It’s summer break and though who doesn’t love a good reading list for over the summer and beyond?
I absolutely love reading and have come across so many incredible authors and beautifully written fics that I want to share those with you!
Writing is such an art form and so much time, energy, thought and love goes into creating each piece and it’s so important to show authors some love - remember to interact by following them, (REBLOG!) like & comment as this helps get their work out there for others to enjoy. Interaction is what helps motivate and shows your appreciation because they do this in their own time and you get their content for free - so please show your appreciation.
Warnings: SMUTTTT. Not a lot of plot. Mile high club vibes. Getting it on in a private jet. Lowkey silly. No use of Y/N.
A/N: This was so random but I needed something fresh and fun to break me out of my writer's block! My backlog is massive rn but I promise more of The One and requests will be coming soon! Please let me know your thoughts on it, if you'd like to be added to mi taglist, or if there's anything you'd like to see next! 🤍
You hadn’t changed yet.
There hadn’t been time at all. The car had pulled straight onto the tarmac, headlights sweeping across slick concrete, tires hissing against the damp as the jet waited with its belly open and engines already alive. You were still breathless from the rush of the night, the air outside heavy with humidity and jet fuel, clinging to your skin and whispering secrets not yet spoken.
Your high heels dangled from one hand as you stepped onto the stairs, the other curled loosely around the slender stem of the drink offered by a flight attendant with a too-knowing smile. Her eyes flicked to you, then to the cabin beyond, as though she already knew exactly what you were walking into.
You’d meant to change after takeoff, you swore you would, but then the lights dimmed to a soft gold, casting everything in a sultry haze. The cream leather seat cradled your back just right, cool and smooth beneath your bare thighs. The altitude wrapped itself around your body like a lullaby, and your book opened easily across your lap, familiar, and safer than whatever else might be simmering across the aisle.
Then, you forgot. Or maybe you just chose not to move on purpose.
Maybe it was easier to stay nestled there, legs tucked beneath you, your skin warm against the buttery leather, your dress riding higher with every subtle shift. The fabric was delicate and slinky, clinging to the curve of your hip, the dip of your waist. One thin strap had already slipped from your shoulder, hanging loose, as though even your dress had grown impatient.
Your drink sat untouched on the table beside you, beads of condensation gathering and dripping slowly down the glass. You hadn’t lifted it in over an hour, too caught up in the words of every page. Too caught up in pretending not to notice how often Lewis looked over at you.
Because he was watching, always watching.
He had been since the car. Since the lobby, even, back when you’d stepped out of the hotel elevator all lit up in your stunning dress and that addictive perfume you wore, your laugh still sweet on your tongue. You’d seen the flicker in his jaw then, the subtle way his hands dug deeper into his pockets, almost as if he’d let them free, they’d forget themselves.
He hadn’t touched you, only leaned in close enough to let his breath brush the shell of your ear, close enough to say something soft and scandalous that made your legs tighten in reflex. Then he’d pulled back, calm as ever, like he hadn’t just made your knees weaken with just his voice.
Now though, there were no velvet ropes, no camera flashes, and no audience.
Just the low whir of thirty thousand feet and a cabin dimly lit as you travelled from city to city. However, Lewis’ restraint was slipping.
You could feel the way his gaze clung to you, dragging slowly across your skin, pausing at the bend of your knee, the exposed line of your thigh where your dress had crept too high. He sat reclined across the aisle, hoodie sleeves pushed up, drink in hand. Every so often he tapped something on his phone coolly, keeping himself busy.
You weren’t fooled though, because the second you shifted your weight, crossed your legs, or moved your fingers to flip a page, his attention snapped back like a magnet.
Each glance was heavier than the last, every look felt like his fingertips were trailing over your skin. It moved slowly up your calf, your thigh, lingering at the faint sliver of lace just visible between your thighs when you’d lifted your knees high enough. Sometimes he stared at your mouth like he was remembering how it tasted, how it felt on his own when he kissed you breathless. Sometimes, his eyes settled at your shoulder, where your strap had slipped halfway down your arm. You could feel his desire burning into your skin from the seat across.
You didn’t speak though, didn't acknowledge it. You just turned another page and let him ache.
The tension between you was like a tight wire, waiting for a spark. You felt it everywhere, in your chest, your fingertips, the throb between your legs. A steady, low thrum, as if gravity had shifted its center of pull to wherever he sat.
You didn’t look up until you felt him staring again, and tilted your head slightly, still holding your place on the page. You let a soft smile curve at your mouth as you glanced at him briefly, innocently.
Lewis’ full lips parted around a breath silently, like the tension in his body had finally crested. His jaw flexed, tight with restraint, the tendons along his neck shifting just beneath the skin. One knuckle tapped absently against his thigh
His eyes were clear, dark, and sharp, fixed on you with an intensity that felt like it reached inside your chest and curled its fingers around your spine. A look that made your skin prickle like you were standing under the heat of stage lights. A look that said everything he hadn’t yet put into words.
You turned back to your book, feigning an unaffected innocence, but your fingers were too still against the paper, too aware of every inch of the dress against your skin. You tried to read the next line, but the letters swam on the page under the heat of his unflinching gaze.
When you tucked one leg tighter beneath you, shifting to rest your ankle against the plush seat cushion, his eyes followed the slow stretch of your thigh like it answered a question he hadn’t dared speak aloud. You let the hem of your dress crept higher, wanting to see how long he’d pretend not to care.
Then, you reached forward to grab your glass of water, and the motion made your strap slip again, the fabric pooling at the edge of your shoulder, baring the curve of your collarbone and the swell of your chest beneath. His grip on the armrest twitched, the leather creaking under his palm.
Still, he said nothing, so you decided to push a little further, bending forward to rummage through your tote for your lip balm, your cleavage spilling forward, and your spine arching ever so slightly.
That was when you heard him quietly clear his throat, and take a sip of his drink.
You smirked at the sound, still facing forward as you twisted your lip balm open and swiped across your lower lip.
“You good?” You asked, your voice soft and sugary with tease. You didn’t even need to look at him to know the effect it would have.
“Yeah, fine,” he nodded. The words were soaked in a low, and textured tone, slithering over your skin, and down your spine.
Rolling your lips together to spread the slick balm, you twisted the lid back on and glanced at him again.
His seat was reclined enough to suggest comfort, but nothing about his body read relaxed. One leg was stretched long, the other angled wider, knee cocked to the side as though he’d given up pretending to sit proper. His hoodie sat rumpled around his waist, sleeves pushed high on his forearms. A fine sheen clung to his skin, the light catching him and highlighting the hard cut of his arms, the dark ink curling across his wrist.
His left hand rested casually on his thigh, but you could see the tension coiled tightly beneath the surface. The subtle, barely-there quiver in his fingers like his restraint had started to unravel. His gaze stayed on yours, his pupils rimmed with heat in those dark brown eyes. There was a storm behind them, and you weren’t sure if he wanted to take you apart, or worship you. Maybe both.
You dragged your teeth slowly across your bottom lip, just to see, and the shift in his breathing was subtle, but immediate. “You sure?”
He didn’t answer with words, instead, he set his glass gently on the tray, and leaned back further into the seat with a grace that made your pulse flutter. Then, he extended one hand in your direction.
The ring on his pinky caught the cabin light as his fingers curled, beckoning you towards him.
“Come here.”
His voice was controlled, but a little rough around the edges, as if he was doing everything he could not to let it drop into something hungrier.
You stared at his hand for a breath, then back at his face. He looked so fucking good, all cozy in his hoodie and sweats, that fire in his eyes blazing at the sight of you. The heat that rushed to your chest wasn’t subtle, sinking deep and spilling lower, pooling warm between your thighs achingly. You shifted where you sat, air catching slightly in your lungs, your dress suddenly too tight around your ribs.
Just a few feet away, behind the divider at the front of the plane were his team. The crew, a flight attendant, his PA, his manager. The hum of quiet conversation floated through the cabin in broken fragments, dulled by the engine’s lull, but still present. Occasionally, you caught the shuffle of movement, ice clinking into a glass, a soft laugh, the gentle thud of someone setting something down on a countertop.
None of them were paying attention, but they weren’t oblivious. Just one thin divider separated you from them, pulled shut, but not locked, nor soundproof.
You could still hear them, which meant if you weren’t careful, they could hear you too.
That thought made your heart race, twisting in your stomach. It should have made you hesitate, should have made you cool, composed. Controlled.
Instead, it just made everything hotter.
You shifted slightly in your seat, heart thudding louder in your ears, the heat of Lewis’s gaze a brand against your skin. You glanced toward the front of the plane again briefly, to confirm the divider was still closed.
“Lewis…” you whispered, a soft warning tucked into your tone when your eyes found him.
There was hesitation in your voice, a breath of reason and doubt.
His eyebrows lifted slowly in reply, but his gaze didn’t flick toward the divider, it stayed locked on you, his gravity pulling heavily at you.
He heard what you weren’t saying, the question in your voice, but he didn’t care. “Don’t make me ask twice.”
The air between you held still as you contemplated his demand for a brief moment. The book in your lap suddenly weighed too much, your fingers tightening beneath it to ground yourself. You exhaled slowly, letting the breath melt from your lungs, and placed it down on the armrest with a muted thump. It fell open spine-up, pages fanned, the story abandoned mid-sentence.
Then, you rose, every movement intentional. Your knees brushed the edge of the creamy leather as you stood, your dress slipping higher as your thighs extended. One hand smoothed down the front of the fabric, coaxing it back into place, though it clung stubbornly, liquid-soft, molding to the curve of your hips and the heat beneath your skin.
The carpet was warm and plush against your bare feet. Each step forward sent sparks up your spine, your nerves sharp and aware, your breath caught in your throat.
Lewis let his eyes drag up your body slowly, starting at your ankles, your calves, tracking the line where the fabric of your dress met your bare thighs, then following the subtle sway of your hips. Along with the slip of your loosened strap, the curl of your fingers against your side, the swell of your cleavage. You moved like you knew you were being undressed in real time, thread by thread, nerve by nerve.
By the time you reached him, the air between you was heavy, hot and full of static. That ache inside you had bloomed into a pressure that was just waiting to break.
He tilted his head back to meet your gaze, his dark brown eyes half-lidded and glistening with excitement, the cabin lights catching the sharp cut of his cheekbones and the thin thread of restraint still trying to hold him together.
“I knew that dress was gonna be a fucking problem,” he muttered, his hands finding your thighs before you could speak.
His palms slid up greedily, his thumbs grazing the skin just under your dress. His touch was warm, his fingers rough along the lace that framed your ass, mapping you just by feeling.
You leaned in, your hands reaching for his shoulders and smoothing down the back of his neck. “What dress?” you teased, your lips brushing the shell of his ear, your breath spilling across his skin.
He scoffed, as though he wanted to laugh but couldn’t afford the break in focus, before he nodded towards the back of the cabin where the space was waiting for you. “Get in the back.”
“Mmm,” you hummed with a smile, planting a light kiss to his jaw. “And if I don’t?”
His eyes dropped down the line of your body, past your lips, your collarbone, your waist, all the way to your thighs, and back up again. The heat in his gaze was searing, possessive, and barely civil.
“I’ll bend you over this chair and make the whole damn plane listen,” he warned, his palms squeezing at the soft flesh of your thighs.
A small gasp snagged at your throat, then dropped into your stomach like a weight, pulling everything with it, your thoughts, your self control, your ability to pretend this wasn’t exactly what you wanted.
You didn’t push again, remembering the number of people behind the divider, so you turned and walked. Your feet carried you silently against the aisle carpet, your hips swaying in rhythm, the bottom of your dress fluttering around your upper thighs with each step. There was no need to exaggerate, your outfit did all the work for you, accentuating every curve of your body effortlessly.
The private suite door was ajar, swaying gently with the movement of the jet. The light inside glowed faintly, golden against the dark. Your fingers brushing the frame as you passed through, the air inside cooler, quieter. You didn’t close the door behind you, leaving it open halfway.
A whisper of space, a question answered.
You heard him the moment he moved, the soft shift of leather, the faint creak of his seat, the steady, unhurried pad of his bare feet moving down the aisle behind you. His shadow spilled across the floor, you didn’t even need to look back to see him enter. The sliding door clicked shut behind him.
You were already waiting at the edge of the bed, arms folded lightly beneath your chest, one hip tilted in defiance. But it wasn’t real, just a disguise against the burn beneath your skin, the way your nerves had been dancing since the second he had reached for you. Every inch of you felt alive now, more sensitive at this altitude. Your dress clung too tightly to your thighs, fabric warmed by your body, by the trail of his fingers, and the ache he’d coaxed from a look alone.
The lighting back here was softer, enough to catch the faint sheen of fabric, and the flicker of flames in his gaze. It painted him in a warm gold, his frame limned by the low glow, pearls glinting faintly where they rested against the hollow of his throat.
He just crossed the space between you quietly, as though he hadn’t been sitting across from you moments ago, fighting for every inch of restraint. He reached for your waist first, his fingers dragging across the bunched fabric gathered at your hip. The other skimmed up your spine, slowly, brushing over the zipper he ignored entirely.
Instead, he slipped the thin straps from your shoulders, slow enough that you felt the flutter in your belly at his touch. They slid down your arms like water, pooling at your elbows, baring your collarbones, and the soft upper swell of your breasts. The fabric fluttered with your breath, shallow in anticipation.
His head dipped, lips ghosting across your skin.
“You were doing that on purpose,” he whispered, his mouth brushing the hollow just above your clavicle. The heat of his breath sent ripples down your chest.
You tipped your head back slightly, eyelashes fluttering. “Doing what?”
“Sitting there like that, pretending to read.” His thumb swept over your bare shoulder, his touch electric against your skin, while his lips pressed along your cleavage. “Not changing, letting this little dress ride up.” His hand curved lower around your waist, slipping to your backside, pulling you closer until your thighs brushed his.
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” you teased, your palms sliding under his hoodie to trace over the ridges of his abs.
His mouth moved to your jaw, dragging open kisses up its curve. “Liar.”
Your breath stuttered as your stomach tightened. “You didn’t have to stare for a whole hour, you know.”
His lips curved against your skin mischievously. “Didn’t want to embarrass myself by dragging you back here like a fucking teenager.”
“You kind of did,” you giggled lightly, slipping your hands around to his back and grazing your nails along the muscles as you pushed the hoodie up over his head.
His laugh was soft, more breath than sound, letting the hoodie drop to the floor as his teeth scraped the edge of your shoulder. “You came willingly, baby.”
You shivered at the contact, your skin prickling. His hands dropped, skimming down the backs of your thighs before gripping just below your ass and lifting, nudging your hips toward the bed in a silent cue.
You let him guide you, knees sinking into the mattress, sheets cool against your shins as you climbed onto his lap. Your dress bunched high around your hips, straps barely clinging to your arms anymore, and the air kissed every inch of your newly bare skin.
He sat back to take you in, still dressed, mostly. His shirt clung to his chest, cotton stretched across defined muscles, the pearls around his neck caught what little light remained. His sweats were loosened just enough to tempt, resting low on his hips. His arms braced behind him, veins visible beneath the golden-brown skin of his biceps, hands curling slightly against the sheets.
He was so unfairly gorgeous in his presence and power, legs spread beneath you, chest rising steadily like he was still trying to control the chaos you’d lit inside him. His gaze locked on your mouth, then flicked lower, then back again.
You shifted, rocking forward just enough to feel him beneath you, so hard and solid, the heat of him unmistakable. The friction made your breath tremble. He groaned low, head dropping slightly, his fingers flexing against the mattress as if he was fighting gravity.
His hands gripped your thighs, thumbs brushing over the sensitive skin where your dress had ridden up, revealing the lace underneath. He leaned in, lips capturing yours possessively, as though he’d waited all day to taste you. His tongue swept yours, sliding wetly over your tastebuds, mouth hot on your own like he’d been starving, and you were the only thing that could satisfy.
Then, he pulled back just enough to breathe, and dipped to your throat. He kissed along the edge of your jaw, and down your neck. His teeth grazed your pulse point, light a nip, along your skin. You gasped at the sensation, hips twitching against his, grinding the slick between your legs against his bulge, soaking the fabric of his sweats.
His hands smoothed up your sides, trailing heat, then down again to cradle your hips. He kissed the top of your chest, where your dress no longer hid the lace of your bra, your cleavage spilling out to reveal your nipples. His tongue flicked softly just beneath your collarbone before his lips dragged lower, nuzzling, mouthing, and teasing at your breasts.
You let your dress slide higher, revealing your ass while you moved shamelessly, rocking your hips over him. It clung to your waist, baring the lace of your underwear, a damp spot spreading darker on his pants beneath the soft light. The heat between your legs was unmistakable, aching and glistening as the nerves of your clit rubbed against him.
Lewis’s gaze dropped like a weight, his jaw clenching at the sight. Both hands tightened on your hips, fingers flexing like he was barely keeping himself still. “Take it off.”
“You take it off,” you replied, shifting your hips forward in one slow, grinding roll. “I’m busy.”
The grunt that slipped from him was ragged, punched out through grit teeth. Your smile was wicked, satisfaction curling at the corners of your mouth. You reached between your bodies, your fingers trailing down the elastic of his sweats, tugging just enough to free him.
He was hot and heavy in your palm, twitching the moment you touched him. A deep sound spilled from his chest, between a growl, or almost a moan, and it lit you up from the inside out.
He was always like this. Lewis never stayed quiet for long, never with you. He’d always been a little noisy in bed, sharp groans, deep grunts, soft hisses of swear words rasped into your skin, and you’d learned early on it wasn’t by accident. He did it because he knew you liked it, he’d caught the way your eyes fluttered when you heard how good it felt for him. The way your body clenched when he moaned into your neck, soaking your folds with every sound. The way you came harder when you heard your name strangled out of his throat. He knew what his voice did to you, and he wielded it like a weapon.
When you brushed your thumb over the tip, spreading the slickness already there, his hips bucked slightly, breath catching again. The groan that followed sent a pulse straight through your core. Your body throbbed in anticipation and hunger.
You guided him to your core, dragging the head of him through your lace covered folds teasingly, just to feel it, just to watch his face change. You didn’t push him in yet, you liked the tension. You liked the way his eyes burned darker with every second you kept him waiting.
“Fuck,” he hissed, head tipping back against the pillows as his hand grasped at your panties from the back, tugging them aside to feel the soft wetness. “Get on it, babe. Come on.”
You sank down onto him, inch by inch. The stretch was overwhelming, your breath shaking and, your thighs trembling, your spine arched reflexively as he filled you. His head fell back with a raw groan that broke into something louder.
“Oh my f-”
You clapped your hand over his mouth, giggling breathlessly, your hips rolling slow and steady as you adjusted around him. “Shhh, baby. They’ll hear us.”
His eyes flew wide, eyebrows creasing while you ground onto his thick length. You felt the groan he tried to let out, vibrating against your palm, a deep sound you knew would’ve been much louder if you hadn’t caught it.
His hands clutched your ass as he pushed up into you hard, making you squeak as your hand slipped from his mouth.
“Fuck. That’s not fair,” you gasped, your voice barely a breath. “You’re not allowed to talk shit and fuck this good.”
His eyes crinkled smugly, pleased with himself as he set his own pace, your hips at his mercy while he moved you with him.
“I told you-” you gasped, grasping at his shirt to regain your balance.
“I’m not tryna be quiet,” he growled, fucking up into you, loving the way your body bounced on him.
“Well I am!” You clasped your hand over his mouth again, your palm pressing firm across his lips, your thighs trembling as you rocked down to meet his thrusts.
His chest rose and fell beneath your hands, his skin warm, his defined lips parted in breath, his eye brows drawn tight. There was so much heat in his face, frustration, hunger, pleasure, warring just beneath the surface.
He groaned helplessly beneath you, his voice muffled under your hand, but still trying to be a menace, still trying to talk, even now. His hips shifted under yours, trying to coax more, trying to pull another reaction from your body.
“You’re so fucking loud,” you whispered, breath catching between laughter and moaning. Your voice trembled with effort, trying to stay composed, trying to hold it together even as your body fluttered around him again. “I swear, if I have to tell the flight attendant we were stretching, I’m gonna kill you.”
That glint returned to his eye, mischief through the haze. He licked a slow, deliberate stripe across your palm.
“Lew!” you hissed, scandalised and flustered, half-laughing as you pulled your hand back and smacked his chest with a palm that had no real threat behind it.
His laugh was low and breathy, as though it came from deep in his chest, caught between your thighs and the cabin air, shivering through your body.
“Come here, love,” he murmured, his voice hoarse as he tugged you down by the back of your neck.
His mouth found yours, full-tongued and hungry, sweeping along yours as your fingers weaved into his braids. His teeth caught your bottom lip just enough to sting, his hands guiding your body harder against his with each bounce of your hips. The rhythm turned greedy, your clit rubbing against him as he slipped in and out of your slick folds.
The air was thinner up here, pressed in by the altitude and arousal, along with the way his chest moved against yours like he was holding back everything except the way he felt inside you. You could feel it all. Every drag of his dick through you, every stutter, every throb where your bodies met.
You rocked your hips tighter, deeper, your breath shaking as you ground down again, and again. He bucked again, harder this time, and you gasped, hips stuttering, body clenching, the sharp jolt of pleasure racing up your spine.
