image is unrelated. just reminding you guys he's hot xx
my other one-shots are on my masterlist here
author’s note ~ pissy!lewis with his long-term gf. not really a 'one shot' bc i edited it but basically off the cuff and based on vibes
thanks to my lovely anon for the prompt. feel free to send more in guys ♡
words ~ 2.3k
pairing ~ lewis hamilton x rose (original female character, can be y/n if u want)
wait i didnt even think about the rosie blankpink thing. ffs. too late now.
summary ~ after a tense night sparked by lewis’s work frustrations and rosie’s refusal to perform politeness for strangers, a rare argument ruptures their cosy life. what begins as defensiveness and distance unravels into the quiet ways they hurt each other. Words turn into heat, control into desire. it doesn’t fix everything- but it reminds them why they keep choosing each other anyway.
warnings ~ smut. explicit smut tbh. arguing.
“And I can tell you one thing, honey, I can take the upper hand and touch your body” - Taylor Swift, imgonnagetyouback
"You could have been more friendly, Rosie," Lewis said, dropping his bag onto our sofa.
"Why would I be?”
“Because I work with them.”
His voice was almost angry, but mostly it was plain. Factual.
I took off my gloves and boots and went straight to the sink to clean my mug for some coffee. I deliberately didn't clean his.
I turned away from Lewis, still in his coat and shoes.
“You're paid to be nice to them. They're strangers to me, and you want me to be up their arse?"
He sighed and flung himself onto the sofa.
“Being a little more polite would've helped."
I turned with my mug in my hand, face incredulous and fed up.
"Helped you. Helped you, Lewis. That's the “nicest” I'd ever be to strange men. And by the way, you dislike most of them, so what’s the difference?”
He shook his head and stood up without looking back at me. He went straight for our bedroom door.
"Okay, Rose. Ignore that I'm upset. I'm going to do some work."
"Alright," and I felt my voice rising, "because you never fucking do that.”
Lewis didn’t slam the door, but he made sure I knew it was shut.
“Fucking childish,” I muttered under my breath, grabbing the nearest Nespresso pod to slam into the machine.
The words fell flat into our apartment. It was more silent than usual. I didn’t care.
The coffee machine whizzed, and the smell of coffee filled the kitchen area. It grounded me, reminding me of the beautiful mornings with Lewis. He made coffee after we made love in the mornings in Colorado- we were always cold in the winter. It became part of aftercare.
We rarely argued, so there was no blueprint. I stood with my coffee, in my silk dress, staring into the mug. I tried to focus on our good memories, despite my heart pounding as if I’d run up the stairs.
I took my drink to the sofa and curled my feet up under me. Next to me was my small Chanel bag- the first bag Lewis bought me, despite my protests. In truth, I was too pissed off to get my phone and scroll.
I sat in the silence listening to my heart thud and my head pound. Usually, the only time he made me feel like that was in bed, just before I came.
I wished we were doing that instead. I felt a twinge when I thought about the night before, lying back on our bed while he ate me- slow at first, stopping to tell me how good I tasted, and how good I was.
Some time passed, and my coffee was half finished. It was beginning to get cold, which was just another thing to piss me off.
I didn’t hear the bedroom door open- only his bare footsteps, sticky on the tiled floor. This time, it was me who refused to turn.
“You don’t get to tell me how I feel, Rosie,” he said, his voice pliant but controlled.
I let out an airy laugh and sipped my lukewarm coffee, “And you don’t get to dictate how I act around your colleagues, Lewis.”
Lewis moved to face me and sat a good metre away from me. I kept my gaze forward.
“You could’ve helped me.”
I finally turned and let out an exhausted sigh.
“Why is it always about helping you?”
He let a few seconds of silence fall between us.
“I’m asking. Not demanding. You know how uncomfortable I feel at work these days.”
“It feels like a demand. And anyway, you’re untouchable. You’re better than everyone else on the grid. Why are you looking for approval from children?”
His voice was still low, almost disappointed, “Jesus Rose, you’re so patronising.”
“Right then.”
“Most of the guys feel like they can't talk to me, so they don’t. The others hold grudges. I’m lonely. But you wouldn’t get it, cause you’re liked in your job.”
