𝐚𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐨𝐬 𝐦í𝐨 — lh44 + fc43
lewis hamilton x !wife reader x franco colapinto (smau + written)
you’ve been in the public eye long enough to know when someone’s staring. franco colapinto doesn’t stare so much as worship — and he doesn’t even try to hide it. twenty two, all charm and dimples, looking at you like you’re the prize he didn’t know he was racing for.
“mrs. hamilton,” he says one day, grin lazy, eyes shameless, “does your husband know you’re this distracting?”
lewis laughs before you can — that quiet, knowing sound that makes your pulse quicken. “she’s always this distracting, mate. you’ll get used to it.”
except franco doesn’t. not even a little. he starts turning up everywhere — garage, grid, gala — with that same grin and a confidence that borders on cockiness. because he’s not just flirting with lewis hamilton’s wife. he’s flirting with both of you. and you are both starting to flirt back.
fc : natalylorenzo on ig (i imagine reader to be about 28-30)
(day 1 of chef's tea party series!)
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ynhamilton
liked by lewishamilton, francolapinto, alexandrasaintmleux and 7,700,000 others
ynhamilton : releasing the recents
tagged : lewishamilton & alexandrasaintmleux
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view 450,000 other comments.
username00 : the ferrari wags are so special to me ugh.
lando : just here waiting on franco
liked by ynhamilton and lewishamilton
↳ ynhamilton : you were here before him! so what does that say about you, norris?
liked by lando and lewishamilton
↳ lando : ...no comment.
liked by ynhamilton
username07 : are you and lewis looking for a third? a dog? i can bark
liked by ynhamilton
↳ francolapinto : the only third they need is here NOW.
liked by lando, ynhamilton and lewishamilton
↳ username5 : franco plsssss
lewishamilton : my muse. my beautiful wife 🤍
liked by ynhamilton
↳ ynhamilton : love you forever
liked by lewishamilton
pierregasly : still trying to get franco to blink. hold please
liked by ynhamilton and lewishamilton
↳ ynhamilton : tell him to take his time. we will wait for him😌
liked by pierregasly, francolapinto and lewishamilton
kikagomes : 😻😻
liked by ynhamilton
username55 : franco has no shame😭 franco is so me. I LOVE THE HAMILTONS TOO ITS OK
alexandrasaintmleux : the most beautiful 🤍 miss you already
liked by ynhamilton
↳ ynhamilton : miss you the most pretty girl 💋
liked by alexandrasaintmleux
georgerussell63 : the paddock’s favorite power couple 🤏🏻
liked by ynhamilton and lewishamilton
↳ ynhamilton : aw georgie! who taught you what that emoji means??? was it admin???
liked by georgerussell63
↳ georgerussell63 : …no
↳ mercedesamgf1 : yes!
liked by ynhamilton
↳ ynhamilton : miss you admin🩵
liked by mercedesamgf1
francolapinto : mrsssss hamiltonnnnnn
liked by ynhamilton, lando, pierregasly, lewishamilton and more.
↳ lando : oh here we go
↳ ynhamilton : yes franco?
↳ francolapinto : alpine has tried to train me to not comment inappropriate things about you and lewis
↳ ynhamilton : tried?
↳ francolapinto : yeah it didn’t work
↳ francolapinto : i would do ANYTHING. ID GO TO WAR.
↳ francolapinto : on my knees
↳ francolapinto : raw and older ‼️‼️
liked by ynhamilton and lewishamilton
↳ alpinef1team : damnit franco
↳ lando : he want dat cookie(s) so bad
↳ ynhamilton : says the one who gives his teammate “fuck me” eyes
↳ lando : i will be leaving now
↳ francolapinto : if loving them is wrong, i don’t wanna be right.
liked by ynhamilton and lewishamilton
↳ username57 : yn and lewis enabling him is taking me out
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The paddock always feels a little louder when you and Lewis arrive. Cameras flash, voices rise, and people part like the sea for the two of you — Ferrari red and a touch of perfume trailing behind. Lewis walks beside you with that quiet, steady presence that makes everyone look twice. You’re both used to the stares by now, the way every entrance feels a little like a movie scene.
You hook your hand through his arm as you step into the hospitality area, sunglasses in place, a smile that could disarm an entire press room. Lewis leans down, murmuring, “You know they only come to see you.”
You hum, pretending to think. “No, I think they come to see us. You’re just the driver, remember?”
He laughs, low and soft, the sound warm against your ear.
And then — like clockwork — Franco Colapinto spots you.
He’s halfway across the paddock, but the moment his eyes land on you and Lewis, it’s over. His grin widens instantly, that bright, boyish smile that’s gotten him out of more trouble than it should. You can almost see the mental switch flip — rookie mode off, flirt mode on.
“Uh oh,” Lewis mutters under his breath. “Incoming.”
Franco moves fast — a little too fast — all enthusiasm and charm. He greets Lewis first, because he’s polite, after all, offering a firm handshake and that signature Colapinto grin. “Lewis! You look good in red, mate. Thought I’d never say it, but Ferrari suits you.”
Lewis chuckles, ever the gentleman. “Careful, Franco. You’ll have the Alpine PR team writing you a warning again.”
Franco turns to you then, and for a second he looks like he’s forgotten how to speak. You can see him recalibrating, eyes flicking from your jewelry to your smile and back. “And you,” he says finally, tone dripping with admiration. “You look…peligrosa.” (dangerous)
“Only when provoked,” you reply smoothly.
Lewis shoots him a warning look, but it’s amused — he’s used to Franco’s antics by now. You all exchange a few pleasantries, and then the rookie’s whisked away by his team. Or so you think.
Half an hour later, you and Lewis have settled in at Ferrari hospitality — him with his laptop open, you scrolling idly through your phone — when Franco reappears. No cameras, no entourage, just that same shameless grin.
In his hands? Two drinks. Your favorite and Lewis’s.
He sets them down in front of you with a little flourish, as if he’s just presented a bouquet. “I come bearing peace offerings,” he announces. “A flat white with oat milk for the boss,” — he nods at Lewis — “and an iced matcha for the queen.”
You raise a brow. “You remembered my order?”
