note — short fic since it's been 4 months since my last lewis fic wth... anyways the idea of having wife yn as a recurring character with multiple parts is really appealing to me so let me know if you'd like that !! likes, reblog's and comments are always appreciated ❤
Liked by user1, user2 and 1,579,875 others
F1News Lewis Hamilton reveals he's married in recent interview!
"Since you're moving to another team after 12 seasons with Mercedes what ways have you been trying to get used to wearing red?"
"After it was set in stone that I was going to be joining Ferrari Y/n [L/n] my wife, has been slowly implementing more red into our lives, whether it's a phone case to shoes and even a new living room chair. We've been together for years so with the change of team colors she's trying to get used to it, slowly."
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user1 she's so gorg
user2 so happy for them 😭❤
yourinstagram omg to who??
->user3 GIRL
->user4 THIS IS NEWS TO US!!
->user5 CONGRATS???
user6 Hottest couple
user7 Yayyyyy I love them so much!!!!!
user8 crazy he didn't say she was his wife on the first date 🙄
->yourinstagram ugh #real !!
->yourinstagram he hates me 😔
->lewishamilton right.... i should've said she was my wife before we even met if we're being honest
->yourinstagram self aware king
user9 I WAS WONDERING IF IT WAS HAPPENING SOON, BUT IT ALREADY DID!??!
user10 they deserve nothing but happiness!!!
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Liked by lewishamilton, anyataylorjoy and 6,579,875 others
yourinstagram treats, new nails, binx and roscoe our babies 💌
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user1 THE ROCK!!
user2 i gasped
user3 They are so perfect for each other 😭
user4 GIRL MARRIED???
->yourinstagram lol im so used to it that when i saw people freaking out i was confused 😭
->yourinstagram like ohhhh right y'all didn't know... surprise!!
->user5 YEAH a huge surprise 💀
->user6 i genuinely had to rewind and make sure i heard the word "wife"
user7 you’re so pretty
user8 "new nails" as if we aren't looking at that big ass ring
anyataylorjoy soooooo beautiful ily
->yourinstagram love u sm 🤍
->user9 i've never wanted to be apart of a friend group so bad
->user10 it girl convention every time they hang out
user11 So fab
user12 MOM AND DAD!!!! THEY'RE MARRIED
user13 i feel in love
user14 so this is what witnessing an angel looks like
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Liked by user1, user2 and 3,179,375 others
vanityfair Lewis Hamilton says he didn't mean to reveal marriage to Y/n L/n but he's been wanting to for awhile so it's fine.
"We had talked a bit about how we wanted to tell the world but then months started to pass and we never said anything, we actually had a bet to see who would slip up first and obviously, I lost."
"Asking Y/n to marry me was the easiest choice of my life. Every time we talked or I saw her face it would make my day 10 times better, and it still does. She makes me laugh, when she's not with me im thinking about her whether it's me seeing something and it reminding me of her or just missing her, she's always with me, at least in my mind."
Tap the link in our bio to read more.
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user1 stop that's so sweet i canttt
user2 the idea of them planning to revel their MARRIAGE but then forgetting is killing me 😭
yourinstagram wait im crying 😪
->user3 girl me too
->user4 is he always this romantic ???
->user5 have you seen her? he better be
user6 every time he talks about her it's always the sweetest thing every
user7 keeping it a secret for fun these two... 💀
user8 months is CRAZYYYY i thought maybe a few weeks but wth
user9 Mama e papa
user10 honestly surprised he didn't slip up sooner 😭
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Liked by lewishamilton, anyataylorjoy and 6,579,875 others
yourinstagram 🦌
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user1 that first picture.... my first lady fr
user2 the attractiveness that you both have is kinda too powerful 💥
user3 wake up! an angel just posted!
lewishamilton my wife ❤
->yourinstagram 🤭
->user4 OUR WIFE*
->user5 okay he's just bragging now
->user6 girl i'd brag too 😭
user7 sweetest girl!!!
user8 omg u look seriously perfect.
user9 u both r so baby doe
->yourinstagram 🙂↕️
user10 so glad they know about the doe eye agenda im pushing liked by yourinstagram !
user11 wohooo so prettyy
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✎…… wife yn that is in the comments of lewis edits is really funny to me
lewis hamilton x !max/charles childhood bff reader
you’ve spent your whole life surrounded by racing — max and charles being your childhood best friends, the brothers you never had, even if they still fight over who you love more. now at twenty-eight, you’ve built a name for yourself far away from the track, walking runways and gracing magazine covers as one of the world’s most sought-after supermodels. but the paddock has always been home, no matter how far you travel. then, at a party, you meet lewis hamilton. he’s kind, magnetic, and makes you laugh in a way that feels rare and easy. you feel it instantly, that spark everyone talks about — but he’s hesitant, cautious after so long on his own. that’s when the fun begins: your best friends, the entire grid, and especially those mischievous rookies take it upon themselves to play cupid. because for once, it’s not about lap times or championships — it’s about making sure you and lewis find your way to each other.
requested? yes!
original request here.
fc : cindy kimberly (a/n : this one is a long one, i apologize for the spacing towards the end!)
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yourusername
liked by alexandrasaintmleux, lewishamilton, charles_leclerc and 4,700,000 others.
yourusername : vegas babyyyyy🎰🍒❤️🔥
tagged : alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc and maxverstappen1
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alexandrasaintmleux : my fave partner in crime 💋 love you forever
liked by yourusername and charles_leclerc
↳ yourusername : my angel 🌹♥️ you have my heart always
liked by alexandrasaintmleux
↳ username00 : alexandrayn is more iconic than lestappen i fear
↳ yourusername : duhhhh
↳ alexandrasaintmleux : agreed
↳ maxverstappen1 : rude but true
liked by alexandrasaintmleux and yourusername
maxverstappen1 : still upset you ended up in the ferrari garage this time but so happy you came. missed you, schat
liked by yourusername and charles_leclerc
↳ charles_leclerc : she was at red bull last time! it was only fair that she was with us this weekend.
liked by yourusername and maxverstappen1
↳ yourusername : sharing is caring boys
liked by maxverstappen1 and charles_leclerc
↳ maxverstappen1 : blah blah blah. i get you next race though.
liked by yourusername
↳ username7 : max and charles still fighting over yn like they did as kids is taking me out. I LOVE THEM YOUR HONOR
↳ yourusername : they are just full size kids. they never actually grew up 🤨
liked by charles_leclerc and maxverstappen1
lilymhe : ugh i’m obsessed with YOUUUU 😻
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : my girl 🥰 I LOVE YOUUUU
liked by lilymhe
iamrebeccad : gorgeous as ever 😍
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : says youuuu💋
scuderiaferrari : we are so glad whiskers liked what we sent over! so happy to have you both 🐈❤️💛
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : mwah mwah (fix charles’ car or else)
liked by charles_leclerc
↳ yourusername : and lewis’
liked by lewishamilton
↳ scuderiaferrari : on it ! 🫡
lewishamilton : So thrilled to have finally met you, beautiful. Red has never looked so good ❤️
liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, kimi.antonelli and isackhadjar
↳ yourusername : so great to finally meet you!!! and i could argue that red looks just as good if not better on you;)
liked by lewishamilton and charles_leclerc
↳ maxverstappen1 : i give it two weeks before he’s in love
liked by charles_leclerc
↳ kimi.antonelli : bold of you to assume it would take that long
↳ olliebearman : we can speedrun it
↳ isackhadjar : the plan starts now
↳ gabrielbortoleto_ : do we tell them or..???
↳ charles_leclerc : do NOT tell. mouths sealed rookies.
↳ yourusername : plotting in my comment section.
username001 : lewis in love arc pls?????
bellahadid : so in love with you ⭐️
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : miss you so bad bells🤍
username05 : her friendship with max and charles will always be endgame for me. they always show up for her and she always shows up for them
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : my boys 💕🥲
liked by maxverstappen1 and charles_leclerc
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The moment your heels hit the marble floor of the Vegas airport, you already feel the energy — loud, glittering, chaotic in the way only this city can be. Cameras flash as you step outside, but you’re used to it by now. Oversized sunglasses, a fur lined jacket draped perfectly over your shoulders, and a sleek black carry on — you look every bit the supermodel the world knows. But right now, you’re not a model. You’re just the girl who’s about to surprise her two best friends in the world — Charles and Max.
You’ve been planning this for weeks. Charles thinks you’re still in Milan, busy with a shoot. Max thinks you’re flying to Tokyo next. Neither of them has any idea that you’re here, in Vegas, the weekend before the race — their race. You’re tired from the flight, but the second you step into the hotel lobby where most of the drivers are staying, the adrenaline kicks in.
You text Charles first.
“Where are you?”
It takes him five minutes to reply.
“At the track. Why?”
You grin, slipping your sunglasses higher up your nose.
“No reason.”
You leave your things with the hotel staff who kindly take them up to your room and you start exploring the city. You find the paddock before either of them can suspect a thing. The crew looks stunned as you walk in, the desert sun hitting your hair just right. Max is standing with Laurent and Yuki, laughing about something when he hears his name being shouted from across the garage.
“Max Emilian!”
He turns — and freezes. For a split second, his expression is pure disbelief. Then his mouth breaks into the widest grin you’ve seen all year.
“No way!” he says, his accent thick with laughter as he rushes toward you. “You said you were in Japan!”
You open your arms, laughing as he lifts you off the ground and spins you around. “Surprise!”
Charles appears seconds later, expression caught between confusion and joy. “What are you doing here?!” he exclaims in his soft, accented voice, hugging you tightly once Max sets you down.
“I missed you idiots,” you tease. “And I thought… why not Vegas?”
“Vegas,” Max repeats, still grinning. “You are going to regret saying that.”
By the time the day winds down, you’re lounging in their suite, catching up on everything you’ve missed. Charles insists on showing you the deck of cards someone made with his face on them, and Max won’t stop laughing about it. It feels good — grounding — being with them again. You’ve all known each other since childhood, long before the fame, the money, the pressure.
When evening hits, Charles glances at his phone and then back at you. “There’s a party tonight. You should come with us.”
Max nods. “Even I’m going. Everyone will be there. You’ll love it.”
You grin. “Fine. But only because I have the perfect outfit.”
Hours later, the hotel suite smells like perfume and hairspray. Your red dress hugs your frame perfectly, your lipstick a matching shade that could kill a man on sight. Charles whistles dramatically when you step out, and Max groans.
“You’re going to make everyone forget how to speak,” Max mutters.
“That’s the goal,” you reply, grabbing your clutch.
The party is chaos — champagne glasses clinking, music pulsing, every corner filled with familiar faces. You’ve been to countless events, but there’s something electric in the air tonight. Maybe it’s the city. Maybe it’s the people. Or maybe it’s him.
Lewis Hamilton.
You don’t even notice him at first — not until you feel eyes on you. When you turn, he’s standing by the bar, in an all black Dior suit, expression soft but curious. He’s been in the sport forever, someone you’ve admired from afar but never properly met. Until now.
Charles notices the way your gaze lingers and smirks. “Oh, no,” he says under his breath. “I see that look.”
“Don’t,” you warn playfully, but Max is already grinning.
“Go on then,” he says, nudging you forward. “Say hi.”
You roll your eyes but make your way to the bar anyway. Lewis watches you approach, a small, knowing smile on his lips.
“YN LN,” he says before you can introduce yourself. “Stunning as ever.”
You laugh softly, a blush appearing on your face. “That’s one way to describe me.”
He offers his hand, and when your fingers touch, it’s like the world shrinks for a moment — the noise fading into the background. His voice is smooth, his gaze steady, and conversation flows as if you’ve known each other for years. You talk about travel, music, fashion, racing — everything and nothing all at once.
Hours pass without either of you noticing. You find yourselves tucked into a quiet corner of the balcony, the neon lights of the Vegas strip reflecting in his eyes. He’s kind, charming, and impossibly grounded — a contrast to the chaos surrounding you.
When he laughs, it’s soft, genuine. When he looks at you, it feels like he sees you.
“This is dangerous,” you tease lightly.
He raises an eyebrow. “How so?”
“I just met you and I’m already blushing and fumbling over my words.”
He smiles, tilting his glass toward yours. “Then I guess I’m doing something right.”
You clink glasses, the sound sharp against the night air. Inside, you can see Max and Charles watching through the window — Max smirking like a proud brother, Charles pretending to scold him for staring.