I was a book agent. Everyone was lovely to me because they wanted a book deal- not because I was likeable, which I clearly wasn’t. It didn’t feel like the time to bring up that nuance. I was mad, but I could see that this wasn’t about me. It never was.
Something flashed across his face, like guilt peppered with shame- or maybe it was standard-issue frustration.
Lewis dropped his eyes onto his lap, “Rosie, I don’t know how to do this without fucking it up.”
“Then stop walking away when the conversation gets hard.”
“I didn’t walk away,” he said, “I stopped myself from saying something worse.”
He brought his eyes back up, and they met mine. At last.
“You left me alone.”
I kept my eyes on him so he could tell I was serious, and placed my mug down in front of me. His sharp intake of breath and dropping shoulders were all I needed to know. He felt bad. I felt bad, too. Out of the two of us, I was more stubborn, and we both knew it.
“I’m sorry, Rose. I hate fighting with you.”
I moved up the sofa towards him a little, and my leg brushed his. Almost instantly, our argument began to dissipate. My whole body softened for him when I saw his big brown eyes up close.
“I hate it too. Sorry, baby.”
My heart fluttered when I apologised. My humility and softness always made Lewis fold.
“I can’t stop wanting you, even when shit goes wrong. I try not to. But I know you. I know your heart.”
I tried to hide the way it made me feel when his voice got quiet. Gentle. Alluring. I silently took a breath, the rising of my chest giving me away.
“My heart makes me sexy?”
Lewis turned to me, and without thinking, my body mirrored him. Facing him was electric. It always had been. We fucked after our first date- a few months after that, we both admitted to falling in love that night.
“Sexiest damn thing about you.”
I couldn’t keep my eyes on him anymore.
“I’m still mad at you,” I said.
“Good,” and he lifted my chin and drew a line along my jawline.
For a second, the air felt like the only two options were colliding or combusting. I could’ve just as easily stood up and started screaming, or I could have done what I did do.
He leaned in to press his forehead against mine, his fingers lingering on my jaw and starting to draw down to my throat.
“I’m here. I’m not leaving.”
I gently nodded my head and met his eyes again.
“I’m gonna kiss you now,” he said.
“Good.”
In between his deep, firm kisses- teeth nipping my bottom lip, our tongues stroking each other’s- he whispered against my mouth, my replies firing back, hoping it was making him harder each time.
“You made me so mad tonight, babygirl.”
“And look at you now,” I smirked against his lips.
“Oh yeah, like you didn’t want this.”
I paused to consider my next move.
“I only want it if you fuck me like you’re sorry.”
“Mmm, can’t do that. I’m going to make love to you until you’re screaming. Show you how much I love you… How much I need you.”
“You’re still a dick.”
I moved my hand over him, checking how hard he was.
“God, you’re fucking maddening,” he said, bucking his hips softly against my hand, moving his lips from mine and dropping kisses down my neck and across my throat.
He pulled back from me, his hands holding my hips. His lips curved a little, still glistening from kissing me.
“Take your clothes off,” he said.
“Here?”
“Stand up, and get undressed. I want to watch. Then I’ll give you what you want.”
I laughed lightly, “Oh, and you know what I want?”
One of his hands trailed up over my ribs, barely missing my nipple hidden under my dress. Lewis made me so weak that my stubborn resolve was almost gone.
His hand settled on my neck, the other still holding my hip.
“I know exactly what you want,” his voice was dark in the way it always got when he needed his own way, “and I’m going to tell you. I promise, it’s going to make you stand up, pull your tights off, slip off that dress and unclip your bra.”
“Confident for a man who couldn’t stand to be in a room with me an hour ago.”
“And it’s making you wet.”
I closed my eyes and took a sharp breath in, shifting under his hands. He was holding me there- not hard, not desperate.
“Fine, tell me, if you know me so well.”
He moved closer to me, his voice barely audible.
“You want me to kiss you all over, until you get goosebumps. Every inch of your skin. Then you want me to run my fingers over your clit, check how wet I’ve made you, and start to open you up for me. One finger, then when I know you can take it, two. Then three. By then, you’re begging for something else, but you’re so turned on you don’t even know what.”
My mouth felt dry with lust. I could almost feel my clit swelling in desperation.
“Am I right, babygirl?”
I nodded.
“Okay. Now, stand up and show me how gorgeous you are.”