The cabin was silent, the door was still closed, with the crew just on the other side of the divider. The only sounds were the obscene slick of you sliding over him, the faint slap of skin on skin, and the muffled, desperate sounds escaping him between your mouths.
Lewis let his head press back against the pillow, jaw clenched hard, fingers digging crescents into your hips. His eyes fluttered shut for just a moment, and when you circled once, devastatingly slow, his breath shuddered out of him.
“Fuck, baby…” he rasped brokenly, his voice wrecked.
You looked down at him, heart pounding, thighs growing weak where they framed his hips. His eyes met yours, pupils swallowing the brown of his irises, eyelashes heavy and damp. He looked desperate and so fucking beautiful.
You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “Hmm?”
His gaze dragged over your face like he was trying to memorise every inch of you. His throat worked around a swallow, jaw clenching as he forced out a breath. “You’re trying to kill me.”
You leaned closer again, letting your nose brush his, your mouth hovering just close enough to tease. Your lips ghosted the corner of his, and he chased the contact like it might save him.
“I’m trying…to shut you up,” you giggled softly between kisses.
Then, you adjusted your angle slightly, your hips rolling down in a faster, slightly more shallow motion, making his eyes slam shut, a broken sound cracking low in his throat.
You covered his mouth again with your fingers, hissing through a laugh. “Shhh. That was not quiet.”
He glared at you, full of fire, completely unrepentant, and groaned into your palm again, louder this time, on purpose.
“You shh,” he mumbled against your skin, his voice hot and thick, “Listen to how fucking wet you are.”
Your laugh slipped free before you could stop it, exhausted, breathless, drenched in heat. You clenched again just right, and he gasped against your palm, hips jerking beneath you in a reflexive thrust that made you both moan. It felt electric, like lightning in your blood, and sparks behind your knees.
His hand slid up your spine, while the other grasped at your ass, his shirt soft against your bare chest as you leaned into him.
Your lips brushed the shell of his ear as you breathed out raggedly. “You feel so good...”
You hadn’t meant to say it, the words slipped out from you when pleasure sparked through the bundle of nerves between your legs, shooting up through your body.
The sound he made in reply made your stomach flutter, a moan deep against your skin, it almost tipped you over then and there. His arms wrapped around you tighter, pulling you in as if to press you closer, deeper.
You bounced a little harder now, chasing the high that was building in your pelvis. Your thighs started to tremble again, pace faltering as the pressure almost snapped ravenously. Your hands found his shoulders, nails digging in, head tipping onto his as the rhythm fell apart, wild now, erratic.
The altitude made it worse, everything was louder, more intense. Your limbs felt weightless, your body stretched too tight. You were floating and falling all at once.
“Shit-” you gasped, voice cracking. “Baby, I…”
“I’ve got you, baby.” His thumb slid between your bodies expertly, finding your clit and circling it in devastating swirls, pushing you over the edge.
A choked moan ripped from your throat, muffled by your own palm that you’d slapped to your mouth as your orgasm tore through you fiercely. Your hips stuttering, grinding helplessly through the waves as your walls clamped down around him, pulsing tight. Your whole body shook, and your forehead dropped to his shoulder, mouth covered in a silent cry as the heat spread through your limbs like fire.
“Fuck-fuck, baby, there you go,” he groaned against your skin, holding you close, holding you steady, feeling every aftershock.
Your breath came in shudders as you came down from your high. Your thighs ached, trembling around his. You could feel yourself dripping over him, coating his dick and soaking the waistband of his sweats, your skin hot. He didn’t seem to mind, though. If anything, he looked fucking entranced. The scent of sex was thick in the air, blending with his warm, woody cologne.
He was still hard inside you, twitching with every flutter of your walls. You didn’t want to move yet. The stretch of him was too good, every inch of you still throbbed, sensitive, open, your panties bunched to the side, dress hiked up and wrinkled around your waist.
You barely had time to catch it. Barely had time to blink, to register the way his arms wrapped tighter around you, thumb still stroking gentle circles over your hipbone like he wasn’t buried deep inside you, like your entire body hadn’t just come apart on top of him.
Click.
The sound was soft, one that barely registered unless you were listening for it. And you were.
Your head jerked up, every muscle in your frame locked tight. Your lungs seized mid-inhale as the hush of the cabin seemed to deepen around you, silence pressing in on all sides. You turned your head slowly, eyes snapping to the sound, heart slamming up into your throat.
The sliding door had shifted. Not wide enough to see anything, but enough to feel it. The way the air changed, the whisper of movement, the sound of reality cracking its knuckles just beyond the door you thought separated you from the rest of the world.
Your stomach dropped. Your whole body was on fire again, but this time not from pleasure. From pure, adrenaline-spiked terror.
Your voice was an incredulous whisper, “Lewis...”
Beneath you, he’d gone still. His hands were firm on your hips, his length still buried deep inside you, but his head turned slowly, just enough to glance toward the crack in the door.
“Did you-” you started, breathless. “Did you not lock it?”
He didn’t answer right away, which was enough of an answer. Your mouth dropped open, disbelief pouring through your chest like ice water.
“You didn’t lock it?” you hissed.
“I thought I did,” he replied softly, then quieter, “Guess I didn’t.”
You stared at him, heart pounding in your throat.
“Are you-” You cut yourself off, jaw clenched tight, too stunned to finish the thought.
Footsteps padded softly beyond the door casually, making you freeze at the sound. The footsteps lingered near the galley. You heard the soft clink of glass, a low cough, the muted shuffle of someone adjusting a drawer. Then, stillness.
Every muscle in your body clenched instinctively, including the ones still wrapped tightly around him. You felt him twitch inside you at the sudden squeeze. He breathed in sharp and held it.
The footsteps moved again, fading this time, down the aisle, away from your door. No voices, no interruptions, only silence. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to move, frozen with your ears perked to any other sounds.
The slow drag of Lewis’ fingertips against your skin snapped you back into the moment.
“You okay?” he asked gently, but not remorseful. Not one bit.
You glanced down at him with a small nod.
His eyes had darkened again, the tension was back in his jaw. His gaze moved over your face like he was studying you. Measuring the speed of your breath, watching the warmth rise beneath your cheeks, taking in the way your thighs trembled slightly where they straddled his.
You barely had time to catch your breath before he moved. With a groan low in his throat, Lewis wrapped an arm around your waist and dragged you down onto your back, pressing you into the mattress. His weight followed, body hot and solid over yours, his shirt riding up over tense abs, sweatpants shoved low. His necklace dangled near your mouth as he leaned over you.
His dick was still thick, hard, and throbbing. You could feel it against your thigh where it had slipped out, sticky with the slick warmth.
“You made a mess, baby,” he whispered, dragging his fingers between your folds, collecting the wetness and lifting it to his lips. “Let me finish what we started.”
Then, you felt the blunt pressure of him at your entrance, gliding through your folds, before sliding back into you slowly, bottoming out in one aching thrust that made your toes curl.
“Baby,” you whimpered, eyes wide as he filled you again. It was so deep, so full.
He didn’t give you a second to argue, pinning your hips to the mattress with his own, one hand slipping beneath your knee, tilting you open until he could sink deeper.
He began to move inside you again, slow and steady at first, dragging every inch out like he was savoring every second. Your breath hitched, and your nerves sparked. The aftershocks had barely settled and now he was building them again, drawing a soft squeal from your lips when he angled deeper.
It was his turn to clap his hand over your mouth, his broad palm warm against your flushed skin, contrasting with the coolness of his rings. “Shhh.”
You arched beneath him involuntarily, eyes fluttering shut, every inch of your body strung tight. Your skin felt raw, nerves pulsing just beneath the surface, but it felt so good, and he knew it.
Lewis leaned closer, mouth brushing your cheek, lips barely grazing your skin.
“You can take it, baby,” His voice was low and coaxing. “I know you can. Just one more, yeah?”
Your moan was muffled beneath his hand, but your body answered for you, hips rocking up, thighs twitching, walls fluttering around him in surrender. He kissed your temple softly, pressing his mouth down your cheek and below your ear.
“That’s it, love,” he breathed. “So fucking tight, so perfect for me.”
He rolled his hips deeper now, angling just right, dragging across that spot inside you that made your spine curve and your breath vanish. You clenched your jaw, eyes glassy, every thrust building fast, the heat coiling low in your belly like a wire drawn too tight.
You couldn’t hold it, your body locked under his, and then, you broke again.
The pleasure surged through you like a tide. Your legs trembled, and your walls spasmed around him as a muffled, wrecked sound tore from your throat and died into his palm. Your back arched, fingers clawing at his biceps, your entire body twitching as wave after wave crashed through you.
He didn’t let up though, he held you through it, hips rocking slower to let you ride it out, lips brushing your cheek like he was proud. “There she is. Good fucking girl.”
Once your breathing evened out, his pace picked up again, before it slowly faltered.
You barely registered it at first, too gone, too spent, but you could feel the way his breath turned shallower, the way his rhythm stuttered as he tried to hold on. You reached up weakly and tugged at his wrist.
He let go, and you replaced his hand with your mouth on his, your lips swollen, your chest still trembling from the comedown. Your tongue met his in a soft sweep, while your arm looped around his neck, holding him close to you.
He moaned into your mouth, broken and raw, then he came hard. With a strangled sound that he buried in your kiss, his hips jerked into yours as he spilled deep inside you in thick, creamy pulses. His whole body tensed over yours, muscles locked tight, every wave of pleasure carved into his face as he held you there, panting, a soft whimper into your mouth.
Soon after, he lowered himself, half on top of you, half between your legs, his weight warm and heavy. His shirt clung to him at the collar, slightly damp from heat, altitude, sweat. His breath gusted ragged against your neck.
You held him close, arms wrapped around his shoulders, one leg still hooked around his waist, your chest still buzzing from the last of it. The sheets were twisted under you, warm from the friction against the cool air of the cabin.
Lewis’ nose brushed your cheek as he exhaled slowly, completely undone. The two of you laid there for a moment, catching your breaths, soft chuckles and the press of lips intermittently through the quiet of the suite.
“Fuck, that’s gonna knock me out,” he sighed, nuzzling his nose into your neck.
You huffed a quiet breath, your lips brushing the side of his head. “Not yet,” you whispered, tracing the line of his spine with your fingertips.
He groaned playfully, but he didn’t argue, rolling carefully to his side.
Your legs felt like jelly when you finally climbed off the bed. Every movement felt slower than usual, floaty, and almost dazed. The room was still thick with the scent of him, tangled with the air conditioning and skin. The purr of the engines thrummed through the floor in a low, steady vibration that seemed to echo the fading rhythm of your heartbeat.
The light in the cabin hadn’t changed, still soft gold glowing across the bed in uneven patches, tracing the mess you’d made of each other. The sheets were twisted halfway down, your dress clung to your skin in sticky folds, and your thighs were slick and trembling. The air itself felt warmer somehow, like it had absorbed what you’d done.
Lewis lay in the center of the bed, a picture of beautiful ruin. His hoodie was discarded somewhere behind him, his sweatpants still halfway down his thighs. His chest rose and fell in slow, heavy breaths under his shirt, his skin gleaming faintly under the low cabin lights. One arm was flung above his head, the other draped loosely across his abdomen, fingers flexing every now and then like he was still feeling you there. His pearl necklace had slipped crooked along his collarbone, resting in the hollow of his throat.
He looked completely undone, absolutely spent, and unfairly gorgeous.
You gave him a soft smile, and padded toward the small bathroom at the back of the cabin. The floor was cool under your feet, grounding you back in reality, as you cleaned yourself up. You opened the drawer under the mirror and pulled out a folded pajama set, soft ribbed cotton, still neatly pressed. You stood there for a moment, fingertips brushing the fabric, and then your eyes flicked to the mirror, at the reflection of the bed behind you.
Lewis was watching you.
He had shifted, propping himself up on one elbow, the other hand lazily resting on his stomach. His gaze followed the curve of your body like he was tracing it with his fingers.
“Put mine on,” he rasped, voice still rough from the last hour.
You turned slightly, brow arched. “You want me in your shirt?”
“I want you in nothing,” he chuckled, lips curving faintly. “But we’re negotiating.”
A laugh slipped out of you, shaking your head as you placed the pajama set neatly on the chair and crossed back toward him, feet silent on the carpet.
You found his hoodie first, still warm from his body, still smelling like him. It was oversized, soft, and a little stretched. When you pulled it over your head, it swallowed you whole, the hem brushing mid-thigh. Your hair tumbled free from the collar, framing your flushed face.
He made a low sound at the sight of you, more breath than voice, but it rolled through the space like a claim. He loved seeing you in his clothes.
“I’ll just grab some water,” you murmured, starting toward the cabin door.
His hand shot out, catching your wrist before you could take another step. His grip was firm, but not forceful, only enough to halt you mid-motion.
“No.”
You blinked down at him. “Don’t you-”
He sat up slowly, still holding your wrist, dark eyes glinting under the soft light. “No. Not done with you yet.”
You hesitated, your pulse stuttering in your chest. He tugged gently until you stepped back between his knees. The bed dipped beneath your shins, and before you could say anything else, he leaned in, wrapping his arms around your waist, and pressed a kiss to your sternum, right below the dip of your collarbone.
His hands slid under the hem of the hoodie, warm palms cupping the backs of your thighs, thumbs moving in small, lazy circles against your skin. It wasn’t sexual this time, just intimate, like he needed to feel you again.
Your fingers threaded into his braids, smoothing them back gently from his face. You bent forward and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of his head. He hummed against your chest, a sound that was part sigh, part satisfaction.
You smiled, brushing your lips against his hairline again. “Thought you were tired.”
“I am.” He shrugged, his voice smooth and warm. “Still want you.”
Your arms slipped around his shoulders, holding him there, breath slowing between you. Then you tried again, your voice quieter this time. “I was just gonna grab-”
“No.” He turned his head, cheek resting fully against your sternum now, voice muffled by the cotton of his own hoodie on your body. “Stay here.”
You giggled under your breath, tracing your fingertips over his scalp. “You’re such a baby.”
He looked up at you with half-lidded eyes and a grin that still managed to make your knees weak. “It’s your fault.”
Lewis tugged you down with him before you could answer, pulling you into his chest as he sank back into the mattress. He dragged the sheets higher, tucking you into him like he didn’t care about anything except keeping you close.
You settled against him, your leg draped over his hip, his arm curved protectively around your waist. His head found its place on your chest again, cheek pressed to the soft cotton of his hoodie, nuzzling against your breasts.
He was quiet for a while, tracing slow, absent circles against your thigh with his thumb. The sound of the engines blended with your breathing, two heartbeats syncing beneath the constant hum. You ran your fingertips lightly over the knots of his braids, brushing your lips to his head every now and then.
“So that’s the kinda shit you’re reading?” he asked eventually.
You blinked, your eyebrows knitting together as you glanced down at him. “Hmm?”
“In your book,” he murmured, nose nudging against your collarbone. “All that drama and then she has to pretend she doesn’t love him?”
A surprised sound left your lips, half-delighted, half-shocked. “Wait…you were actually listening?”
“Hard not to when you were reading it with that look on your face.” Lewis shrugged into your chest, lips brushing the fabric of the hoodie as he spoke. “He’s the fairy, right? With wings?”
You tensed slightly, already wary of where his question was leading to. “Fae, but yes…”
“Do they ever hit in the sky?”
You gasped. “Lewis.”
He grinned into your chest, completely unrepentant. “What? If I had wings, I’d take you up too.”
You snorted, shifting under him just enough to smirk down at his hair. “You kinda already did that without the wings.”
That made him grin. “True. Another kind of mile high club though, innit?”
You bit your lip, trying to stay composed, but the smile cracked through anyway, and then you were both laughing. Soft at first, then a little louder, bodies tangled, sore and utterly spent. You tucked your chin against his head, breath catching slightly as you smiled into his hair.
Eventually, when the laughter faded and the stillness returned, you exhaled softly. “Do you want me to actually tell you what happens?”
Lewis hummed contently. “Yeah,” he mumbled, breath already slowing. “I love the sound of your voice. Tell me where you left off.”
So you did.
Your voice softened as you picked up the thread of the story.
Your thumb traced slow circles into the back of his neck.
We’d barely pulled into the driveway when Roscoe let out a grunt from the backseat like ‘finally’.
I didn’t blame him. I mean we were all a little over the four days of living in a motorhome around a GP schedule.
Lewis leaned over the center console, reaching for the key fob and the garage clicker like it was muscle memory. “Home, sweet home” he muttered, mostly to himself. Then his eyes flicked toward me. “For me. Temporarily for you two, I guess.”
I quirked a brow. “Wow. Four days trapped together in one glorified tin can and I still get an invite inside? You must really like us.”
He smirked, one hand on the wheel, the other ruffling the fur on Roscoe’s big bulldog head. “Don’t flatter yourself. He’s the real MVP here.”
“So I am around for shared meal times only.”
“Obviously.”
We both knew he was full of it, but it felt easier to keep the tone light when the weight of ‘what now?’ hovered between us.
The house welcomed us with an uncharacteristic silence and the faint scent of lavender—his housekeeper’s doing, I imagined. Roscoe trotted in like he owned the place, tail stub doing a lazy wag as he sniffed around the hallway, then made a beeline to the living room rug. Plopped down like royalty.
I followed behind him with our overnight bags, or in my case, the overnight bag I brought and the tote full of just-in-case things I swore I wouldn’t unpack.
Lewis shut the door and glanced down the hallway where I was already toeing off my sneakers.
“You know” he said, voice mild “he doesn’t let just anyone crash on his rug like that.”
“He has standards. You, on the other hand, let me in knowing full well I hog the bathroom sink.”
He chuckled softly, stepping past me to grab a couple of glasses from the kitchen. “I should probably ask for a security deposit before you make yourself too at home.”
“You’re lucky I’m not charging you for emotional labor.”
“I pay in smoothies and questionable documentaries.”
And he did. I could already see the NutriBullet sitting on the counter, ready to ruin a perfectly good banana in the name of health.
I dropped my bags by the staircase, suddenly unsure what to do with my hands. It wasn’t like this was the first time I’d been here, but it was the first time that I wasn’t just here for a weekend, or one of those rare mid-week sleepovers that happened when his calendar and mine lined up like a freak planetary event.
Roscoe snorted loudly in the next room, settling in for what I suspected was hisversion of nesting.
Lewis came back with two glasses of water and handed one to me. “To surviving Silverstone” he said.
“To surviving shared bathrooms” I replied, clinking the rim of my glass gently against his.
We sipped in sync, quiet for a beat longer than usual. Comfortable, not awkward. But definitely a shift. I felt it, low in my stomach, under the buzz of tiredness and soft afternoon lighting.
He leaned against the wall, one arm crossed over his chest, the other nursing his glass.
“You really stayed four full days” he said, like he was only just realizing it.
“Yeah.”
“With me. With Roscoe.”
I laughed. “He’s a good negotiator.”
“Better than me, apparently.”
I tilted my head, watching him. He was trying to play it cool, but there was something in the way he looked at me just then, like he was a little too aware. His voice didn’t hold jealousy, not exactly. But was it wonder, maybe? Or disbelief?
“You jealous of your own dog?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
He shook his head, smiling but not meeting my eyes right away. “Not jealous. Just surprised. Took him two days and a few face licks. I’ve been trying to get you to stay longer for months.”
Oh.
Oh.
I sat down on the arm of the couch, half-facing him. “You never asked.”
“Didn’t want to push” He took a sip, then added, “Didn’t want to make it harder for you to leave if I did.”
That... that felt familiar. The exact thing I hadn’t been able to explain whenever I packed my bag on Sunday nights.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to stay. It’s just that staying would’ve meant missing him more once he was gone again.
“Anyway” he said, cutting the moment short like he felt it too “Roscoe’s got you now. Guess I’ll take the guest room.”
I grinned. “You’re assuming he’s not already there, hogging the pillows.”
Lewis laughed, and the tension broke just like that. But the thought lingered, soft and looping.
You stayed four full days.
Yeah. I had. And I didn’t hate it.
Not even a tiny bit.
I meant to go home Monday morning.
I said I’d go Tuesday.
Now it’s Wednesday, and I’ve somehow ended up in one of Lewis’s oversized and overprized sweats, curled into the corner of the bed with my laptop on one knee and a sleeping bulldog using my foot as a chin rest.
There’s a pink claw clip on his bathroom counter. My serum is wedged between his expensive face oil and a cologne bottle that costs more than my monthly phone bill. And when I woke up this morning, there was oat milk in the fridge.
“Hey,” Lewis calls from the hallway, voice a little muffled. “Do you want me to move some stuff in the drawer in the bathroom? Your… toner nearly killed me.”
I grin. “That’s acid, babe. It’s supposed to sting a little.”
He appears in the doorway, toothbrush in hand, and gives me a look. “How does your skin even survive that?”
“Tougher than yours, apparently.”
He raises a brow. “I’m a racer.”
“I exfoliate with chemicals. We all have our battles.” I wink back at him letting my grin out.
Lewis shakes his head and disappears again. I hear a drawer open, then close. A pause. Then he calls out, “You know you’ve officially moved in when your moisturizer has its own parking space.”
I snort. “Blame Roscoe. He’s the one who keeps looking personally offended when I try to leave.”
“I’m starting to feel like you’re the one staying for him.”