And somewhere across the room, four rookies — Kimi, Ollie, Isack, and Gabriel — are definitely plotting something. Whispering to each other, glancing your way, their expressions suspiciously smug.
But you don’t notice. You can’t notice anything but him. Because right now, it’s just you and Lewis under the Vegas sky — two souls who weren’t supposed to meet but did. And maybe, just maybe, this is where everything changes.
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The morning light in Vegas is soft but unforgiving — the kind that makes everything look a little too bright, a little too real after a night that felt like a dream. You’re sitting in the hotel restaurant, oversized sunglasses on, nursing a coffee that’s stronger than any reasonable human should drink, when Charles drops into the chair across from you with his signature smirk.
“So,” he begins, dragging the word out, “how was your night?”
You don’t even look up. “Fine.”
Max, sitting beside him, snorts into his orange juice. “Fine?” he repeats, voice dripping with disbelief. “That’s all you have to say after spending half the night on the balcony with Lewis Hamilton?”
You lower your sunglasses just enough to glare at him. “You two are quite literally insane.”
Charles grins, clearly enjoying himself far too much. “We’re just asking! You disappeared for hours, and when you finally came back inside, Lewis looked like a man who had just seen heaven.”
You nearly choke on your coffee. “Charles!”
He laughs, proud of himself. “I’m just saying what everyone was thinking.”
Max leans forward, resting his chin in his hand. “He was smiling, you know. Lewis is kind but he doesn’t smile like that for just anyone.”
You groan, setting your mug down. “Can we not turn this into a press conference?”
“Oh, we already did,” Charles teases. “Alexandra’s been taking notes for the post race gossip debrief.”
As if on cue, Alexandra appears, sliding into the seat next to Charles, wearing an all red outfit that could easily rival yours from last night. She kisses Charles’ cheek and gives you a knowing grin.
“So,” she says sweetly, “when are we inviting Lewis to dinner?”
You throw a napkin at her. “Not you too!”
But she just laughs, looping her arm through Charles’. “You looked happy, chérie. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you smile like that.”
You soften a little at that. Because she’s right. It had felt different. Lewis wasn’t just charming — he was warm, kind, patient in a way that made you feel seen. You’d spent hours just talking, the two of you tucked away from the chaos of the party, laughing until you forgot where you were.
And the way he looked at you — like he wasn’t seeing the supermodel, the friend of his teammate, but you.
You shake your head quickly, trying to hide the tiny smile creeping onto your lips. “We just talked.”
Charles gasps dramatically. “Just talked?! I didn’t realize that’s what the kids are calling flirting these days.”
Max groans, slumping in his chair. “I can’t do this. I’m losing brain cells.”
“Good,” you shoot back. “Then we should stop because you didn’t have many to start with.”
That earns a round of laughter, and for a moment, it feels like you’re all kids again — teasing, bickering, loud in that familiar way only best friends can be.
Eventually, Charles glances at the time and stands. “Alright, we should get going. I need to be in the garage before briefing.”
You nod, finishing the last of your coffee. “Mind if I tag along? I believe I am due in the Ferrari garage this time.”
Charles’ face lights up. “Of course! Come with us.”
The Ferrari garage is a burst of red and noise when you arrive — the hum of engines, the chatter of engineers, the smell of oil and heat. You walk beside Charles and Alexandra, waving at familiar faces as you go. It’s always felt like home here, even after all the years away.
And then you see him.
Lewis is standing near the pit wall, suit half zipped, hair tied back, deep in conversation with one of the engineers. He looks up when he hears Charles’ voice — and the moment his eyes find yours, his whole expression softens.
“Morning,” he says, that low, velvet smooth tone doing unspeakable things to your heart.
You smile, stepping closer. “Morning, Lewis.”
Charles claps a hand on Lewis’ shoulder. “You two remember each other from last night?”
Lewis laughs, looking at him. “Hard to forget.” His gaze flicks back to you, and there’s something playful there now — something that makes your chest feel too small.
“Big day?” you ask, motioning to the garage.
He nods. “Always. But Vegas has its own… energy.”
You grin. “That’s one way to put it.”
He tilts his head slightly, like he’s studying you. “You staying for the race?”
“Of course,” you reply. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Charles groans dramatically behind you. “Oh great. Now he has extra motivation.”
Lewis just smiles, unbothered. “Guess I’ll have to put on a good show then.”
The teasing fades into background noise as the two of you keep talking — small things, little jokes, the kind of easy banter that comes naturally when something clicks. You can feel Alexandra’s grin burning into your back as she watches from behind Charles, and even he looks amused, pretending not to notice how you and his teammate are smiling at each other like teenagers.
When the engineers start ushering the drivers into their meeting, Lewis glances down at you one last time.
“Wish me luck?” he asks softly.
You bite back a smile, stepping closer. “Good luck, Lewis,” you murmur. “Not that you’ll need it.”
His lips twitch, like he’s fighting a grin. “I’ll take all the luck I can get — especially if it’s from you.”
Charles groans again, covering his ears. “Okay, that’s enough romance for the morning.”
You laugh, waving Lewis off as he walks with his engineers, and he gives you one last look before he is out of sight — a silent promise in his eyes, something you can’t quite name yet.
Max appears beside you, holding a Red Bull and wearing that signature mischievous smirk.
“So,” he says, voice raised over the sound, “are we planning the wedding now or later?”
You elbow him in the side, grinning despite yourself. “Shut up, Max.”
He chuckles, glancing toward Lewis’s car. “He’s already looking at you like you’re his lucky charm.”
And as the lights begin to glow on the starting grid, you can’t help but think — maybe you are.
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441633 podium incoming! (feeding my own agenda yet again) (i’m so selfish ik)
The roar of the engines still echoes through the desert as the checkered flag waves — a blur of two red cars and a navy one go streaking across the finish line. The crowd explodes, the commentators nearly shouting over one another, and you’re on your feet before you even realize it.
“LEWIS HAMILTON WINS THE LAS VEGAS GRAND PRIX!”
Your heart leaps into your throat. It’s instinctive — a rush of pride, joy, disbelief all at once. You turn to Charles’s side of the garage, where Alexandra is clapping wildly, her face split into a wide smile. Charles finishes second, Max right behind him, the two of them crossing the line barely a second apart.
You can already imagine how chaotic the cooldown room is going to be.
When the cars roll into parc fermé, the air is thick with heat and celebration. Charles climbs out first, pulling off his helmet and shouting something in French you can’t quite hear. Max follows, grinning ear to ear despite finishing third.
And then they both spot you.
Before you can even brace yourself, Charles comes sprinting toward the barrier, still in his racing suit, sweat slicked and breathless but glowing. “You saw that?!” he yells, voice cracking with adrenaline.
You laugh, leaning forward as he reaches you. “You were incredible!”
He grins like a little kid. “I tried to win for you, but apparently Lewis had other plans!”
Right on cue, Max jogs over, hair sticking up from his helmet, smirking. “Yeah, your boyfriend was too fast today.”
“He’s not—” you start, but Max is already laughing, grabbing Charles and pulling him into a sweaty hug. The two of them look like they’ve forgotten their rivalry for once — united in victory, in sheer joy.
It’s only then that you notice Lewis standing a few feet away, still in his helmet, watching the three of you. There’s something soft in the way he looks at the scene — almost fond. He removes his helmet slowly, tucking it under his arm, and for a second, you just… look at each other.
You step forward through the crowd, heart pounding. The noise fades again, just like it did the night you met.
“You did it,” you say, your voice barely audible over the chaos. “You actually did it…with that car.”
Lewis smiles, small but genuine, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Guess you really are my lucky charm.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “I’m taking full credit, obviously.”
“I’d expect nothing less,” he teases. His hand brushes yours — just lightly, enough to send sparks up your arm. “I appreciate you being here and so supportive.”
You tilt your head, meeting his gaze. “Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
For a heartbeat, the world seems to narrow down to just the two of you — the sound of champagne bottles popping somewhere behind you, the flash of cameras, Charles and Max wrestling playfully nearby. Then someone from the FIA calls Lewis’s name, telling him to head to the podium, and he gives you one last grin before turning away.
“Don’t go too far,” he says over his shoulder.
“I won’t,” you promise.
The podium ceremony feels like a blur of gold and red and flashing lights. You and Alexandra stand just behind the barriers, the perfect mix of proud and emotional, surrounded by team members and mechanics still buzzing from the race.
Charles looks down at you mid celebration, points dramatically with a grin, and mouths something ridiculous. You roll your eyes but blow him a kiss anyway.
Max, true to form, sprays Charles directly in the face with champagne, then gets payback seconds later. Alexandra is giggling beside you, recording it all for Instagram stories.
But Lewis — he doesn’t look anywhere else.
When his name is announced and the British anthem plays, he lifts his trophy high, a smile breaking over his face like sunlight. And when the cameras zoom in, he looks down from the top step and finds you instantly.
Your breath catches. He grins, eyes soft, and then — in front of the world, the crowd, and your very smug best friends — he winks.
Alexandra gasps beside you. “Oh my God. He winked.”
You can’t help but laugh, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Stop, you’re making it a thing!”
“It is a thing!” she says, bouncing on her heels. “He just won a race and his first thought was to find you.”
You glance back up at him, unable to stop smiling. Lewis is still looking down, champagne dripping from him, his grin as boyish as it is charming. You lift your hand in a small wave, and he nods once — a silent, wordless acknowledgment.
Around you, everyone is cheering, celebrating, the energy electric. But for that fleeting moment, it feels like the noise fades again — just you, and him, and the shared understanding that something is beginning.
Later, as the confetti falls and Max shoves Charles playfully, you hear your phone buzz with a message notification. You glance down to see a text from an unsaved number.
“Told you you’re my lucky charm. Dinner tonight?”
You bite your lip, grinning as you save the number — Lewis Hamilton.
“Only if you let me pick the restaurant.”
“It’s a deal, love.”
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That evening, Vegas looks softer than it did the night before — the strip glowing gold instead of neon, the heat of the day giving way to a warm, velvet kind of night. You take your time getting ready, not because you’re trying to impress anyone (or at least that’s what you tell yourself), but because something about this feels different.
It’s not a red carpet look — not the kind of glamour that gets your name trending. It’s simple: a black silk dress that falls just right, minimal jewelry, a little mascara, and a spritz of your favorite perfume. The kind of effortless that’s actually very intentional.
You check your phone once more.
“Outside when you’re ready.”
He’s punctual — naturally he is. He is an absolute gentleman. You slip on your heels, grab your clutch, and take one last glance in the mirror before heading down.
When you step out of the hotel, Lewis is waiting by a sleek, vintage car — silver paint gleaming under the streetlights. He looks incredible, in a dark suit with the top buttons undone, something casual but still commanding. He smiles when he sees you, that easy, genuine grin that had first pulled you in.
“Wow,” he says quietly, as he opens the car door for you. “You look incredible.”
You laugh, sliding into the seat. “Flattery already? We haven’t even made it to dinner yet.”
He grins as he rounds the car and gets in beside you. “Can’t help it. You took my breath away.”
Your heart skips a beat, but you play it off with a teasing smile. “You’re not too bad yourself, champion.”
The restaurant is tucked away, it’s quiet and overlooking the city. No paparazzi, no chaos, just the hum of soft jazz and the glow of lanterns strung above polished tables. It feels far removed from the world you both know — the noise of engines, flashing cameras, constant movement. Here, it’s just… calm.
“I didn’t want anything loud,” Lewis admits as the waiter pours your wine. “After weekends like this, I need peace.”
You nod, glancing around the warm-lit terrace. “I get that. You’ve earned it.”
He tilts his head slightly. “And you? Don’t you ever want a break? Your life’s not exactly quiet.”
You smile at that. “Sometimes. But I love it, you know? The travel, the shoots, the people. It’s… chaotic, but it’s mine.”
He hums thoughtfully. “It’s rare to hear someone say that without sounding tired.”
“I used to be,” you admit, swirling your wine. “Before I learned to slow down. To actually enjoy it.” You pause, glancing up at him. “I think you’re learning that too.”
He chuckles softly, eyes warm. “Maybe I am.”
The food arrives — delicate, simple, perfect. Conversation flows easily, laughter bubbling between sips of wine. He asks you about modeling, about your childhood with Max and Charles, and you tease him about the fact that both of your best friends have spent years both looking up to him and trying to beat him.