“Of course,” he says, leaning casually on the back of the chair opposite you. “How could I forget the one thing that makes Mrs. Hamilton smile?”
Lewis laughs quietly. “You’re bold, kid. I’ll give you that.”
Franco grins wider. “Boldness got me here, didn’t it?”
You exchange a glance with Lewis — that unspoken, amused look you share whenever someone tries to flirt with you both. Lewis shakes his head, smiling. “You’re lucky she finds you entertaining.”
“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Franco says easily, sliding into the empty chair. “Besides, it’s boring sitting over there. Alpine hospitality doesn’t come with the stunning views.”
You sip your drink, hiding your smile behind the straw. “Flattery won’t get you a Ferrari seat, you know.”
He tilts his head, eyes glinting. “Maybe not, but it might get me invited for dinner.”
Lewis bursts out laughing, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Unbelievable in bed as well,”Franco states cheekily.
You laugh, leaning back in your chair as the three of you settle into easy conversation — half playful banter, half gentle teasing. It’s harmless, really, but there’s a spark beneath it all — something that lingers just a little too long in Franco’s glances, and in the way Lewis’s hand finds yours under the table, as if to say: He’s trouble. But amusing trouble.
And when Franco leaves, promising to “see you both later, if you’re not too busy being perfect,” Lewis looks after him and mutters, “He’s going to get himself in deep one of these days.”
You smile, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. “I think he already has.”
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You’d gotten used to watching Lewis’s press conferences — usually calm, polished, diplomatic — but this one had a… different kind of energy.
Qualifying had gone well for Ferrari: Lewis on the front row, Charles just behind him, and Franco — the rookie darling of Alpine — a shock P7. Everyone was already buzzing about his lap when the three of them sat down at the press conference. The air was casual, everyone in good spirits, cameras flashing.
You watched from the back of the room with a coffee in hand, sunglasses perched on your head. You weren’t supposed to be there exactly, but no one was going to tell Mrs. Hamilton to move.
And then it began.
The moderator asked the usual questions — tire strategy, qualifying pace, how the cars felt — but when the attention turned to Franco, he was practically glowing. Confident. Charming. And clearly with no intention of behaving himself.
“Franco,” one journalist started, “amazing lap today. You must be thrilled with that P7!”
“Yeah, it felt great!” he said, smiling brightly. “I think I finally managed to get the rhythm right. Maybe I should have Lewis teach me how to do it every week.”
Laughter rippled through the room. Lewis smiled, shaking his head. “You’re doing just fine on your own, mate.”
Franco leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Still, I think I could use some private lessons. You know… driver to driver.”
A few people chuckled — the reporters, even Charles, who tried and failed to hide his grin behind his hand. You could practically see the little spark of amusement in Lewis’s eyes.
It only got worse — or better — from there.
They’d somehow drifted onto the topic of the Ferrari factory, talking about simulator work and time spent in Maranello. And then Franco, as if possessed by the spirit of chaos itself, steered the conversation straight into his own hands.
“The restaurant at the factory — there’s that famous pasta…” Franco mumbled.
“Yeah, they make the famous pasta. That’s somewhere nearby…” Lewis said and shook his head lightly.
“There’s one that’s ringing a bell…”
“I don’t know if I’ve seen that one.”
“It’s good.”
“Is it? You’ve been there?”
“No, I haven’t been there.”
The pause that followed was electric.
Half the press room burst into laughter. Charles wheezed audibly, covering his face. Lewis leaned back in his chair, head tilted, trying and failing to stifle a laugh.
“You haven’t been there?” he asked again, eyes glinting.
Franco shrugged, playing innocent. “No. But I heard it’s… better with company.”
The audacity.
Lewis actually laughed — that real, unguarded kind of laugh that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Are you asking me out, Colapinto?”
Franco didn’t miss a beat. “Depends. Do you and Mrs. Hamilton accept invitations?”
The room went wild. Cameras clicked faster; reporters were grinning into their laptops, typing away furiously. Charles muttered, “Mon dieu,” under his breath, shaking his head.
Even Lewis couldn’t hide the amusement anymore. “You’re crazy, Colapinto.”
“I’ve been told that,” Franco replied smoothly, leaning his elbow on the table.
From the back of the room, you could barely hold your composure. You covered your mouth with your hand, pretending to cough while stifling a laugh. A Ferrari comms officer shot you a helpless look, clearly torn between laughing and crying.
Later, when the conference wrapped up and everyone was filing out, Lewis caught your eye across the room. He gave you that look — half exasperated, half fond — before shaking his head, muttering something to Charles as they walked off.
Franco, of course, took his time leaving. He stopped by your spot near the door, all charm and sunshine.
“Did I embarrass myself, Mrs. Hamilton?” he asked, grin playful.
You tilted your head, teasing. “You were very confident for someone who’s never been to that restaurant.”
Franco smirked. “Maybe you and Lewis can take me. You know… show me what all the fuss is about.”
Before you could respond, Lewis reappeared behind him, voice low and amused. “I think you’re pushing your luck, kid.”
Franco looked back, still smiling. “Worth it, though.”
And then he walked away — completely unbothered, waving to the cameras like he hadn’t just flirted with a seven-time world champion in front of international media.
You turned to Lewis, shaking your head with a small laugh. “He’s hopeless.”
Lewis chuckled, slipping an arm around your waist. “Hopeless, yes. But you have to admit—” he grinned, “—he’s a charmer.”
You smiled, leaning into him. “God help us when he actually asks for that dinner.”
Lewis smirked. “I think that was his very, very public approach to it.”
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(ik they are two different colors and yes it is bothering me but i did not want to type everything out again! ignore pls)
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You hadn’t planned on this. Really, you hadn’t.
But after the race — after the chaos, the champagne, the endless teasing from every journalist who replayed that press-conference “pasta” exchange — you couldn’t stop thinking about Franco. He’d driven brilliantly. He’d also managed to make your husband giggle on international television. That alone deserved a medal.
So the next morning, when Lewis left early for a debrief, you found yourself standing outside Franco’s hotel room with two coffees and absolutely no explanation prepared.