Oh. There it is again. That little thread in his voice, barely tugged but just enough to catch. He isn’t being cold. If anything, he’s being playful. But I’m starting to hear the question under the jokes.
Why now?
Roscoe grunts in his sleep like he’s agreeing with Lewis, or maybe just farting.
Both are on-brand.
I tuck my feet under me and trace a finger along the curve of Roscoe’s side, watching the rise and fall of his breath. “He’s got an excellent PR strategy, what can I say. Lots of head tilts. Big brown eyes. Deep understanding of my love language: cuddles and carbs.”
Lewis walks into the room now, toothbrush gone, hoodie sleeves pushed up, looking at me like he’s trying not to say something important. Like he’s weighing every syllable before he opens his mouth.
“I like it, you know,” he says.
I glance up.
“You, here. Just being here.”
Oh.
I look down at Roscoe. “Careful. Say something sweet again and I might stay another week.”
Lewis smiles, slow, crooked, the kind he only gets when he’s thinking something he knows he really shouldn’t say out loud.
And then he does say it anyway.
“Good. Then maybe I’ll finally stop pretending I don’t want you to.”
I mean, I should be freaked out.
Instead, I sink deeper into the bed and pretend not to notice how, for the first time in all our back-and-forth, I didn’t even look at the time when I woke up this morning. I just stayed.
Stayed.
You see, I’ve always liked my own space. Not because I’m one of those lone-wolf, hot-girl-with-a-therapist types.
Though, to be clear, I do go to therapy.
But because independence was easier than attachment. Independence doesn’t wake up with a Roscoe-shaped hole in your chest when you’re alone on a Qualifying Saturday or a Race Sunday.
But now…
Now there’s a dog on my foot and a man in the pretending he doesn’t let out the silliest of smiles when he finds my earrings on the bathroom counter. And this house that used to feel like his, only his, suddenly has soft reminders of my daily life all over it.
I glance at Roscoe, still snoring, then up at Lewis. He’s by mirror, choosing jewelry like he’s going somewhere and not only downstairs. When he catches me looking, he lifts a brow.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I say. “You just look… domestic.”
He smirks. “What, like I don’t do this when you’re not here?”
And maybe that’s the whole point.
Now his routine has me included.
We’re three episodes into a show neither of us picked. I think Netflix just decided we’d had a long week and deserved something with lots of slow-motion dog footage.
Roscoe’s curled up between us, belly-up, snoring like he pays rent. One of his back legs keeps twitching, like he’s dreaming of sprinting somewhere.
I’m wrapped in a blanket I stole from Lewis’s guest room and haven’t returned. My feet are tucked under Roscoe, and my head’s on Lewis’s thigh, my cheek slightly pressed into the hem of his sweatpants. He’s playing with my hair absently, like his hand has a mind of its own.
I glance up and catch him watching the screen. But not really watching. His eyes keep drifting. To me. To Roscoe. To the half-empty mug on the coffee table.
Something’s on his mind.
“Okay,” I say, shifting slightly. “Spill.”
He blinks. “What?”
“You’re thinking too loud.”
He smirks, but it doesn’t fully reach his eyes. “I’m just... wondering.”
“That’s vague. I do that all the time and you call it spiraling.”
“I do.” He shrugs lightly, gaze still half-elsewhere. “I’m wondering how we got here.”
I sit up just enough to look at him properly. “As in... me, Roscoe, and a blanket that’s taking over your living room?”
He smiles, small. “As in... I’ve never wanted anyone to stay before. Not like this.”
Oh.
And there it is again. That honesty tucked inside understatement. Like if he says it too loud, it might scare one of us off.
“You say that like it’s a problem” I say gently.
He shakes his head. “It’s not. I just…” His hand drops from my hair. “You’ve always had this... lightness about you. You come and go and still manage to feel grounded. Like you know exactly who you are, no matter where you’re standing.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Is this your very poetic way of calling me stubborn?”
He huffs a laugh. “Independent.”
“Well,” I say, settling further into him “You’re not wrong. I like my space. I like my place. I like not having to answer to anyone.”
He’s quiet.
“But,” I add, “I also like it here. With you.”
Now he’s the one holding his breath.
“Roscoe too, obviously” I tease, nudging the bulldog with my foot. “But I’m not sleeping on your bed for him.”
That earns a real laugh from Lewis, low and soft, his fingers returning to my hair. “You do realize you’re the only person he’s ever picked over me, right?”
“He’s just tired of you nagging him.”
“Love language” Lewis corrects, deadpan.
I glance up at him again, this time watching a shadow pass behind his eyes.
“What?” I ask.
He hesitates, then: “You did stay for him.”
It’s not bitter. Just... soft. Like it still stings a little, even if he understands it.
I shift again, pulling the blanket tighter around us. “I stayed because I felt like I could. Because it felt like I wasn’t just visiting anymore. Like the door was open and you actually wanted me here.”
He exhales like I’ve just said something that cracked him open a little. Not in a bad way. Just in the way you exhale when something honest finally lands.
“I do” he says. “I do want you here.”
“Then stop acting like Roscoe tricked me into it.”
Lewis leans down, kisses my forehead. “He didn’t?”
“He did a bit. But you’re the reason I haven’t bolted yet.”
We fall quiet again. The show plays on, forgotten. Roscoe shifts in his sleep, half-buried under the blanket now. I tuck my hand under Lewis’s shirt, just at his side. He’s warm and real and here.
“You know” he says eventually, voice lower, “I’ve made a lot of room in this house for you without even noticing.”
I glance up.
“And in my schedule” he adds.
“That’s very romantic of you,” I whisper.
He smiles. “I didn’t do it to be romantic.”
I know.
And that’s why it is.
It’s one of those freakishly warm summer mornings that tricks Londoners into thinking they can trust the weather. I’m barefoot in the garden, in a pair of Lewis’s sweats I’ve rolled at the waist 5 times, trying to convince Roscoe to bring back the soggy tennis ball I threw ten seconds ago.
He’s pretending he didn’t see it.
Or maybe he’s just lobbying for me to go get it myself.
“You’re the retriever in this relationship” I tell him, hands on my hips.
Roscoe blinks at me, then walks in the opposite direction to sniff a very specific patch of lavender like I didn’t just say a word.
Behind me, the patio door slides open and I hear Lewis stepping out, stretching like a man who’s done three training sessions in four days and still hasn’t shaken Silverstone out of his spine.
“You two starting a morning ritual without me now?” he calls, voice still hoarse from sleep.
I glance over my shoulder. He’s barefoot too, shirtless in sweatpants, rubbing the back of his neck like he slept funny. There’s a faint pillow crease on his cheek.
“Roscoe’s punishing you” I reply. “You went out for a run yesterday and he never got his walk.”
Lewis grins. “He kept trying to chase squirrels last time. Nearly took my knee with him.”
I look back down at the soggy tennis ball. “Roscoe” I call, pointing. “Ball. Go on, bring it.”
And, miracle of miracles, he trots over, picks it up, waddles back, and drops it right on my foot with a satisfied huff.
Lewis stares, blinking once. Then again. “Wow.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Just… noted.” He lifts a brow. “Twelve years of loyalty, gone in a week.”
“Oh come on.” I laugh, bending to pick up the ball and wipe it on the leg of my pants. “Jealous of your own dog defecting to your girlfriend.”
He walks closer, hands in his pockets now, that lazy morning softness still clinging to his posture.
“I’m not jealous,” he says, drawing the word out like he’s still convincing himself. “Just… surprised. He’s never been this into anyone else. Not even Miles. And Miles used to sneak him food.”
I toss the ball again and Roscoe waddles after it with a grunt and zero urgency. I shrug. “Maybe I have a natural dog-mom vibe.”
“Right, because you talk to him like he’s a toddler.”
“He is a toddler. A big, snorting, vegan toddler with abandonment issues and a skincare routine.”
Lewis laughs, eyes crinkling, and it’s that same look he gets when he sees a photo of baby him somewhere: slightly amused, slightly shy, deeply sentimental.
Then he gets quiet. Still smiling, but quiet.
And I feel it before he says it. The shift. Like the breeze changed directions without warning.
“I used to wonder what it’d feel like to come home to someone.” he says
My breath catches, just slightly.
“Not in the movie sense” he adds quickly. “Just… someone who knows where the mugs are. Someone I know Roscoe likes more than me. Someone who stays.”
I swallow, not sure what to say yet.
He looks down at the grass, nudging a little clump of dirt with his toe. “Didn’t think I’d want that again. Not really. I thought I was better off keeping everything separate. Safer.”
I look at him. And he does look safe. A man with his world under control and making space in it for me anyway.
“I wasn’t trying to prove anything by staying.” I say softly.
“I know.”
“I just wanted more time. With him. With you”
His shoulders drop, like he was holding that breath for longer than he meant to. “You don’t have to explain.”
“I want to.”
He lifts his gaze again, eyes clear, open.
I sit by the porch and I tuck my knees up as he takes the non-said invitation to join, Roscoe adjusting with a lazy grunt as I move.
“I’ve spent so long thinking the healthiest thing I could do was keep my life in neat little sections. Work here. Love there. You, on weekends. Me, in my apartment. Like that would make the leaving easier. Like that would make missing you hurt less.” I said looking out on the grass, the sky, Roscoe ... anywhere but him.
He watches me. Doesn’t interrupt.
“But this week …” I glance down at Roscoe, plopped down like he saved the world and now deserves a nap. “I still missed you. Even with you right here. Even when we were in the same room. It was just… a want. A real one.”
His fingers graze mine then, for the first time that morning and it felt like the first time ever. It somehow always did. “I know that kind. That one’s the realest.”
“Roscoe made it easy,” I say, with a half-laugh. “But you…”
“I made it hard?” he finishes, mouth twitching up.
“No” I say, turning to face him fully. “You let me chose to stay”
He doesn’t speak for a long moment. Just looks at me like he’s seeing the version of me I didn’t know I’d been offering all week. The one who left her phone charger by his bed, who learned where the mugs were without asking, who stayed.
Then, with a voice so quiet I almost miss it, he says, “I really like you here.”
The words are simple. But they hit like a promise.
I smile, slow and certain. “I like me here too.”
Roscoe lets out another snore, dramatic and wheezy like the perfect punctuation.
And we both laugh, real, unguarded, laughing like we’ve made it somewhere without meaning to.
He leans in and kisses me, soft and unhurried, like there’s no need to rush this now. Like we’ve got time.
Because we actually do.
Because I actually stayed.
I wake up to the sound of rain tapping the windows, steady and soft, like the world knows we needed one more reason to stay in bed.
Lewis is already awake, which isn’t unusual. What is unusual is that he hasn’t moved. He’s lying on his side, one arm under the pillow, the other curled around my waist like he’s afraid I might disappear if he loosens his grip. His thumb draws slow, lazy circles on my back, skin to skin. Not urgent. Not expectant. Just… there.
Roscoe’s snoring at our feet again, head resting on my calf, his body a warm weight anchoring us both.
For once, there’s no flight to catch. No call time. No planning for the next stretch of cities on a calendar I still don’t fully understand.
There’s just this. Him. Me. And the dog who may or may not have orchestrated this entire thing.
“Morning,” Lewis murmurs, voice husky with sleep.
“Mmm.”
“You’re cold.”
“You’re the radiator in this relationship.”
He hums, doesn’t deny it. Nuzzles a little closer, pressing his lips to my shoulder like he can’t help it.
I shift just enough to look at him, my hand brushing gently through the curls at his temple.
“I don’t wanna move” I whisper.
“You don’t have to.”
A pause.
“Not today” he adds.
Another pause.
Then, quieter: “Not if you don’t want to.”
It sits there for a moment, between us. Not quite a question. Not quite an ask. Just… an opening.
“You’re gonna spoil me” I mumble.
“Good.”
I smile into the pillow. “Then what’ll you do if I start staying all the time?”
He brushes the skin on my face, thumb gently going through my cheek and then my jaw. “Make sure there’s oat milk in the fridge.”
“Oh, so we’re getting serious.”
He laughs softly. “I already made you a drawer. What more do you want from me?”
“A closet.”
He kisses my head. “Done.”
We fall quiet again, and I don’t realize I doze off again until the rain slows and the light outside shifts just a little. That lazy kind of late morning you only get when no one’s rushing anywhere.
Lewis breaks the silence whispering by my ear. “You ever think about Christmas?”
I blink, surprised, voice husky. “Like, the holiday?”
He grins. “No, like the concept.”
I swat him lightly.
He catches my hand, laces our fingers. “I just mean... I usually go to Colorado. It’s quiet there. Roscoe’s with me. My family is as well.”
I stay still, listening.
He keeps going, softer now. “I was thinking… maybe you’d come. If you want. You could see him again. Spend a little more time. We could do something small. Chill. No pressure.”
I turn to face him fully, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Is this a very elaborate way to get me more time with Roscoe? Because I respect it.”
He smirks. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s the only way I know how to say I want you there. With me. With us.”
And he’s not saying “move in.” He’s not making promises he can’t keep. He’s just offering me space. Offering me time.
Offering me more.
Just a man, with his heart cracked open quietly, offering me the kind of love that makes room without pushing.
I leaned in and pressed my forehead to his, eyes fluttering closed.
“Okay” I whisper.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Let’s spend Christmas with your dog.”
He chuckles, breath warm against my cheek. “Not just him.”
“Your family too”
I press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then settling into his chest, my hand finding his under the sheets.
And this time, when I think about staying, about more, about us, it doesn’t scare me.
It just feels like something I’ve already said yes to.
a/n 2: slowly (very slowly at that) starting to write again and it's not even funny how long it took me to get this one to feel right, but small steps. hope you guys like it.
The robe tied around my waist is mostly for effect as I go through the mental list of things to get done before the world starts watching. Yet can't seem to tear myself from the kitchen counter, half-asleep, half-amused, and entirely waiting.
Lewis has been buzzing since before sunrise. Not in a loud, over-the-top way, but in the way I can always feel through the walls of our home. That quiet but so intense energy that comes with big days and heavy meaning.
It’s the first Monday of May. Met Gala Day.
And not just any Met. The very one he’s co-chairing. The one he’s been planning for a year. The one with a theme that lives in his bones.
He’s halfway dressed, barefoot in sweatpants and a white tank top, pacing softly through the flat with his phone in one hand and an ipad in the other.
His stylist Eric is due any minute. Grace, as in Wales Bonner Grace, has been texting since five.
Lewis’ energy’s quiet, but impossible to miss. The kind that fills a room without a word.
He’s been up since before dawn, moving through the flat, checking his phone, adjusting small things that probably don’t need adjusting. His thoughts are clearly miles ahead of us, halfway to the carpet, maybe further.
So I don’t wait for him to come to me. There’s no point in even considering food is anywhere on his mind right now.
I pour his coffee and carry it over to where he’s standing near the window, still barefoot, the soft cotton covering his chest. He’s scrolling through something, barely noticing the way the morning light casts gold streaks on his skin.
“Hey” I say softly, offering the mug. “You’ve had nothing but nerves and air since yesterday”
He looks up, eyes flicking from the coffee to my face.
That brief moment of pause where his eyes seem to focus on the present, that’s what I’m after.
He takes the cup from my hands and exhales, just a little. “Thanks, babe.”
I nod and stay in front of him, letting the quiet stretch. His fingers curl around the mug, and for the first time all morning, he’s still.
Then his gaze lifts again, softer this time. “You’re just tryna slow me down, huh?”
“Caught” I murmur. “But just a bit.”
There’s something behind his eyes. Gratitude, maybe, or just the comfort of being seen. And before he can slip back into the current of the day, I step closer and lean in.
The kiss is light, nothing dramatic. Just enough to make him pause. Just enough to bring him back.
His free hand settles on my waist, the gesture instinctive. And when I break the connection, he pulls me back and kisses me again, slower this time. Deeper breath.
When we part, his forehead rests against mine for a second longer than usual.
“Okay” he whispers, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’m here.”
“Good” I whisper back. “Stay with me for a minute.”
I rest my forehead against his chest, feeling the quiet drum of his heart — steady but quick. He might seem on a mission and strangely calm on the outside, but I know this man. I know what a day like this does to him.
The pride. The pressure. The significance that he wears like a second skin.
“You’re not nervous, are you?” I ask gently.
He shakes his head. “No. Just... it’s a lot. Feels big.”
“It is big.”
I tilt my head back to look at him. His eyes are soft, reflective. I can see the list of things he’s still thinking through — the look, the speech, the press, the photos. But more than that, I see how much he cares.
Lewis sighs out a laugh, half-exasperated with himself. “I just want it all to go right.”
“It will.”
And I mean it. He’s been working on this night for over a year, since the minute Anna told him. Every detail, every meeting, every decision. He’s poured himself into it, solely out of what it means. The platform. The space to open doors for others. To tell stories.
His outfit? A statement. Every thread of it. And not because of how it looked, but the message it was carrying.
And he’s so damn proud of it, even if he tries to act all modest about it when he talks to press, or his friends, or anyone for that matter.
“Tell me again,” I say, nudging him with my shoulder. “About your look.”
He looks at me sideways. “You’ve seen it.”
“I know” I say, sipping my coffee. “But I want you to tell me. Tell me why it matters.”
His eyes meet mine, then shift quickly down to the rim of his mug, that now sits by the window sill, like it might give him time to think.
He shrugs lightly. “You already know everything by now.”
“That’s not the point” I murmur, watching him over the steam of my coffee. “I want you to say it. For you.”
He lets out a soft exhale, almost a sigh, and I can see the flicker of nerves flash across his features, the kind that comes when something matters. When you’ve poured yourself into it and is afraid it still might not be enough.
“You know I’m not good at talking about myself” he mumbles.
“You’re really good talking about what matters” I counter.
He rubs the back of his neck, slow, deliberate. Then leans against the back of the sofa like he needs something to ground him. His fingers tap the soft surface once, twice.
“I mean...” He starts, then pauses again, shaking his head a little. “It’s the Met. That already feels surreal. But then they ask me to co-chair the whole thing? And with this theme?”
His voice is still quiet, but there’s a shift, like something in him is trying to catch up to how meaningful all of this is.
“Superfine” he says, testing the word like he’s still getting used to the taste. “Tailoring Black style. It’s not really just about suits and toppers, is it? It’s legacy. Spirit. All those black men who made style into political standings long before anyone was watching.”
He talks with his hands. Subtle gestures, always thoughtful, deliberate. I nod, but I don’t speak. I want him to keep going and get me even more lost on how he manages to make everything so consuming.
“When I heard that” he continues, “I knew I didn’t want to just show up dressed nice. I wanted to honor it. Really honor it.”
His fingers twitch again on the mug. He’s not just being modest, anyone can see he’s feeling the weight of getting it right. Of doing justice to something bigger than himself.
“I reached out to Grace. Knew she’d understand what I was trying to say. And she did. More than I could’ve imagined.”
He finally looks at me again, and there’s vulnerability there, like he’s letting me peek behind the veil few get to see through.
“Do you remember how long we spent on the sketches alone? Not just designing, but researching. Every fabric. Every symbol. I wanted it to carry meaning.”
My chest tightens, and I step closer, setting my mug down so I can lean into him a little. I press my side into his and rest my hand gently on his forearm.
“Walk me through it again?” I say again, softer this time. “Like you and Grace described it to Anna last week.”
He hesitates, clearly not too sure, then swallows. But he starts.
“The ivory. It’s not just beautiful. It’s status. Royalty. It makes a statement without shouting. Then we added the cowries, because... they’re more than decoration. They’ve been traded, worn, passed down. Carried by others. They’re protection. Wealth. A different kind.”
I can hear the catch in his voice as he says it, like the gravity is still settling in his own throat.
“There are ancestral beads sewn into the details, they’re freshwater pearls, garnet-colored diamonds. We wanted the whole look to be elegant, simple almost, but ... spiritual. The sash is what turns it from merely tailored to ceremonial. Shamanic, Grace calls it. It feels like armor.”
He glances at me again, voice dipping low. “I’ve never worn something that felt like this before. It’s not just a suit. It’s a... reminder.”
There it is — the truth at the core of it all.
“It’s your history” I whisper.
He nods once, barely.
“And I just keep thinking,” he says, voice tightening, “how many people never got to be seen like this. To walk into a place like the Met and wear something that carries all this meaning, and have people actually pay attention. Not mock it. Not reduce it.”
I nod along, not just listening but soaking him in. Every word. Every spark in his eyes. Every pause where he gets a little lost in thought.
And I’m in love. God, I’m so in love.
It’s not even about the fashion. It’s the way he cares. The way he never does anything halfway. The way he’s not afraid to pour his soul into things the world might deem superficial.
He’s beautiful. Anyone will attest to that. But it’s his heart that takes me out.
I thread my fingers through his slowly. “And now you get to do it. Create a space. For at least some of them. For you.”
His grip tightens.
“I just hope I carry it well” he murmurs. “I hope people see it.”
“They will” I say, pressing my forehead to his shoulder. “Because you already do.”
He doesn’t speak for a second. I don’t need him to. I can feel what this moment means to him in the way his chest rises, in the way he lets me hold this part of him without flinching.
After a while, I look up. “Do you know what the women at your table are wearing?”
He smiles, a little bashful now. “Not a clue. They all told me the same thing — ‘Anna knows and approves”
I laugh. “That’s fair.”
