just long enough to leave warmth blooming in its wake. He paused occasionally, pressing featherlight kisses against your skin as though committing every inch of you to memory.
His hand slipped away from your neck, fingertips gliding gently over the contours of your body. His palm wandered slowly before settling gently against the curve of your chest. His thumb brushed over your hardened nipple and leaned down placing a delicate kiss. Lifting his gaze to yours the smallest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He continued his slow descent, his lips planting fleeting kisses as he moved lower. He finally paused between your bare legs. For a heartbeat, he simply looked at you. Gaze soft with love, admiration and quiet longing.
His tattooed hands found your inner thighs, their warmth a striking contrast against the cool air that brushed over your skin.
A shiver swept through you before you could stop it. Your legs trembled beneath his touch, goosebumps blossoming across your skin as your breathing caught in your chest.
Before you could gather another steady breath, he leaned in slowly, unhurried, allowing anticipation to settle between you before his lips found you.
He dragged his tongue in a gradual worshipful motion gliding up your centre. A soft, trembling breath escaped your lips as you instinctively reached for him, your fingers threaded once more through his curls.
His hands remained anchored in your thighs as your muscles quivered with Lewis initiating slow reverent circles around your clit. His eyes closed briefly, completely absorbed in the moment.
A small hum of contentment escaped him that vibrated through your core. Flattening his tongue he continued long savouring licks, your hand tightened as another shaky breath left you. He looked up for the briefest second before focusing on his movements again.
Your soft cries grew louder, filling the bedroom and fading into the rhythm between the two of you. Each breath came a little less steadily than the last, your chest rising and falling as wave after wave of warmth coursed through you.
Lewis remained completely immersed, his tongue moved faster alternating between circles around your clit and long strokes up your core.
The pleasure continued to build at an unhurried pace, leaving your thoughts wonderfully scattered. A tremor ran through you, your hips lifting almost on their own accord. Lewis steadied you with gentle hands, grounding you with a tenderness.
The tension within you finally snapped, breaking all at once. Your back arched instinctively as a breathless cry escaped your lips, his name falling from your mouth. Your thighs continued quivering beneath the reassuring hold his hands had.
Lewis let out a low, muffled sound of his own with satisfaction and devotion, refusing to pull away. Instead, he remained exactly where he was. His touch never wavered, as though his concern was helping you ride out the last lingering ride of emotions.
Only when you shifted, gently guiding him back, did he pause and relent careful not to overwhelm you. He rose slowly as if reluctant to break the connection entirely. His lips were parted slightly, breath uneven and the intensity of his gaze was dark and utterly absorbed in you.
LEWIS HAMILTON RACE WINNER IN FERRARI!!!! LEWIS HAMILTON FIRST WIN IN RED!!!!! LEWIS HAMILTON WIN 106!!!!! LEWIS HAMILTON OLDEST RACE WINNER SINCE THE 1970s!!!!!! LEWIS FUCKING HAMILTON THE GOAT!!!!!!
Authors Note: Hi my lovelies! I hope you're all doing well. I’m still buzzing over Lewis getting his first podium, such a joy. I know I haven’t been writing much lately, so I’m leaning into headcanons. I hope this comfort one makes you smile. There’s a little poll at the bottom so I can see what you’d prefer later on. Lots of love xx
A — Affection
Lewis shows affection in quiet, grounding ways that feel deeply personal. He’s not overly performative in private. Instead, his love lives in small constant gestures. He adjusts his pace to walk beside you, not ahead. He listens without interrupting, even when he’s tired. When he touches you, it’s thoughtful like a hand resting on your knee during long drives, fingers brushing your lower back as he passes or his thumb tracing absentminded circles when you’re sitting close. His affection says I’m here, and I’m not leaving.
B — Boundaries
Boundaries matter to him more than people realise. His life has taught him how exhausting it is to be constantly accessed, so he never takes your emotional or physical availability for granted. He checks in instead of assuming. If you need space, he gives it without resentment, however he always leaves the door open. Clear communication makes him feel safe, and he respects your “no” as deeply as your “yes”.
C — Comfort
Lewis is intuitive about comfort. He notices the subtle signs. For instance, when you’re quieter than usual, when your movements slow, when you seem overstimulated. He creates calm intentionally - softer lighting, familiar music, warm blankets. Sometimes comfort looks like action. Proving food, tea or a bath drawn for you. Other times, it’s just his presence. Sitting close enough that you don’t feel alone, saying very little but meaning everything.