“You realize they are kind of insane, right?” you joke.
He grins. “Oh, I’m well aware. Don’t worry — I can handle them.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Even together?”
He laughs again, shaking his head. “Alright, maybe that’s pushing it.”
The night stretches on, slow and soft. It feels like the world has shrunk to just this small little corner of the restaurant, your laughter echoing between the city lights. For the first time in a long time, neither of you are performing. It’s just real.
And somewhere across town… chaos is brewing.
Meanwhile, in another restaurant down the strip, Charles and Max are sitting side by side in a booth, wearing big hats that scream Vegas and do nothing to disguise them. Alexandra sits across from them, trying not to laugh as they both hunch over their phones like secret agents.
“Are you seriously tracking her location right now?” Alexandra asks, sipping her drink.
“Yes,” Charles says immediately, eyes glued to the screen. “She said she was having dinner with Lewis. I need to make sure she is okay.”
Max nods in agreement. “This is called being a good friend, Alexandra.”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s called being psychotic.”
Charles zooms in on the map. “Okay, they’re still at the restaurant. It’s a nice place. Very romantic.”
“Good choice,” Max says, impressed. “I’ll give him that.”
They both peer over the top of their sunglasses at the terrace in the distance — visible from their vantage point through a pair of binoculars they stole from someone on the Ferrari team.
Charles frowns. “Wait. He’s making her laugh.”
Alexandra groans. “Yes, because that’s what happens on dates.”
Max squints. “They look close.”
Charles lowers his phone dramatically. “Too close.”
“Stop it,” Alexandra hisses, fighting a smile. “She’s fine.”
“She’s our little angel,” Max insists. “We have to protect her.”
“From Lewis Hamilton?” she deadpans.
“Yes!” they both say at once.
Alexandra flicks Charles lightly. “You two are unbelievable.”
But she still leans in when Charles quietly says, “Okay, but look—he’s smiling again.”
They all go quiet for a second.
“Do we intervene?” Max asks, only half-joking.
“Absolutely not,” Alexandra says, firmly. “You will not ruin this. They’re clearly happy.”
Charles crosses his arms. “If he hurts her—”
“He won’t,” she cuts in. “Now stop stalking them and eat your food.”
Back on the rooftop, you’re oblivious to all of it — to the fact that your two childhood best friends are currently spying like overprotective brothers from three blocks away. You’re too busy listening to Lewis tell a story about his first year in F1, giggling a little too hard.
As the plates are cleared, the conversation softens again. The air between you feels charged but easy — the kind of warmth that doesn’t need words.
Lewis leans back, watching you quietly. “You know,” he says after a moment, “it’s been a long time since I’ve had a night like this.”
You tilt your head. “Like what?”
“Simple,” he says. “No noise. No expectations. Just… authentic.”
Something in your chest tightens. “I get that,” you whisper. “It feels rare.”
He smiles, eyes tracing your face. “Maybe we shouldn’t let it be.”
Before you can reply, your phone buzzes. You glance down — and freeze.
‘Find My Friends: 2 Active Trackers — Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc.’
Your jaw drops.
Lewis notices immediately. “Everything alright?”
You blink, slowly, then burst out laughing. “You have got to be kidding me.”
He looks amused. “What?”
You hand him your phone, and he laughs when he sees the map — two little dots not far away. “They didn’t…”
“Oh, they did.” You cover your face, groaning. “They’re tracking me.”
He grins, leaning closer. “That’s adorable.”
“That’s infuriating!” you correct. “They’re probably watching right now!”
He chuckles, eyes glinting. “Well then…” He leans in just a little closer — not enough to cause a scandal, but enough to make your breath hitch. “Let’s give them something to talk about.”
You laugh, swatting at his arm, cheeks burning. “You’re impossible.”
He grins, holding your gaze. “And you love it.”
Down the street, in their booth, Charles suddenly groans. “Oh no. He’s leaning in!”
Max sighs, tossing his napkin onto the table. “She’s gone. She’s in love.”
Alexandra laughs so hard she nearly cries. “Good. Maybe now you two can finally relax.”
Charles sighs dramatically. “Never.”
Back on the rooftop, you’re smiling again — that same smile that had caught Lewis’s attention the very first night. The city stretches out around you, alive and glittering, but all you can see is him. And as the night deepens, you realize maybe this isn’t just another Vegas moment. Maybe, just maybe, it’s the start of something you had been waiting a very long time for.
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The morning sun spills through the glass dome of the Bellagio, warm and golden against the marble floors. You’re dressed down for once — loose white shirt tucked into wide-legged linen pants, oversized sunglasses perched in your hair, the kind of anonymity you’ve learned to master when you need a quiet hour. The casino is quieter than usual for Vegas standards; it’s late morning, and the partygoers are still asleep. The faint hum of slot machines fills the air, the rhythmic clinking of coins and the shuffle of cards almost soothing.
You’re not gambling — just wandering, taking in the ridiculous extravagance of it all. The chandeliers glimmer like constellations. Everything smells faintly of expensive perfume and coffee. It’s peaceful in a strange, overstimulating way.
Until you hear the distinct sound of whispering and badly concealed giggling behind you.
You turn around and find four suspiciously tall, out-of-place young men in matching smug grins.
“Oh no,” you say instantly, sighing. “What are you doing here?”
Ollie Bearman looks like a kid who just got caught sneaking into a rated-R movie. “We could ask you the same thing,” he shoots back, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“Kimi,” you turn to Antonelli, “you’re eighteen. You’re not even old enough to be in here.”
“I’m nineteen,” he corrects, a little too proudly.
“Barely,” you mutter.
Isack Hadjar crosses his arms, trying to look intimidating and failing spectacularly. “We’re not here for gambling,” he assures you. “We’re here for you.”
You blink. “That sounds vaguely threatening.”
Gabriel grins. “Don’t worry. It’s not an ambush.”
“Feels like one,” you mutter under your breath, but the way they’re all watching you with wide-eyed curiosity makes you laugh. “Okay, what’s this about? Shouldn’t you be at the track? Or doing rookie things? Like… sim work or getting lectured by your team principals?”
Kimi shakes his head seriously. “We’re on a mission.”
“Oh god.”
“Operation Love Lockdown,” Ollie says dramatically, snapping his fingers.
Isack groans. “We said we weren’t calling it that!”
“Well, I like it,” Gabriel says.
You raise an eyebrow, fighting back a smile. “Operation what?”
They glance at each other, then back at you, clearly having some sort of silent group debate. Finally, Ollie sighs and takes the lead.
“Okay,” he says, “we’re just going to be honest. We think you and Lewis are cute.”
You blink once. “Excuse me?”
Kimi nods solemnly, like this is some sort of top secret meeting. “It’s true. We saw the way he looked at you. And how he smiled after the podium. He never smiles like that.”
Isack leans in, whispering conspiratorially, “He’s completely gone. Like—head over heels already.”
You let out a soft laugh, folding your arms. “You boys have been talking to Charles and Max, haven’t you?”
“Maybe,” Gabriel says with a shrug. “But that’s beside the point.”
“The point,” Kimi says, as if he’s the group spokesperson, “is that you should know Lewis hasn’t… been with anyone in a long time.”
Your teasing expression softens a little. “What do you mean?”
Ollie rocks on his heels, suddenly less smug. “He’s been alone for years, really. Doesn’t let people in. Doesn’t date, doesn’t flirt — he just… works. Races. Helps everyone else, but never himself.”
Isack nods. “He’s the kind of guy who’s been through too much to risk his heart again, y’know?”
Gabriel crosses his arms, a bit protective now. “So if you’re gonna be around him… just don’t mess with him, okay?”
You look at them — these four kids, all pretending to be older, all fiercely loyal to someone they clearly admire — and you can’t help but smile. “You guys are very sweet,” you say softly. “But I’m not here to hurt him.”
Ollie narrows his eyes. “Promise?”
You hold up a hand, palm raised. “Promise.”
Kimi looks satisfied, nodding once. “Good. Because he’s like, the grid…dad…no that’s Max. Anyways, If you break his heart, the entire grid will revolt.”
“Noted,” you say, laughing. “Now tell me — did you all sneak in here just to interrogate me?”
“Yes,” Isack says flatly.
“No,” Gabriel says at the same time.
“Yes,” Kimi adds again.
You roll your eyes. “You’re all going to get kicked out.”
“Worth it,” Ollie grins. “Also, you do like him, don’t you?”
Your stomach flips. You start to reply, but your phone buzzes — a text from Charles: Breakfast at the Café? Lewis might join.
You glance up and catch all four of them grinning knowingly.
You sigh, half amused, half flustered. “You’re all unbelievable.”
Kimi smirks. “We just call it like we see it.”
You shake your head, walking toward the exit with their laughter trailing behind you.
And even though you won’t admit it aloud, the warmth in your chest lingers long after you’ve left the casino — the quiet realization that maybe, just maybe, they’re right.
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The Bellagio Café was busier than you expected for a late breakfast — the low murmur of conversation mixed with the sound of plates clinking and coffee being poured. You slip off your sunglasses, scanning the room for that familiar mop of brown hair or one of Alexandra’s signature silk scarves.
You were running a few minutes late, distracted by your encounter with the rookies — four miniature agents of chaos in designer sneakers who had made it their life’s mission to discuss your love life before noon. You still can’t decide if you’re more amused or mortified.
You glance down at your phone again.
We’re at the back, near the windows!
Actually — change of plans. I’ll be a few mins late. Don’t go anywhere.
You frown, glancing around the café. “Don’t go anywhere”? Typical Charles. Always cryptic when he’s plotting something.
A waiter approaches, smiling. “Table for Leclerc?”
You nod. “Yes, that’s me.”
“Right this way, miss.”
He leads you past the crowded tables, all the way to the corner booth overlooking the fountains — and that’s when you realize Charles is not, in fact, here.
Lewis is.
He looks up from his coffee, and the world seems to pause for half a heartbeat. The sunlight streaming through the glass hits just right, catching on his jewelry and reflecting in his dark eyes. He’s dressed casually — a white tee, layered chains, and a soft gray jacket that somehow still looks runway-level elegant on him.
He stands when he sees you, a gentle smile curving his lips. “YN.”
You blink, surprise flickering into a quiet laugh. “Lewis.”
“You’re… not Charles.”
He chuckles softly, motioning to the seat across from him. “No, I’m not. But apparently, I’m your breakfast date now.”
You slide into the booth, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through your cheeks. “Did he set this up?”
“I think so,” he says, amusement dancing in his eyes. “He texted me ten minutes ago saying you were waiting and not to ‘mess it up.’”
You groan, dragging a hand over your face. “Oh my god. I knew he was up to something. I was just with the rookies — I should’ve realized they were part of the conspiracy too.”
Lewis laughs, low and genuine. “I had a feeling the entire grid might be working together on… something.”
“Something called Operation Love Lockdown, apparently,” you say, rolling your eyes.
He nearly chokes on his coffee, grinning. “That’s a terrible name.”
“I told them that! They’re relentless.”
For a moment, the conversation slips into easy laughter — the kind that feels like you’ve known each other longer than a handful of days. You tell him about your morning, about the rookies sneaking into casinos and interrogating you like a panel of overprotective brothers. He listens intently, eyes soft and warm, occasionally interjecting with a quiet “no way” or “they really said that?”
And when you pause to sip your coffee, Lewis leans forward, elbows resting on the table. “You know,” he says, voice gentler now, “they’re not wrong.”
Your brow lifts. “About what?”
He smiles faintly. “That I don’t… really let people in anymore. It’s true. I think I got so used to protecting my space, my peace, that I stopped realizing how lonely it got.”
You look at him — really look — and there’s something vulnerable in his expression, something so achingly honest it makes your chest tighten. “Then I’m glad Charles set us up,” you say softly.
His lips curve upward again, this time slower, more deliberate. “Yeah. Me too.”
There’s a beat of quiet between you — not awkward, just charged. Outside, the fountains begin to dance, water glittering in the sunlight.
Your phone buzzes again.
Charles 🏎️: You there yet? How’s Lewis?
Max 🦁: Tell him not to screw it up.
Alexandra 💋: We’re watching from the café next door btw, don’t panic ❤️
You look up sharply, scanning the crowd outside until you spot them — Max’s unmistakable Red Bull gear, Charles’ sunglasses, Alexandra pretending to read a menu and failing miserably.