“But I just know they’ll be glowing” he adds, more quietly. “That’s why I asked them. I mean, they’re brilliant. But they just know how to carry that weight.”
“Your own pantheon” I tease gently.
“Yeah” he says almost dream-like. “Lauryn. Regina. Ming. Lorna. Danielle, Jordan, Adrienne, Radhika... They’ve each shaped a bit of how we see ourselves. The way the world sees us.”
His voice is steadier now, although his gaze still looks dream-like when he’s listing the names.
“I wanted them with me tonight, because they have been the blueprint. Always.”
God, if he only knew what he sounds like right now. If he only knew how soft my heart feels inside my chest, just listening.
I tip my head up. “You should be proud.”
He looks down at me with something tender in his eyes. “You think so?”
“I know so. Grace is. Eric is. Anna is. I am” I swallow. “This matters because you make it matter.”
He kisses the top of my head, and I smile.
“You don’t always have to be the quiet one” I whisper. “You’ve earned to take up this space too.”
“I’ve got you to remind me of that” he murmurs.
“Always.”
I smile, picking up my mug back from the window. “Plus, you’ll be the best-looking co-chair the Met’s ever seen.”
He chuckles. “Not the point.”
“Still true though.”
He leans in again and kisses me once more, slower this time. No longer distracted. Not buzzing. Just him, just me, just morning.
“I really am proud of you” I whisper against his jaw.
And I mean it in every way a person can mean those words. Proud of the way he moves through the world. Proud of the way he keeps showing up. Proud of the way he kisses me like this, short and sweet, but always fully present.
He rests his forehead against mine. And I can’t help but think how the world always get to see the version of him that commands all the attention.
But I get this one, my favorite one. The one who whispers before he shouts. Who paces before he walks out onto any carpet. Who makes meaning come first.
Tonight, he’ll be huge, as always.
But this morning, he simply is.
And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Except maybe for those moments everyone else finally sees the part of him that makes me fall in love all over again.
in hindsight, you shouldn't have messed around with the F1 goat
ft; domestic!hamiltons, (unnamed) hamilton jr., husband lewis hamilton, beautyqueen!leclerc verse.
The second you saw the karts collide, your breath lodged in your throat. It happened too fast—one of them misjudging the gap, tires locking, the sickening screech of metal scraping against metal. Your baby. Your baby, flipping into the gravel.
“Lewis,” you choked out, your body already moving before your mind could catch up. His arm shot out, holding you back, but his voice was steady. “Wait.”
“Wait?” You turned to him, eyes wild, barely aware of the way your hands trembled against his chest. “Lewis, let go—”
“They’re already going to them, love,” he murmured, voice low and even, yet there was a tense edge in his tone—one only you would notice. His eyes were locked on the track, assessing the situation as objectively as he could; much as his composure was forged over years of racing, seeing his very young son spin made him falter.
Yet his hand on your waist was grounding, firm; keeping you from completely unraveling.
You barely heard the rest of the race call. The moment the medics waved them over, you broke free, running across the tarmac before anyone could stop you. Your heart pounded in your ears, drowning out everything else as you reached the barriers, your entire body shaking.
And then—relief, so sharp it nearly knocked you over. He was moving. You saw him sit up, his little gloved hands gripping the edge of the kart, helmet bobbing slightly as the medics checked him over.
Lewis was behind you in an instant, pulling you back against his chest before you could crumble to your knees. “He’s okay,” he murmured, his voice softer now, gentle, soothing. “See? He’s talking to them.”
But your body wasn’t catching up with your mind. You could see that your son was okay, could hear his voice, but the fear still gripped you tight, not letting go.
Lewis turned you in his arms, pressing his forehead to yours, his hands running up and down your back in slow, steady strokes. “Breathe with me, love.”
A shuddering breath left you as you clutched at him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, your tears soaking into his chest. “I want a full body checkup,” you whispered, voice thick, as if saying it out loud would keep your son safe.
Lewis nodded, his embrace unwavering. “Of course. We’ll make sure of it.” His arms tightened just a little more, steadying you as you sagged against him, trying to compose yourself.
You knew keeping a strong face was important—your son looked at you both for confidence. If you faltered, he would, too.
Now you understood why your mother barely attended races… You had got to send her flowers.
“I don’t want him getting into F1,” you muttered, voice shaky but firm.
Lewis huffed a quiet laugh, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back. “You tell him no, and he won’t even think of saying yes.”
You sniffled, knowing that wasn’t entirely true. “Lewis—”
“Love,” he interrupted, voice warm with amusement. “You tell him which way to go, and he’ll hit the ground running.”
Despite yourself, a soft, broken laugh slipped from your lips, still trembling with leftover fear. “I hate this sport.”
His chest vibrated beneath you with a low chuckle. “You hate it, but you love it.”
You exhaled shakily, finally pulling back just enough to look at him. His thumb brushed your cheek, wiping away a tear with the same tenderness he had for years. “Is he looking? Does he need us—”
“He’s already laughing.” Lewis glanced toward your son, his expression softening. The boy stood there, rubbing the back of his helmet sheepishly, his lips pulling into an almost bashful smile—so much like his father. He was quick on his feet, just like Lewis. And despite the dramatic tumble, his speed had been controlled.
“I need to kiss my baby,” you murmured.
Lewis didn’t hesitate, his hands settling on your waist to help you as you clumsily straddled the barrier in your heels. Before you could take another shaky step, your son was already rushing toward you, arms outstretched—not just for comfort, but to steady you.
You barely had a moment to react before he reached you, small hands grasping yours, just as Lewis’ hand stayed firm on your back.
“Careful, Mum,” your son murmured, a hint of worry laced in his young voice, his grip instinctively strong.
“Yeah, love,” Lewis added gently, his own hand lingering at your waist, making sure you were stable before finally letting go. “We’ve got you.”
a/n: It's a '3 times y/n's made Lewis feel like a teenager (on the brink of turning 40) and the one time he did' (except that last bit is the part 2 coming later)
What do you give someone who has it all? He is Lewis Hamilton, after all.
I’d been asking myself that question for weeks.
Lewis isn’t exactly the kind of guy who needs another watch, another car, or another piece of art for his collection.
He’s got it all—trophies, fame, money, and a closet full of designer clothes that probably cost more than my first car.
So, what do you give that man ?
The answer came to me one night when we were lying in bed, talking about nothing and everything.
I’d been reminiscing about growing up by the beach, about the stupid, reckless things I did as a teenager that made me feel alive. Lewis had laughed, that deep, warm laugh of his, and said, “God, it’s been years since I’ve felt anything that… teenagery.”
And there it was. My gift to him.
“Are you sure this isn’t just an elaborate ploy to embarrass me?” Lewis asks, tugging the brim of his bucket hat lower over his sunglasses. The hoodie he’s wearing makes him look like a man trying to sneak out of a high school reunion unnoticed.
Which, okay, is kind of the vibe I was going for.
The drive to Santa Barbara was… well, let’s just say Lewis loved being a passenger princess, most times, and that wasn’t one of them.
He kept fidgeting, adjusting the seat, and asking if I was sure I knew where I was going. (Spoiler: I did. Mostly.)
But by the time we pulled up to the boardwalk, the sun was setting, casting the sky in shades of pink and orange, and he finally stopped asking questions.
The amusement park was exactly how I remembered it—bright lights, the smell of cotton candy and fried food, the sound of laughter and screams from the thrill rides. It was chaos, but the good kind.
The kind that makes you feel alive.
“You’re not serious,” Lewis said, staring at the roller coaster like it might bite him.
“Oh, I’m very serious,” I said, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the line. “Come on, old man. Let’s see if you’ve still got it.”
He glances down at me, a boyish smile breaking through his mock-suspicious expression. “Always.”
And there it is—the grin I was waiting for.
The one that reminds me of the Lewis who still feels like a kid sometimes, who loves the thrill of life just as much as his achievements.
For once, Lewis doesn’t have an itinerary. No obligations, no pressures. Just us.
We hit every ride that promises to throw us around like ragdolls. Rollercoasters that make my stomach drop (and Lewis laugh at my shrieking), bumper cars where I play dirty and spin him into the wall, and that spinning thing that got me questioning my life choices.
By the time we got to the Ferris wheel, the sky was dark, the stars just starting to peek through.
The Ferris wheel was… different. Slower. Quieter.
As we climbed higher, the noise of the park faded away, and it was just us, suspended in the air. Lewis was quiet, staring out at the ocean, and for a moment, I wondered if I’d pushed him too far with this.
“This was the plan all along, wasn’t it?” he says as he leaned into me. His voice is light, but there’s that knowing look in his eyes.
I feign innocence. “What plan?”
“The Ferris wheel. The whole night was a setup for this.”
I smirk, settling into the seat beside him. “You’re giving me way too much credit.”
The wheel begins to turn, the car gently rocking as we rise above the chaos below. The lights from the boardwalk blurring, and for a moment, neither of us speaks.
The world feels smaller up here, quieter.
He shifts closer, and I can feel his gaze on me, warm and intent. “This was a good idea.”
I smiled, leaning into him. “I have those sometimes.”
And then he leans in, his lips brushing against mine.
It starts softly, like he’s savoring the moment, but it deepens quickly, and suddenly the air feels electric. My mind goes blissfully blank, except for the thought that this—this might’ve been what I wanted all along.
When we finally break apart, his forehead rests lightly against mine, and he’s grinning like a teenager who’s just stolen his first kiss. “This feels straight out of a cheesy rom-com.”
“Good,” I manage, still catching my breath. “It’s meant to.”
He laughs, and it’s the kind that bubbles out of him, genuine and unguarded. And I think, there it is again.
That boyish smile I’d give anything to keep seeing.
“You know,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, “this is exactly how I imagined love when I was a teenager.”
He chuckled, his breath warm against my skin. “Yeah? Did you imagine me too?”
I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling. “Shut up.”
And then the Ferris wheel started moving again, and we were laughing, and for the first time in a long time, Lewis looked… free.
We were still laughing as we stumbled off the Ferris wheel, my hand in his, the cool ocean breeze brushing against our skin.
Lewis had that look in his eyes—the one he gets when he’s trying to play it cool but is secretly having the time of his life.
It’s rare, these days, to see him so unguarded.
“You know,” he said, pulling me closer as we walked, “I haven’t done anything like this in… I don’t even know how long.”
“What, ridden a Ferris wheel?” I teased, bumping my shoulder against his. “Yeah, I can tell.”
He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “No, I mean… this. Just… being spontaneous. Letting go.”
I stopped walking and turned to face him, raising an eyebrow. “Lewis Hamilton, are you telling me you’ve never been spontaneous? Because I find that hard to believe.”
He shrugged, that infuriatingly charming smirk playing on his lips.
“What?” I ask, bumping my shoulder against his as we weave through the crowd.
He gives me a sideways glance, lips twitching like he’s holding back a laugh. “Nothing. Just you, scheming. Don’t think I don’t know you planned that whole Ferris wheel moment.”
I roll my eyes but can’t help the small smile that sneaks out. “Oh, please. Like I can predict what’s going to happen in the heat of the moment.”
He hums noncommittally, but the way his hand slides into mine, fingers lacing tightly, tells me he’s not buying my act. And I’m not about to argue with him on that. Ever
We walk aimlessly for a while, the neon lights of the boardwalk fading behind us as we drift toward the quieter streets. It’s one of those perfect in-between moments—neither here nor there, where everything feels suspended, and nothing needs to make sense.
That’s when he says it.
“You know,” he starts slowly “you were right earlier. About the Ferris wheel. It did feel… teenagey.”
I smirked. “Told you.”
He hesitated, then said, “So… what’s next?”
I blinked at him, surprised. “What do you mean, what’s next?”
He shrugged, but there was a glint in his eye that made me suspicious. “You’re the one who planned this whole thing. What’s the next stop on the nostalgia train?”
I stared at him for a moment, then grinned. “Well… there is one thing” and before I can stop myself, the words tumble out. “We should get that tattooed. Like, right now.”
For a split second, I expect him to laugh, to brush it off with a comment about how I’m clearly delirious from all the carnival food. But instead, he just raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “What, the ferries wheel?”
“No, ‘40,’” I say, half-joking, half-serious. “Something simple. For this moment, for you.”
To my surprise, he doesn’t immediately shut it down. Instead, he tilts his head, considering. “You’re serious about this?”
“I mean… why not?” I shrug, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze. “You’ve got plenty. One more won’t kill you.”
He hesitated, and I could see the wheels turning in his head.
Lewis doesn’t do things on a whim—not anymore. His tattoos are works of art, carefully planned and executed by the best artists in the world. The idea of walking into some random parlor and getting inked on a whim was probably giving him hives.
He looks at me for a moment, his expression unreadable. And then he smiles, that slow, deliberate smile that makes me feel like he’s about to say something I’m not ready for. “Alright. Let’s do it.”
“Wait, what?”
“You said it yourself. Why not?”
And just like that, we’re standing outside a tattoo parlor that looks like it hasn’t seen a renovation since the early 2000s. The buzzing sound of the needle greets us as we step inside, along with the unmistakable scent of disinfectant and a tattoo artist who looks thoroughly unimpressed with our arrival.
“What are we doing?” I whisper as Lewis fills out the paperwork, his calmness somehow making me more nervous.
“Living like teenager, apparently” he says simply, handing me the pen to fill out my form. “You know, like… spontaneous, stupid, matching tattoos. The kind you get when you’re young and dumb and think it’s a good idea.”
The design we settle on is simple: the number 40, styled in a subtle, abstract way that could mean anything to anyone else. It’s perfect.
Mine goes on my wrist, tucked just under my watch strap. His ends up near his elbow, seamlessly blending into his sleeve, the one he’s spent years building.
When it’s my turn, I flinch at the first touch of the needle, earning a quiet chuckle from Lewis. “Don’t start,” I warn, gritting my teeth as the artist works.
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he says, his voice entirely too amused.
When it’s done, we step back to admire our matching tattoos. They’re small, subtle, and utterly reckless in a way that feels right.
“40,” he says, his voice soft but laced with meaning as he looks at the ink.
I glance at him, my chest tightening in a way I wasn’t expecting. “The big four-oh.” I echo.
His lips twitch, but he doesn’t look at me. “Here we go.”
I grin, nudging his arm with my shoulder. “What? It’s a big deal. A milestone. People throw whole festivals for this kind of thing. They buy sports cars.” I pause, then laugh. “Well, I guess you’ve already got the cars covered.”
“Funny,” he says, finally glancing at me. There’s a glint of amusement in his eyes, but it fades quickly, replaced by something softer, more reflective. “It doesn’t feel like a big deal. Not really. It’s just… a number.”
“Uh-huh.” I tilt my head, studying him. “And how many times have you told yourself that the past month?”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Too many.”
By the time we’ve grabbed more food—a greasy basket of fries—it’s late. The boardwalk is still buzzing behind us, but we’ve drifted to the sand, away from the crowds.
The ocean stretches out before us, vast and dark, lit only by the moon and the occasional flicker of a far-off boat.
Lewis sits beside me, his hands occasionally finding their way onto my back his hoodie pulled up against the chill of the night. I watch as he unwraps his burger with careful precision, like the fate of the world rests on not spilling ketchup.
“Not bad for a last-minute dinner date,” I say, popping a fry into my mouth.
He looks at me, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Not bad at all.”
We eat in comfortable silence for a while, the sound of the waves filling the gaps. I can feel him thinking, though.
The way his fingers drum lightly against his knee, the slight furrow in his brow—it’s all there if you know where to look.
“You’re being suspiciously quiet,” I say, nudging him lightly with my elbow.
He glances at me, a small smile playing on his lips. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
He takes a bite of his burger, chewing slowly as if buying time to form an answer. Finally, he swallows and looks out at the water. “About this. About everything, really.”
“Everything?” I echo, raising an eyebrow. “That’s… vague.”
He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “My birthday. Turning 40.”
I pause, the fry I was about to eat halfway to my mouth. “Oh, you’re having a midlife crisis?” I grin, trying to lighten the mood.
He gives me a look—half amused, half exasperated. “I’m not having a midlife crisis.”
“Sure sounds like one.”
He laughs, but it’s softer this time, his gaze still fixed on the ocean. “It’s not that I’m worried about turning 40. I just… I don’t know. It’s a lot to think about.”
I stay quiet, letting him take his time. You don’t rush these kinds of conversations.
“It’s funny,” he continues. “I’ve spent my whole life in this sport. Every year, every decision—it’s all been about racing. And now I’m here, about to hit 40, and…” He trails off, shaking his head.
“Hm?” I prompt gently, not pushing, just giving him space.
“And I thought I’d feel more certain about where I am.” He exhales, a long, slow breath that seems to carry years of weight. “I’ve told myself so many times I wouldn’t still be racing at this age. But here I am, and I don’t want to stop. Not yet. And now, with Ferrari…”
His voice breaks off again, and I see his hand flex slightly, like he’s trying to grasp something just out of reach.
“You’re scared,” I say quietly, not as an accusation, just an observation.
He laughs, but it’s more bitter than lighthearted. “Terrified…. Not of the racing—I know I can still do that. But of… everything else. Of failing, of not being enough. Of proving the people right who think I’m too old or that I should have stopped like Nico.”
I set my burger down, leaning toward him. “You’re not afraid of proving them right, Lewis. You’re afraid you might believe them.”
That gets his attention and his gaze snaps to mine, something flashing in his eyes.
“It’s not that I doubt myself completely,” he says after a moment. “But it’s there, in the back of my mind. This little voice asking if I’m trying to hold onto something that’s already slipping away.”
I take a breath, my heart tightening at the vulnerability in his words. “You’re not just holding on. You’re still building something. And you’re allowed to want that, even at 40.”
He looks down, his jaw tightening briefly. “I want to believe that. I really do… But then I think about all the things I’ve given up along the way—time with family, relationships, moments I’ll never get back. And I wonder if it’s selfish to keep chasing a dream.”
I nod, my chest tightening. “I get it. And I think it’s good that you’re thinking about these things. It means you care.”
His head tilts slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It’s not simple. It’s messy, and ugly, and complicated, and terrifying. But it’s worth it. You’re worth it.”
For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just watches me with an intensity that makes my chest ache.
“I’ve never been good at slowing down,” he admits finally. “Even now, there’s so much I want to do. So many dreams I’ve had since I was a kid that I’ve never had time for. And part of me wonders if I ever will.”
“You will,” I say softly. “Maybe not all of them at once. But you will. We will.”
He sighs, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he leans back on his hands, staring up at the stars. “Sometimes I wish I still had that recklessness, but with everything I know now.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works; you know that don't you, grandpa?” I tease, trying to lighten the mood.
He chuckles, the sound warmer this time. “Fair point.”
After a beat, he smirks, glancing at me. “You keep calling me old though, but I don’t remember you complaining last night.”
I burst out laughing, shaking my head. “Oh, shut up. You’re ruining the moment.”
He grins, and just like that, the heaviness of the conversation lifts slightly, replaced by something lighter but no less real.
As we get up to leave, I brush the sand off my hands and glance at him. “For the record, I like vintage Ferraris better anyway.”
“Now that you’ve mentioned it. There’s another teenager dream I’ve always had.”
He laughs as he reaches for my waist, and this time, it’s full and unrestrained. The sound carries over the waves, as he turns me around on the sand and captures my lips with his once again.
There, under the moonlight I know how much I love this man—even when he’s scared, even when he’s uncertain.
Series: She's here and she's ours / She's here and she's not only ours / She's here and she's just like you / She's not here, but she'll be / She's here and she won't be the only one / She's here and he won't let her give up / She's here and so is he / She's here and so are we - (they can all be read as one-shots)
and also
Part of 1K Jukebox Event
song: Hold You ’Til We’re Old - Jamie Miller
pairing: dad!Lewis Hamilton x Reader!
genre: fluff (hi anon, hope it's okay it got turned into part of the series)
The garden was our familiar comfort—the same space where I’d spent mornings wrapped in cozy blankets, watching the dew settled on the grass while Lewis brewed us coffee and the kids played with the fallen leaves.
Today, though, I was just part of the background, watching the interview crew ask questions to capture his life beyond the race track.
My hands rested on our son’s shoulders, guiding him gently as he, along with our daughter, marveled at the cameras and microphones around us. It was surreal to have such a production here, yet oddly fitting, considering what they were here to capture.
Lewis looked as calm as ever, answering each question with that steady warmth that drew people in, that quiet power that had captured me all those years ago.
Our daughter whispered a question, pointing to a light rig, and I leaned down to explain it, eyes drifting back to Lewis as he spoke. I always watched him in moments like this, still finding comfort in the way he held himself, how he could be so genuine while still keeping parts of himself just for us.
Then the interviewer’s question caught my attention. “What’s the one thing you look forward to most after a race weekend?”
I held my breath. This was a question I thought I knew the answer to, but there was always something Lewis held close when it came to our family.
He paused, just for a moment, then his eyes found mine, as if he knew I’d be there waiting for him. His answer slipped out softly, almost reverent, “Looking at my kids smiling with their mom.”
My heart fluttered—so simple on the surface, yet layered with a truth we both knew well.
There’d been a time when he would come home and look for comfort in the silence, when we both struggled with the life we were trying to build, each compromise a little harder to make.