D — Devotion
His devotion isn’t loud, it’s steady. He shows it by remembering details you once mentioned in passing, by checking in before big moments, by staying consistent even when life is chaotic. Lewis is someone who values loyalty deeply like when he chooses you, he builds his life with you in mind. You feel his devotion in the way he makes space for you without ever making it feel like a sacrifice.
E — Emotional Intimacy
Lewis opens up slowly, carefully. Trust is earned, not rushed. But once you’re inside his emotional world, he lets you see him fully including the doubts, the pressure, the quiet loneliness that comes with living in the public eye. Late nights are when he talks the most, voice low, honest. He listens just as deeply when it’s your turn, holding your vulnerability with care.
F — Flirting
When his flirting turns more intimate, it becomes quieter. He leans in a little closer, lowers his voice, lets moments linger. A light brush of his hand against yours, a smile meant just for you. He flirts through presence - noticing your reactions, meeting your gaze, making you feel seen. It’s gentle, intentional and leaves you with the sense that this moment matters to him.
G — Generosity
Lewis is generous in ways that matter. He gives you his time even when it’s scarce. He gives reassurance when you need it, without making you feel weak for asking. When he gives gifts, they’re thoughtful. Normally tied to memories, emotions or things that bring you comfort. His generosity feels intentional, never obligatory.
H — Hugs
His hugs are grounding and unhurried. Full‑body, arms wrapped securely around you, chin resting gently against your head or shoulder. He holds you like he’s anchoring himself, like the world slows down when you’re in his arms. He doesn’t rush to let go, he waits until you pull back first.
I — Intensity
Lewis feels deeply. When he’s with you, his attention is complete. He doesn’t multitask your presence. Conversations with him feel focused, meaningful and unbroken. His intensity isn’t overwhelming more so it’s reassuring, like being chosen fully rather than partially.
J — Jealousy
His jealousy is quiet, controlled and rooted in care rather than insecurity. He won’t raise his voice or cause a scene. Instead, he reasserts closeness by stepping nearer, resting a hand on your waist, meeting someone’s gaze calmly but firmly. It’s protective, not possessive.
K — Kisses
There’s a quiet reverence in the way he kisses, as if he’s fully present with you. His thumb traces slow, absent patterns along your jaw, grounding you in the moment. Each kiss feels intentional, never rushed like he’s communicating affection without words. When he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, it’s instinctive - a gentle promise of care, reassurance and devotion that lingers long after he pulls back.
L — Love Language
Quality time is everything to him. Being near you matters more than what you’re doing. Reading side by side, working quietly, sharing silence - that’s intimacy to him. Physical touch follows naturally, always gentle, always reassuring.
M — Motivation
He believes in you fiercely. Lewis encourages your ambitions with genuine excitement, reminding you of your strength when you doubt yourself. He doesn’t push. He supports. He wants you to chase what lights you up and he’s there every step of the way.
N — Nurturing
When you’re vulnerable, Lewis doesn’t hesitate, he softens instinctively. His voice drops without him realising it, movements slower, more careful, like he’s afraid of startling you when you’re already raw. He checks in quietly rather than constantly, sending simple messages throughout the day just to remind you you’re not alone. He never frames your vulnerability as something to be fixed or overcome. Instead, he stays.
O — Openness
With you, Lewis doesn’t perform strength. He’s honest about when he’s overwhelmed, tired or mentally stretched thin. He doesn’t hide behind silence - he communicates, even when it’s uncomfortable. If he needs reassurance, he asks for it directly, trusting you with that truth instead of burying it. He values emotional clarity and gives it freely, believing that transparency is how real connection is built. Being open with you feels like relief to him, where he doesn’t have to filter himself or carry everything alone.
P — Protection
Lewis’s protection is quiet, deliberate and respectful. He doesn’t hover or control. He simply positions himself where he’s needed. Walking on the outside of the sidewalk. Keeping a steady hand at your back in busy spaces. Checking the room without making it obvious. He remembers your sensitivities of what overwhelms you, what makes you uncomfortable and adjusts without announcing it. His protection never makes you feel smaller or dependent, but it makes you feel safe enough to be fully yourself.