You laugh, shaking your head. “They’re literally spying on us right now.”
Lewis follows your gaze and bursts out laughing. “Of course they are.”
You hold up your phone, snapping a quick photo of him mid-laugh. “For evidence,” you say. “When I inevitably strangle them later.”
He grins. “You look beautiful when you’re plotting revenge, you know that?”
Your heart stutters. “That’s a dangerous thing to say.”
“Maybe,” he says, eyes never leaving yours, “but it’s true.”
And just like that — between stolen glances, shared laughter, and meddling friends watching from afar — breakfast turns into something softer, something slower.
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several weeks later…
yourusername
liked by lewishamilton, charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and 5,600,000 others.
yourusername :back to your regularly scheduled programming 🐆🎱
—
user has limited the amount of comments on this post.
charles_leclerc : i have a few questions
↳ maxverstappen1 : me too (stop ignoring my texts.)
↳ olliebearman : if i could be in paris spying right now i would
↳ kimi.antonelli : who says we can’t be?
↳ yourusername : me, i did.
alexandrasaintmleux : so gorg my girl! (just blocked charles and max from taking the jet to paris)
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : i owe you my everything.
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Paris has always felt a little like magic — golden light on old stone, the smell of rain on cobblestones, cameras flashing in a symphony outside the Grand Palais. You’ve done fashion week a dozen times before, but this time feels different. Maybe it’s the Dior gown — ethereal, sculpted, and made for movement — or maybe it’s because you know someone is sitting in the audience who doesn’t usually come to fashion shows. When your stylist whispered it backstage, you almost didn’t believe her. Lewis Hamilton is here.
You tried not to think about it while walking the runway — chin high, expression poised, every movement precise. But when you reach the end of the catwalk, your eyes catch on him immediately, tucked into the front row, wearing a tailored suit and dark sunglasses that do nothing to hide his smile. It’s small, but it’s there — proud, warm, maybe even a little awed. You don’t let yourself react. Not yet.
After the final bow, after the applause and backstage chaos and congratulations from editors and designers, you finally step outside into the crisp evening air. Paris at night hums like a secret — laughter spilling from cafés, the Eiffel Tower flickering in the distance. And waiting near one of the side exits, away from the chaos, is Lewis.
He’s leaning against a black car, hands in his pockets, the faintest grin tugging at his lips. “You were incredible,” he says simply when you reach him.
You laugh softly, still catching your breath. “You came all the way to Paris just to tell me that?”
He shrugs, playfully. “What can I say? I like a good runway.”
You tilt your head, smiling. “You mean me on the runway.”
His grin widens. “Exactly.”
For a moment, neither of you speak. The city moves around you — photographers shouting somewhere down the street, flashes going off, people calling for cars — but somehow, it feels quiet between you. Familiar in that same effortless way it always does.
You finally break the silence. “You look good in Dior, by the way.”
He laughs, glancing down at his outfit. “You noticed?”
“Hard not to,” you tease, stepping back a little. “But I have an early call time tomorrow. Duty calls.”
He nods, still smiling. “Of course. Go be the superstar you are.”
You take a few steps toward your car, then glance back once more. He’s watching you — not in the hungry, performative way men sometimes do, but with quiet admiration. Like he’s memorizing you just as you are.
You wave, soft and small. “Goodnight, Lewis.”
“Goodnight, Doll.”
Back at your hotel, your heels are off, makeup half gone, and you’re scrolling through photos from the show when your phone starts blowing up.
First comes a call from Charles. Then from Max. Then both at once.
You sigh and accept the group call, already bracing yourself.
Charles doesn’t even say hello. “WHY IS LEWIS HAMILTON AT YOUR SHOW?”
Max adds, “AND WHY IS HE LOOKING AT YOU LIKE THAT IN EVERY PHOTO?”
You blink innocently. “Hi to you too.”
“YN,” Charles groans, pinching the bridge of his nose, “the internet thinks you two are dating again!”
“Again?” you repeat, laughing. “We were never dating in the first place!”
Max holds his phone up to the screen, showing a blurry paparazzi photo of you and Lewis standing outside after the show — you smiling, him laughing, his hand just barely on your arm. The lighting is soft, romantic, cinematic.
“Explain this,” Max demands dramatically.
You grin, reclining against the pillows. “I don’t need to. I look amazing.”
Charles glares. “You’re avoiding the question.”
“Maybe because there’s nothing to avoid,” you tease. “He came to the show, said hi, and that was it. End of story.”
Max narrows his eyes. “You’re giggling.”
You roll your eyes. “I am not giggling.”
“You are!” Charles insists, pointing. “That’s your I-like-someone-but-I’m-denying-it laugh!”
You snort, covering your face with a pillow. “You two are my worst nightmare!”
“Just admit you like him!” Max says, grinning.
“I like a lot of people,” you say airily. “Lewis just happens to be one of them.”
Charles groans. “That’s not reassuring.”
You laugh, waving goodbye as you hang up. “Go to sleep, you two. And stop stalking the paparazzi tags.”
“YN—!”
Click.
You toss your phone onto the nightstand and collapse back against the bed, still smiling to yourself. Because even though you’d never admit it to them… the truth is, when you think of Lewis in that Dior front row — his smile, his quiet pride — it’s kind of impossible not to giggle.
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next night!
It’s nearly midnight when your phone buzzes against the nightstand. You’re sitting cross-legged in your hotel room, still in the fluffy white robe from post-show glam removal, hair up, face mask on, half-watching a French rom-com with subtitles when the screen lights up:
Pack away the face mask, superstar. I’m sending a car in 15. Something simple and fun. Dress comfy.
You blink at the message, reread it twice, and then burst into a grin. Simple and fun. With Lewis Hamilton. The man who wears custom Dior to breakfast.
Define “simple.”
You’ll see. Just trust me.
Fifteen minutes later, a sleek black car pulls up in front of your hotel. You slip into a pair of loose jeans, a white crop top, and an oversized jacket, pulling your hair into a messy ponytail. When you step outside, the driver greets you with a polite nod and a soft, “Mr. Hamilton said to take you straight there, miss.”
The streets of Paris are quiet, moonlight glinting off the Seine. You try to guess — maybe a quiet café? A rooftop dinner? Some late-night museum access?
You definitely don’t expect to pull up to a bowling alley.
Every light inside is glowing, yet the parking lot is completely empty. As you step through the glass doors, you hear faint music — old R&B, smooth and playful — and see Lewis at the far end of the lane, sleeves rolled up, laughing as he badly throws a gutter ball.
He looks over when you arrive and beams. “You made it.”
You laugh, taking in the sight. “You rented out an entire bowling alley?”
He shrugs, walking toward you. “I said I wanted something simple. You said you preferred simple.”
You can’t help but grin. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet,” he teases, “you’re smiling.”
He hands you a ball, blue and slightly too heavy, and points toward the lane. “Your turn, love. Let’s see if you can bowl as well as you walk a runway.”
You narrow your eyes playfully. “You’re going to regret that.”
The ball glides down the lane — a clean, steady roll — and you knock down eight pins. You turn back, smug. “Not bad for my first try.”
Lewis raises an eyebrow, impressed. “Okay, maybe I underestimated you.”
The next few rounds dissolve into laughter and mock-serious competition — him celebrating every spare like it’s a championship win, you teasing him mercilessly for missing pins. At one point, you both end up sitting cross-legged on the glossy floor, sharing fries from the tiny café counter while arguing about who technically won the last round.
He watches you mid-laugh, eyes soft in the neon glow. “You know,” he says quietly, “I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun doing something so… normal.”
You tilt your head, smiling. “Normal is underrated.”
He nods, gaze lingering on you a little too long, his voice gentler now. “Not when you’re around.”
The room feels warmer somehow. You glance away, cheeks burning. “That’s cheating. You can’t flirt during competition.”
He grins, standing up and offering you a hand. “Then I’ll just have to win fair and square.”
You take his hand — firm, steady, electric — and rise to your feet. The music shifts to something slower, softer, echoing faintly through the empty lanes. You’re still holding on to each other when the next ball clatters into the pins, scattering them completely.
“Strike,” he murmurs, still looking at you.
You laugh under your breath. “Show-off.”
He bows dramatically. “Lucky charm.”
And for a few seconds, it’s just the two of you — no cameras, no noise, no pressure. Just you and Lewis, surrounded by the soft hum of the city outside and the glow of neon lights flickering over polished lanes.
Later, when he walks you back to the car, you’re both barefoot, shoes dangling from your hands, still teasing each other about the final score.
“Loser owes the winner coffee tomorrow morning,” he says as he opens your door.
You smile, slipping inside. “Guess I’ll see you at breakfast then, champion.”
He leans against the door for a heartbeat longer, that quiet, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
As the car pulls away, you can’t stop smiling — because somewhere between the laughter, the strikes, and the easy comfort of it all, something real has started to take shape. Something beautifully, unexpectedly simple.
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The sky is a pale blue, and the streets below your hotel window are already alive with motion: the smell of fresh croissants, the faint sound of bicycle bells, café chairs scraping against pavement. You’re halfway through tying your hair when your phone lights up with a new message.
I owe you breakfast, remember? ☕😉
You were serious about that?
Absolutely. I’m outside.
You blink. Outside?
You rush to the window — and there he is. Parked in front of your hotel in a sleek black Ferrari, hair tied back, sunglasses on, a takeaway cup already in hand. He looks up just as you spot him and waves, that signature grin breaking across his face.
Fifteen minutes later, you’re sliding into the passenger seat, still a little breathless from hurrying down the stairs. “You could’ve warned me,” you say, laughing as he hands you a coffee cup with your name written on it.
“Where’s the fun in that?” he teases, pulling away from the curb.
You sip your drink — it’s perfect, of course — and glance over at him. He’s driving like someone who actually enjoys the ride more than the destination, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping lightly to the rhythm of the jazz coming through the speakers.
“Where are we going?” you ask.
“Breakfast spot I found last year,” he says. “Tiny place by the river. You’ll love it.”
He’s right. You do. The café is tucked away along the Seine — just a few tables, soft music, the smell of butter and sugar wafting through the air. He insists on pulling out your chair (of course he does), and when you sit down, it’s almost ridiculous how easy it feels.
“So,” you say, breaking a croissant in half, “is this your victory lap from bowling last night?”
Lewis grins, leaning back in his chair. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just an excuse to see you again.”
You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you. “You’re smooth, Hamilton.”
“Occupational hazard,” he says with a laugh. “Years of interviews.”
The conversation flows like it always does — stories about your work, his training, little glimpses of childhood memories from Monaco and Stevenage. He tells you about the first time he drove through Paris, nervous and ecstatic all at once; you tell him about sneaking into fashion week afterparties at nineteen just to “see what all the noise was about.”
At some point, a couple walking their dog stops to greet Lewis — he smiles warmly, shakes their hands, asks about their day — and you watch him in silence, your heart doing that annoying fluttery thing again. He’s so grounded. So present.
When he sits back down, catching your gaze, he raises an eyebrow. “What?”
You shake your head, smiling softly. “Nothing. You’re just… really good with people.”
He shrugs, pretending to downplay it. “They’re good with me.” Then, after a pause: “You look happy.”
You laugh lightly. “That’s because you promised me breakfast and actually delivered.”
“I try to keep my promises.”
There’s that quiet tension again — not heavy, just electric — lingering in the air between sips of coffee and shared glances. The city moves around you, but it feels like the world’s narrowed down to this tiny café table, two cups, and a thousand things unsaid.
Eventually, your phone buzzes. A text from Charles.
Are you with Lewis again?? Max says he saw pictures.
You bite back a grin and type back:
Eating croissants. Mind your business.
Lewis catches the look on your face and chuckles. “Charles checking in?”
“Always,” you sigh, shaking your head. “He and Max are the worst detectives alive.”
He laughs, and something in that sound — that light, unguarded joy — makes you want to memorize it.
“Tell them,” he says with a playful glint in his eye, “that their favorite driver is winning again.”
You meet his gaze, smiling softly. “At bowling?”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, eyes never leaving yours. “At everything that matters.”
And just like that — in a quiet corner of Paris, with coffee cooling between you and laughter still lingering in the air — you realize you’re in trouble. The good kind. The kind that feels like falling, slow and certain, into something that just might be love.