Now, I saw that quiet devotion in his gaze, in the way his eyes softened as they settled on me, our children pressing closer, oblivious to the weight behind his words. I felt it though—a silent promise wrapped in his expression, one that told me everything about the life we’d built.
He could have said anything to that question, mentioned the thrill of racing or the next grand ambition, but he named the anchor to his world, the small joys that kept him grounded.
The camera kept rolling, capturing every angle of him, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the man behind that poised exterior. I was caught up in the meaning behind his words, holding onto that look he’d given me, the one that said, This is what it was all for.
It struck me that even amidst his schedule, the travels, the appearances, this was still his sanctuary. The life we’d fought to make ours wasn’t glamorous in these quiet moments, but it was the life we had both committed to fiercely, with the kind of compromise that spread into every part of our world.
It was here, with these two tiny humans clinging to my side, that I felt the gravity of his answer.
And for just a second, I let myself feel that same quiet joy, breathing in the love that had brought us to this garden today, to this shared life where even the simple things—our children’s laughter, the warmth of his gaze—meant everything.
There was a time when our life wasn’t set among the quiet, leafy gardens of London, but rather in the glassy, sunlit confines of Monaco.
Our daughter’s first years had passed in those winding streets, the towering buildings casting long shadows over a sea so bright it almost didn’t look real. Back then, we thought that place would be ours for the long run—our home, near enough to Italy for Lewis’s trips to Maranello and close to the lives we had already built around friends and routines.
But everything changed the day I stepped into one of the most prestigious schools in Monaco, searching for the right environment for our daughter to grow.
It was beautiful, clean, full of polished smiles and refined children already groomed for the spotlight of high society. It should have felt like the obvious choice. But that cold, hollow feeling settled in, whispering not here.
Our children were already set to inherit a life of privilege, of course, but it was my job to keep them grounded, to make sure they understood that money was more than a shiny accessory.
I wanted their world to be honest and I didn’t see that in those classrooms. I could see there a future where they’d learn, all too early, that wealth and status were expected.
And for me, that was a line I couldn’t cross, not with my kids.
Lewis familiar hum caught my attention later that day “You’ve been quiet. Did something happen at the school?”
I nodded slowly, not sure where to start, but feeling the weight of it all pressing on my shoulders. I leaned against the countertop, glancing at our daughter, who was sprawled on the living room rug, humming to herself as she colored. Lewis followed my gaze, waiting.
“Do you know what she asked me?” I began, voice barely above a whisper. “She wanted to know when she’d have the same backpack as the other kids.”
His face softened, but I saw the concern tugging at the corners of his mouth. I tried to explain, each word slipping out with a mix of frustration and sadness.
“I thought we could keep things balanced, but... all around her, it’s luxury stacked on luxury. And she notices it now. But she’s only four, Lewis.”
He looked at me, his gaze steady, understanding. “She’s going to notice, love. Not just here—she was bound to ask these questions sooner or later.”
I nodded, knowing he was right, but feeling the ache deep in my chest. “I know. But it’s different here. There’s a way of seeing the world, of measuring everything by what you own, what you show off. I don’t want her to grow up thinking that’s all there is.”
Lewis’s hand found mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “So… what are you saying?” His tone was gentle, but I could hear the undercurrent of hesitance, like he was bracing himself for whatever I’d say next.
“I’m saying I don’t think I want our kids growing up in this world where every kid’s playdate is at yacht. It feels… it feels like we’re setting them up to believe this is the only way life should look.”
There was a quiet pause, just us standing there in the dim light of our kitchen. I could see him processing, wrestling with the idea as much as I was.
Moving wasn’t a decision to make lightly. Monaco had been our sanctuary, the place we’d spent our earliest years as a couple, and later as parents, shaping our life around the rhythms of this sunlit, gilded place.
“I know it’s not easy for you.” I squeezed his hand, feeling the weight of my own words. “It could mean more travel, more distance between you and the team, but…” I trailed off, meeting his gaze, hoping he’d see what I was trying to say. “If it means they can grow up with some perspective, if they can have a life that feels more grounded, isn’t that worth it?”
He took a long, steadying breath, his eyes lingering on me with that familiar mix of patience and resolve. “Tell me where, and I’ll be there”
It was like a knot loosening in my chest. Relief and guilt, the kind that came from knowing I was asking him to compromise once again, to give up a part of the life he’d built here in Monaco.
And yet, he was willing, just as he’d always been, his love for us steady and unwavering.
As we stood there, holding hands in the kitchen, our daughter’s voice piped up from the living room, a cheerful melody completely unaware of the weight of the moment. I looked at Lewis, a slight smile breaking through my worry.
“Maybe she’ll thank us one day,” I murmured, half to him and half to myself.
He pulled me closer, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Maybe. Or maybe she’ll hate us for leaving her beach.” His laugh was soft, almost tender, but I could feel the underlying sorrow in his voice, the same wistfulness that was twisting my own heart. “But we’ll be alright, won’t we? No matter where we are?”
I closed my eyes, letting his words wash over me. “Yeah. We will.”
Even now, the memory of that decision lingers as one of the most defining moments of our relationship. It was an understanding we didn’t need to speak aloud. It was a compromise, one made out of love, out of that shared desire to give our children a life that wasn’t built on empty expectations but on the foundation of our family.
And through it all, Lewis was beside me, offering me his full trust, making me feel that I was as much a part of his heart as he was of mine.
It was never about leaving Monaco; it was about coming home, about stepping into the kind of life where we could nurture the values that mattered most.
We left so many memories behind in that sun-drenched city, but the life we’ve made here, in the quieter outskirts of London, is what we always wanted—a place for us to be a family, a place where Lewis could come back from the intensity of the race weekend and find his sanctuary.
It was a slower life, with longer flights for Lewis and new routines for the kids, but it was ours. And every day, I saw Lewis come home and breathe it in, appreciating the calm and balance we’d made for ourselves. This was a place for us to be real—a grounding place.
The interviewer’s voice tugged me out of my thoughts, her question like a thread pulling me back to the garden. To the moment. To Lewis.
I watched as he smiled softly, the kind that barely reached his lips but brightened his eyes in that way only few knew. The interviewer had asked him to elaborate on his answer, the one about looking forward to seeing his kids smiling with their mom.
Lewis glanced at me briefly, that silent look of his that said so much without saying anything at all. His gaze flickered back to the interviewer as he started, his voice a bit lower
“This place, this home… it’s our safe place” he began, sweeping a hand around in a quiet gesture. “Here, I get to be more than just the guy who races cars or shows up on red carpets. This is the place where our kids get to be themselves.”
He paused, looking past the camera to where our daughter was intently studying the sound equipment, her fingers itching to touch, her eyes wide with curiosity. I watched him as he continued, his tone warming with each word.
“Our daughter” he said, smiling a little wider, “She’s eight now, and is this fiery little force with questions about everything. And I get to see her—really see her—growing into that, with no hesitations.” He turned, his gaze landing on our son, who was contentedly mesmerized by vintage film. “And our son, just turned five” he continued, “he’s got this beautiful imagination, always thinking, always figuring things out his own way.”
Lewis shifted his attention back to me, his voice softer now. “And then there’s Y/n, who’s been my anchor in this crazy life. She’s the boss everyone knows not to cross, but she’s also the one I watched become this incredible mother. And she’s… everything.”
I felt my throat tighten; the weight of his words heavy in the air between us. His gaze lingered, finding mine again, and there was this unspoken understanding, a language we’d built over the years, through the early days in Monaco to the quieter, slower moments here.
Then, he turned back to the interviewer. “At the end of the day,” he continued, his voice thicker “after everything in the paddock and the cameras, the fame—it’s this. Coming home and seeing my family gathered in the kitchen, making pasta, spilling half of it on the counter because we’re all too distracted laughing. That grounds me. It’s what I look forward to after every race weekend. It’s what I look forward to for the rest of my life, really.”
He let the words settle, his gaze steady and unflinching, the weight of a promise within them. I wanted to hold onto this moment, to keep it folded in the corners of my mind for years to come, a reminder of what we’d built, what we continued to build every day.
Just as the interviewer started to move on to the next question, our daughter, who had been unusually quiet, perked up, her voice carrying over the garden and picked up by the microphones.
“Daddy,” she asked with her usual matter-of-fact tone, “if you’re so fast in the car, why don’t you ever win races at home? Like… when we race from the kitchen to the garden?”
There was a beat of silence as Lewis, and everyone around, blinked, caught off guard by the sheer innocence and brilliance of her question. Then he let out a laugh, the kind that rumbled deep from his chest, full and unrestrained.
He leaned forward, catching her gaze, his voice still light with amusement. “You got me there, bug. I guess that’s one race I’ll never win.”
She nodded, satisfied, and scribed down something down on her notebook. Leaving us all grinning, her question a reminder that in this home, we could be anything—parents, playmates, family.
Whatever challenges would come, whatever paths we’d still have to navigate, I knew that this—our love, our family—was the heart of everything. And no matter how many times we might leave this place, or come back to it, we’d carry this feeling with us.
For as long as we had each other, we’d always be home.
The winter morning in the Colorado cabin was serene, the kind of calm that only existed far away from the buzz of cities. Outside, thick snow covered the ground, and Lewis’s friends had just left for the slopes, their laughter lingering in the frosty air.
Y/n stood by the window, watching their figures disappear into the trees, her breath fogging the glass slightly. She’d sensed something off with Lewis since that call in the early hours, the subtle shift in his demeanor that he tried to hide from her, but she knew better.
“Lewis,” she called softly, pulling his attention from the screen. He glanced up at her, his dark eyes clouded with something she couldn’t quite place yet. “Why don’t we stay behind today? Take the day for ourselves.”
The warmth from the fireplace crackled behind her as she turned, her eyes landing on Lewis, who sat at the large wooden table, idly running his hand over his phone.
He wasn’t fully present; that much was clear.
He blinked at her, and there was a moment of hesitation before he nodded, standing up slowly as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders.
He made his way to the plush couch near the fireplace, and Y/n followed, feeling the tension in the air.
She sat beside him, close enough to feel his warmth but far enough to give him space.
“You’re quiet” she said gently, her voice a soft melody in the quiet cabin. “Something’s up.”
Lewis let out a long breath, leaning back into the couch and running a hand over his face. His jaw clenched, a telltale sign that he was holding back, but with Y/n, he never could, not for long.
“Vasseur called me earlier. I’ve been offered a seat” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant.
Y/n’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. It was no secret that Ferrari was every F1 driver’s dream—their history intertwined with the sport’s own history.
But she knew the possibility had left his mind years ago. The promise of a retirement with Mercedes a quiet and comforting fate to eventually end his career, whenever he decided it was time to do so.
She shifted closer, her hand resting lightly on his knee. “That’s a huge offer,” she said softly. “You don’t seem excited though”
Lewis tilted his head back against the cushions, staring up at the ceiling as if it held the answers he sought. “It’s Ferrari. It’s the dream. But...it’s so much change. Leaving behind the people who’ve been with me for more than ten years. It feels like I’m betraying them.”
She could hear the pain in his voice, the doubt woven into every word. “It’s not betrayal to take an opportunity like this, Lewis” she said gently. “You’ve given Mercedes your everything these years.”
He turned to look at her then, his expression conflicted. “It’s not just that” he admitted taking a breather. “It’s more time in Monaco, Maranello... less in London or LA. Our whole life would shift. And I don’t want to take you away from everything you’ve built, just because I need a new challenge.”
Y/n’s heart softened at his words, the genuine concern in his voice. Lewis had always been considerate, never wanting to make her feel like she was sacrificing too much for his career.
But she had long since made peace with the fact that being with him meant a life of potential changes, and that was something she had embraced.
She reached for his hand, intertwining their fingers as she spoke. “Lewis, if it was our first years together, if things were still fragile… but my work hasn’t been tied to one place for a while now. If we need to base ourselves more in Monaco or Italy, we’ll figure it out.”
He exhaled, a bit of relief and gratitude passing through him, but the weight still lingered. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re compromising your life away for me.”
“I guarantee you, I’m not. Not with this” she said firmly, her eyes locking onto his with determination. “You’ve always supported me in everything, so let me do the same for you.”
Lewis’s expression softened, his fingers tightening around hers. “You’re too good for me, you know that?”
Y/n smiled, leaning in closer. Lewis shifted, pulling her onto his lap, his arms wrapping around her waist as she settled against him. He buried his face in her neck, and she felt the tension in his shoulders begin to ease.
“I just don’t want to mess this up” he murmured against her skin; his voice almost vulnerable.
Y/n gently ran her fingers through his loose curls, her touch light and reassuring. “You’re not going to mess anything up, you’re Lewis fucking Hamilton”
He pulled back slightly, his dark eyes searching hers. “I don’t thing I’ve ever been this scared before” he admitted, his voice raw with emotion. “not even leaving Mclaren.”
Y/n cupped his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “That’s because it’s not just about the racing anymore. There’s a lot at stake. Do you think it’s worth it?”
He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes tracing every feature of her face as if committing it to memory. “I know it is” he whispered; his voice thick but certain.
She smiled softly, her heart swelling with love for the man in front of her. “Then we’re going to have to learn italian, after all”
Lewis’s lips curved into a small smile, and he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, then her nose, and finally her lips. The kiss was slow, filled with all the words he couldn’t quite express.
When they pulled back, Y/n rested her forehead against his, her voice barely above a whisper. “Whatever you decide, I’m with you.”
He nodded, the weight of her words sinking in, grounding him. “Thank you,” he said quietly, his hands resting on her waist, holding her close. “For putting up with all of this.”
Y/n chuckled softly, her fingers tracing the lines of his collarbone. “You’re worth it, Lewis. Every part of what you bring is worth this.”
They sat in silence for a while after that, the only sound the crackling of the fire and the soft hum of the wind outside. It wasn’t until later, when the light from the morning sun started to filter through the large cabin windows, that Lewis finally spoke again.
“I think I’m going to do it” he said quietly, his voice steady now, the doubt no longer hanging over him. “Ferrari.”
Y/n smiled, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Ferrari will have another multi champion then”
Lewis pulled her closer, resting his chin on top of her shoulder. “I love you,” he murmured, his voice full of conviction.
“I love you” Y/n whispered, her arms wrapped tightly around him as they sat in the warmth of the cabin, ready to face whatever came next.
Laughter and clinking glasses filled the air, the glow of fairy lights casting a warm light across the open Californian sky. Guests were scattered around tables, their faces glowing with joy and a bit of alcohol.
In the midst of it all, the newlyweds stood at the center of attention, surrounded by family and friends who had gathered to witness this moment.
Lewis stood there, his fingers lightly gripping the mic as he looked around the room.
His eyes landed on Y/n, and his usual confidence softened into something more tender. He took a breath, the kind that spoke volumes without saying a word, then began to speak with that familiar, easygoing tone.
"I've been thinking a lot about what I wanted to say today. You all know I’m not really one for speeches—well, at least not ones that don’t involve a podium anyway. But today, standing here, looking at Y/n, I realize that there are some things that need to be said. Things that have been in my heart for a long time, but that maybe I haven’t always found the right words for."
He glanced down at his new wedding band for a moment, gathering his thoughts, before looking back up at her.
"When I first met Y/n, I was... let’s just say I was a little too sure of myself. I thought I knew what I wanted out of life, what it meant to be successful, to be happy. But Y/n... she changed all of that."
He paused, his eyes softening as he took in her face, the way she looked at him with that mix of affection and amusement that only she could pull off.
"I won’t pretend that our journey has been easy. It hasn’t. There have been times when I wondered if we’d ever get here, if we’d ever figure out how to make it work. But through it all, there was this pull—something that kept drawing me back to you. It felt inevitable."
There was a brief silence, the kind that came when words just didn’t seem enough, but he pressed on, his voice a little softer now.
"Over the years, I’ve felt so many things for you, Y/n. Admiration, frustration, pride, fear... love. So much love.
“But more than anything, I’ve felt lucky. Lucky to have met someone who sees me—not the driver, not the celebrity. The real me. And even luckier that, despite everything, you’ve chosen to stand by my side."
He shook his head slightly, a small smile playing on his lips as if he was still a bit in awe of it all.
"You’ve taught me that love isn’t about finding someone who’s perfect—God knows neither of us are that. It’s about finding someone who’s willing to grow with you, to fight with you and for you, to laugh with you when things are good and hold you when they’re not.”
“It’s about finding that person who challenges you, who pushes you to be better, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard."
His voice caught slightly, just for a moment, and he cleared his throat before continuing.
"There were times when the distance, the pressures, the lives we lead seemed like too much. But every time I doubted, you showed up. You were always there, with your strength, your sarcasm, your endless belief in me. And slowly, I started to believe too. Believe that we were worth the fight, worth all the doubts."
He stopped, letting those words hang in the air for a moment before continuing, his tone more thoughtful now.
"I’ve thought a lot about what it means to commit to someone, to truly give yourself over to another person. It’s not something I’ve ever taken lightly. But then I remember when you asked me if I'd catch you. And how I just knew, somehow, that I could never let you fall. That I would always be there, arms wide open, ready to catch you."
He paused again, his eyes never leaving hers, and there was a rawness in his voice.
"You’ve been my biggest challenge and my greatest adventure. And through all the ups and downs, all the doubts and fears, one thing has remained constant: my love for you. It’s been tested, pushed to its limits, but it’s also grown stronger because of it. Stronger because of you."
There was a brief silence as he let those words sink in, both for himself and for everyone listening.
"I’ve come to realize that loving you, Y/n, isn’t trying to fit into some perfect mold, some idea of what we’re supposed to be. It’s embracing who we are, flaws and all. You make me want to be a better man, not because you ask me to, but because you deserve nothing less."
He took a deep breath, the emotion in his voice becoming more apparent as he neared the end of his vows.
"I’ve been in some pretty high-pressure situations in my life. But standing here today, committing my life to you, is by far the most important thing I’ve ever done.”
He smiled, a little wistful but also full of hope and love.
"You’ve always been the one, Y/n. Even when I didn’t know it, even when I tried to deny it, you were always the one. And, standing here, I can’t imagine my life without you. I don’t want to. Because I’ve found home."
Lewis’s voice dropped to a near whisper, the words meant only for her, even as the room listened intently.
"I’m all in, Y/n. I’ve always been all in, even when I didn’t realize it. And I can’t wait to see where this leap takes us next. Because whatever happens, wherever we go, I know one thing for sure—I’ll always catch you."
He let out a small, almost relieved sigh, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Then, with a soft smile, he added,
"And I promise, for as long as I’m breathing, I’ll never let you fall alone."
As the last word left his lips and he smiled at his wife, Y/n stepped forward, closing the space between them. Her arms wrapped around his waist, holding him tightly, as if to anchor herself in that moment.
He embraced her, his lips brushing softly against her hair, leaving a tender kiss there as he breathed in her familiar scent for a minute, before she let go and nodded at him.
Y/n took a deep breath as she took the microphone from Lewis, her fingers lightly brushing over his fingers as she gazed at him.
His vows had been everything she expected and more, and now it was her turn.
She could feel the weight of the moment, the anticipation in the air, but as she turned away from him, there was a flicker of something in her eyes—mischief, affection, and a hint of that vulnerability she rarely let anyone see.
She glanced at the guests, her smile widening as she began to speak, her tone warm but laced with the familiar sarcasm that everyone knew.
“Well, that was something, wasn’t it?” Y/n’s voice carried through the room, earning a ripple of laughter. She turned her gaze back to Lewis, playfully narrowing her eyes.
“Leave it to you to set the bar so damn high. Now I’m standing here, realizing that I should’ve probably gone first. But hey, that’s always been our dynamic, right? You go ahead, and I’ll catch up when I’m not that scared anymore.”
The guests chuckled, and Y/n took a moment to collect her thoughts. The teasing edge in her voice softened into something more genuine as she shifted her gaze back to Lewis.
“First off, let’s get this out of the way— you guys have no idea how much I’ve been trying to keep my cool all day.” She winked at the crowd, earning a few more chuckles.
“The fact that I’m standing here, in front of all of you, without a single escape plan in my back pocket is... growth.”
Her gaze shifted to her mother, who was sitting with tears already glistening in her eyes.
“I see you, Mom. I know what you’re thinking: ‘Finally, she’s not running.’ But, you know, there’s a story there.”
Y/n’s voice softened; her smile more tender as she addressed her mother.
“I get it now. All those times you tried to guide me, protect me from the world, from heartbreak—I know you were just trying to give me the best. And I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like I wasn’t listening, or worse, like I didn’t care. I did. I always have. I just... I had to figure it out in my own stubborn way”
She paused, letting her words sink in. Her mother nodded, lips trembling with a smile that spoke volumes more than any words could.
“And Dad,” Y/n continued, her eyes finding her father’s across the room.
“You always knew, didn’t you? You saw something in Lewis long before I did. And me, being me, I just rolled my eyes, thinking you were too eager to hand me off.” She laughed, shaking her head.
“But you were right. As always. And you never pushed, never pressured. You let me come to my own conclusions, and for that, I’m so grateful. You knew I needed time to figure out that Lewis was my away to learn how to fly.”
A wave of emotion caught in her throat, but Y/n swallowed it down, keeping her tone light as she turned to address Lewis’s parents. Her smile softened as she met their eyes.
“And to my future in-laws—Carmen, Anthony and Linda – God, I can’t believe I’m saying that out loud—thank you for raising a man who is patient enough to deal with all of this.”