Q — Quiet Moments
These are where Lewis feels most at peace. No expectations. No noise. Just shared presence. Your head resting against his chest while he absentmindedly traces patterns on your skin. Comfortable silence that doesn’t need filling. He loves moments where time feels suspended. For instance - early mornings, late nights or slow afternoons. With you, quiet isn’t empty - it’s grounding. It’s where he exhales fully, where the world finally softens.
R — Romance
Romance, for him, is thoughtful rather than showy, meaning over spectacle. Dinners cooked together at home (you doing most of the cooking, because he’s terrible), candles lit for warmth and closeness, not display. Handwritten notes tucked away for you to find when you least expect them. Playlists built slowly, each song chosen because it holds a memory of you. With him, romance lives in presence and intention. The quiet certainty of being chosen, desired, and deeply known.
S — Support
Support, for Lewis, is consistency. He shows up even when it’s inconvenient. When you stumble, he doesn’t rush you back to your feet but he stays beside you until you’re ready. He checks in after difficult days, remembers what weighs on you and never makes you feel like a burden for needing him. With him, you know you don’t have to carry everything alone.
T — Touch
Touch is one of his most natural forms of communication. It’s grounding, reassuring, never demanding. A hand resting on your thigh during long drives. Fingers laced with yours absentmindedly. His palm warm at the small of your back in public spaces. Touch, for him, isn’t about possession - it’s about connection. It’s his way of saying I’m here without interrupting the moment.
U — Understanding
Lewis understands you because he pays attention. He notices the subtle shifts when your energy dips, when your silence means more than words, when your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. He doesn’t push for explanations when you’re not ready. He knows when to ask questions and when to simply stay close.
V — Vulnerability
Letting you see his vulnerability is a quiet act of trust. He talks about the pressure he carries, the expectations placed on him, the loneliness that sometimes comes with being constantly seen but rarely known. He doesn’t dramatize it but shares it honestly, in fragments, in moments when he feels safe enough to let the mask drop. When he’s vulnerable with you, it’s sincere and deeply personal and you understand how much it means for him to let you hold those truths.
W — Worship (SFW)
Lewis treats you like you matter in the ways that count. He values your thoughts, your resilience, your emotional intelligence. He compliments your mind as often as your appearance, reminding you of your strength when you forget it yourself. He doesn’t idealise you, he appreciates you as a whole person, flaws included. His care feels affirming, steady and sincere.
X — X‑Factor
There’s a calm confidence about him that draws people in, but with you, it softens. His presence feels grounding rather than overwhelming. When he’s with you, the world narrows in the best way as distractions fade and you feel like the only person in the room. He makes you feel chosen not through grand declarations, but through consistent attention and care.
Y — Yearning
Distance never dulls his connection to you. When he’s away, he reaches out in small but meaningful ways with voice notes, photos of quiet moments, messages sent just to say he’s thinking of you. Hearing your voice before bed centres him, reminding him where his heart is. Even when he’s far, you remain his constant.
Z — Zeal
Lewis loves with intention. He doesn’t rush commitment, but when he gives it, it’s complete. Passion balanced with patience. Loyalty grounded in choice. His love isn’t fleeting or impulsive. It’s steady, thoughtful and built to endure. When he commits, he does so with his whole self, choosing you again and again through action, not just words.
Authors Note: HEY HEY HEY MY LOVES! I finally found some motivation (and a little time off work), so I whipped up a small one‑shot for Lewis’s birthday - fashionably late, of course. Sorry for vanishing for a bit, taking a break was what I needed. You might’ve noticed some odd paragraph gaps in my older fics that was me writing everything on my phone without realising how messy it looked. I’m on a laptop now and slowly fixing things up. Hopefully I will get back into the routine of writing 🤞🏻. Lots of love xx
Summary: Lewis’s forty-first birthday begins with pancakes, laughter and the quiet warmth of family.
You wake to a silence so complete it feels almost sacred. The kind of hush that only settles over the world when snow has fallen in the night, thick enough to soften every sound and blur every hard edge. It’s a silence that feels intentional, reverent, as though the whole cabin is holding its breath with you, unwilling to disturb the moment.
Pale blue light filters through the frost-laced windows, scattering across the wooden floorboards in soft, shimmering patches. The world outside is transformed with snowdrifts curved like gentle waves against the porch, untouched and impossibly pure, the landscape smoothed into something dreamlike. Even the pines seem to stand a little taller beneath their heavy white crowns.