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It’s been almost three weeks since Paris. Three weeks since morning coffee by the river, since Lewis’s easy laugh, since the way he’d said “I try to keep my promises” — and maybe it’s nothing, maybe he’s just busy, maybe the world doesn’t revolve around one breakfast, but the silence feels louder than it should.
You scroll through your phone for the hundredth time, thumb hovering over his name. It’s not like you haven’t texted — a casual message here, a funny meme there — but his replies have trickled down into short bursts. “Training’s been crazy.” “Back-to-back meetings.” “Let’s catch up soon.” You told yourself you understood. You still do. You’ve been around racing long enough to know how consuming it gets. Still, there’s this small, stupid ache sitting in your chest every time you open your messages and see that “seen” with no reply underneath.
You tell yourself you’re fine. You’re busy too. You’re fine. You’re halfway through brushing your teeth one night when your phone starts ringing on the counter. You spit out toothpaste and grab it — Charles.
You answer with a half-laugh. “It’s midnight, what do you want?”
“Why do you sound asleep already?” Charles demands, sounding way too awake for whatever timezone he’s in.
“Because it’s midnight, Charles,” you mumble.
In the background, you hear another voice — unmistakably Max. “Tell her she doesn’t have an excuse this time,” he says, tone mock-serious.
You frown, confused. “Excuse for what?”
“The next race,” Charles says simply. “You’re coming.”
You blink. “I— what? No, I can’t, I’ve got—”
“Nothing,” Max cuts in. “You’ve got nothing.”
You groan, flopping back onto your bed. “You two sound like my parents.”
“Good,” Charles says cheerfully. “Because we’re serious. You haven’t been to a race in like two months and everyone misses you. We miss you.”
“You just want me to bring presents again,” you tease.
“That too,” Max admits.
Their laughter fills the room, warm and familiar, and even though you roll your eyes, you can’t help smiling. They’re relentless, and you’ve never been good at saying no to either of them — especially when they tag-team you like this.
“Fine,” you sigh, sitting up. “Which one?”
“Abu Dhabi” Charles says immediately, and you can hear his grin. “You’ll come, right?”
You hesitate for just a second. You can already feel your heart skip, traitorous. You haven’t seen him since Paris. Haven’t heard his voice in weeks. The idea of bumping into him again — in the chaos of a race weekend — makes your stomach twist in equal parts excitement and dread. But Charles is waiting on the other end, and Max is chanting your name like an impatient child, and you’re smiling again before you even realize it.
“Alright,” you say softly. “I’ll come.”
Their twin cheers nearly deafen you.
“Pack red!” Charles yells.
“No. You’re with me this time.” Max adds.
“And no backing out,” Charles says firmly. “We’ll send you the pass tonight.”
When you finally hang up, the room feels too quiet again. You stare at your reflection in the dark window, toothbrush still in your hand, a stupid smile tugging at your lips. You tell yourself it’s for Charles and Max. For the atmosphere. For the racing. But somewhere deep down, you know exactly why your heart’s beating faster.
Lewis. Maybe this time, you’ll find out if Paris was just a beautiful moment — or the beginning of something you both were too scared to name.
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Abu Dhabi. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the feeling of stepping off a plane into the thick, golden heat that smells faintly of salt and jet fuel. The city feels like it’s humming beneath your feet — the calm before chaos, the end-of-season electricity that always seems to linger in the air this time of year.
When you reach the hotel, you’re still half-dazed, sunglasses perched on your head and your phone buzzing with new messages. You nearly drop your keycard when you realize what suite Charles and Max have booked for you.
Booked, being the generous word — they’ve practically bullied their teams into reserving it for you. The entire place looks like something out of a movie. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the marina, where the track wraps like silver ribbon around the water. There’s a fruit basket on the counter with a note in Charles’s neat handwriting:
“Welcome home, trouble. – Cha and Maxie”
You laugh, shaking your head.
You’d barely unpacked half your suitcase when there’s a knock at your door — sharp, rapid, suspiciously familiar.
You glance at the clock. It’s barely 10 a.m.
“Who—?”
You open the door and freeze. Standing there, like they’ve planned a coordinated invasion, are four of the youngest, most chaotic people on the grid: Ollie Bearman, Kimi Antonelli, Isack Hadjar, and Gabriel Bortoleto. All in sunglasses. All grinning like they’ve just been caught doing something they definitely shouldn’t.
“Good morning, Miss Supermodel,” Ollie greets, voice dripping with fake politeness.
You blink. “You’re kidding.”
“Not at all,” Isack says, leaning casually against the doorframe. “We’re here for our mission.”
“What mission?” you ask, suspicion rising.
“Charles said you might try to bail last minute, so we came to make sure you don’t.”
You stare at them, then laugh — loud and incredulous. “You broke into my morning for this?”
Ollie shrugs. “Charles told us to ‘escort her to the paddock.’ We took that seriously.”
Before you can protest, they’re already inside your suite, moving with the practiced confidence of people who have absolutely no business being here. Isack opens your closet, Gabriel finds your makeup bag, Kimi starts brewing coffee like it’s a pit stop, and Ollie’s sprawled across your couch like he owns the place.
You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling. “I could have gotten ready by myself, you know.”
Gabriel shakes his head. “No, no, no. We were told this is important.”
Kimi adds, almost too sincerely, “Lewis is going to be there.”
You freeze.
The room goes quiet for a heartbeat, and all four of them exchange looks — the kind of looks that scream we know exactly what we’re doing.
“I—” you start, but Ollie interrupts.
“Charles told us everything,” he says cheerfully. “And by everything, I mean Max told us first, and then Charles confirmed it, and now we’re invested.”
You groan. “Oh my god.”
“Relax,” Isack says with a grin. “We’re rooting for you.”
They’re ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. But they mean well, and despite your half-hearted protests, it’s hard not to let them take over. Gabriel helps you pick an outfit (“Something elegant but not intimidating,” he says, as if this is a mission briefing), Isack plays music and critiques your accessories like a stylist, and Ollie insists on taking “pre-paddock selfies.”
By the time you’re dressed — soft linen trousers, a sleek top, oversized sunglasses, and the kind of effortless confidence that comes from pretending you don’t care — the rookies are buzzing with excitement.
“You look amazing,” Kimi says with quiet pride. “Lewis is going to faint.”
You laugh, swatting at his arm. “You’re all impossible.”
“We know,” Ollie says. “That’s why you love us.”
When you finally head out, they form a little entourage around you — like overexcited bodyguards, half-bickering, half-giggling as they escort you through the hotel lobby. People stare. Phones flash. You can feel the eyes, the whispers, but all you can do is laugh, caught up in their ridiculous energy.
Outside, the desert heat hits you again. The rookies pile into the car they’ve arranged (“We borrowed it,” Isack clarifies, which doesn’t reassure you in the slightest), and as you drive toward Yas Marina, you feel a familiar thrill in your chest — that mix of nerves and nostalgia. You’re back.
And somewhere out there, Lewis Hamilton is too.
You don’t know what you’ll say when you see him again, or how it’ll feel after weeks of silence. But the rookies’ laughter fills the car, sunlight flickers over the track in the distance, and for the first time in a while, you feel something like hope settling softly in your chest.
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The paddock is buzzing when you arrive — that golden, endless Abu Dhabi light bouncing off the hospitality buildings, team shirts fluttering, mechanics moving in precise rhythm. It’s the last race of the season, that rare mix of exhaustion and euphoria that everyone carries like perfume. You’re barely out of the car before Max and Charles appear, grinning like they’ve been waiting all morning.
“Finally!” Max exclaims, grabbing your hand dramatically. “You took your time, didn’t you?”
“I was ambushed by your rookies,” you shoot back, nodding toward the four shadows trailing behind you.
Charles glances over your shoulder, sees Ollie, Isack, Kimi, and Gabriel trying not to look suspicious — and immediately bursts into laughter. “Perfect. Everything’s going according to plan.”
You frown. “What plan?”
Max waves a hand, looking far too casual. “No plan. Totally spontaneous day. No reason to be suspicious.”
Which, of course, makes you instantly suspicious.
You narrow your eyes. “Max.”
He grins, all dimples. “You’ll see.”
Before you can demand answers, Charles loops an arm around your shoulders and steers you toward Ferrari hospitality. “Come on. We have a surprise for you.”
You expect maybe lunch, or a photo op, or some silly little pre-race event. What you don’t expect is this:
A boardroom transformed into a dinner scene straight out of a movie.
White tablecloth. Candles flickering softly against the glass windows overlooking the circuit. Two perfectly set places — silverware aligned, wine glasses gleaming, a tiny vase with a single white rose in the middle.
It’s… absurdly romantic.
You blink, taking it all in. “What—?”
Before you can finish, Max is already shoving you gently forward. “Ta-da!”
You turn around just in time to see Charles smirking. “You’ve been busy,” he says, nodding toward someone behind you.
You follow his gaze — and there he is. Lewis.
Standing in the doorway, suit slightly undone at the collar, a look of pure confusion and something softer in his eyes when they land on you.
For a second, neither of you moves. Then, at the exact same time, you both turn toward the boys — who are all grinning like devils caught red-handed.
“No,” you say.
“Yes,” Max says immediately.
“Absolutely not,” Lewis adds.
“Absolutely yes,” Charles counters.
Ollie gives you both a thumbs-up from the back. “You can thank us later!”
You glare at them, but it’s already too late — the door shuts, and you hear the click of the lock.
“Kimi, do not lock that—!” you start, but they’re gone.
There’s silence for a moment. Just you, Lewis, and the faint hum of air conditioning.
You sigh, pressing your palms to your face. “They’re insufferable.”
Lewis laughs quietly, that deep, soft kind of laugh that always makes your chest ache. “They mean well.”
You glance up, meeting his eyes. “Do they? Or are they just annoying?”
He grins, stepping closer. “Maybe both.”
There’s a small table between you — but it feels like it’s holding the weight of every word you haven’t said yet. You take a seat, partly to calm your nerves. Lewis hesitates, then sits across from you, the sunlight from the window brushing over his face.
For a minute, you just look at each other — the kind of silence that says I missed you without needing to spell it out.
Finally, he exhales. “I owe you an apology.”
You blink. “For what?”
“For disappearing,” he says softly. “For not calling. For… making you wonder.”
You open your mouth, but he beats you to it — his voice quiet but certain.
“I didn’t mean to pull away,” he admits, hands clasped together on the table. “It’s just— it’s been a long time since I let anyone close. And when I did, it didn’t end well. I thought… maybe if I stayed distant, I wouldn’t ruin something before it started.”
Your chest tightens.
He looks at you then — really looks — and his voice drops lower. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about you. The way you laughed that night in Vegas. The way you looked at me in Paris. Even now, I walk into a room, and somehow, you’re still the first thing that comes to mind.”
The words hit like sunlight through water — bright, disorienting, beautiful.
“Lewis…” you start, but your throat catches halfway. You reach across the table before you even think, fingers brushing his. He doesn’t pull away.
“I get it,” you say quietly. “You’ve been alone a long time. You had your walls for a reason. But I’m not here to rush you, or change you, or make you something you’re not.”
His thumb brushes over the back of your hand, slow and warm. “What are you here for, then?”
You smile, small but certain. “To see what happens if you stop running.”
For a second, neither of you speaks — just the sound of your breaths, the quiet hum of the paddock outside, the candle flickering between you. Then Lewis stands, walks around the table, and stops beside you.
When he cups your cheek, it’s gentle. Careful. Like he’s asking permission with his touch.
You nod once — and he leans in.
The kiss is soft. Familiar. The kind that feels like a beginning, even after all the waiting.
When you pull back, both of you are smiling — a little breathless, a little stunned.
“Guess the boys were right,” you whisper.
Lewis chuckles, forehead still resting against yours. “Remind me to thank them later.”
From somewhere outside the door, there’s muffled cheering — Max’s unmistakable yell, followed by Charles’s laugh and Ollie’s “WE KNEW IT!”
You groan, burying your face in your hands. “They were listening?”
Lewis grins. “Apparently so.”
But when he reaches for your hand again, fingers lacing with yours, the rest of the world fades out — the laughter, the noise, the chaos. It’s just the two of you in a sunlit room overlooking the track, finally catching up to something that was always meant to find you.