She gestured to herself with a grin, drawing laughter from the guests.
“I know you probably didn’t sign up for a daughter-in-law who has a habit of running. I know it hasn’t always been easy, watching us go through everything, but I hope you know how much I love him. Thank you for welcoming me, quirks and all, into your family with open arms. I promise to take care of him, to be the partner he deserves.”
She turned then, her gaze locking onto Lewis. The room seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of them in that moment.
“And you” she began, her voice softer, more intimate. “Lewis... where do I even start? You’ve been my constant when I was chaos, my anchor when I was drifting.”
Another pause, her voice almost choking as she took one of Lewis’s outstretched hands.
“I begged you to let me go. I was so scared—of us, of what we were becoming, of what I was feeling. I thought if I ran far enough, fast enough, I could escape it.”
She took a breath, her eyes glistening.
“But you—God, you just wouldn’t let me go, even when I didn’t deserve you. You stood there, you saw right through all my bravado, and you told me you weren’t going anywhere. That you’d wait. And you did.”
She said the last part almost to herself, nodding incredulously.
“You waited while I sorted through my mess, while I ran from something I didn’t fully understand.”
A tear slid down her cheek, and she let it fall freely.
“I’ve been thinking about this day for a long time—Feels like I’ve been calling you my partner, my best friend, my everything for so long, but now… Husband. That’s a whole new level. I mean, look at you, sitting there all smug, knowing you got me to sign my life away."
She let out a small laugh, lightening the mood for a moment as everyone else felt the tension ease, only for her expression to turn more reflective again.
"Seriously though … when I first met you, I wasn’t looking for forever. Hell, I wasn’t even sure I was looking for tomorrow. I was stuck, scared, trying to navigate my own storm, and you—you were like this ridiculous beacon of light, just… shining. And I couldn’t ignore you, even though I really wanted to."
She paused, smiling as she recalled those early days.
"I kept telling myself, ‘Don’t get involved, don’t fall for the guy with the world at his feet.’ But then you’d do something… something so small, like remembering how I take my coffee or noticing when I was having a bad day without me saying a word. You were patient when I needed time, persistent when I pushed you away, and through all my doubts and fears, you became the person I couldn’t imagine my life without."
Y/n looked down for a moment, taking a breath before continuing.
“You lit something up in me that I didn’t even know was there, something that made me feel like I was enough. Like maybe, just maybe, I could be more than the sum of my fears and insecurities.”
She paused, her eyes softening again as she looked at Lewis.
"We’ve been through it, haven’t we? And I don’t just mean the glamorous stuff. I’m talking about the hard nights, the distance, the moments where I didn’t know if we’d make it through.”
There was a soft murmur among the guests as Y/n’s voice lowered, the raw emotion in her words unmistakable.
“We’re standing here today because you never let go, even when I wasn’t sure I could hold on."
Then the room was silent once again, the weight of her words hanging in the air.
“You’ve taught me that love it’s something you choose, every single day. That it resides in the little things—the way you pull me closer when I need it, the way you let me push you away for a bit when I’m too scared to let you in. It’s about the quiet moments, when you’ve stayed by me even when I didn’t ask, because you knew I needed you. The times when you’ve held me together when I felt like falling apart.”
She took a deep breath, her voice trembling slightly before she regained her composure.
“I know I haven’t always been the easiest person to love. I’ve put up walls, kept you at arm’s length because I was scared of what it might mean to really let you in. But you never gave up on me. You never walked away, even when I gave you every reason to.”
Y/n’s voice trembled, but she steadied herself with a deep breath.
“Falling for you felt like coming home. Like finding the place I was always meant to be, the place where all the chaos was worth it”
She looked back at Lewis, her eyes shining with and her voice thick.
"Lewis, you were my leap of faith. And trust me, I’ve never been a fan of heights. But with you, it’s all about rising. Rising above my fears, my insecurities, all the things that used to hold me back."
She paused, blinking back tears as she smiled at the guests.
“You’ve been my rock, my safe place, the one who’s seen me at my worst and still loved me through it all.”
She wiped her cheek with a shaky laugh.
“There’s something terrifying about that, isn’t there? The idea that someone could know you so completely, so intimately, and still choose to stay. You’ve chosen me, even when I wasn’t sure if I could choose myself.”
She took a deep breath, her voice trembling with emotion as she continued.
“I always think back to that night – you know the one – when I asked you if you’d catch me or if I’d have to learn to fly on my own. You didn’t hesitate. You just opened your arms and let me fall… fall into you.”
Y/n’s breathing trembled again.
“And that’s when I knew. No matter what happened, no matter where life took us, I’d never be alone. Because I had you. I had this incredible man who was willing to catch me, over and over again, no matter how many times I stumbled.”
Y/n’s voice broke slightly as she spoke her next words, her tears flowing freely now.
“I’ve always been scared of letting go, of giving myself over to someone completely. But with you, it doesn’t feel like falling. It feels like flying. Like coming home.”
Y/n took a moment to steady herself before she added, with a smile through her tears.
“Lewis, I’m all in. My husband, my partner, my leap of faith, you’re the one I choose, every day and in every way.”
Y/n wiped at the corner of her eye as she finished, giving Lewis’s hands that extra squeeze.
“So here’s to us, to our forever. I can’t promise I won’t drive you crazy, or that I’ll ever stop being a little bit of a mess, but I can promise to love you fiercely, endlessly, and with everything I have. Thank you for being my anchor, my safe place, and most importantly, for being you.
There was a pause as she took a last breath, her eyes never leaving his, her smile bright on her features.
"Okay, enough with the mushy stuff. Cheers—to love, to learning how to fly, to taking the leap."
We have all watched Lewis's interviews after Monza 24' quali. (1 & 2)
pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!
warnings: angst.
wordcount: +2K
a/n: It's possibly going to hurt to read this, and there's no real ending, just poking at an open wound. Got a few things out of my system with the bonus character.
"Talk to me, Lewis" she said, her voice softer than she her heart clenching. "You can’t keep doing this to yourself."
The hum of the AC in Lewis's driver's room was a faint backdrop to the tension that clung to the air.
It was heavy, almost suffocating, but Y/n pushed through it because that’s what she did—she fought for him, even when he was too stubborn to accept it.
He sat on the edge of the sofa, his posture rigid, eyes trained on the floor. She could see the exhaustion in the slope of his shoulders, the way his fingers gripped the material of his phone like he was holding on for dear life.
She hated seeing him like this, wrapped up in his own head, drowning in self-doubt. But what she hated more was the way he’d shut her out, like she was just another barrier he needed to protect himself from.
He didn’t look up, didn’t even acknowledge her words.
It was like she wasn’t even in the room, like he was retreating into that fortress he’d built around himself all year long. She took a step closer, desperate to bridge the distance between them, but it felt like there was an abyss between them, that only grew wider.
"I know you’re upset about that quali" she continued, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice, "but this... it isn’t just about today, is it? It’s about the past years, the pressure, the team, Ferrari, Kimi... all of it."
When he finally looked up the expression in his eyes made her stomach drop. There was no anger there, no fight, just a cold, hollow emptiness that chilled her.
"There’s nothing to talk about," he said, his tone flat. "I’m just not good enough anymore. And that’s it."
"Don’t do that," she said, her voice rising despite her best efforts. "Don’t push me away, not now. I’m not going anywhere."
Y/n's heart pounded in her chest as she watched Lewis's expression. She knew he was hurting, that he was struggling to cope with the weight of his own expectations.
He laughed, but there was no humor in it. It was bitter, almost mocking, and it broke something inside her.
"Well, maybe you should" he said, his gaze flicking away from her, like he couldn’t deal with what he was about to say "Leaving is exactly what you should do, before I disappoint you too."
The air left her lungs in a painful rush. She felt like the ground had been ripped out from under her, like she was falling with no end in sight.
Y/n had always known that Lewis was his own worst critic, that he was harder on himself than anyone else could ever be. But now... this was different.
This was him giving up, and that scared her more than anything.
"You could never disappoint me," she whispered, but the look in his eyes told her he didn’t believe her.
He looked convinced to have failed. That he’d somehow become less of a man, less of Lewis Hamilton.
"That’s not true," she said, more forcefully this time. "You’re not a disappointment, Lewis. You’re one of the greatest drivers this sport has ever seen, and no one can take that away from you."
He shook his head, that bitter smile still playing on his lips. "Maybe it’s time to accept that I’m not that driver anymore."
"You don’t get to give up on yourself like this.” she said, crossing the room in three quick strides. She knelt in front of him, forcing him to meet her gaze. "Not when you’ve still got things to do here."
He looked at her then, really looked at her, and for a brief moment, she saw the man she fell in love with—the fighter, the champion.
But it was fleeting, gone in the blink of an eye, replaced by that same crushing self-doubt.
"I’m tired," he admitted, and it was the first honest thing he’d said since this conversation started. "I’m so fucking tired of fighting, of trying to prove that I still belong here."
Y/n reached out, cupping his face in her hands, and he leaned into her touch like he’d been starving for it, but wouldn’t dare ask her for it.
"I know you are," she said, her voice breaking. "But you don’t have to do this alone. I’m right here with you."
He closed his eyes, and she could see the struggle playing out on his face, the battle between his desire to open up and the instinct to shut her out.
It had been this way all year, ever since the problems with qualifying really started to affect him. Every time he’d had a bad session, he’d withdrawn a little more, closed himself off a little tighter.
And every time, it had taken more and more to pull him back out.
She thought about how he’d opened up in the media pen "It’s something I’ve been working on," he had said earlier, his voice almost defeated. "But I should have been on the front row for sure... It’s been this way for a minute now and... I used to be so comfortable in qualifying, and it’s gone."
The words had stung, a rare admission of vulnerability in front of the cameras. But she knew it went deeper than that.
That last part haunted her, the way he’d spoken about it like it was something he’d lost forever. How he felt like he was failing, and who was terrified that the magic was gone for good.
"I can’t keep watching you tear yourself apart like this. It’s killing me, Lewis." Y/n said, the words spilling out before she could stop them.
He flinched, like her words had struck a nerve, and for the first time, she saw a crack in that armor he was building around himself.
"I’m sorry" he whispered; his voice thick with emotion.
She shook her head, tears finally spilling over as she pulled him into her arms "Don’t apologize. Just... please, just let me in."
He buried his face in her shoulder, and she could feel the stiffness slowly leaving his body, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion.
She held him tighter, hoping that she could somehow take away even a fraction of the pain he was carrying.
"I’m scared," he admitted, his voice muffled against her skin. "I’m scared that I’m losing everything, that I’m not the driver I used to be. And I don’t really know how to deal with that."
She had to bite down hard on her lip to keep from crying. This was the man who’d always been her rock, the one who’d faced down every challenge with a quiet confidence that had always left her in awe.
Even the worst one.
"You’re not losing anything," she said, her voice trembling. "You’re still the same man, the same driver, the same person. And nothing—nothing—is ever going to change that."
He pulled back slightly, just enough to look her in the eyes, and she could see the doubt still lingering there, the fear that he wasn’t enough, that he was somehow failing his team, failing himself.
"Only I’m not" he said, shaking his head. "I’m not the same, not anymore."
Y/n reached up, brushing a tear from his cheek, and she saw a flicker of surprise in his eyes, like he didn’t even realize he had let that tear escape.
He blinked, his gaze searching hers like he was looking for something to hold onto, something to believe in.
"I don’t know how to do this," he said, his voice cracking. "I don’t know how to keep going when I feel like everything’s about to come crashing down"
"You don’t have to know," she said taking one of his hands in hers. "You just have to trust that you’ll find your way. And I’ll be right here with you."
For a long moment, he just looked at her hand, his eyes unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement, but it was enough.
It was a start.
This time he was the one who pulled her into his arms, holding her as if she were the only thing keeping him afloat.
She could feel his heartbeat against her chest, rapid and unsteady, a stark contrast to the calm, composed Lewis that the world usually saw.
He was carrying all this weight, all this pain, and worst of all, he felt like he had to do it alone.
Y/n didn’t move, didn’t dare to break the fragile peace they’d found in each other’s arms.
But even in that moment of closeness, she couldn’t shake the lingering worry in the back of her mind. She knew that it would take more than just words to pull him back from that brink.
"I need you to promise me something," she said softly, her fingers brushing over the skin of his arm. "Promise me that you won’t shut me out. No matter how hard things get, no matter how lost you feel. I can’t help you if you won’t let me."
He hesitated, and for a moment, she thought he might pull away again, retreat back into that shell he’d built around himself.
But then he nodded, the movement slow and deliberate, like he was making a decision he wasn’t entirely sure of.
"Okay" he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’ll try."
It wasn’t the firm commitment she’d hoped for, but it was something. And right now, she’d take whatever she could get.
"That’s all I ask," she said, her voice soft. "Just... don’t give up on yourself. Please"
He didn’t respond, but the way he held her, the way his arms tightened around her, was answer enough. He wasn’t okay—far from it—but he was still here, still trying, and that was what mattered.
Y/n rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. She closed her eyes, trying to hold onto this moment, this fragile connection they’d managed to find in the midst of all the chaos.
All that was ahead—the races, the pressure, the inevitable changes— a part of her wondered if they were ready for it. If he was ready for it. If she was.
She had to remind herself that they didn’t have to be ready, they just had to be brave to face the changes.
And that, she told herself, would be enough. It had to be enough.
The outside world thought kept waiting, with its demands and expectations. Lewis had meetings and delaying it any longer wouldn’t do him any favors.
She reluctantly loosened her hold on him, feeling the shift in the air as reality crept back in.
“Lew,” she whispered, tracing with the tip of her finger his tattoos. “You need to go. They’re waiting for you.”
He nodded, though he looked like he would rather stay there forever, hiding away from everything.
“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice still hoarse from their earlier conversation. “I know.”
She could tell he was still trying to pull himself together, to put on the mask he wore so well in front of others. But she also knew that mask was cracked, and it wouldn’t take much to shatter it completely.
As they headed towards the door, Lewis hesitated, his hand on the doorknob. He glanced back at her.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible. “For being here.”
Y/n managed a small smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “You don’t have to thank me. Just... remember what you promised, okay?”
“I will” he replied, his voice stronger this time. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a moment before finally opening the door.
The noise of the motorhome hit them immediately—a hum that never really stopped.
Lewis squared his shoulders, his face hardening into the familiar expression of focus. He gave her one last look before stepping out into the corridor, heading towards the meeting that was already overdue.
Y/n watched him go. She knew he was far from okay, but at least now, he wasn’t completely alone in it.
Just as she was about to turn back and find a moment to herself, she heard a familiar voice behind her.
“Y/n.”
She turned to see Toto approaching, his expression as serious as ever, though there was a hint of concern in his eyes that she hadn’t seen before.
He stopped a few feet away from her, his gaze flicking towards the direction Lewis had gone before settling back on her.
Y/n met Toto’s gaze, feeling the weight of everything unsaid. She could see the slight furrow of his brow, the way his eyes searched hers for answers he couldn’t find on his own.
But there was more to this than concern—there was responsibility, and whether Toto acknowledged it or not, she knew he bore some of it.
“He’ll be okay” she said, her voice calm but tinged with a subtle edge. “But it’s going to take time.”
Toto nodded, the lines on his face deepening with whatever thoughts he was wrestling with. Y/n could see the questions forming behind his eyes, the unspoken doubts he held.
But she also knew that while he might care for Lewis, his role as team principal came with its own burdens, its own priorities that didn’t always align with what was best for Lewis.
“I know it’s been tough” Toto began, his tone careful, as if he were picking his words from a delicate web. “We’ve all felt the pressure this year.”
Y/n swallowed back the frustration rising in her throat. Of course, they’d all felt the pressure—this was Formula 1. But Lewis had carried more than his share, and somewhere along the line it was bound to take a toll on him.
“He’s been carrying a lot, Toto. And I don’t think anyone really saw how much until it started to break him.” she said, her words measured.
She paused, searching his face for any sign that he understood what she was trying to say. That this wasn’t just about a rough season or the weight of expectations. It was a cumulative effect of years, of being the one to shoulder hopes and criticism of an entire sport.
Toto’s expression softened, something—regret, maybe—crossing his features. But she knew better than to expect a full admission.
This was the world they lived in, where accountability was a slippery concept, buried beneath layers of strategy and performance metrics.
“Formula 1... it’s unforgiving,” she continued, her voice quieter now, more reflective. “And I know you’ve always done what you thought was best. But this time Lewis paid a higher price.”
He didn’t reply immediately, his gaze shifting momentarily to the engineering’s room before returning to hers.
“I never wanted it to come to this.” his voice was low, almost resigned.
Y/n nodded, understanding the truth behind his words. She believed him—Toto cared about Lewis.
But the reality was that intentions didn’t always align with outcomes, and somewhere along the way, the balance had tipped.
“I know” she said softly, offering him a small, weary smile. “But it did.”
The air between them was thick with everything unspoken, the understanding that while Lewis would be okay, it would come at a cost. And that cost was one that had been paid, in part, by the very person that had built the platform the team now stood in, a team that had once been his greatest strength.
“I should go” Y/n added after a moment, glancing in the direction Lewis was.
Toto nodded again, this time more firmly. “Thank you, Y/n. For being there for him.”
She didn’t respond, only gave a brief nod before turning to leave. A reminder of just how delicate the balance was between personal and professional in this world.
And how, no matter how much she wished otherwise, there were some battles Lewis would have to fight on his own.
• summary: After 945 days of always believing, never giving up, the 2024 British Grand Prix - the sun shone upon on the king of Formula One once more.
• tags: 18+, MDNI, NSFW, super fluff, pre-established bfwb to lovers, tears of joy, smut, oral [f receiving], unprotected sex, mentions of birth control, creampie, HEA.
• w.c: 2.6K
• ru’s 💌: i’m not back just yet but I possibly could NOT post something to celebrate this momentous occasion. reblog, comment and like! love you all 🎀 NOT EDITED!!
• tips: kofi | paypal
“He is the man who raises the bar, who raises the stats! Who takes things to stratospheric levels and he’s only got three corners now! He can see the crowd standing and giving him that round of applause! He is ready to kick start the celebrations! EIGHT TIMES WE’VE SAID IT BEFORE, HERE’S A NINTH FOR YA! LEWIS HAMILTON WINS THE BRITISH GRAND PRIX! WHAT A VICTORY! HAMILTON IS BACK!”
Everything after David Crofty’s commentary became white noise as all you could hear were your screams of joy alongside those of the team behind you and the crowd. It did not take long for your tears to surface as it dawned onto you what had just happened.
Lewis had won his first race after two and a half years, even sweeter that he won his home race. The feeling was so overwhelming, you could feel your knees crumbling beneath your weight as gleeful joy rushed through you along with resounding relief that this drought was over. The poetic justice of Lewis returning to the top stoop of the podium at Silverstone added another layer of sweetness to the victory.
As you hugged your best friend, all of those moments you shared with him, comforting him through his anxieties, reassuring him through his insecurities and motivating him to keep pushing when he was close to quitting - they all came flooding back into your mind.
You were trembling as you sobbed and you couldn’t stop it. You were overpowered with your happiness and pride for Lewis. He slightly pulled back from the hug and cupped your cheeks, the British flag that had been around his shoulders, now in the crooks of his elbows.
He wiped away your tears as his shone bright and dampened his lashes. “If you keep crying, I’m going to keep crying.” He commented which caused you to giggle through your sniffles.
“You’re right, you’re right.” You nodded and gave him a bright smile. “The podium is waiting for you champ.”
You shared one more before you parted ways and he left you with a kiss on your cheek. As he walked away, he turned back around to you with a glint in his eye that you recognised because you looked at him just the same.
Longing.
Ten years of great friendship with the lines increasingly becoming blurred did not change the feelings of pride that were rolling through you in waves as you stood amongst his family with your hands on his niece, Willow’s shoulders. You didn’t care that your tears were ruining your makeup as from the corner of your eye, you caught the camera pointed in your direction.
You were looking up at Lewis as walked onto the podium. His mother, Carmen wrapped an arm around you and you leaned into her motherly warmth. Lewis caught site of you all standing there and he blew a kiss towards you with only you returning a kiss back.
“That’s our boy!” Carmen gleamed as the British national anthem played through the speakers.
Lewis was eager to return to London and once all of his professional duties were obliged, he left Silverstone. He asked for you to join him and Roscoe on the helicopter instead of returning with his family. He needed you close, grounding him.
Rosa and the team were rushing to find a place willing to host them for a celebratory dinner party and until then, you were back at his home. Lewis was lying on his bed with his eyes focused on the ceiling as Bob Marley softly played through the sound system.
You smiled at him as you took off your shoes and joined him on the bed.
“How are you feeling champ?” You asked him. Lewis turned to face you and you noticed that his eyes were still slightly red from the crying but the twinkle of joy was back in them.
“Everything feels so surreal right now. Like did that really just happen?” He whispered.
You nodded as your grin spread across your face. “It’s real. I watched you cross that line before anyone else.”
The tears began to well up in his eyes and he brought the heels of his palms to them and covered his eyes. You could see his bottom lip trembling and it pinched at your heart. Your hand came up and rubbed soft circles into his chest soothingly. Your own tears were threatening to join as but you held them at bay and you leaned forward to place kisses onto his hands before you covered your body with his, hugging him.