Of course, I did as I was told. Every time I took off an item of clothing, Lewis's breathing got harder, with small moans breaking out of his throat. When I got to my bra, and my breasts fell out, he palmed the outside of his trousers as if he couldn’t help himself.
I stood naked in front of him, telling myself to be relaxed and normal. Not to let him win anymore. I still wanted my apology sex.
I shrugged and raised an eyebrow, “Okay, what next?”
“Look at you, acting like you couldn’t care less.”
His eyes caught mine for a few seconds before sitting forward and pulling his t-shirt off.
Fuck. Those tattoos. That chest. He was mine, and I dared to stand there as if I wasn’t burning.
“I do fucking care. You’re just making me stand here.”
“Getting agitated, sweetie. Do I look that good?” he said.
My face got hot with humiliation and need.
“You look perfect, okay? All I can think about is you inside me, doing everything we usually do, okay? Is that enough for you?”
A satisfied, but soft, smile crossed his face.
“Yeah, that’s enough, baby. Come here.”
My shoulders dropped, and I exhaled hard. I was dizzy. Lewis lifted his hips and pushed his trousers down. I straddled him and kissed him as if we’d never kiss again.
We stopped talking. I guided him into me, ready to take him from nothing but his words. I rode him slowly, looking in his eyes, and he traced my body- worshipping every little part, and occasionally thrusting into me. When he did, he moaned, as if feeling us connected again was pure relief.
When we started going faster, he slid two fingers into my mouth to get them wet. I sucked dutifully, wetting them with spit. He went straight to my clit, rubbing in the way I needed. His timing was always perfect- he knew how close we both were.
It was a point of pride for him; seeing him chase it was enough to get me off. Sometimes, when I saw him racing to win on the track, I thought about our private moments of precision.
Our bodies were beginning to sweat, growing clammy and urgent with heat. I was the one to break our secret no-talking oath.
“So close,” I breathed.
“Me too. Give it to me.”
The white bliss hit us both, him pulsing inside me, and me contracting around him. It felt like the perfect dance- he was saying sorry and forcing me to forget about the whole night.
Afterwards, his strong arms held me to him, hands pressed against my back. I stroked his arm and tried to steady my breathing.
“You’re good, babygirl. You’re okay.”
Eventually, my body settled with his, and I pulled his T-shirt over my head.
“I’m going to the bathroom, baby,” I said, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
As I scuttled towards the bathroom, Lewis called after me.
“Rosie?”
“Hmm?”
“I love you."
My heart swooned, the way it always had.
“Oh, sorry,” I said, “did you think I’d forgiven you?”
Lewis rolled his eyes with a quick laugh.
“Of course not. Maybe a bit?”
“Yeah, maybe,” I smiled at him, warm and honest, before I turned.
I was wondering if you had any advice for an aspiring writing who wants to write for F1 but is afraid that they'll suck at it.
I've had so many ideas. I keep coming up with new ones unfortunately.
I'm hoping to make it a goal to write at least one story for next year. I just don't know how to begin.
Thanks in advance! 😊
just go for it!
sucking at it isn't a problem. your first drafts will suck, but then you'll edit, find your voice, and before you know it you've got a whole story.
write about the thing you feel most passionate about. writing emotions and situations that you're close to is the best way to write strong fiction. for example, i am queer like janie, so i could understand her plight.
and (this is cringe) i used to be a groupie so i have some experience dealing with high profile people and places. music isn't exactly like sport, but i just transposed it and hoped for the best!
finally, a non-negotiable for me is a playlist that inspires my story. songs that get me in the headspace for my characters and plot really inspire me.
life has been crazy but i am still here. i've paused writing the alchemy sequel right now (the pressure was causing me to FREEZE) but if u wanna see the start it's up on wattpad and ao3.
after this season at ferrari it's been tough connecting with the story, i guess. but i'll be back at it soo enough and will post it up here.
for now, it's going to be one shots! any prompts send 'em my way :)
ABU DHABI, UNITED ARAB EMIRATES - DECEMBER 04: Lewis Hamilton of Great Britain and Scuderia Ferrari looks on in the Paddock during previews ahead of the F1 Grand Prix of Abu Dhabi at Yas Marina Circuit on December 04, 2025 in Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates.