For a long, suspended moment, you simply breathe in the crisp bite of winter air that sneaks in through the old windowpanes, the faint resin-sweet scent of pine logs stacked neatly by the fireplace, the lingering warmth of the duvet still clinging to your skin. It feels like waking inside a held breath.
Lewis is still asleep beside you.
Forty-one today.
He lies on his back, one arm thrown loosely above his head, the other resting exactly where your waist had been before you slipped away. In sleep, he looks unguarded in a way he rarely allows himself while awake. Almost softer, younger somehow, the faint crease between his brows smoothed into nothing. His lashes rest against his cheeks, dark and delicate, and his mouth is parted just slightly, as though he’s mid-thought even in dreams. Time hasn’t sharpened him…if anything, it has worn him gentler, more open, more deeply himself.
You watch him longer than you should, your chest tightening with that familiar, steady ache that love so constant feels like its own quiet pulse beneath your ribs. The kind that doesn’t demand attention, only settles deeper with every year. Carefully, you lean in brushing a stray curl from his forehead. You press a soft kiss there, as if feather-light barely a whisper of contact only for him, only for mornings like this. He exhales, a tiny shift, but doesn’t wake. You ease out of bed, moving slowly so the mattress doesn’t dip too sharply. You tug the duvet back around him, tucking it near his shoulder the way he always does for you, smoothing the fabric with a tenderness that feels instinctive.
His jumper waits draped over the chair, oversized and soft, smelling unmistakably like him in a clean, warm, comforting way nothing else ever manages to be. You pull it over your head, the sleeves swallowing your hands and smile into the fabric as the scent wraps around you like a second embrace.
The cabin is still, the morning untouched and for a moment you stand there in the quiet, wrapped in his warmth, watching the snow light dance across the room and thinking there is nowhere else in the world you’d rather be. The hallway floor is cold beneath your feet in a sharp, bracing cold that slips straight through your skin and wakes every part of you. It anchors you in the stillness of the morning, in the soft blue hush of a world wrapped in snow. You breathe in, ready for quiet.
But the kitchen… the kitchen is anything but quiet.
It looks like a blizzard has blown through the cabin and chosen the benchtop as its final resting place. Flour lies thick and powdery across every surface, a pale second snowfall that glitters faintly in the early light. Tiny fingerprints streak through it in chaotic little trails, looping and zigzagging like the tracks of small, flour-dusted creatures. A mixing bowl sits at a precarious angle, batter dripping down its sides in slow, sticky ribbons that cling to the wood like honey.
And in the middle of it all stand two small figures on stools far too tall for them. Wobbling, swaying, utterly fearless in the way only children can be.
“Auntie!” Willow hisses when she spots you, though her whisper is bright with excitement. Her golden hair gathers into a lopsided ponytail, the ends dusted with flour like she’s been dipped in frost. Her cheeks are flushed pink, eyes sparkling with the thrill of a secret mission. Beside her, Kaiden grips a whisk with both hands, knuckles white, shoulders squared with the seriousness of a captain steering a ship through a storm. “We didn’t wake Uncle Lewis,” he declares in a whisper so loud it rattles the measuring cups. “We swear.” You press a finger to your lips, fighting a smile. “Okay. But if he wakes up and sees this mess, I’m blaming both of you.” They nod with solemn determination for all of two seconds before dissolving into giggles that bounce off the cabinets.
You step into the chaos, gently nudging Willow’s stool back from the edge, steadying Kaiden’s elbow before he accidentally launches the whisk into orbit. Their hands are small and warm in yours as you guide them. Willow pouring too much milk, Kaiden stirring too enthusiastically, both of them narrating their efforts with breathless pride.
The pancakes come out lopsided, uneven, some a little too pale, others a little too enthusiastic on the underside. But they’re perfect in the way only pancakes made with tiny hands and too much love can be. You stack them high, the tower leaning like it’s trying to escape, and Willow claps her hands, sending a puff of flour into the air like celebratory confetti.
“I wanna do the candles,” she announces, already grabbing the packet. You help her tear it open, watching as she arranges the letters with intense concentration. Ending up with a crooked happy and a slightly bent bday, leaning into each other like they’re sharing a secret. Kaiden leans in close, squinting at her work. “It’s perfect,” he decides, and Willow beams.