Lewis did not resist hugging you and hiding his face into your chest. The both of you shifted into a more comfortable position with you on his lap as you played with his hair as he squeezed your waist.
“I’m so proud of you.” You mumbled as you placed a kiss on his shoulder. “So, so proud of you. You overcame what you thought wouldn’t be possible again. That feeling is back within you.”
He took a deep breath and brought his face out of your chest. You smiled down at him as you wiped his tears away and cradled his cheeks. Lewis sighed as he returned your smile and continued being engulfed in your warmth.
You let his braids out of the ponytail and massaged his scalp. “You make everything better.” He confessed with made your heart swoon. “Thank you for being here with me. For always being here with me, even when I wanted to be alone, you never left me.”
“I would never leave you. I’m your best friend, that’s what I’m here for.”
“You’re more than that to me and you know that.” He clarified with a slight squeeze of your waist.
“Oh really? I don’t remember us having that conversation.” You raised your eyebrow as you smirked. It had been two years of the two of you crossing that boundary into a more sexually intimate relationship. No one outside the both of you had any knowledge of the progression, however as the days went by, it was getting harder to hide.
“I had been planning to ask you this weekend whether I had won or not. I have bared myself to you in a way I have not with anyone else in a long time. You’ve accepted every part of me and it makes me love you more than I already do now. I want this with you.” His admission had your heart bursting through your chest.
“I want this with you too. I want everything with you.” You replied. In your heightened sense of emotion, you dropped your head and captured his lips. He always tasted so good as his soft lips mangled against yours.
Lewis’s large hands came to cradle your face before he used his strength to flip your bodies so that you were beneath him. His grip on your face was tender - in contrast to his kisses that were hungry and passionate. He then slipped his hands along your body with a sensuality that caressed more than your skin.
Your mind immediately became clouded in lust filled daze, drowning in your desire for him. You could feel his desire for you, hardening against the side of your thigh.
“If we continue, we’re going to be late for your party.” You whispered between kisses but refused to push him away.
“I don’t care, they can wait. I need to feel you.” Your heart skipped a beat as he hovered above you and hooked the straps of your top in between his fingers and brought them down. Your breasts spilled out , making you bite onto your bottom lip.
Lewis groaned as he stared at your stiffening nipples. Greedily, he leaned forward and licked your dark nipple into his mouth. With his other hand, he dragged your skirt and underwear down the length of your legs.
His touch was electrifying - every brush of his fingers against your skin sent sparks of pleasure through every part of you.
As he branded your mouth with his again, you desperately reached for his shirt. He discarded his clothing and got in between your legs and dominated you with his tongue sliding back into your mouth.
Then Lewis tore his lips away from yours. A whimper of loss left you as he trailed his tongue down your chest until his face was settled in between your thighs.
“Wait, tonight is about you.” Your voice rang through your heavy breathing. You got up and leaned on your shoulders as you peered down at him.
“This is my prize.” He mumbled as he parted your legs further. You watched as he inhaled your scent before softly growling “You’re always so wet for me.”
Before your mind could conjure up a thought. Lewis was leaning forward and licking your clit. The tip of his tongue was warm and twirling around the nub in the way you liked.
Whenever he was in between your legs he always took his time getting you worked up. The scent of your arousal filled the air as the pleasure rose within your body. The ecstasy was mind-numbing and set your body on fire.
He licked, sucked and fucked you with his tongue doing it all through your cries, moans and whines. Your body felt like it was elevating with the deviancy of his hunger. His hands pushed down on your chest and fondled with your breasts, tugging on your nipples until they were completely sensitive.
Vibrant colours exploded behind your eyes as your orgasm detonated. The first one was devastating but the small tremors that followed were equally shocking.
Lewis hummed with his eyes closed before opening his beautiful brown eyes and giving you a devilish smile. Your juices covering his bearded chin and lips. “Always so good for me.”
Panting, all you could you was return a smile and nod your head.
He licked his lips and hovered above you until you were face to face. You smiled as you felt his leaking tip pressed into your stomach. “If I ate you out any longer, I was going to come.” Lewis said causing you to chuckle.
“One of these days, I want to see you do that for me.” You held onto his chin and pulled him closer to your lips. Lewis groaned as he closed that small gap and kissed you with an intensity that seized your body. And you kissed him back with just as much ferocity.
It felt like he was pouring his entire soul into you and you readily welcomed it. Months of yearning for more had built up to this moment.
You reached in between your bodies and stroked his thick and long dick in your warm hand. He moaned into your mouth as his hips twitched into the soft pace of your moving hand.
“You need to let go of me now so I can get the condom.” Lewis groaned as his eyes fluttered. Instead you hooked your thigh onto his waist and rubbed his tip against your clit.
“I’m back on my pill.” You whispered.
“You sure about this?” He asked as he looked into your eyes.
“I’m sure.” Your answer caused Lewis to peck your lips before he deepened the kiss. Then, he sunk into you, inch by inch until he was nestled deep within.
“Lewis.” You gasped his name as he stretched your walls around him and you moved your hips to his rhythm.
“I’m all yours sweetheart.” Your bodies moved against each other sp perfectly. A push and pull between two souls intertwining as whole.
His strokes were hard and deep, touching a spot only he could reach, the drag of his pelvis against your clit heightened the pleasure that you were experiencing.
Your breaths came out in short and hard pants as his pounds rattled your body. The pleasure was too much for you to take but Lewis wasn’t stopping.
He claimed you, the word “Mine” leaving his lips with each drag of your walls on his dick. Lewis momentarily stopped and hooked his arms beneath your knees and pressed into harder. This position made him deeper than he was before.
With this new position, your toes were curling and your mind was going blank at just hoe delicious he felt inside of you. You could feel your wetness soaking the both of you and allowed for Lewis to sink impossibly deeper until it was bittersweet.
One particular thrust forced your eyes opened as you met his hooded stare with his braids curtaining his face. He smirked as your eyes rolled to the back of your head as the tip of his dick touched an undiscovered spot.
“Ohhh f-fuucckk.” You whined as your free hand came to his pelvis and you tried pushing against him to ease up.
“Move your hand.” Lewis hissed at you as he slowly rolled his hips, licking his lips as he enjoyed the expression of pleasure on your face.
“You’re s-so deep.” You breathlessly moaned with furrowed brows as you held onto the back of your thighs.
One thing he loved about you was the way you handled the intensity of his love. Emotionally, mentally and physically - you took it al,let it engulf you and embraced it.
And you never looked more beautiful.
He picked up the pace, his hips slammed into you harder and harder until your screams were all that he could hear. In the background, you could hear Roscoe barking in concern but Lewis covered your mouth with his.
“I can feel you.” He groaned against your lips. “Are you going to give it to me?”
“Mhm! Yes baby! Yes!” You clenched your fists into the sheets as you were on the edge of exploding. Lewis bent down and took your nipple into his mouth and he bit on it.
You lost it as you gave yourself to him. You moaned as your body shook from head to toe as your walls clenched around his dick and you gushed around him.
“That’s it, that’s it. Such a good girl for me. Only for me.” He kissed along your neck as your eyes crossed.
This orgasm was as intense as the previous but the filling of Lewis erupting inside of you added to the pleasure of the moment. He was clinging onto you as he softly grunted beside your ear.
“You always feel amazing.” He said before he kissed you again, high off the passion of your tryst. You smiled against his lips, caressing his back as the kiss became lazy and sloppy.
“I feel so full.” You whispered.
“Yeah, that’s what you wanted right? You full of me?” He teased you which caused you to roll your eyes as you tried to play off the smile drawing on your face. He slowly pulled out and the mixture of your essence trickled out after.
“God, I wish I could take a picture of that. So sexy.” His eyes were beginning to darken with lust as he stared at the sight in front him. His hand came to your pussy and rubbed on your sensitive clit which caused you to jolt away.
Lewis laughed at your reaction.
“If you start again, we’re not making it to that dinner.” You said as you rolled onto your stomach and closed your legs so that nothing else trailed out.
You squealed as he slapped your ass before he leaned forward and kissed where his palm had come into impact.
“We’re only going to be there for two hours tops. Now that you’re mine officially, I need more time with you.”
“You’re going to break me.” You mumbled as you tried to fight off the sleep threatening to take over your body as the phantom ache of him inside of you resided in your cunt.
“And I’ll put you back together again.” He smiled as he kissed on your shoulder. You smiled at the promise.
request: I was wondering after hearing Lewis saying that he is looking to going home after the Canadian gp. Can you write a sort piece of the agony he has in his voice and he just want to be in the arms of his loved one.
pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!
warnings: angsty, mentions of Mercedes fuck up, Canada 2024 and that post quali interview
wordcount: +1K
a/n: I've had this sitting in my drafts since Canada, but I wanted to wait a bit for things and the rumors to settle down before I reread it and posted. I'm still salty on that hard tyres at the end though.
The cheers of the Montreal crowd celebrating a Mercedes's pole echoed in Lewis' ears long after Qualy had ended. He had led every free practice session, feeling the car was finally locked in with him. But in Q3, something had been missing. Maybe it was luck, maybe a fraction of a second's hesitation. Whatever it was, it had cost him dearly.
P7. A miserable P7 after dominating practice all weekend.
He plastered a tired smile on his face for the cameras and interviews, his own disappointment evident in the lack of the usual glimpse to his eyes.
“What’s going on in your mind after that qualifying session?” one reporter asked, leaning in expectantly.
Lewis shrugged, trying to keep his composure. “Nothing much, just looking forward to going home,” he'd mumbled to the reporter's query about his thoughts, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He knew it was a curt response, but he couldn’t bring himself to elaborate. All he wanted was to escape the scrutiny, the forced smiles, and the disappointment that hung over.
Home, at least for that night though, was the hotel room that felt more like a business conference room these days, devoid of warmth or the one person who could chase away the guilty he felt for not leaving up to his own expectations.
Back in London, Y/n scrolled through post-quali highlights, her smile fading with each dejected clip of Lewis. He wasn't just disappointed, he looked defeated. A knot formed in her stomach, the all so familiar feeling of helplessness twisting with the protectiveness she always felt towards him.
9 pm. Ridiculous, she knew, but the need to hold him, to be around him, was an urge she couldn't ignore.
"On the first flight out," she typed furiously, the message a lifeline thrown across the Atlantic. "There in 10 hours, tops. Around 2 am, your time"
The phone buzzed to life almost immediately. Lewis' voice, sharp with disbelief, echoed in her ear. "Y/n, are you insane? It's the middle of the night for you!"
"Doesn't matter" she cut him off, shoving clothes into a duffel bag. "I'm coming. Just... don't argue."
The next hour was a blur of packing, the phone pressed tight against her ear as Lewis argued, pleaded, then finally relented with a weary sigh. By the time she boarded the plane, the weight of exhaustion had settled in, but the worry for him was still deeply rooted.
The 9-hour flight felt like an eternity. Touching down in Vancouver, she hailed a cab, the city still wrapped in the pre-dawn darkness. At the hotel, her heart hammered against her ribs as she used the spare key the hotel provided, the beep of the door lock seemingly taking longer than normally.
Three a.m. The monotonous hum of the air conditioner was broken by the door creaking open, Lewis propped on one elbow at the bed, his eyes looking tired and a bit sunken.
Before he could understand what was happening, she rushed forward, engulfing him in a tight hug. The familiar scent of his aftershave and the warmth of his body flooded her. He stiffened for a moment, then melted into her embrace, burying his face in her hair.
"You shouldn't have come" he mumbled; his voice thick with sleep.
"Had to." she whispered, stroking a hand down his back. They stayed in each other’s arms, the only light coming from the bedside table, a silent language passing between them, a comfort only they could offer each other.
Finally, he pulled back, hesitantly sitting up on the bed. The suite was grand but cold, much like it always used to be, only this time it also happened to mirror the emptiness in his eyes.
He waited for her to strip from her clothes and pull one of his discarded t-shirt over her head before gesturing for her to join him. The silence stretched once she took him in her arms, thick with unspoken questions and a heavy feeling of disappointment.
"Quali," she finally ventured, her voice soft.
He let out a humorless laugh. "Bottled it. Again."
"C’mom" she countered, her voice firm. "It happens, Lewis. Even to the best."
He looked at her, his eyes raw with a vulnerability he rarely showed the world. "Again, and again?! Maybe this was my real only shot this year."
The weight of his words settled on her like a lead blanket. This wasn't just about a bad qualifying session; this was about a season slipping through his fingers, about the gnawing fear that that was probably how the end of his years with Mercedes would be like.
The pressure, the constant fight to live up to expectations, it was a burden he carried mostly alone, a burden that threatened to crush him.
Tears welled up in her eyes. She couldn't offer him a magic solution, couldn't guarantee a win. But she could, at the very least, offer him a safe harbor, a haven from the storm.
"I just don’t understand" he said after a while, his voice raw with emotion. "I felt so good about the car all weekend."
"I know," she replied softly. "You did everything you could. Sometimes, things just don’t go our way, no matter how much we want them to."
He sighed, pressing his face closer to her. "It feels like I’ve let everyone down. The team, the fans... myself mostly."
"You haven’t let anyone down," Y/n insisted. "You’ve given it your all, like you always do. That’s what matters. And no one who truly cares about you would think any less of you for it."
Scooting closer, she took his hand in hers, the warmth a meagre offering against the chill that had settled over him. "You're one of the best drivers on that sport, Lewis. And you know that."
He squeezed her hand, his gaze flickering with a flicker of defiance. “That’s not enough. You know how it goes, we’re only as good as our last race."
"Then you keep going because you’re Lewis Hamilton," she said firmly. "You’ve faced tougher challenges than this, and you’ve always come out stronger. There will be other races, and you’ll have more chances." She cupped his face, her thumb tracing the worry lines etched around his forehead. "I believe in you and you need to believe in yourself again. Remember why you started. Remember why we watch you race."
His gaze softened, but his mind still seemed lost in thought. He leaned into her touch, a silent plea for the belief she always seemed to possess. "I’ll always be here to remind you of that" she promised, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "You’re not alone in this, Lew. Not ever."
The race day dawned grey and damp, mirroring Lewis' mood. The strategy meeting was tense and when the decision for the strategy was announced, a flicker of doubt crossed Lewis' face on using those hard tires.
The race itself was far from normal as usual, the ever thread of rain, the chaotic pit stops and strategies. Lewis fought his way through the pack, competition momentarily pushing the doubts aside. But at the end a “free pitstop” he wasn’t considering had him emerge on hards – a strategic decision that left him to fight even more with the car and potently lose on all the pace he had been building.
Lewis' blood ran cold. It felt like a betrayal, a deliberate attempt to stop any chances of fighting for the podium with him trapped on the slower tyres. He crossed the finish line in P4, the roars a distant echo in his ears.
Back at the hotel, Y/n watched, with an aching hear, how he couldn’t hide his disappointments to the media, his face a mask of controlled frustration almost letting loose.
Later that night, as the cities lights twinkled outside their plane heading to Los Angeles, Y/n pulled out her phone. "Look," she said, handing it to Lewis.
The screen buzzed with tweets and comments, the familiar #TeamLH trending worldwide. Messages of support, fans and commentators alike dissecting the race strategy, and vowing that Lewis had the pace to fight for that podium.
"They got your back. And I fear they’re not leaving." Y/n said softly, squeezing his hand with a soft chuckle. “I told you, you’re not alone in this. You’ve got an army of supporters who believe in you, just like I do.”
He leaned in and kissed her, feeling some of the weight of the day a bit lighter on his shoulders. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For everything.” his voice hoarse but laced with love. "We'll come back stronger next time. But before that, Roscoe’s waiting for us in California"
Y/n smiled, her heart brimming with pride for the man beside her. Home wasn't just a place, it was a feeling. And in each other’s arms, their home could be found even across the Atlantic.
You leaned against the doorway as Lewis moved restlessly across the room, his brow furrowed with concentration. A braid kept falling into his face, and he kept tucking it behind his ear. He muttered to the reflection in the mirror, his expression serious as he practiced his speech for the GQ Awards ceremony, rehearsing it with the same intensity he would study race tracks.
A smile tugged at your lips. It was endearing, this nervous energy that usually only manifested before a race, and that so few got to see, filling the master bathroom of his NYC apartment. Tonight, however, the only race was against his stubborn desire to perfectly deliver his message.
When he finally sighed in frustration, you decided to fully enter the room. He caught your reflection in the mirror, and his face softened, the tension momentarily lessened.
"Hey," you tilted your head, offering a small smile.
He straightened, taking a deep breath. "Hi. How long have you been there?"
You shrugged, reaching for the fingers that gripped the marble. "A minute or two. Just… watching the master at work."
He gave a self-deprecating laugh. "More like a nervous wreck."
He gestured vaguely to the crumpled paper clutched in his hand. "Do you think it's alright? I don't want to sound… pompous."
You reached out for him, turning his face to look him in the eye, your fingers smoothing the worry lines on his brow with your thumb. "Lewis," you started, your voice soft. "Nobody's going to think you're pompous. They're going to be captivated."
His eyes, the warm brown that stole your breath every time, met yours with a glint of nervousness. "You really think so?"
A soft smile and chuckle spread through your features. It was a challenge, putting your admiration for him into words. You weren’t one for grand gestures or over-the-top declarations. It was in the quiet moments, the shared understanding, the unspoken language that existed only between the two of you that you showed him how much he meant to you.
"They'll all be in love with you," you finally said, a loving spark in your eyes. "Just like I am."
He chuckled, a hint of relief washing over him. "Smooth, (Y/N)."
You took his hand, gently pulling him away from the mirror. "Come on," you said, urging him towards the plush armchair in the bedroom nestled by the window. "Let's forget about speeches for a while."
He followed willingly, sinking into the chair with a sigh as he dragged you down with him. You settled on his lap, pulling your legs comfortably on top of his on the stool. The city lights became a shimmering backdrop to your comfortable silence.
"I’m really proud of you," your voice barely above a whisper as your fingers danced on his chest and he looked out the window.
His hand automatically sought yours. You squeezed gently. "More than you can imagine," you admitted.
"Sometimes it all feels a bit overwhelming," he confessed, his voice raw. "The platform, the attention, the expectation to be a voice for everything."
"You don't have to be a voice for everything, though," you countered, your voice firm as he locked his gaze on your intertwined fingers. "But what you do choose to speak up about… that's what makes me so proud."
He looked at you, his eyes searching your face. "Even the stuff that makes some people uncomfortable?"
You let out a proud smile and a knowing giggle. "Especially those. You use your platform to speak when others won’t."
He squeezed your hand, gratitude evident in his tone and his eyes. "Maybe you should be writing the speeches after all."
You laughed, a soft sound that filled the room. "You just need to be reminded that you're Lewis Hamilton, not a nervous rookie on his first podium."
You leaned your head against his shoulder, his arms embracing you as he turned his head, placing a soft kiss on your temple. "Thank you, love. But we really need to get going," he whispered, just before he picked you up and put you back down on the armchair, heading back to the bathroom.
As Lewis got in the shower, you couldn't help but steal a glance at the crumpled speech in his hand. You knew Lewis wasn't one to brag about his achievements, but a part of you yearned to understand the weight of the words he was struggling with.
Carefully, you reached out and picked up the paper. It was filled with Lewis's handwriting, edits scrawled across some lines. You scanned the opening, your heart swelling. It wasn't about self-praise or glorifying his victories. It was a heartfelt dedication to the countless individuals who had supported him on his journey, from his early days karting in Stevenage until now.
He spoke of his family, the unwavering pillar behind him, their sacrifices paving the way for his dreams. He mentioned his mentors and heroes, those who had nurtured his talent and those who had inspired him to push to be his best. He even acknowledged his rivals, the competitors that had honed his skills and fueled his relentless pursuit of excellence.
But then, there was a section that was heavily underlined, a paragraph riddled with question marks and crossed-out phrases. It was about the kids that he hoped to have inspired.
He wrote about the grounding effect they had on his own path. He spoke of how he, too, was an impressionable young boy, wishing for something greater.
You knew sometimes Lewis struggled to express his emotions openly, yet here he was, trying to articulate the depth of what it meant to him to be put on the same pedestal as his heroes.
It was the written proof of how much this award, how much this entire platform, meant to him – a chance to not just be Lewis Hamilton, the champion, but Lewis, the boy who had aimed for the stars and received the moon as a gift.
A soft chuckle escaped your lips. You pictured the faces in the opulent ballroom, expecting a typical self-congratulatory speech from the motorsport legend. The surprise on their faces when Lewis poured his heart out, his voice thick with a vulnerability they wouldn't have anticipated, would be priceless.
He may have been a titan on the racetrack, but here, in the quiet intimacy of the apartment, he was simply Lewis, the man who might fumble with expressing his emotions but whose actions spoke volumes.
As you two rode in the backseat towards the gala, the city lights morphing into a mesmerizing dance of colors, you snuggled closer to Lewis, his steady breathing a comforting rhythm.
"Hey," you whispered, tracing a finger across the back of his hand.
He jolted out of his thoughts, his eyes looking for yours. "Hmm?"