The door opened to reveal a very rumpled, very shirtless Franco Colapinto, hair sticking up in seven different directions. He blinked at you once, then twice, as if his brain short-circuited at the sight.
“Mrs. Hamilton?” he asked, voice still heavy with sleep.
You smiled. “Morning, sweetheart. Thought you might need caffeine.”
He straightened instantly, running a hand through his hair, trying to look presentable. “You—uh—you brought me coffee?”
“I did,” you said, handing him one of the cups. “And before you panic, no, you’re not in trouble.”
“That’s… good,” he said, still visibly unsure. “Although now I’m scared I should be in trouble.”
You laughed and brushed past him into the room like you’d done it a hundred times. “Relax, Franco. I’m here because I have plans for you today.”
He blinked again, standing by the door like he wasn’t sure whether to follow you or salute. “Plans? With you?”
“Mm-hmm.” You sipped your coffee, eyeing him over the rim of the cup. “Lewis and I are taking you to dinner.”
His eyes went wide. “Dinner. With… both of you?”
You nodded, entirely unfazed. “You’ve been trying to ask for weeks. Consider this your chance.”
He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I swear I wasn’t trying to—”
“Yes, you were,” you interrupted, smiling sweetly. “But it’s cute when you pretend otherwise.”
That made him grin despite himself. “Okay, fine. But why the early visit?”
“Because,” you said, looking him up and down deliberately, “when you go on a date with the Hamiltons, there’s a certain dress code, precious.”
He choked on his coffee. “Dress code?”
You tilted your head. “You didn’t think I was going to let you show up in one of those Alpine polos, did you?”
He looked down at his joggers and t-shirt, expression caught somewhere between mortified and amused. “I didn’t realize this was a fashion test.”
“Oh, darling,” you said, stepping closer, “everything with me is a fashion test.”
Two hours later, you were both in a high-end boutique tucked away from the main streets. Franco followed you like a slightly disoriented puppy, still adjusting to the way everyone in the store seemed to recognize you immediately — how the attendants appeared as if summoned by invisible strings.
You moved through the racks with purpose, touching fabrics, pulling pieces out with the kind of ease that made Franco realize you did this often.
He watched you hold up a cream linen shirt against him, brows furrowing. “You’re sure about this one?”
“Positive,” you said, smoothing the collar with your fingers. “You have warm undertones — stay away from stark white. Cream softens you.”
He looked a little dazed. “You just… know that off the top of your head?”
“Of course,” you said with a wink. “Comes with being everyone’s favorite Hamilton.”
He laughed, a low, nervous sound that made you smile. “You really don’t have to do this.”
“I want to,” you replied simply. “You’ve been nothing but sweet to Lewis and I. It’s our turn to return the favor.”
He tried to argue again, but you were already shoving him toward the fitting rooms. “Go on, pretty boy. Show me how it looks.”
A few minutes later, he stepped out in the shirt, paired with tailored trousers you’d picked. He looked good — too good, maybe. The sleeves were rolled to his forearms, collar undone just enough to look intentional. You crossed your arms, pretending to inspect critically while a smile tugged at your lips.
“You clean up well,” you said.
Franco ran a hand through his hair again, cheeks pink. “I’m starting to think you could make anyone look good.”
You smirked. “You’d be surprised how many I can’t.”
He laughed, finally relaxing as you dragged him from one shop to another. Every time he tried to pull out his wallet, you swatted his hand away.
“YN, seriously—”
“No,” you said firmly. “You’re our guest. Let me spoil you.”
“Lewis is going to kill me.”
“Lewis is the one who told me to take you shopping,” you said, pausing to hold up a pair of sunglasses. “Now try these. You’re not arguing with me.”
By the time you left, he had a small mountain of bags in hand and a grin that wouldn’t quit. You walked side by side down the marina, the sun warm on your shoulders, the air filled with the smell of salt and espresso.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said softly after a moment. “I know I joke a lot, but… this means a lot.”
You looked over at him, smiling. “You’re a good kid, Franco. A little too flirty for your own good, but your heart’s in the right place.”
He grinned, bumping his shoulder gently against yours. “You sure it’s not my charm that earned me the invite?”
You arched a brow. “Careful. Keep that up and I’ll tell Lewis you called me charming first.”
He laughed, the sound bright and easy, and you felt the tension melt away entirely. It was sweet — watching him try to impress you both, pretending not to be nervous while clearly buzzing with excitement.
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The hum of the city quiets as the two of you pull into the private hangar, the jet gleaming beneath the afternoon sun. You can’t help but smile when you see Franco beside you in the car—shopping bags piled around his feet, one of them precariously balanced on his knees. He looks like a kid after Christmas, bright-eyed and flushed, his curls a little messy from the day. You’d spoiled him senseless, and the realization has left him bashful in the most endearing way.
He tries to play it cool as the car stops, adjusting his shirt—one you’d picked out for him yourself. “I feel like I’m going to meet royalty,” he mutters under his breath.
You glance at him, teasing. “You are, cariño. My husband is British.”
That earns you a boyish grin, the kind that makes you understand why half the grid has adopted him like a younger brother. “Right. Sir Lewis,” he says dramatically, adjusting his collar.
You roll your eyes as the driver opens your door. “Just don’t trip over yourself trying to flirt, and you’ll be fine.”
Franco scoffs but follows you out, his hand brushing the small of your back like it’s second nature. He’s still nervous, though—eyes darting toward the jet, where the outline of a tall figure is visible through the glass door. “You’re sure about this?” he asks softly as the two of you walk toward the stairs.
You glance at him over your shoulder, your smile both warm and mischievous. “Of course I’m sure. You invited us to dinner, remember?”
He blinks. “I did?”
“That little pasta stunt during the press conference?” you remind him, your voice light and amused. “You’re lucky we took you seriously. Lewis doesn’t usually try new spots.”
Color rises on his cheeks, and he laughs, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I thought you’d forget about that.”
“Oh, darling,” you purr, turning back toward him. “I never forget a man who flirts with my husband in public.”
His jaw drops, caught between embarrassment and laughter. “That’s not fair, you make it sound—”
“Accurate?” you interrupt, and his face breaks into a grin as he groans dramatically.