Around you, balloons bob gently, tied to chair legs and cabinet handles, brushing your shoulders as you move. One bumps against your cheek, soft and cool, and Willow giggles like the balloon did it on purpose. The cabin smells like butter and sugar and warmth that seeps into your bones, that feels like family, like mornings worth remembering.
Kaiden tugs at your sleeve, leaving a floury handprint behind. “Auntie,” he whispers, eyes wide with earnest pride, “Uncle Lewis is gonna love this.” You smooth his hair, kiss the top of his head, and pull Willow into your side with your free arm. “Yeah,” you murmur, looking at the leaning pancake tower, the flour storm, the two little faces glowing with excitement. “He really, really is.”
Snow‑soft warmth follows you down the hallway as you trail behind the kids, the scent of pancakes and butter still clinging to your jumper. Their excitement is practically vibrating off them in a fizzy, bubbling energy that makes your own smile impossible to contain.
“This is the best birthday ever,” Willow declares with the absolute conviction only a six‑year‑old can muster, chin lifted, curls bouncing. “It hasn’t even started yet,” you whisper back, brushing a streak of flour from her cheek with your thumb. She scrunches her nose, giggling and leans into your touch like a cat seeking more affection.
When everything is finally ready, the leaning tower of pancakes, the crooked candles, the balloons that keep drifting into your hair – you crouch in front of them. Kaiden’s jumper is half‑tucked, half‑escaping, so you fix it gently, smoothing the fabric over his small shoulders. Willow’s loose hairs have rebelled again, so you tuck one behind her ear, letting your fingers linger for a heartbeat.
“Okay,” you murmur, gathering them close like a tiny, chaotic team. “We go in quietly. Then we jump. On three.” They nod with solemn determination.
They do not wait for three…
They explode down the hallway, socked feet slapping against the floorboards, giggles trailing behind them like ribbons. You barely have time to follow before the bedroom door is flung open with the force of a miniature hurricane.
“UNCLE LEEEEWIS!”
Lewis jolts awake with a startled laugh, eyes flying open just in time to catch two small bodies launching themselves onto him. The mattress dips violently, blankets puffing into the air like startled birds. Even half‑asleep, his hands are gentle, instinctively steadying them, pulling them close.
“What—” He blinks rapidly, trying to make sense of the chaos, hair mussed, voice rough with sleep. Then he sees you.
The candles flicker softly in your hands, casting warm gold across your face. Balloons drift lazily behind you, bumping into your shoulder. Morning light spills across the bed in a soft, holy glow, painting the whole scene in warmth.
Lewis freezes breath catching, eyes widening, expression softening all at once. “Oh,” he breathes, and it’s not confusion anymore. It’s wonder.
The kids start singing loudly and most definitely off‑key, enthusiastic enough to shake the windows and Lewis presses a hand to his mouth, eyes already shining. He looks overwhelmed in the most beautiful way, like the love has hit him all at once and he’s trying to hold it, cradle it, understand it.
When they finish, he laughs a soft, breathless sound and pulls both kids into his chest. Willow squeals as he kisses the top of her head. Kaiden melts into him as Lewis ruffles his hair with a tenderness that makes your heart ache.
“You made this?” he asks, voice thick, eyes still glassy.
“With Auntie!” Kaiden announces proudly, puffing out his chest.
Lewis turns to you then the look he gives you is warm enough to melt every snowdrift outside. Married life has taught you to read him in glances alone and this one says everything: gratitude, affection, disbelief that this is his life, his family, his morning. His shoulders drop, the tension leaving him in a visible wave. His love has always lived in quiet spaces. Through his softened eyes, in the way he reaches for you without thinking, in the way he breathes easier when you’re near.
He leans forward and blows out the candles slowly, deliberately, making a wish you don’t ask about because you already know it’s something soft, something simple, something that includes all of you… and, if you know him at all, at least 30% of that breath was dedicated to begging Ferrari not to emotionally ruin him this season.
Pancakes are eaten right there on the bed, because the kids insisted, because Lewis didn’t have the heart to say no, because mornings like this aren’t meant to be neat or sensible. Syrup ends up everywhere… on the sheets, on Lewis’s fingers, glistening on Willow’s chin like a tiny badge of honour. Kaiden insists Lewis take the biggest bite because “it’s his birthday,” and Lewis obeys with theatrical seriousness, taking a comically huge mouthful that makes both kids shriek with laughter. He laughs too warm, unguarded, in a way that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes your chest ache in the best way.