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The race feels like a dream. You watch from the Ferrari hospitality balcony, the noise of the engines vibrating in your chest, the smell of burnt rubber and adrenaline hanging in the desert air. The sky burns gold and pink as the sun dips behind the grandstands — the kind of light that makes everything shimmer, like the universe itself has pressed pause.
Charles is fighting hard. Max too. But Lewis… Lewis is in a league of his own today. There’s a calm precision to him, a quiet confidence that you can feel even from up here. You know the way he moves, the way his focus sharpens, the way he drives like he’s dancing with the car — and for some reason, you can’t take your eyes off him. When the final lap flag waves, you already know. Lewis crosses the line first.
Ferrari and Red Bull flags wave beside you, but your eyes find the silver car slowing to a stop, the fireworks bursting overhead, and all you can feel is your heart swelling.
Max finishes P2. Charles takes P3. The podium feels almost poetic — all three of them, your boys, together again.
But when Lewis climbs out of the car, face glowing beneath the helmet, and looks up toward the balcony — when his gaze finds you — everything else blurs.
He smiles. That real, quiet, rare smile that you’ve learned means something. And before you can think, you’re smiling back, warmth flooding your chest.
The chaos of the podium blurs past — champagne, confetti, laughter echoing through the paddock. Then you see him.
Lewis is standing by the exit gates, fresh out of media, the chaos slowly melting away around him. When his eyes catch yours, it’s like the world narrows again — that same stillness you felt in the boardroom earlier.
You walk toward him, weaving through team personnel and camera flashes, until you’re right in front of him. Neither of you speaks for a second. Then, Lewis’s hand finds yours — steady, sure, and a little hesitant, like he’s still getting used to the idea that he’s allowed to have this.
You glance up at him, unable to help the smile tugging at your lips. “Congratulations, champ.”
He squeezes your hand gently. “Couldn’t have done it without my lucky charm.”
You roll your eyes, cheeks warm. “You were incredible out there.”
“So were you,” he says softly. “Just… being here.”
You laugh under your breath, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe,” he says, smiling, “but I’m also the happiest I’ve been in a long time.”
He lifts your intertwined hands and presses a small kiss to your knuckles. The gesture is simple, tender — and yet somehow it feels like the world shifts a little beneath your feet.
“Come on,” he murmurs, voice low, “let’s get out of here before the chaos finds us.”
You turn — and, of course, the chaos finds you anyway.
Ollie, Isack, Gabriel, and Kimi are waiting a few steps away, trying (and failing) to look inconspicuous. All four are in team polos and sunglasses, despite the fact that it’s nightfall.
You raise an eyebrow. “You four really couldn’t let us have a moment?”
Ollie shrugs, grinning. “We’re just making sure the mission is complete.”
“Mission accomplished,” Lewis says dryly, still holding your hand.
Isack claps once. “Then our job here is done.”
“Wrong,” Gabriel says, pretending to check a clipboard. “Phase Two: protect the couple from paparazzi.”
Kimi simply nods, deadpan. “We’re very serious about this.”
You and Lewis exchange a look — equal parts amused and exasperated — before bursting into laughter.
So you let them follow.
Out through the paddock, into the soft glow of the marina lights, fireworks still sparking faintly in the distance. Lewis’s fingers remain laced with yours, the warmth of his hand grounding you as you walk side by side — the four rookies trailing behind like proud, meddling little brothers who’ve just saved the world.
And maybe they have, in their own way.
Because for the first time in a long time, Lewis isn’t walking alone. And for the first time in a long time, you’re not wondering what if.
You’re just here.
With him.
Hand in hand, under the glittering Abu Dhabi sky — hearts steady, smiles soft, the whole grid’s laughter echoing somewhere behind you.
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lewishamilton
liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername, maxverstappen1 and 10,000,000 others.
Request from @f1kenny121 I was just watching the VS show and I can’t stop imagining husband!lewis x VSangel!reader like kind of a Cole Sprouse and Barbra Palvin situation where he’s OBSESSED. (Side note I need a guy like Cole sprouse😔😔) - I think you meant Dylan...but easy mistake and I shall write it bc I AGREE.
Author's note: I don't usually like writing for model!reader however I do love Barbra and Dylan's relationship so I'm making an allowance
Word count: 863
Y/n left Lewis in the hotel with a kiss on his lips before she left to meet up with some other angels and get to the show. It was early and she didn't want to disturb him when he didn't need to be up for another few hours.
Lewis didn't have to attend, he has a lot going on. He just lost Roscoe, he has Ferrari making him look a fool on track. Y/n insisted that she would understand if he couldn't be there.
But there would've had to be an apocalypse to stop Lewis attending. Hell if the show had been cancelled he'd have hired the venue out and had a show just for y/n so she could still have the experience even if he was the only one in the audience.
He woke up sending her a message since he knows she'd have access to her phone and unsurprisingly she replies immediately telling him she is feeling the nerves since unlike a lot of the angels who are returning to the glory of being a Victoria Secret Angel, this is her first time and she feels the pressure.
Lewis is on the red carpet on his entry to the show and obviously everyone wants to talk to him.
"Lewis, you look amazing. How are you feeling? Obviously you're here for y/n. Have you spoken to her?"
"Thank you, y/n actually picked the outfit. So credit to her. But I'm feeling good, I have spoken to y/n she's been so excited for this. Maybe some nerves at the moment, but I just know she's going to have the best time." Lewis nods and the love in his eyes just talking about y/n is visible. "I can't wait to see her on that runway, she's going to be the most beautiful woman there."
"Is there anyone or anything else you're looking forward to seeing?"
"No. Just y/n. She's all I'm here for." Lewis smiles earning a small laugh and nod from the interviewer.
"Have you seen any hint at what she'll be wearing?"
"No. She's done well to keep that to her self, I think she wanted to surprise me. But I mean she'll look stunning no matter what wings or outfit she's wearing. She'd elevate the most beautiful clothes on the planet just because she's wearing them."
Lewis could probably praise and love on y/n for hours if someone let him but the interviewer seems to have decided they've heard Lewis obsess over y/n enough and he moves on getting into the venue and finding his seat, which is a front row.
He sits smiling as he talks to a couple others just to be polite but really Lewis is there for one person and one person only.
The shows on and Lewis wait's patiently, eyes glued to the entry point of the stage. Model after model appear but Lewis doesn't let his gaze stray, waiting for her and when she appears he doesn't even realise he's stood up in his awe.
Y/n is the most angel model there, the large white feather wings behind her as she struts. Lewis is sure he can't breathe and when her purposeful siren eyes flick around, the finally find him and she blows him a double handed kiss and wink.
Lewis' smile can't be wiped from his face as she gets to the end of the run way and shows the presence of her personality as all the best models do. He's applauding and whistling loud enough that it overpowers most of the other audience.
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When Lewis finally sees y/n, he's got her a bouquet of flowers that are just about too big for him to carry but he was not getting her anything less than the biggest he could carry.
"You are surreal." Lewis states leaning over to kiss her while y/n grins looking at the red roses.
"These are beautiful." Y/n states then biting her lip a little. "I've starving."
"I've got us a reservation ready for when you want to go. I didn't want to push you for anything in case you got invited to anything else."
"I want to celebrate this with you. God knows I never would've been able to get here without you pushing me to do it."
"You just needed reminded of who you are, baby." Lewis assures her then grinning. "I'm so proud of you. You were the most angel, angel on the runway."
"Thank you. You have no idea how much my back is going to hurt tomorrow because they weigh a ton. Keeping balance in the real show was so much harder than practice and rehearsals." Y/n laughs earning while the two head out and the moment they step outside they are dazzled by the flashes of photographers watching to capture the couple and the flowers work as a great deflection to protect their eyes.
But it's not surprise people want to capture the two, the way Lewis talks about y/n. It's only a matter of time before she's much more than a girlfriend and even Lewis knows that.
served with: lewis hamilton x fem!engineer!reader
chef's note: working as the new race engineer for Ferrari means long nights, impossible strategy calls, and a driver who trusts your voice more than anyone else on the pit wall. What it doesn’t mean—at least in theory—is falling into the center of a paddock-wide matchmaking scheme because Lewis has the most obvious crush in Formula 1 history.
note: helloooo! just a little advise carlos is the teammate of lewis in ferrari (idk why, just want something different 🤭) and charles is part of the reserve drivers! 🙈
scuderiaferrari
liked by ynuser, user1, user2 and others
scuderiaferrari new voice on car 44 this season 🎧 welcome to the pit wall, Y/N!
carlossainz55 she already fixed something in our telemetry in 5 minutes
scuderiaferrari don’t expose us
charles_leclerc she beat our sim team lap record yesterday
ynuser IT WAS ONE LAP
lewishamilton looking forward to working together 🙏🏾
user1 THE POLITENESS 😭
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replies:
a - username those are HEART EYES
b - username bro fell in love in fp1
c - username the ferrari garage looks like a romcom now
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charles_leclerc
liked by ynuser, alexandraleclerc, user1 and others
charles_leclerc explaining to y/n how dramatic ferrari radio can get
ynuser I am learning
lewishamilton don’t scare her
charles_leclerc too late
lando WAIT THATS THE ENGINEER EVERYONE IS TALKING ABOUT??
alex_albon yes
lando lewis is cooked
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scuderiaferrari
liked by scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc, carlossainz55 and others
lewishamilton P3 today. strong start ❤️ @/ynuser
user1 THE WAY HE LOOKS AT HER
user2 sir that is your engineer not your wife
user3 ferrari garage about to start matchmaking
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replies:
a - username he looks like he’s asking her to prom
b - username bro won 7 championships but can’t talk to a woman
c - username THIS IS A ROMCOM
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charles_leclerc
liked by ynuser, lewishamilton, alexandraleclerc and others
charles_leclerc normal day at work
ynuser charles.
lewishamilton mate
alex_albon IS HE STARING
lando he’s in love your honor
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scuderiaferrari
liked by ynuser, user1, lewishamilton and others
scuderiaferrari late night debriefs
user1 THEY LOOK LIKE A MARRIED COUPLE
user2 this is literally a work romance trope
user3 someone push them together
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replies:
a - username CHARLES DID THIS
b - username THE GRID IS PLAYING MATCHMAKER
c - username PLEASE SOMEONE FILM THIS
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replies:
a - username THIS IS THE FINALE
b - username bro looks like he’s about to confess
c - username THE WHOLE PADDOCK IS INVESTED
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f1
liked by lewishamilton, scuderiaferrari, ynuser and others
f1 FIRST WIN WITH FERRARI ❤️
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FERRARI GARAGE CLIP
Lewis runs into the garage. Everyone hugs him. He finally reaches Y/N.
Lewis: “That strategy call was perfect.”
Y/N: “You drove the race.”
Lewis: “…can I take you to dinner?”
Mechanic drops a headset. Charles literally fist pumps. Y/N blinking in shock.
Y/N: “Are you asking me out right now?”
Lewis: “…yes?”
Y/N: “…yes.”
Ferrari garage screaming like they just won another championship.
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charles_leclerc
liked by f1, alexandraleclerc, lewishamilton and others
charles_leclerc MISSION ACCOMPLISHED
carlossainz55 IT FINALLY HAPPENED
lando THE ROMCOM IS COMPLETE
alex_albon we waited MONTHS
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lewishamilton
liked by scuderiaferrari, ynuser, carlossainz55 and others
Summary- After two years of secrecy, hiding from the world, from your dad Toto wolff, Lewis breaks up with you not ready for public commitment... However 2 weeks later he's spotted with Kim, leaving you just as broken as when he met you!
Words- 5.8k
Notes- Back to writing for Lewis, and warning there are mentions of k**! Based on hit the wall by Gracie abrams aka my fav artist!!! I may do a part 2 however please let me know if yous would and what gracie song next!!
The first time Lewis Hamilton kissed you, it was in a hotel room in Monaco that neither of you were supposed to be in.
You were twenty-three then, fresh out of university and trying to figure out what it meant to be Toto Wolff's daughter in the world of Formula 1 without being just Toto Wolff's daughter. You'd spent the evening at a team dinner, nursing a glass of wine and trying to ignore the way Lewis kept looking at you from across the table—not the polite, friendly glances he'd given you for years, but something else. Something that made your skin feel too tight, your breath too shallow.
When he texted you later that night—Room 2847. Just to talk. I promise.—you should have said no.
You didn't.