"You know," you began, searching for the right words, "you don't need to win over that entire room tonight. You just need to make that brave boy from Stevenage proud."
summary: there was no way you were letting lewis leave the hotel room looking the way he did without taking a spin first. [shoutout to my fren for this summary 😂]
tags: 18+ NSFW, MDNI, sexual content, pwp, oral [m] receiving, unprotected penetrative sex, dirty talk, spanking, slight choking, slight dom!lewis, breeding kink if you squint.
notes: today really ruined me guys 🫠. I wrote this in a few hours lmao. This is for the nasty girls like me going through ovulation and were left feeling wrecked by this man. NOT EDITED
Having some time off from work, you had decided to join your boyfriend in Monaco for the long race weekend. It was only Thursday so there was no need for you to accompany him to the trac with him. You were going to stay at the hotel and utilize their spa facilities before preparing for dinner with Lewis later.
As you finished using the bathroom, you could hear his team packing their belongings and leaving the room. Lewis had about another hour free before he needed to leave for the circuit if he wanted to be on time. This was the time, if you were together, you would share breakfast.
You walked out to the living room area and stopped dead in your stride when you saw Lewis standing in front of the mirror as he fixed his braids into a low bun.
“Holy shit.” The words slid out of your mouth as you gaped at him. He was dressed in an extremely low v-neck pale blue cashmere cardigan which left the golden brown of his tattooed chest exposed paired with wheat coloured waist fitted linen trousers. He wasn’t wearing the custom Dior sneakers just yet but the jewellery that had been laid out last night were now in the right places.
Lewis was a man of fashion, a common interest that had connected the both of you but it was days like this that reminded you how a well put outfit enhanced his beauty to another level. It amazed you how much his dress sense managed to raise your arousal.
He turned around to face you with a genuine smile that quickly transitioned into a smirk when he saw the glint of lust in your eyes.
”Hi baby.” He greeted you before walking to sit on the couch.
“Where do you think you’re going, looking like that?” You asked as you crossed the room.
“Like what?” He chuckled as he furrowed his eyebrows in slight confusion.
“Like a slut! Who are you tryna get, looking this good.” A deep laugh burst from his chest as a light rosy tint touched his cheeks. He was used to your peculiar way of complimenting him but there were times where the comment would make his insides melt. He was a grown man and you still had the ability to make him weak in the knees with your unbridled attention.
“This is only for you baby.” Lewis spoke, gesturing to his body. “I’m all yours and only yours.”
“Looking like a five course meal and I’m ready to eat.” You said licking your lips before you dropped to your knees in front of him, between his legs. He looked down at you as you looked up at him, massaging his thighs and he knew what you were intending to do.
“Sweetheart, you know I need to be leaving soon.” He mumbled as he leaned down and pecked your lips
“Being late has never stopped you before.” You were rubbing your palm against his hardening dick beneath the fabric of his trousers. Lewis’s eyes fluttered close as he tried to be rational. You knew that he didn’t need to be so early, the circuit was a team minute boat ride - if need be, they’d wait for him.
“I’m not letting you leave this room without a taste. Let me enjoy you first before anyone else.” Whatever front that he had been attempting to put up, fell.
“You’re such a spoiled brat.” He sighed as he leaned back and placed his right arm on top of the couch. His other hand came to stroke the side of your cheek. He gazed down at you as he pressed his thumb against your lips. Once he slid his thumb into your mouth, you didn’t hesitate to wrap your tongue around the digit and suck on it hard.
Your eyes never left his as you moaned around his thumb, suctioning your cheeks as you would around his cock.
“Look at you, my pretty girl. You want it bad huh?” He softly spoke but the flare of his nose and the hardening of his dick under your touch showed how he was really feeling. Your arousal and raw desire for your man was causing an uncomfortable dampness in your underwear.
“Take my dick out.” The command made your body tremble with excitement as you unbuttoned his trousers and pulled him out. Seeing you hold him must have done something because, suddenly he leaned forward, curling his ringed fingers into your coils before he placed his lips over yours - bruising them in the process.
“Open your mouth.” He told you. And as you opened your mouth, he said. “Suck your dick, baby.”
You whimpered before you placed a soft kiss on the tip and caressed the rest of his length. You looked up at him as you slowly took him into your mouth until he was lodged at the back of your throat.
“Fuck, you’re so pretty with my dick in your mouth.” With one hand, he took your hair into a ponytail as he determined the speed. You placed your hands on his thighs to steady yourself as he fucked your face - thrusting into your mouth as he pushed your head down on his length bringing you closer to his pelvis.
Your eyes were brimming with tears as you struggled for breath gagging on his dick. And you loved every second of it.
“You okay baby?” Lewis asked. His voice breathless but laced with concern at the state of tears staining your cheeks. You nodded your head and quickly drew him back into your mouth with your hand wringing his girth. You raised your eyes to meet his as you let him hit the back of your throat once more. The choking sounds you made had him twitching in your mouth.
“Goddamn, this fucking mouth.” Lewis hissed as you sucked on his tip causing the base of his spine to tingle. You made a swallowing motion which stimulated your throat to contrast and tighten around the tip of his dick.
“Fuuuucckkk me.” He groaned as he threw his head back, pushing you away.
You giggled as you pressed your hands onto his thighs and stood up. You placed your legs on either side of his hips and took his dick into your hand and the other hand moved your panties to the side. You rubbed his tip against your wet centre until he was drenched. Your eyes locked and despite his well put together outward appearance, you were unraveling him with your continuous teasing.
Lewis leaned forward and tugged at your thick coils in his hand to hoist your head backwards. The sting of the pull caused you to hiss.
“Don’t fucking play with me, YN. Ride this dick.” He sternly told you as he dragged his mouth down the column of your neck before biting onto your exposed shoulder. You moaned as you finally pressed the head of his dick on your entrance. You couldn’t stop moaning as you rotate your hips on his cock. Lewis’s hands came to your waist, guiding you down slowly on his thickness until he was nestled in deep.
He groaned, feeling your warmth all around him. He smacked your ass causing you to gasp. “This is what you wanted right? So take it.” He harshly whispered before he pulled you closer by your neck and captured your lips. No longer caring to be gentle, Lewis demanded. “Ride me.”
“Baby, you’re so big, wait -.” You pleaded but he slapped your ass cheek again, causing your pussy to clench around him.
You began to ride him. Hard.
You mashed your hips against his, rolling your waist back and forth so that he was touching every part of you intimately possible. Your eyes fluttered close as you arched your back as your walls rhythmically clenched around his dick. A guttural moan left your mouth as Lewis’s fingers dug into the flesh of your ass and fucked you harder.
“Fuck yes! Just like that!” Your voice quivered as you placed your hands on his shoulders. You started bouncing up and down his cock which left his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Every time you came down, Lewis would thrust his hips up - making your orgasm quickly rise within you.
“Don’t stop!” He breathlessly moaned. You shook your head before you leaned down and drew his bottom lip into your mouth before kissing him passionately.
“I won’t.” You whispered. You increased your speed. The sound of your flesh clapping - along with your moans echoed across the room. Sweat was beginning to line his forehead and roll down the sides of his forehead. The smell of your sex taking over your senses.
Lewis slammed into you with a desperation only you would know. His arms wrapped around your body and you dropped your head into his neck. Your teeth trapped his skin in between them as the familiar hot tingle at the bottom of your spine rose.
“I’m about to come baby. Fuucck, sweetheart I’m gonna come” He whispered, whimpering as you bounced harder.
“Come with me. Come inside me.” The accumulation of his dick pounding your sweet spot with your clit constantly brushing on his pelvis along with the commanding nature of his tone, you were done for.
Your nails painfully dug into his shoulders as you screamed, tensing as your climax erupted. Lewis’s mouth parted into a silent moan, pushing his face into your chest as you milked him for everything he had. Your breaths were ragged as Lewis collapsed back into the couch with you in his arms. You sighed into his chest before you turned your head and laid kisses on his damp skin.
“Fucking hell, sweetheart.” He mumbled as he rubbed your back beneath your nightie. The both of you laid there, your bodies feeling like melted butter. You didn’t need the spa anymore, you were taking a nap as soon as Lewis left.
“If you didn’t look so good, I wouldn’t have needed to ride you like this.”His laugh vibrated through your body.
“So it’s my fault now that you got turned on?”
“Yes! Next time wear a burlap sack or something. You know what, no - you’d somehow make that look good too.”
He chuckled and pressed a kiss on the side of your forehead. “I apologise, I’ll be more ugly next time.”
INSTAGRAM |
therealyn
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therealyn Save a horse, ride a driver or whatever was said 🥵 and my mannn, thank you to my mannn.
view 2,344 comments
user818 This is so real of you actually 😂🤭
user121 Ma’am, this is a wendy’s
lewishamilton Can you stop🧍🏾
⤷ therealyn lewishamilton But if I remember correctly, you were telling me not to????
⤷lewishamilton therealyn 🤦🏾
user619 not them basically confirming what we’re all thinking in the comments 😩😫
user444 No because if Lewis Hamilton was my boyfriend, I would be behaving like this too.
charles_leclerc Now we know why he was so happy in the paddock today ..
⤷ therealyn charlesleclerc Happy to be of service 🫡
lewishamilton therealyn When I get back, I’m locking your phone away.
⤷ therealyn lewishamilton as if 🙄🤚🏾
user788 the fact you can see in the video when he’s in the garage, the exact moment he saw this post 😭.
ru’s letter💌: this is probably one of the fastest I’ve written and uploaded something 😂. I have such a thing for eye contact during sex I’m noticing 🤭.
notes: SAME PAIRING FROM MERITORIOUS. It’s a bit rambly but I hope it makes sense. The ending is a bit ambiguous but I feel like right now that’s needed as we head into the final day of Sazuka weekend. Preferably read before the race 🫶🏾
word count: 1.86K
You absolutely hated it when Lewis drove himself to exhaustion.
The physical toll always wore on his body drastically. Sunken cheeks which made his sharp features more protruding. His shoulders sagged more with the weight of the aftermath. His beautiful, golden brown skin had now gone a tinge of grey.
And worst of all, the sparkle in his eyes was gone. You could see it from where you had been standing and it absolutely killed you that he even had to push himself to that point.
But he fucking got the podium.
It’s not the win he had wanted because he definitely knew had he not been made to give Norris back his position by the stewards, he would have been on the top step. You think that’s what is most disappointing about the weekend.
Everyone knew that he had it.
And yet, still nothing.
—
You had left for Japan earlier than him thus by the time he had arrived at the hotel, you were already there waiting for him and his trusted companion, Roscoe and seeing the both of you there brought a genuine smile onto his face for the first time in hours.
Roscoe was already in his set-up bed , lightly dozing up. He quirked up when Lewis softly scratched behind his ears but Roscoe kept his head low, too tired from the travelling. Then he stood up to his full height and turned his attention to you. He still looked exhausted but the happiness was slowly returning to his eyes.
“Hi Baby.” You softly greeted him as he wrapped his arms around your waist and your hands settled on his cheeks. You caressed his cheekbones which caused his eyes to flutter close. He softly sighed as you placed a soft kiss on either side of his face and then all the way down his jawline, ignoring the way his beard tickled your lips.
You finally laid your lips onto his. Your breath rushed out from your lungs as he kissed you back. Lewis always kissed you like he wanted to consume your entire being. One small kiss could never be enough, he always needed more, especially on a day like today.
Lewis pulled you into him, gripping you tighter as if he was afraid that you could vanish at any moment. You could feel the need coursing through his veins from his touch, from his kisses. It always felt like the first time and you would never get tired of that.
Your fingers caressed his face as he slowed down the kiss, letting your touch reassure him that you’re here, that you’ll always be here.
You pulled your lips away and pressed your forehead against his. Your breaths mingled as your hands came to his ears and softly rubbed on the outer shell, a move that always seemed to soothe him.
“One to ten?” You softly asked him which caused a chuckle to escape from him.
“A hundred now that I have you in my arms.” You giggled at his answer.
“Ever the flatterer.” You pecked his lips once more before you took his hand into his and began pulling him towards the bathroom.
“I took a shower at the track and then one on the plane on my way here.” Lewis groaned as he trotted along behind you.
“And I love that for you but you’re not getting into bed with me after you’ve been in a compressed can with recycled air and recycled water to wash your body. Just a quick one, you don’t need to scrub yourself down.” You placed a kiss on his chin as you handed him the body wash he regularly used along with his exfoliating sponge.
He rolled his eyes as he watched you walk out of the bathroom and close the door behind him. You knew that he was going to be incredibly quick so you hoped that his food was still warm enough for him to eat despite the fact he’d probably deny eating so late at night.
You dropped your gown and fixed your pyjamas back into place as you got his food ready for him. As you heard the shower turned off, you got on the bed leaning on your knees as you waited. Lewis walked out wearing his grey sweatpants and a white vest top. He had tied his twists into a low ponytail.
“Did you moisturise?” You asked him. He rolled his eyes with a smile.
“Yes and before you ask I’ve done my whole routine.” He answered as he walked closer to you. You wrapped your arms around his torso and rested your chin on his chest as you looked up at him.
“Are you going to eat something?” You goad him which causes him to groan. You knew that he wanted to say no but with the way that you were looking at him with slightly pleading eyes.
He sighed as his hands came to your shoulders. “What did you get for me?”
You instantly grinned as you began to rattle off everything that you had ordered for him. You had probably suspected he hadn’t eaten anything in hours but you just had to feed him before bed. Despite his reluctance, Lewis accepted the red lentil curry that you fed him.
The naan bread was so still warm from being freshly baked and when infused with the flavours of the curry, they just burst on his tongue and it pleased him which made you happy. You always tried to keep his eating in check even when he had moments of not wanting to. He only took a few bites but it was just enough to satisfy the both of you.
After a fruit bowl, you laid on the bed with Lewis in between your legs and you stroked his head as you felt his breathing slow down. His head was perfectly settled in between your chest as you played with his hair in silence, only loft music sounding in the background.
Bathed and fed, laying in your arms - Lewis was feeling content. Even though the previous race was still plaguing his mind, it was slowly fading into the background. By now you’d usually ask about his thoughts and feelings about the race weekend but tonight, none of that happened.
“You’re not gonna ask me about my weekend?” He questioned.
“No.” You mumbled as you continued to play with his hair. “I think you’ve said everything that you needed to say. Me asking you anything else wouldn’t really help you distress especially when it’s the same issues you’ve been having for over a season and a half.”
“That is true.” He mumbled into the fabric of your sleeping shirt. He sighed before letting his body weight sink into yours. He appreciated the fact that you just knew how to deal with him when he needed it.
“What we can talk about is this hair. Why did you let Willow play with it like that?!” You exclaimed which caused him to laugh, the laugh vibrating through you.
“It wasn’t Willow. But you weren’t there and I needed my hair redone.”
“Then you should have waited for me. I cannot believe you’re out here embarrassing me like this. Now the girlies are going to think I allowed this.”
“The girlies?”
“Yes, the girlies! You’re not online like I am. They’ve been complaining about your hair all weekend. About how bad it is and as your black girlfriend, it reflects badly on me that I even let you step out of the house, let alone going in public to a track like this.”
“I feel like this is becoming a bigger issue than it needs to be.” Lewis chuckled but you playfully flicked the side of his head.
“It IS a big issue and I need you to be serious right now!”
“I am!” He chuckled.
“No you’re not. Your hair is such an integral part of you and I cannot have you letting someone butcher your hair like this. Brassy blonde with rubber bands - just terrible.”
“Okay! Okay!”’Lewis laughed as he laid his chin on your stomach. “I’ll never let anyone touch my hair without your approval.”
“Thank you.” You smiled. You still continued to cuddle him until you could feel his heavy breathing as sleep began to take over him. He slept the best when he was in your arms and having your comfort was all that he needed in that moment. He didn’t need to dwell on the results of the Singapore race, there was so much more to look forward to.
You brought that optimism out of him.
“Whatever happens, I need you to understand that it doesn’t take away from all the accomplishments you’ve achieved up to this point. Don’t let them get to you.”
He didn’t reply straight away as he pondered on your words. His thumb caressed the side of your stomach. “What if the words do get to me? What if I am losing my touch?”
You sat up straight which pushed him to follow your lead. You cupped his face into his hands and looked straight into his eyes.
“Now you listen to me Carl Davidson. You’re not losing anything. The regulations were changed and for once Mercedes and their engineers failed to understand and fully grasp the concept. That is not on you! No matter how many times people will try to lay that burden at your feet. You told them what they needed to do and they didn’t do it. That absolutely has nothing to do with you so for your sake, stop putting that mental load onto yourself.”
He knew what you were saying was correct but for some reason he couldn’t shake the feeling away. He was a world champion, he had done this plenty of times but the frustration of not winning was getting to him in a way that it shouldn’t but couldn’t stop.
“You’re right.” He mumbled.
“You know I’m right.” You quirked. “But I can’t think that for you, you have to come to that conclusion on your own.”
“I know” He sighed before he buried his head in your chest and cuddled into you more. With him still laying down on you, you wrapped your arms and legs around him and placed chaste kisses on the side of his head.
“We’ll figure it out. We always do.” You whispered.
“Right now, I don’t think we will …”
“As long as you don’t lose yourself trying to.” You kissed the side of his forehead once again before hugging him tighter. Nothing was truly going to get him out of his funk but your warmth encapsulated him just enough to forget about his worries.
Hi! I love your account. Sm. Like a lot. Would you be interested in writing something for lewis where he casually mentions in his gq interview that he has a longtime gf or wife. Or he recalls a memory of them introducing roscoe to her dog or cat?
Thank you so so much for the ask bestie! I drabbled something short, hope you like it ❤️.
PS: I'm still not over that interview btw, he's such a complex person and I'm so glad he's letting us see this side to him (a LVFH type of thing is something only someone like him could pull it off)
Lewis Hamilton’s drive to continually innovate and push the boundaries of his sport stems from a dual motivation. Firstly, he is determined to challenge and break the often conservative and traditional norms of Formula 1. Secondly, he is laying the groundwork for the latter part of his own illustrious career.
“I went through this phase of understanding that I can’t race forever,” he says, prompting him to cultivate those other passions. “Because when I stop, I’m gonna drop the mic and be happy.”
“The difficult thing is I want to do everything,” he says, laughing. “I’m very ambitious. But I understand that you can’t do—actually, I take that back because I don’t believe in the word can’t. To be a master at something, there’s the 10,000 hours it takes. Obviously, I’ve done that in racing. There’s not enough time to master all of these different things.”
As our conversation progresses, Hamilton discloses that he has a kindred spirit who shares his compulsion to explore a myriad of interests. “I’m fortunate to have someone in my life who encourages me to embrace my spontaneous ideas and give them a shot. She might even be more adventurous than I am,” he chuckles. “She’s a bit of a jack-of-all-trades, and always so sure that you can dive into anything and learn as you go.” His eyes light up with admiration and affection as he speaks of her daring spirit.
The usually private Hamilton, who has been discreet about his long-term relationship, contrasts their differing approaches to life. “I need some more time to think things and really plan out how I want them to go. But she’s a jump now, ask later, so she’s most times hyping me to just try it. We balance each other. Sometimes I’m the strategist, and sometimes she’s the one taking the first bite.”
As for his future plans, apart from his endeavors in fashion and film, Hamilton prefers not to rush into anything. “She still has dreams she wants to pursue, so for now, I’m happy to be her supportive sidekick whenever I can. Perhaps in the future, when we both have more time our own family might be on the horizon, but not while I’m still racing.”
He quickly corrects himself though, referring to his bulldog, Roscoe, as his son, and introduces the adorable dachshund who frequently graces Roscoe’s Instagram posts. “My partner’s parents gifted her the little sausage dog a few years ago. Introducing them was a bit tricky as Tete is quite territorial. She wasn’t fond of me at first either, so Roscoe has a head start in winning her over. But now, Baguette gets along with everyone, and we can’t imagine our lives without her.”
Eager for more personal insights, I probe for updates on his personal life. However, when his response to my inquiry is, “Time will tell, when things happen we’ll make sure to update everyone when it feels right” I gracefully pivot to our next topic of discussion.
the peace you bring, the peace you leave: l.hamilton.
teaser
“So what does it take to get with a woman like you?” He asked you as he leaned against the back of the couch as he stared you down with his deep brown eyes that affected you more than you cared to admit.
“Are you asking in earnest?” You asked with a curious smile on your lips as you played with your nails.
“Truly.” His response caused you to chuckle before you fell silent to contemplate an answer.
“You’re competing with the peace I bring to myself by being alone. I’m happy, I’m content. Will you be able to compete with that?” Your voice was soft but firm. An honest answer. You’d been single for years and you enjoyed the freedom and peace it brought.
However, the man sitting with you was tempting you to unravel it all.
“It’s a challenge and it’s a challenge I don’t intend on losing.” His answer was cocky. Lewis Hamilton was as competitive as they came - the best winner to ever do it. You were sure that conquering your affection was no more than another stimulation.
You chuckled yet again. “Good luck Mr Hamilton.”
“I don’t need luck, I need you.” He determined as you sipped on your wine. Your eyes locked. That smouldering look was back, harder than before and it made you lose your breath. Right then you were sure there was a deeper truth to his convictions beyond winning your game of tension.
“You’re competing with the peace I bring to myself by being alone. I’m happy, I’m content. Will you be able to compete with that?” ohhhh we love to see it 🗣️🗣️ Put that man to work!! 😂
however “I don’t need luck, I need you.” would have made me fold right then and there.... whewwww 🫠