Eventually, you manage to herd the two sticky, giggling children toward the living room. You bundle them up in jumpers and socks, smoothing hair, wiping syrup from noses, promising snow angels later, cartoons now and hot chocolate as soon as their fingers get cold. They barrel off with the enthusiasm of small, sugar-fuelled creatures and the door clicks shut behind them.
The cabin exhales. The quiet that follows is different from the morning’s hush. Now warmer, deeper, threaded with something intimate. The kind of quiet that wraps around you rather than settles over you.
Lewis leans back against the headboard, sinking into it with a long, slow breath. His shoulders drop, the tension melting away now that the whirlwind has passed. He looks full not just from pancakes, but from love, from gratitude, from the soft, overwhelming weight of being celebrated by the people who adore him most. There’s a glow to him, a gentleness he doesn’t always let himself show.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” he says quietly, voice still rough from sleep and laughter. “I know,” you murmur, climbing onto the bed beside him, the mattress dipping under your weight. “I wanted to.”
He reaches for your hand immediately, like it’s instinct, like it’s home. His thumb brushes over your wedding ring slow, reverent, familiar. He does it when he’s grounding himself, when he’s feeling too much and needs something solid to hold onto. The gesture is small, but it carries the weight of years, of promises, of mornings just like this one.
There’s a tenderness behind his smile now, the kind of expression he saves only for you. His eyes soften, lingering on your face as though he’s memorising you all over again in the quiet glow of the snow lit morning. The cabin is warm. The world is still. And in this moment, it feels like the two of you are the only ones in it.
You reach for the small box on the bedside table, the one you’d tucked there last night with a flutter of nerves you hadn’t wanted to name.
“I have one more thing.”
Lewis’s brows draw together, that familiar crease forming with curiosity, tenderness, a hint of disbelief that you’re still finding ways to love him more. He takes the box with both hands, careful, reverent, as though he already senses the weight of what’s inside. He opens it slowly, the lid lifting with a soft whisper.
A leather‑bound photo book rests inside, simple, worn, beautiful.
He flips the first page – and Roscoe looks back at him. Tongue out. Eyes bright. Snow dusting his nose like powdered sugar. A moment you captured years ago, not knowing it would become one of the most precious memories you owned.
Lewis’s breath stutters a tiny, broken sound he tries to swallow.
You shift a little closer, your shoulder brushing his offering warmth without crowding him. “I know this year has felt… different, without him here for your birthday,” you murmur, your voice soft and steady. “I just didn’t want today to feel empty.” He turns the pages with aching care, fingertips lingering on each photograph as though touching them might bring the moments back. Roscoe as a puppy, ears too big for his head. Roscoe curled in plane seats, sprawled across hotel beds, waiting patiently in garages. Roscoe pressed against Lewis’s leg during long nights, long flights, long seasons.
Little notes fill the margins, things Lewis said in passing, quotes you tucked away quietly because you knew they mattered.
My constant. He kept me steady. Best travel buddy.
Lewis’s throat works around a breath he can’t quite release.
At the back, a pressed pine sprig is taped neatly into the corner that is delicate, evergreen, a piece of the world outside your cabin window.
“For the cabin,” you whisper. “For this year. For what comes next.”
Lewis closes the book with trembling fingers and pulls you into him, arms wrapping around you with a kind of reverence that makes your breath catch. His forehead rests against yours, eyelashes brushing your skin as he exhales shakily. “Thank you,” he murmurs, voice low, roughened by emotion. “For loving all of me. Even the parts that hurt.”
You cup his jaw gently, thumb brushing the faint stubble along his cheek. “Always,” you whisper not a promise, but a truth. The kiss he gives you then is slow and unhurried, grateful, almost searching. Like he’s trying to memorise the shape of you, the warmth of you, the way you feel in the quiet morning light. His hand slides to your waist, fingers curling there, guiding you closer until you’re settled comfortably in his lap, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of him.
He looks up at you like you’re something he’s still learning how to deserve, something fragile and fierce and entirely his. “Come here,” he breathes, though you’re already close enough to feel his heartbeat beneath your palms.