The door clicked shut behind you, and for a moment, you just stood there in the dim lamplight, taking him in. He was still in his dinner clothes, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to reveal those tattooed forearms. His braids were pulled back, and there was something vulnerable in his expression that you'd never seen before.
"I shouldn't have asked you to come," he said, but he didn't move away when you stepped closer.
"Then why did you?"
"Because I can't stop thinking about you." His voice was rough, honest in a way that made your heart stutter. "And I know that's wrong. I know your father would kill me. I know you're too young for this, for me, but—"
You kissed him before he could finish. Before he could talk himself out of it. Before you could.
His hands came up to cup your face, gentle and reverent, and when he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes were dark with want and worry.
"We can't tell anyone," he whispered against your lips. "Not yet. Not until—"
"I know," you breathed. "I know."
That was the beginning of the secret that would consume the next two years of your life.
The thing about secrets is that they become their own kind of addiction.
Those first few months were intoxicating in a way you'd never experienced. Every stolen moment felt like a rebellion, a delicious defiance of the world that wanted to keep you apart. Lewis would text you at three in the morning—You awake?—and you'd slip out of your hotel room, heart pounding, to meet him in empty hallways or parking garages or the back of a car with tinted windows.
During race weekends, you became experts at the art of invisible proximity. You'd brush past each other in the paddock, his hand grazing the small of your back for just a second, and that brief touch would sustain you for hours. You learned the hidden corners of every track—the storage room behind the Mercedes hospitality suite in Barcelona, the unused garage in Silverstone, the shadowy space between the motorhomes in Monza where he'd pull you close and kiss you breathless while the world rushed by just meters away.
"You're so beautiful," he'd murmur against your neck, his hands sliding under your shirt, and you'd have to bite your lip to keep from making sounds that would give you away.
The hotel rooms became your sanctuary. Lewis would book them under fake names—Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, Mr. and Mrs. Peterson—and you'd meet him there after the crowds had dispersed, after your father had gone to his own room, after the world had stopped watching.
In those anonymous spaces, you could be real. You could be yourselves.
He'd order room service at midnight, and you'd eat strawberries and drink champagne in bed, talking about everything and nothing. He told you about his childhood, about the pressure of being the first, about the loneliness that came with being a legend. You told him about growing up in your father's shadow, about feeling like you had to be perfect all the time, about the fear that no one would ever see you as just you.
"I see you," he'd say, tucking your hair behind your ear. "I see exactly who you are."
And god, you believed him.
The sex was intense, consuming, the kind that left you marked and trembling and completely undone. He'd worship your body like it was sacred, taking his time, learning every sound you made, every place that made you gasp. Afterwards, he'd hold you close, your head on his chest, his fingers tracing patterns on your bare shoulder.
"I wish we could stay here forever," you whispered once, in a hotel room in Singapore, rain pattering against the windows.
"Someday," he promised. "When the timing's right. When we can do this properly."
You wanted to ask when that would be, but you were afraid of the answer.
Carmen was the only person who knew.
George's girlfriend had caught you sneaking back to your room one morning in Bahrain, your hair messy, your lips swollen, wearing the same dress from the night before. She'd taken one look at you and known.
"Please don't tell anyone," you'd begged, tears springing to your eyes. "Please, Carmen. If my dad finds out—"
"Hey, hey," she'd pulled you into her room, sat you down on the bed. "I'm not going to tell anyone. But babe, are you okay? Is he treating you right?"
She'd looked worried even then, but she'd hugged you tight and promised to keep your secret.
She became your lifeline, the only person you could talk to about the relationship that was slowly taking over your entire existence. When Lewis cancelled plans, when he went days without texting, when the secrecy started to feel less like excitement and more like shame, Carmen was there.
"He loves you," she'd assure you. "I can see it in the way he looks at you when he thinks no one's watching."
You held onto those words like a prayer.
Fourteen months in, Lewis surprised you with a trip to the Maldives.
"Pack a bag," he'd texted. "Meet me at the private terminal. We're going somewhere no one knows us."
The villa was paradise—overwater bungalow, crystal blue ocean, complete privacy. For five days, you existed as a real couple. He held your hand as you walked on the beach. He kissed you in the ocean with the sun setting behind you. He made love to you with the doors open, the sound of waves mixing with your moans, and you didn't have to be quiet.
On the third night, lying tangled in white sheets, his fingers drawing lazy circles on your hip, you said it.
"I love you."
He went still for a moment, and your heart stopped. Then he rolled over, cupping your face in his hands, his eyes intense and serious.
"I love you too," he said. "God, I love you so much it scares me."
"Then why are we still hiding?"
He sighed, pulling you closer. "Because the world is cruel, baby. Because the media would tear you apart. They'd say terrible things about you, about us. They'd make it ugly when it's the most beautiful thing I've ever had."
"I don't care what they say."
"I do." He kissed your forehead. "I care about protecting you. Your father would lose his mind. The age gap—people would say horrible things. They'd say I'm taking advantage of you, that I'm too old for you. I can't let them do that to you."
"So what do we do?"
"We wait," he said softly. "A few more years. Until you're older, more established in your own right. Until the timing is better. Then we can go public, do this properly. I promise."
You wanted to argue, but he kissed you, and the conversation dissolved into something else.
There were other trips after that—Bora Bora, a private villa in Ibiza, a secluded resort in Thailand. Each time, you'd exist in your bubble, playing house, pretending the outside world didn't exist. Each time, you'd believe him when he said someday.
Each time, someday felt a little further away.
Your father knew something was wrong.
Toto Wolff hadn't built a championship-winning team by being oblivious. He noticed things—the way you'd disappear during race weekends, the way you'd smile at your phone and then quickly hide it, the way you'd flinch when Lewis's name came up in conversation.
One evening in Austria, he'd knocked on your hotel room door.
"Liebling, can we talk?"
Your heart had hammered in your chest. "I'm tired, Papa. Can it wait?"
He'd studied you through the crack in the door, his expression unreadable. "Are you happy?"
The question had caught you off guard. "What?"
"Are you happy?" he repeated. "You seem... different lately. Distant. I worry about you."
"I'm fine," you'd said, too quickly. "Just stressed. You know how it is."
He'd looked like he wanted to say more, but he'd just nodded. "If you ever need to talk, about anything, I'm here. You know that, right?"
"I know, Papa."
But you'd closed the door, and the conversation had ended there.
The guilt of lying to him ate at you constantly. He'd given you everything, supported you unconditionally, and you were repaying him by sneaking around with one of his former drivers. The weight of it sat heavy in your chest, but not heavy enough to make you stop.
Nothing could make you stop. You were in too deep.
The cracks started showing around month nineteen.
Lewis became distant, preoccupied. He'd take hours to respond to texts that he used to answer within minutes. He'd cancel plans at the last minute—Sorry, baby, something came up with the team. When you did see him, he seemed distracted, like his mind was somewhere else.
And he started talking about the age gap more.
"Your dad would kill me if he knew," he'd say, pulling away when you tried to kiss him. "You're twenty-five. I'm forty. That's fifteen years."
"So what? We love each other."
"It's not that simple." He'd run his hands over his face, looking exhausted. "People would crucify me. They'd say I'm grooming you, taking advantage. Your whole life is ahead of you. You should be with someone your own age, someone who—"
"I don't want someone my own age. I want you."
But he wasn't listening anymore.
The sex changed too. It became less frequent, more mechanical. He'd hold you afterwards, but it felt different—like he was already somewhere else, already pulling away.
You tried to talk about the future, about when you'd finally go public, but he'd change the subject every time.
"Let's just focus on now," he'd say.
But now was slipping through your fingers, and you were powerless to stop it.
The end came in a hotel room in barcelona.
You'd had enough of the distance, the excuses, the feeling that you were losing him. So you'd confronted him, your voice shaking but determined.
"What's changed, Lewis? Why are you pulling away from me?"
He'd been standing by the window, looking out at the city lights, and he didn't turn around. "I think we need to talk."
Those five words made your blood run cold.
"I've been thinking a lot lately," he continued, his voice carefully controlled. "About us. About what we're doing. And I think... I think this was a mistake."
The room tilted. "What?"
"This whole thing. Us. It never should have happened." Now he turned, and his face was composed, almost clinical. Like he was discussing race strategy, not destroying your entire world. "You're too young. I'm too old. The age gap—it's not right. I should never have let it get this far."
"You said you loved me." Your voice was barely a whisper.
"I do love you. That's why I have to end this. Because I'm not good for you. Because being with me would ruin your life. The media attention, the scrutiny, the judgment—you don't deserve that. You deserve someone age-appropriate, someone who can give you a normal relationship, a normal life."
Tears were streaming down your face now, but you couldn't speak. Your throat had closed up completely.
"You have so much potential," he continued, and each word was a knife. "You're brilliant and beautiful and you have your whole life ahead of you. You should be out there, living it, not hiding in hotel rooms with a man old enough to be your father. I'm holding you back. I'm being selfish."
"Lewis—" you finally managed.
"This is for the best," he said firmly. "For both of us, but especially for you. Someday you'll understand. Someday you'll thank me."
"Don't," you choked out. "Don't do this to me. Please."
"I'm sorry." And he did look sorry, but not sorry enough to stay. "I really am. But this is over. It has to be."
You sat there on the edge of the bed, crying silently while he gathered his things. He paused at the door, looked back at you one last time.
"Take care of yourself," he said softly.
Then he was gone.
You stayed in that room for hours, curled up on the bed, sobbing into the pillows that still smelled like him. Your phone buzzed with texts from Carmen, from your father, but you couldn't bring yourself to look at them.
He'd said it was for your own good. He'd said you'd thank him someday.
But all you felt was shattered.
The next few weeks were a blur of grey.
You cancelled everything—race appearances, social events, dinners with friends. You told your father you were sick, told Carmen you needed space, told everyone who asked that you were fine when you were anything but.
You spent hours in your room, curtains drawn, scrolling through old text messages at four in the morning. Reading and rereading conversations, looking for signs you'd missed, trying to pinpoint the exact moment he'd started pulling away.
I love you so much it scares me.
Someday we'll do this properly.
You're the best thing that's ever happened to me.
All lies. They had to be lies, because if they were true, he wouldn't have left.
You deleted the photos—all those secret snapshots you'd taken when he wasn't looking, the selfies from your hidden holidays, the candid shots of him sleeping peacefully beside you. Each deletion felt like a small death, but looking at his face hurt too much.
Carmen called every day. You ignored her.
Your father knocked on your door, worry evident in his voice. You told him you were fine through the closed door.
You weren't fine. You were drowning.
Sleep became impossible. You'd lie awake, replaying the breakup conversation, analyzing every word, every inflection. It was a mistake. You're too young. This is for the best. The words looped endlessly in your mind, a cruel mantra.
Food tasted like ash. Colors seemed muted. The world continued spinning, but you were stuck, frozen in that hotel room, watching him walk away over and over again.
You told yourself it would get better. That time would heal this. That eventually, you'd be able to breathe again without it hurting.
You were wrong.
Two weeks after you'd finally started leaving your room, started pretending to be human again, Carmen sent you a link.
I'm so sorry. I didn't want you to find out this way.
Your hands shook as you clicked it.
The headline made your stomach drop: "Lewis Hamilton and Kim Kardashian Spark Romance Rumors After Cozy Night Out."
The photos were everywhere. Lewis and Kim at an after-party, his hand on her lower back. Lewis and Kim at a charity gala, her hand in his. Lewis and Kim on a yacht, laughing, touching, looking at each other the way he used to look at you.
You scrolled through article after article, each one a fresh wound.
"The Formula 1 champion and reality star were spotted getting cozy at..."
"Sources say they've been dating for a few weeks..."
"Kim was seen cheering Lewis on from the Ferrari paddock..."
The Ferrari paddock. Public. Visible. Everything he'd said he couldn't do with you.
More photos emerged over the following days. Lewis and Kim at a restaurant, no attempt to hide. Lewis and Kim at a movie premiere, walking the red carpet together, her hand in his, both of them smiling for the cameras. Lewis and Kim at a race, her wearing Ferrari red, him kissing her cheek in full view of everyone.
Every single thing he'd said he couldn't do with you, he was doing with her.
And Kim—Kim was everything he'd claimed to be afraid of. She was older than him. She was confident, established, famous in her own right. She was the opposite of you in every way.
Which meant You were the problem. You weren't enough. You weren't the right kind of woman. You weren't worth the risk.