By the time you reach the base of the stairs, his nerves have softened into something sweeter, calmer. He watches as you climb up, the sweep of your dress catching the light, your ring glinting like it knows it belongs in every camera flash. You reach the top and turn back toward him, your hand resting on the rail.
“Come on, my angel,” you say, tone softening just a little. “We’re going to try that famous pasta you’ve never had.”
He meets your eyes, and for a brief, suspended moment, the world feels quieter—less about glamour, more about something tender. “You mean it?”
“I do,” you whisper, nodding toward the jet where Lewis now stands, the door open, sunlight haloing around him. He looks relaxed, casual even, but the affection in his eyes when he sees you both is unmistakable.
Franco takes a slow breath, then follows you up the steps, his grin returning as he murmurs under his breath, “Alright then… dinner with the Hamiltons.”
Lewis greets him first—ever the gentleman—hand out, smile kind. “Glad you could make it, mate.”
Franco shakes his hand, still holding your shopping bags awkwardly in his other. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he says, and somehow it’s both confident and endearing, his voice just a touch higher than usual.
Lewis chuckles, stepping aside to let you both in. “You look sharp, Franco. YN’s doing, I assume?”
You hum proudly, setting your bag down before sliding onto the cream leather seat beside your husband. “Of course. Can’t have him looking anything less than perfect on our first date.”
Franco nearly chokes on air. “Our what?”
Lewis laughs, rich and warm. “She’s teasing you.”
You tilt your head with a smirk. “Am I?”
And just like that, Franco Colapinto—the grid’s newest heartthrob—looks completely undone. But when Lewis offers him a glass of wine and pats the seat across from you both, he relaxes again, his usual charm creeping back in.
“Alright,” he says with that lopsided grin, “I guess I can handle dinner with the Hamiltons. As long as I get the famous pasta.”
You exchange a knowing glance with Lewis, your fingers finding his under the table. “Oh, you’ll get more than pasta tonight,” you say, your tone playful, a spark in your eyes that makes Franco’s breath catch.
And for the rest of the flight, between the laughter and the easy teasing, you swear you’ve never seen anyone smile the way Franco does when he’s with the two of you—caught somewhere between awe, affection, and absolute infatuation.
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The restaurant glows like it’s waiting just for you. Which, technically, it is — Lewis had it rented out for the night, the tables cleared except for the one near the window overlooking the water. The candles flicker low, their light soft against the marble, catching in the curve of your glass as you swirl the wine in your hand.
Franco’s across from you, still in disbelief. “You really rented the whole place out?” he asks, half-whisper, half-laugh, glancing around the empty space like it’s a dream.
Lewis smirks beside you, one arm resting lazily along the back of your chair. “You said you wanted to try the pasta. We don’t like waiting for tables.”
That earns a snort from you and a quiet grin from Franco, who shakes his head and leans back in his seat. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or terrified.”
“Both is fine,” you hum, propping your chin on your hand. “You look nice when you’re a little scared.”
He laughs, the sound a little too breathless, and for a moment you catch him watching the way Lewis’s hand idly brushes your shoulder, the way his thumb strokes the bare skin there. You can see the flicker of something in his expression — admiration, curiosity, maybe a touch of longing.
“You two,” Franco says finally, shaking his head with a grin that borders on awe. “You’re… ridiculous. Like, another level of ridiculous.”
“Is that jealousy I hear?” Lewis teases, sipping his wine.
“Maybe a little,” Franco admits. “But mostly I’m wondering if you’ll ever let me in on your secret.”
You tilt your head. “Which one?”
“How you make everyone around you feel like they’ve walked into your orbit,” he says softly, the words slipping out before he seems to realize he’s said them.
The compliment hangs in the air. For a moment, even the background music seems to fade. Lewis smiles — that knowing, quietly amused smile that always says I’m watching, and I’m enjoying this more than I should.
“Careful, Colapinto,” he murmurs. “You sound like you’re trying to charm my wife.”
Franco grins, unbothered. “Would it work?”
You laugh, light and genuine, a sound that makes him grin wider. “You’re doing better than most.”
Dinner flows easily after that — laughter, teasing, shared bites of food across the table. At one point, Lewis leans forward to offer Franco a piece of dessert on his fork, and the younger driver hesitates just a heartbeat too long before taking it, eyes darting between you both.
“Good?” Lewis asks, his tone innocent but his smile anything but.
Franco swallows, cheeks slightly flushed. “Very.”
When the night winds down, the air feels thicker — not awkward, but alive. Every brush of a hand, every shared glance carries that undercurrent of something unnamed. You can feel it buzzing beneath your skin as the three of you step into the quiet night air outside.
The villa is just a few steps away, small and warm and impossibly beautiful — lights low, the scent of lavender and salt drifting through open doors. Franco stops at the threshold, hesitating like he’s not sure if he’s allowed.
You turn back to him, smile soft. “Come on, love. You’ve already survived dinner with us.”
Lewis adds with a smirk, “Barely.”
Franco laughs, following you in, running a nervous hand through his hair. “I didn’t realize dinner came with a second act.”
You glance at him over your shoulder, voice a low hum. “You didn’t read the fine print.”
He grins at that, the last of his shyness melting into the room’s warmth. Inside, the three of you end up near the large windows overlooking the water, the view painted in moonlight. You pour another glass of wine for each of you, your fingers brushing his when you hand him his.
He doesn’t move away. Neither do you.
Lewis watches the two of you from his seat on the couch — calm, confident, but his gaze sharp, amused, intrigued. You can feel him studying the energy crackling between you and Franco, the silent curiosity in every shared look.
Franco shifts closer, his voice quieter now, his tone softer. “You two really do make it hard not to fall a little bit in love.”
You can’t help but laugh, eyes catching Lewis’s. “He’s smooth when he wants to be, huh?”
“I suppose so,” Lewis agrees, his voice a low rumble.
Franco’s grin turns lopsided. “Then maybe I’m in the right company.”
And just like that — it’s there. That suspended moment where the three of you are caught in the same breath, the same spark. You can almost feel the static in the air, warm and dizzying, each of you waiting to see who moves first.