You kiss him again, deeper this time, your hands sliding into his curls, his palms warm against your hips as he holds you steady. The jumper you’re wearing – his jumper hangs loose around you, sleeves brushing his wrists and he tugs lightly at the hem, smiling against your mouth. “You look better in this than I ever have,” he murmurs, voice soft and teasing, but threaded with something tender enough to make your chest ache. You laugh quietly, brushing your nose against his. “It’s mine now.”
“Everything of mine is yours,” he says simply with no hesitation, no flourish and the sincerity in it makes your heart twist, makes something inside you settle. His hands rest at your waist, thumbs stroking slow, absent circles through the fabric. The kiss deepens again still gentle, still soft, but full of a warmth that spreads through your chest like sunlight breaking through winter clouds.
Wrapped together by the fire, the world outside softened by falling snow, his hand traces absent‑minded patterns along your thigh, his lips brushing your temple in quiet intervals. “Forty‑one feels okay,” he says softly, almost surprised by it. You smile, tucking yourself closer into his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me for all of them.” His arms tighten around you just a little like that promise is the greatest gift he’s ever been given.
Outside, snow continues to fall in soft, steady and endless motion as if the world itself is blessing the moment, wrapping the cabin in a cocoon of quiet, gentle love.
The moment is warm and quiet and full until –
The door slams open with the subtlety of a marching band.
“EWWWWWW!”
You jerk back in surprise, though Lewis’s hands stay steady at your waist, anchoring you. Both of you turn toward the doorway where Willow and Kaiden stand frozen mid‑stride, clutching wrapped presents and wearing identical expressions of theatrical, world‑ending horror.
“Are you kissing?!” Kaiden demands, voice cracking with betrayal.
Willow throws a hand over her eyes, fingers splayed dramatically. “Uncle Lewis, it’s your birthday, not kissing day!”
Lewis bursts into laughter a bright, full‑bodied sound that shakes his shoulders and fills the room with warmth. He presses one last quick kiss to your cheek, a soft, secret thing just for you, before lifting you gently off his lap and settling you beside him like you’re something precious.
“Alright, alright,” he says, wiping at the corners of his eyes. “Come here, you two.”
They launch themselves onto the bed with the enthusiasm of small, determined puppies. The mattress dips violently, blankets puffing up and the photo book nearly goes flying before you catch it with a quick hand. Willow doesn’t notice she’s already thrusting her gift forward, a lumpy, unevenly wrapped package held together by what must be half a roll of tape.
“I wrapped it myself!” she declares proudly, chest puffed out. Lewis pretends to wrestle with the tape, making exaggerated grunts of effort. “I can tell,” he says, grinning as he finally tears it open. Inside is a hand‑painted mug slightly crooked, splattered with joyful chaos, the words Best Uncle Ever wobbling across the front in bright blue paint. It’s imperfect in the most perfect way.
Lewis presses a hand to his chest, eyes softening. “Willow… this is beautiful.” She beams so hard as her cheeks glow with pride.
Kaiden steps forward next, holding out his gift with both hands. A knitted scarf in mismatched colours, clearly made with more enthusiasm than technique. Some stitches are tight, others loose, but the green section is unmistakably his in an uneven, earnest, full of heart way.
“I did it with Grandma,” he says. “But I did the green part.” Lewis wraps it around his neck immediately, the ends dangling unevenly over his chest. “It’s perfect,” he says, pulling Kaiden into a warm, enveloping hug. “I’m wearing it all day.”
Kaiden’s eyes widen. “Even snowboarding?”
Lewis nods solemnly. “Especially snowboarding.”
The kids erupt into cheers, bouncing on the bed, their joy so bright it feels like another kind of sunlight. And for a moment, the room is nothing but laughter, warmth, and the kind of love that fills every corner of a life. Messy, loud, imperfect, and beautifully whole.
The drive to the ski resort is a symphony of winter chaos however the good kind, a type of kind that fills the car with warmth even as frost gathers on the windows.
Willow is in the backseat singing improvised songs about snowflakes who “have important jobs and tiny hats,” her voice lilting and earnest. Kaiden keeps interrupting to announce, with absolute conviction, that he’s going to be “the fastest skier in the whole world,” even though he’s never actually skied before. Every time the road curves, Lewis’s hand finds yours on the centre console, thumb brushing over your knuckles, his eyes flicking toward you with that soft, secret smile he saves for quiet moments.