Lewis doesn’t break the spell — he just tips his glass toward the two of you with that signature, knowing smile. “To good pasta,” he says.
You raise yours too, eyes flicking between the two men who’ve somehow managed to tangle your night into something you didn’t expect. “And even better company.”
Franco’s glass clinks softly against yours, his eyes holding yours a second too long, and when Lewis’s hand finds your knee beneath the table, that teasing warmth returns — unspoken, inviting, a promise of something that might just last beyond tonight.
The laughter comes back, easy and light again — but the electricity doesn’t fade.
And later, when you’re sitting between them, the sound of the sea outside and the low hum of conversation wrapping around you, it’s clear: whatever this is, none of you are ready to let it end just yet.
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ynhamilton
liked by francolapinto, lewishamilton, alexandrasaintmleux and 11,000,000 others.
ynhamilton : off the grid 🗺️🩵🤍
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The sun was just starting to dip when you slipped out of the Ferrari garage, the humid air already clinging to your skin. After the race, the energy had been electric, the crowd still buzzing, and now you had a little mission of your own. You were headed to Alpine’s motorhome to fetch Franco — and you had a very special plan in mind.
By the time you arrived, he was perched on a bench outside, headphones in, watching the mechanics clean up the garage, looking impossibly relaxed for someone who’d just driven a spectacular race. At least, relaxed until he saw you approaching.
“Mrs. Hamilton,” he said, mock saluting, but his grin betrayed him. “What can I do for you, hermosa?”
You leaned against the doorframe, pretending to think. “Depends,” you said, voice light. “Do you want to come with me and Lewis? There might be a little… surprise waiting for you.”
His eyebrows shot up. “A surprise? For me?”
“Yes,” you said, smiling. “You’re coming. No excuses. And don’t even try to act like you don’t want to.”
He stood, brushing at his hair, that nervous energy curling into his usual smirk. “Alright, alright, I’m intrigued. But what did I do to deserve—”
“You did nothing,” you interrupted, stepping close. “That’s the point. You just… exist. That’s enough.”
He blinked at you, caught between flattery and disbelief, before finally shrugging. “Well… if it’s you two, I guess I can’t refuse.”
The drive to the private jet was filled with the kind of teasing banter that had become routine between the three of you. Franco kept trying to figure out where you were taking him, while you and Lewis exchanged quiet smirks in the front seat. Every time Franco tried to guess, you’d shake your head or laugh, and his curiosity only grew.
Once aboard the jet, he sank into one of the plush seats, staring out the window as the engines hummed to life. The tension in his posture had softened, but his eyes still darted between you and Lewis, half-wondering what had been planned.
“You two are terrible at keeping secrets,” he finally said, voice low and amused.
“We like it that way,” Lewis replied easily, reaching over to squeeze your hand under the table in the cabin.
You leaned back, letting the soft hum of the jet and the golden light streaming through the windows wash over him. “Close your eyes,” you said softly, a grin tugging at your lips. “We’ll let you know when you can open them.”
Franco groaned playfully but obeyed, covering his eyes with both hands like a child. “I’m not sure I trust you.”
“Good,” you murmured. “That’s part of the fun.”
When the jet touched down, the sky was a gradient of gold and rose over the turquoise lagoon. Franco’s curiosity had peaked, and he half-ran, half-walked to the stairs as you led the way to the villa. His jaw dropped the moment you stepped inside.
The villa was spectacular — wide open spaces with glass walls, a pool that shimmered like liquid sapphire, and just beyond, the endless beach and sparkling water. Lanterns and candles were set up along the deck, and soft music floated from hidden speakers.
Franco spun in a slow circle, hands in the air, eyes wide. “What… what is this?”
You stepped closer, brushing his shoulder gently. “You think we forgot your birthday?”
The realization hit him, and for a moment, he was speechless, staring between you and Lewis as if the world had folded into something magical. “You… you did all this?”
“Yes,” you said softly. “Because you deserve it.”
Lewis stepped beside you, hand on your waist, giving Franco a small, knowing smile. “And we’re just getting started, mate.”
Franco’s grin was shy now, a little awed, and he shook his head. “I… I don’t know what to say. This is… insane. Beautiful. I—”
You took his hand, squeezing it lightly. “You don’t have to say anything,” you said. “Just enjoy it. That’s all we want.”
The three of you spent the evening wandering down to the beach, the sand soft beneath your feet, the horizon ablaze with the fading sun. Franco kept glancing between you and Lewis, a blush warming his cheeks every time your fingers brushed his or Lewis teased him.
You walked along the waterline, the waves gently lapping at your ankles. Franco fell into step beside you, still a little hesitant, still very much caught in the magic of it all. “I can’t believe this,” he murmured.
“Believe it,” you said softly, letting your hand graze his arm, warm and reassuring. “You’ve earned it.”
Lewis came up behind the two of you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you leaned into him. “Look at him,” you whispered, nodding toward Franco. “He’s genuinely speechless. That’s a first.”
Franco turned his gaze toward you both, grin spreading slowly, eyes shining. “You two… you’re insane. But I’ve never felt anything like this.”
You laughed, soft and musical, brushing hair out of his face. “You deserve to feel it.”
He let out a breathy laugh, leaning slightly closer.
For a while, you walked like that, three of you in a quiet bubble, the sun setting behind the mountains, the soft waves tickling your toes, and the villa’s lights glowing softly behind. No words were needed beyond soft laughter, teasing remarks, and the occasional brush of fingers.
And as night fell, the stars reflecting in the water, it felt infinite — like a secret the three of you were sharing, golden and perfect, a birthday memory Franco would never forget.
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The yacht rocks gently in the turquoise waves, sun high overhead and painting the deck in warm gold. You stretch your arms above your head, letting the soft breeze tangle in your hair, and glance down at Franco lying with his head in your lap. He’s sprawled across the cushioned lounge like he owns the world, shades tipped low over his eyes, that lazy, blissful smile of his making your chest tighten with something like fondness and amusement all at once. You reach out and start playing with his hair lightly.
“Careful with my hair,” he murmurs, voice low, half-asleep and half-playful.