Outside, the world is a winter postcard with towering pines bowed under the weight of fresh snow, mountains rising in soft blue shadows, the sky pale and endless like a breath held in the cold.
At the resort, the air is crisp and bright, the kind of cold that wakes every sense and paints your cheeks pink. Willow and Kaiden wobble excitedly on their skis, bundled in puffy jackets and scarves that nearly swallow them whole. They look like two overstuffed marshmallows with legs.
“You two ready?” you ask.
“YES!” they shout in perfect unison and immediately fall over like synchronized dominoes.
Lewis laughs, the sound warm enough to melt snow. He helps them up, adjusting Kaiden’s helmet with practiced ease, brushing snow from Willow’s sleeves.
“You’re naturals,” he says, even though they’re both still tangled in their own skis.
You and Lewis strap into your snowboards, the familiar click of bindings echoing in the cold air. He leans close, breath warm against your temple as he presses a soft kiss there.
“Race you,” he murmurs.
“You’ll lose.”
He grins, eyes bright. “Not today. It’s my birthday.”
You push off before he can finish, snow spraying behind you in a glittering arc. He shouts your name, laughing as he launches after you down the slope.
The world becomes motion with cold air rushing past your face, snow crunching beneath your board, the mountains stretching wide and white around you. You glance back to see Lewis gaining on you, scarf flapping wildly, cheeks flushed, eyes lit with pure joy.
At the bottom, he catches you around the waist, momentum spinning you both in a dizzying circle. You’re laughing too hard to breathe, snowflakes catching in your lashes.
“Cheater,” he says into your hair.
“You love it.”
“I love you,” he corrects softly, forehead brushing yours.
Up the hill, Willow and Kaiden are inching their way down the beginner slope, arms out, legs stiff, shouting triumphantly every time they manage three seconds without falling. Their joy is loud and unfiltered, echoing across the snow.
Lewis watches them with a smile so full it softens every line of his face. He slips his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.
“This,” he says quietly, voice warm enough to thaw the air. “This is the best birthday I’ve ever had.”
You lean into him, the cold biting your cheeks, the warmth of him grounding you. “Good,” you whisper. “Because we’re only getting started.”
Snow drifts gently around you, soft and endless, as the four of you carve your own small, perfect day into the mountainside.
And then because you can’t resist you pull out your phone, hit record, and call out, “Hey, birthday boy!”
Lewis turns just in time for you to shove him face‑first into a pile of fresh powder. He lands with a muffled oof, arms flailing, scarf flying. For a second he lies there dramatically still, like a man frozen in time.
You’re giggling so hard the camera shakes.
Then he springs up with a burst of energy, snow clinging to his curls, eyes wide with playful outrage. “Oh, you’re in trouble.”
You squeal and try to run, but he catches you around the waist with ease, lifting you off your feet and falling backward into the snow with you in his arms. You land in a soft, cold heap, both laughing breathlessly as snowflakes settle in your hair.
The video ends there – a blur of laughter, snow, and love.
I’m sorry for going quiet on you all. A few of you reached out to check in and I can’t tell you how much that meant to me. These past few months have been some of the most hectic of my life. I graduated which was exciting but also overwhelming and somewhere along the way, I lost my creative spark. I’ve tried so many times to reconnect with writing, but it just hasn’t clicked yet😔.
On top of that, I started a new job (9 hours a day, 5 days a week) and the exhaustion has made it hard to find the energy or motivation to write the stories I love sharing with you. Behind the scenes, I’ve also been dealing with some family issues, and for me, family will always come first.
So I’m sorry for the silence and for disappearing without explanation. I’ve been taking time for myself and I’ll continue to do so for a little while longer. I’m hopeful that next year I’ll find my rhythm again and return to writing Lewis Hamilton stories with the joy and passion they deserve.
It’s truly been a blessing seeing your reactions, your excitement and your requests. I love you all so much. And please - just because I’m not active in posting stories doesn’t mean I’m not here. If you ever need someone to chat with, don’t hesitate to message me. I’ll always be happy to respond😁.
Also, I won’t be taking any of my stories down. I know some of you love to reread them and I have a feeling many of you will be revisiting them while I’m not posting. They’ll stay right where they are for you.
Wishing you a Merry Christmas🎄, a Happy New Year 🥳 and a season filled with new beginnings and joy 🤗. I’m rooting for every single one of you - and so is Lewis 🫶🏻