You laugh softly, fingers threading through his curls. “I’m not messing it up. I’m just… enhancing it,” you say, teasing. “You know, giving it that perfectly tousled, ‘ruined in the best way’ look.”
“Yeah, it’s working,” he mutters, eyes fluttering closed. “You’re a magician.”
You hum, dipping a slice of mango into your mouth and then leaning down to feed him the next piece. His lips part just enough, eyes meeting yours with that soft, curious glance that makes your heart do a little flip. “See? You taste better than I imagined.”
He laughs quietly, muffled against your palm, and you can’t resist brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “I can’t with you, Colapinto,” you whisper.
“Yeah, well, you’re the one feeding me fruit, Mrs. Hamilton,” he teases, and you flick a bit of juice at him with your finger. He flicks it back immediately, but his eyes are warm, the corners crinkling with laughter.
You pause for a moment just to look at him — the way the sunlight catches his skin, the carefree tilt of his head in your lap, the subtle blush that still lingers from the past few days of surprises. Your fingers brush over his temple, and he sighs softly, leaning closer without words.
“So,” he murmurs after a moment, “what are we even doing today? Just… floating around like this forever?”
You laugh, leaning back a little so he can see the sparkling horizon. “Pretty much. Unless Lewis decides to drag us into some water sport or challenge.”
“And is that a threat?” he asks, brow raised, a playful glint in his eyes.
You glance over the railing and see Lewis swimming just off the side of the yacht, perfectly at ease, water rippling around him as he waves.
And then back to Franco, lying back down with his head returning to your lap, shades sliding slightly. You brush his hair back, your fingers tracing his scalp gently. The conversation drifts, soft and unhurried: movies, racing stories, small confessions, laughter spilling easily over the waves. Every now and then, you feed him a slice of fruit, and every now and then, he catches your hand and squeezes it, eyes locking on yours just long enough to make your heart swell.
The day carries on like this — sun warming your skin, the gentle rocking of the boat, the faint sound of seagulls overhead. Then, one of the yacht’s chefs appears from below deck, carrying a small, perfectly decorated birthday cake. Franco’s head pops up immediately, eyes wide.
“What—what’s that?” he asks, voice half-laughing, half-incredulous.
You grin, brushing the edge of his sunglasses up so he can see. “Happy birthday, precioso. Thought you might need a little sugar with your sunshine.”
Lewis swims up alongside the yacht just as the chef sets the cake on the table. He clambers aboard gracefully, hair wet and glistening, and kneels beside Franco. “Happy birthday, mate,” he says warmly.
Franco laughs, cheeks flushed, and you move close, brushing his shoulder. “Make a wish,” you whisper, leaning close enough that he can feel your warmth.
Together, you and Lewis start the song, voices soft but joyful, the breeze carrying the melody across the water. Franco joins in after a beat, laughing into the words, eyes darting between the two of you as he shakes his head in disbelief and delight.
When the last note fades, Lewis leans back, giving Franco a mock bow. “There, officially spoiled.”
Franco’s grin is wide, shy, and completely genuine. “You… you didn’t have to do all this.”
“Yes, we did,” you say softly, brushing a strand of wet hair from his forehead. “Because you’re worth it.”
He swallows, voice low, almost breathless. “I… I’ve never had a birthday like this.”
“You deserve it,” Lewis murmurs, nudging him gently.
You reach down to play with his hair again, and he leans into your touch, relaxed and content. The three of you sit there for a while after, sipping drinks, sharing small bites of cake, laughing at little jokes, and watching the golden sun shimmer across the water. The world feels quiet, suspended in a warm bubble that exists just for you three.
Finally, Franco lets out a soft sigh, resting his head back in your lap. “I don’t think I want to ever leave this spot,” he murmurs.
You smile down at him, brushing a gentle hand over his hair. “Then stay a little longer,” you whisper.
Lewis leans closer, wrapping a hand around your waist while the other rests near Franco, and together, the three of you watch the sun sink into the horizon, golden light washing over everything, the waves lapping at the hull, and the air filled with laughter, warmth, and quiet, perfect happiness.
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The first hint of light slips over the horizon, soft and golden, painting the sky in pale pinks and oranges. The air is cool, crisp with the freshness of morning, and the gentle sound of waves lapping against the shore makes the world feel hushed, almost sacred. Lewis had left early for his morning run, leaving the two of you alone on the quiet stretch of sand near the villa.
You tug at the hem of your swimsuit, the breeze ruffling your hair, and glance down at Franco. He’s still half-asleep, wrapped in a towel that’s barely doing anything to hide the way his eyes keep fluttering open to look at you. His grin is lazy, teasing, but there’s a softness behind it, a vulnerability he rarely lets anyone see.
“You awake, or should I drag you into the water by force?” you tease, crouching slightly to brush a strand of hair from his forehead.
“I’m awake,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep, though the lilt of amusement is unmistakable. “I’m just… enjoying the view.”
You roll your eyes, smirking. “Smooth. Real smooth.”
He shifts closer, brushing against your leg as he stands, water sparkling at the tips of his toes. “I’ve got a feeling the water’s going to feel incredible,” he says, and the way he says it makes you laugh softly.
“Then we better see if it lives up to the hype,” you reply, taking his hand and leading him toward the shallow surf. The water is cool against your skin, a gentle shock that makes you shiver and laugh at the same time. Franco joins you, toes digging into the soft sand beneath the clear waves, and suddenly it’s just the two of you — the sunrise painting the ocean gold and the world still asleep around you.
He watches you, a little too intently, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “You’re beautiful in this light,” he says quietly, and for a moment, the air seems to hang heavy between you.
You stop, letting the water rise to your waist, and meet his gaze. “Franco…” you murmur, fingers brushing his cheek. “Don’t overthink this.”
“I’m not…” he starts, but his voice falters, the vulnerability in his eyes betraying him.
You lean closer, closing the distance, and brush your lips softly against his. It’s a quick, gentle kiss, but enough to make him catch his breath. His eyes go wide.
“I—YN—” he stammers, flustered, almost panicking in the sweetest, most endearing way.
You laugh softly, cupping his face in your hands. “Shh,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss him again, slower this time, soft and reassuring. “It’s okay, love. You wouldn’t be here with us if you couldn’t do this.”
His hands tentatively find your waist, and he leans into you, exhaling a shaky laugh. “I didn’t think… I mean… I wasn’t expecting—”
“I know,” you murmur, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “No one expects magic like this. But you’re safe. You’re wanted. And we both want this — all of it, with you.”
He blinks at you, eyes shining, before letting out a small laugh, a mix of relief and disbelief. “I can’t believe this is real. That I’m here. With… you guys.”
“And you’re here with me,” you reply softly, tilting your forehead to rest against his. “And soon, Lewis will be back, and we’ll have the whole morning to ourselves. But right now… it’s just us.”
He swallows, voice low and awed. “You make it too easy to fall for you.”
“Good,” you murmur with a teasing smile. “Because I don’t plan on letting you forget it.”
The two of you stay like that for a while, floating in the shallow water, leaning against each other, sharing quiet laughter and small, tender touches. Every brush of fingers, every laugh, every gentle kiss lingers in the soft morning light, golden and warm.
Eventually, Franco’s hand finds yours, interlacing fingers with yours as you tread water together, eyes locked in a silent, unspoken understanding. “You really think… we can all do this?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
You tilt your head, brushing your nose against his cheek. “We already are,” you reply. “And I wouldn’t change a thing.”
Behind you, the sun climbs higher, turning the sky to brilliant gold, the waves shimmering around you, and for a moment, it feels like the world exists only for the three of you — the adventure, the laughter, the gentle teasing, and the warmth that threads between your heart and Franco’s in a quiet, perfect intimacy.
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The sky is a riot of gold and pink as the sun dips toward the horizon, casting the sand and water in soft, molten light. You and Lewis have spent the late afternoon preparing, sneaking around the villa, arranging candles and lanterns along the edge of the beach, and setting a small table with crisp white linens and polished silverware. The soft hum of waves forms a perfect soundtrack, and the scent of salt and blooming tropical flowers wraps around you like a warm blanket.
Franco emerges from the villa, drying his hair with a towel, sunglasses perched atop his head. He freezes for a moment at the sight before him, eyes wide, and then grins slowly. “What… what is this?”
You brush past him, hands on his shoulders, grinning. “Dinner on the beach.”
Lewis steps beside you, slipping an arm around your waist, and Franco’s gaze flickers between the two of you. “You…did this for me? The whole beach?”
“Not the whole beach,” Lewis teases, tone low and amused. “Just the part we need for the three of us.”
His eyes widen, then soften, heart evidently racing. “Three of us?”
You glance at Lewis, a playful spark in your eyes, and he smiles knowingly, squeezing your waist gently. “You ready for the real surprise?”
Franco hesitates, looking from you to Lewis, then back again, a mixture of excitement and nervousness curling in his chest. “I… I think so,” he says softly.
You take his hand in yours, guiding him toward the table, your fingers warm and steady against his. “Franco,” you murmur, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. “We want this. Both of us, together, with you.”
He blinks, heart skipping a beat. “Wait… seriously?”
“Yes,” Lewis says, voice gentle, low, and steady. “We’ve been… talking, thinking, and we both agreed. You’re important to us — more than a friend, more than a flirt.” He smiles softly. “We want you with us, officially.”
The sand feels soft beneath your toes as Franco swallows, looking between the two of you. There’s a moment of silence, just the three of you breathing, the sun spilling gold across the waves. Then he grins, laughter bubbling out, a mix of disbelief, relief, and joy. “Are you serious?”
“We have never been more serious,” you say teasingly, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “Do you want a second to process, or can we skip straight to the part where you say yes?”
He shakes his head quickly, voice catching with emotion. “No. I… yes. I would love that. I… I want that.”
Lewis grins, tugging you closer as you both slip an arm around Franco. “Good. Because it’s official now,” he murmurs.
You laugh softly, leaning your forehead against his. “We’ve been waiting for the right moment to tell you. I just… wanted it to feel like magic.”
“Well,” Franco whispers, voice low, awed, “it feels like… everything. Like a dream.”
A waiter steps forward with the first course, a delicate platter that gleams in the golden light. Franco’s hands are slightly trembling, but he reaches for his fork, still smiling like he can’t quite believe this is happening.
The three of you eat slowly, talking and laughing, fingers brushing occasionally, small touches charged with intimacy. The sun dips lower, leaving streaks of pink and purple across the sky, and lanterns flicker along the sand, casting a soft glow over all of you.
When the last plate is cleared, Lewis stands, taking Franco’s hand gently. “We wanted to end this night perfectly,” he murmurs. “So…” He gestures toward the sand just ahead, where a small fire pit has been lit, candles circling the edge. “We can stay here, just the three of us. Watch the stars, listen to the ocean, and… talk, if we want. Or just sit close.”
Franco’s eyes shine in the candlelight, and he squeezes your hand, leaning slightly into your side. “I think… I think I’d like that very much.”
You pull him down to sit beside you, the sand warm beneath you, and Lewis settles next to you on the other side. Your hands meet across Franco’s lap, fingers entwining, and you feel his pulse, quick but steady.
The night stretches on like golden honey, soft laughter and teasing glances flowing between the three of you. Franco leans into you every now and then, brushing a hand over your arm, laughing quietly when Lewis nudges him, teasing him about being “spoiled already.”
You lean back against Lewis, letting Franco’s head rest on your shoulder for a moment, and he murmurs softly, “I can’t believe… this. I’ve never felt anything like this.”
“You’re supposed to,” you whisper, brushing your fingers through his hair. “And now you do.”
Lewis squeezes your waist, voice low and warm. “Welcome to us, mate. Officially.”
Franco’s grin is shy, awed, completely disarmed. “I… I can’t believe I get to be part of this.”
You laugh softly, heart swelling as the waves lap at the shore and the stars begin to prick the sky above. “You are, angel. You’re officially ours.”
And in that soft, golden light, on that quiet stretch of sand with the ocean whispering just for the three of you, it feels like the world has folded perfectly around you — full of warmth, laughter, and the quiet, unspoken promise of everything to come.
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francolapinto
liked by ynhamilton, lewishamilton, lando and 2,000,000 others.
francolapinto : this is your sign to NEVER STOP YEARNING. and now i can be freely be horny on the main and my team can’t stop me!!!!!!!!! los amo a los dos ❤️
tagged : ynhamtilon & lewishamilton
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You step into the paddock, and it’s like the world slows down for a second. Engines rumble, cameras click, mechanics hustle—but none of that matters. What matters is the three of you: you, perfectly composed and glowing; Lewis, calm and amused as always, the subtle tease in his eyes for only you to see; and Franco, striding slightly behind, grinning like he’s just won the universe.
Heads turn immediately. Whispers ripple through the crowd. Phones subtly lift to snap photos. You can feel the collective awe, the quiet disbelief that Franco’s relentless flirting… actually worked.
“Wait… is that them?” someone murmurs near the Ferrari garage.
“No way. He actually did it,” another voice replies. “Colapinto? Seriously?”
Franco, noticing your gaze, leans into your side, brushing your hand lightly with his. “I can hear them,” he murmurs, half-laughing, eyes twinkling. “They’re all talking about me.”
You nudge him with your hip, grinning. “And you? You pulled it off without even breaking a sweat.”
Lewis tilts his head at him, smirking. “I knew he had it in him… didn’t expect him to be this bold.”
Franco quirks an eyebrow. “Bold? Me? Never.”
As you walk, the flashes from photographers sparkle like tiny fireworks around the three of you. Franco’s grin broadens when someone gasps audibly nearby. Lando is trying and failing to hide a shocked grin behind his hands; Kimi mutters something to George, clearly flustered.
You glance at Lewis. “Look at him,” you whisper. “He’s… glowing.”
Lewis laughs softly. “He knows exactly what he’s doing.”
Franco leans closer, voice low and teasing. “Glowing because I am with the most beautiful people in the paddock.”
You press a quick kiss to his temple. “Worth it?” you murmur.
He catches your gaze, smirk softening just slightly. “Totally worth it,” he replies, before turning his attention to Lewis. “And you, Lewis… not bad either.”
Lewis chuckles, shaking his head. “I don’t even know how to compete with this.”
“You’re not competing,” Franco says, voice playful. “We’re just… excellent together.”
The whispers around you grow. “Did you see that? They’re like a power trio!”
You glance at Lewis, fingers brushing his under your coat. “Well, we always did have good taste,” he murmurs.
Franco leans into your shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief and awe, and you can’t help but think: yes. This, right here, is exactly where you’re meant to be.
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The city lights outside the hotel window shimmer faintly, spilling across the room like tiny stars, but inside, the world feels entirely yours. The light hum of the air unit and the occasional distant honk of traffic are the only sounds. Everything else — the chaos of the paddock, the cameras, the crowds — has melted away.
You’re nestled between Lewis and Franco, the three of you tangled in a perfect, lazy heap under the silky sheets. Franco’s head rests on your chest, his hair tickling your collarbone, and you’re absently brushing your fingers through it, just enough to make him sigh softly. Lewis is pressed against your side, hand draped over your waist, thumb stroking in slow, soothing circles.
Franco murmurs something against your skin, half-laughing, half-yawning. “I can’t believe this… all of this. You two… it’s insane.”
You smile down at him, brushing a gentle kiss across his temple. “It’s real, precioso. You’re here with us. We wanted this — you, us, together.”
He blinks up at you, eyes wide, awed and soft, and you feel your heart squeeze at the vulnerability in him. “I… I never thought I’d be this lucky,” he whispers.
Lewis leans forward, brushing a kiss across your temple and then pressing his lips to Franco’s forehead. “We’re all lucky,” he says quietly. “You’re perfect, Franco. You fit right here, with us.”
Franco’s lips twitch into a shy smile, and then he lifts his head slightly to press a gentle kiss to your cheek. You respond instinctively, leaning down, capturing his lips with yours in a soft, lingering kiss that leaves a warm buzz between you.
Lewis chuckles softly, nuzzling against your shoulder. “You two are adorable,” he teases quietly.
“You too,” Franco murmurs, laughing softly, voice muffled against your chest. “I mean… you’re both incredible. I don’t even know what I did to deserve this.”
You tug him closer, fingers brushing along his jaw as you pepper soft kisses along the curve of his face. “You didn’t have to do anything,” you whisper. “You deserve to be happy, Franco.”
Franco lets out a small laugh, burying his face against you again. “I think that might be my favorite thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
Lewis presses a kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering. “And you’re ours now,” he murmurs. “Officially, completely.”
You smile, looking down at the two of them. Franco lifts his head to meet your eyes, his gaze soft, and you lean forward, kissing him again — gentle, slow, full of warmth and reassurance.
“You’re okay,” you whisper when you pull back slightly, brushing your lips across his forehead. “We’re all okay. And we’re all here, together.”
Franco swallows, voice low and trembling with emotion. “Yeah… together,” he repeats. “I love this. I love you two. I… I love us.”
Lewis wraps an arm around both of you, tugging you close in a snug, perfect hug. “We love you too,” he murmurs, voice full of warmth. “Every little bit of you.”
The three of you settle into the quiet, letting the night stretch around you like a warm blanket. Fingers entwine, lips brush occasionally, soft laughter bubbles out every now and then, and whispers of affection drift through the room.
At some point, Franco curls fully into your side, arms draped loosely around you, and Lewis presses close behind, the three of you forming a tangled, cozy line of warmth.
You kiss the top of Franco’s head softly, then glance at Lewis, who leans down to brush his lips against yours. “Goodnight, my loves,” he murmurs.
“Goodnight,” you whisper back, fingers threading through Franco’s hair one last time before sleep tugs at you.
Franco lifts his head just slightly, a sleepy grin on his face. “Goodnight… to both of you. Thank you. For everything.”
You press one final kiss to his temple, feeling his heartbeat slow against yours. “Always,” you whisper. “Always, cariño.”
The three of you drift into the soft hum of sleep, tangled together, warm and safe, the quiet intimacy of your shared space wrapping around you. Outside, the city continues to move, but inside, the world is golden, still, and perfect — and the three of you are finally home, together.
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