The realization broke something fundamental inside you.
You'd believed him when he said he was protecting you. You'd believed him when he said the timing wasn't right. You'd believed him when he said it was about the age gap, about your father, about the media.
But it was all bullshit.
He just didn't want you enough.
Kim was worth going public for. Kim was worth the scrutiny, the judgment, the media attention. Kim was worth everything you weren't.
You stopped eating again. Stopped sleeping. Stopped pretending.
Carmen found you on your bathroom floor at three in the morning, sobbing so hard you couldn't breathe.
"He replaced me," you gasped. "He replaced me with her. He's doing everything with her that I wanted to do with him. Everything he said we couldn't do."
"I know, babe. I know." She held you while you fell apart. "He's a fucking asshole. He doesn't deserve you."
But that was the problem, wasn't it? You didn't want to be deserving of someone better. You wanted to be deserving of him.
And apparently, you weren't.
"You have to go to this race."
Carmen was standing in your living room, arms crossed, wearing her most determined expression. You were on the couch in sweatpants and one of your father's old Mercedes shirts, looking like death warmed over.
"No."
"Yes. Mercedes is having an incredible season. George and kimi are winning races. Your dad needs you there. The team needs you there."
"I can't." Your voice cracked. "I can't see him, Carmen. I can't watch him with her."
"Kim won't be there. She's in LA for some event. It'll just be Lewis, and you can avoid him. The paddock is huge."
"I said no."
"And I'm saying you don't get a choice anymore." Carmen sat down beside you, her voice softening. "Babe, you can't hide forever. You can't let him take this from you too. Formula 1 is your world, your family's legacy. You can't let him steal that."
"He already stole everything else."
"Then don't let him have this too." She grabbed your hand, squeezed it. "Come to the race. Hold your head high. Show him that he didn't break you."
But he had broken you. You were shattered into so many pieces you didn't know how to put yourself back together.
Still, three days later, you found yourself getting ready for the Monaco Grand Prix.
You chose your outfit carefully—a sleek black dress that made you look older, more sophisticated, more like the kind of woman Lewis apparently wanted. You did your makeup meticulously, covering the dark circles under your eyes, adding color to your pale cheeks. You styled your hair in loose waves, the way Lewis used to love.
Then you looked at yourself in the mirror and wanted to cry.
You were trying to be someone you weren't. Trying to be enough. Trying to be worth it.
"You look beautiful," Carmen said from the doorway.
"I look desperate."
"You look strong."
You didn't feel strong. You felt like you were about to shatter.
But you went anyway.
The Monaco paddock was chaos, as always—a crush of people, cameras, noise, energy. You walked beside Carmen, your father somewhere ahead in meetings, and tried to keep your breathing steady.
You can do this. Just a few hours. Smile, wave, avoid Ferrari hospitality. You can do this.
You were so focused on not looking toward the Ferrari garage that you didn't see him until you'd literally collided with him.
The impact was gentle, but it might as well have been a car crash for how it affected you.
"Sorry, I—" The voice stopped abruptly.
You looked up.
Lewis was standing right in front of you, close enough to touch, wearing Ferrari red that looked wrong on him, so wrong. His eyes widened when he saw you, his expression shifting from surprise to something that looked almost like pain.
"Y/N," he said softly, and the sound of your name in his voice after weeks of silence broke something inside you.
The tears came instantly, hot and humiliating, spilling down your cheeks before you could stop them. You couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything but stand there and fall apart in front of him, in front of everyone.
"I—I can't—" you gasped, and then you were turning, walking away as fast as you could without running, your vision blurred with tears.
"Y/N, wait!" His voice behind you, urgent. "Please, just wait—"
But you couldn't wait. You couldn't stand there and look at him and pretend you were okay. You couldn't—
His hand caught your arm gently, and you let him pull you into a secluded area between the motorhomes—one of your old hiding spots, where you used to meet in secret, where he used to kiss you like you were the only thing that mattered.
The irony was devastating.
"Please, just let me—" he started.
The slap came before you'd even decided to do it.
Your palm connected with his cheek hard enough that the sound echoed in the small space, hard enough that his head snapped to the side, hard enough that your hand stung.
He stared at you, shocked, his hand coming up to touch his reddening cheek.
And then everything you'd been holding in for weeks came pouring out.
"You broke me," you sobbed, your voice raw and jagged. "You completely fucking broke me, Lewis."
He opened his mouth, but you didn't let him speak.
"I loved you. I loved you so much it consumed me. I would have done anything for you—I did do anything for you. I lied to my father every single day. I hid in shadows. I made myself small and quiet and secret because you asked me to. Because you said it was to protect me. Because you said the timing wasn't right."
Your chest was heaving, tears streaming freely down your face, and you didn't care anymore. Didn't care who might hear. Didn't care about anything except making him understand what he'd done to you.
"And I believed you. God, I was so stupid. I believed every word. When you said you loved me, I believed you. When you said we'd go public someday, I believed you. When you said it was about protecting me from the media, from my father, from the world—I fucking believed you."
"Y/N, please—" His voice was thick, his eyes glassy.
"No. You don't get to talk. Not yet." You stepped closer, your finger jabbing into his chest. "You want to know what the worst part is? It wasn't even the breakup. It was the lies. Everything you said to me was bullshit. 'You're too young.' 'The age gap is too much.' 'The media would destroy us.' But then two weeks later—two weeks, Lewis—you're all over the tabloids with Kim fucking Kardashian."
He flinched like you'd slapped him again.
"You're parading her around like a trophy. Red carpets. Yachts. The fucking Ferrari paddock where everyone can see. You're doing everything—everything—you told me we couldn't do. So what was it really? What was the real reason you threw me away?"
"That's not—I didn't throw you away—"
"Then what do you call it?" Your voice cracked, broke completely. "What do you call telling someone you love them and then discarding them like they meant nothing? What do you call replacing them before the bed's even cold?"
"It wasn't like that—"
"Then what was it like?" You were screaming now, you didn't care. "Tell me, Lewis. Make it make sense. Because from where I'm standing, the only logical conclusion is that I wasn't good enough. I wasn't worth the risk. I wasn't worth fighting for. Kim is older, more famous, more established—she's everything you told me you were afraid of, but apparently she's worth it. So what does that make me?"
"You're twisting this—"
"Am I?" Tears dripped from your chin onto your dress. "You loved me enough to fuck me in secret for two years, but not enough to be seen with me in public. Kim gets two weeks and a red carpet. So tell me how I'm twisting anything. Tell me how that doesn't mean I was just... not enough."
Your voice broke on the last word, and suddenly all the anger drained out of you, leaving only the grief. You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling small and pathetic and so, so broken.
"I haven't slept in weeks," you whispered. "I can't eat. I can't function. I look at my phone and I still expect to see your name. I wake up reaching for you and then I remember you're gone, and it destroys me all over again. Every single morning, I have to remember that you don't want me anymore."
"That's not true—"
"You ruined me, Lewis." You looked up at him through your tears, and your voice was small and devastated. "You were my first real love do you know that. You were everything to me. And you treated me like I was disposable. Like those two years meant nothing. Like I meant nothing."
He was crying now too, silent tears tracking down his face, but you couldn't stop. It was all pouring out like blood from a wound that had never been allowed to heal.
"I gave you everything. My trust, my body, my heart—everything. I would have waited forever if you'd asked me to. I would have stayed secret forever if that's what you needed. But you didn't even give me a choice. You just... ended it. And then you immediately moved on like I never existed."
"You did exist. You do exist. What we had was real—"
"Was it?" Your laugh was bitter, broken. "Because it doesn't feel real anymore. It feels like a lie. Like I imagined the whole thing. Like I made up this fantasy where you actually loved me when really, you were just killing time until someone better came along."
"Stop. Please stop." His voice was wrecked, pleading. "You're killing me."
"Good," you spat, even as fresh tears spilled over. "Now you know how it feels."
"It's not what you think," he said desperately, his hands reaching for you but not quite touching. "Kim—it's just PR. My management set it up. Ferrari wanted the publicity, she wanted the exposure, and they thought it would be good for my image. It's fake. All of it. The photos, the appearances—it's all staged."
You stared at him, and something inside you went very still.
"It's you," he continued, his voice breaking. "It was always you. I never stopped—I still love you. I think about you every single day. I hate myself for what I did, for how I ended things. But my management, they told me it couldn't work. They said the age gap would destroy my reputation, that your father would make things difficult, that the media would crucify both of us. They wouldn't allow it. They said I had to end it."
The anger drained out of you completely, leaving behind something far worse. A hollow, aching sadness that made your whole body feel heavy.
When you spoke, your voice was barely a whisper.
"If you really loved me, you would have fought for me."
He flinched like you'd struck him again.
"You would have told your management to go to hell. You would have said I was worth it, worth the risk, worth everything. But you didn't." Tears slipped silently down your cheeks now, and you didn't bother wiping them away. "You chose your image over me. You chose your reputation. You chose what was easy."
"It wasn't—"
"Kim is a PR stunt, but you're still doing it. You're still parading her around. You're still choosing to be seen with her instead of fighting to be seen with me." Your voice was so quiet now, so defeated. "If you loved me the way you say you do, you would have fought. You would have told them no. You would have chosen me."
"You don't understand the pressure—"
"I understand that love is supposed to be worth fighting for." Your words came out broken, each one an effort. "I would have fought for you. I would have fought the whole world for you. My father, the media, everyone—I would have burned it all down to be with you. But you didn't fight at all. You just... gave up. You gave up on us without even trying."
"I was trying to protect you—"
"No." You shook your head slowly. "You were protecting yourself. And that's fine. That's your choice. But don't stand here and tell me you love me when you weren't willing to fight for that love. Don't tell me I was everything when you chose nothing instead."
The devastation on his face was complete, but it didn't make you feel better. Nothing could make you feel better.
"Real love fights," you whispered. "Real love risks everything. Real love doesn't need permission from management. And if you didn't love me enough to fight for me, then maybe you never really loved me at all."
"That's not true—"
"Then prove it." Your eyes met his, and they were empty now, all the fire burned out. "Leave her. Tell your management no. Tell Ferrari no. Choose me. Right now. Prove that I was worth it."
The silence stretched between you, heavy and terrible.
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked away.
And in that hesitation, you had your answer.
"That's what I thought," you said softly.
You turned to go, but his voice stopped you one more time.
"Please, Y/N. Just listen—"
"No." The word came out strangled, and you could feel yourself breaking apart again, fresh tears burning hot trails down your cheeks. "No, I'm done listening to you."
"If you would just let me explain—"
"Explain what?" You whirled back to face him, and the tears were coming faster now, your vision swimming. "Explain how you looked me in the eye and told me you saw me—the real me—and made me believe that meant something? That girl you said you saw, Lewis? She's gone. You destroyed her."
His face crumpled. "Don't say that—"
"It's true. That girl who believed in love, who believed in you, who thought she was enough—she doesn't exist anymore. You killed her when you walked out that door in Barcelona." Your voice was shaking violently, your whole body trembling. "And I don't know who I am without her. I don't know how to be anyone else."
"Y/N—"
"I was enough before you. I was whole. And then you came along and you made me believe in something beautiful and then you ripped it away, and now I'm just... broken. I'm just pieces of a person who used to exist."
"Please don't—"
"Just leave me alone, Lewis." The words came out as a sob. "Please. Just leave me alone."
"I can't—"
"You did it before." You were backing away from him now, your hands held up like you could physically ward him off. "You left me before. So do it again. Just go. Please just go."
"Let me help—"
But you couldn't hear any more. Couldn't stand there and let him see you fall apart like this. Couldn't let him witness what he'd reduced you to.
So you ran.
You pushed past him and ran through the paddock, not caring who saw you, not caring about the tears streaming down your face or the mascara probably running down your cheeks. You just ran, your heels clicking frantically against the pavement, your breath coming in gasps, until you found yourself in the Mercedes motorhome bathroom, the door locked behind you, sliding down to the floor.
And there, alone, you let yourself shatter completely.
You stayed on that bathroom floor until Carmen found you. She didn't say anything, just sat down beside you and held you while you cried yourself empty.
When you finally went back out, Lewis was gone. The race was starting. The world kept spinning.
You stood in the Mercedes garage beside your father, watching George take pole position, and felt absolutely nothing.
"Are you alright, Liebling?" Toto asked quietly.
"No," you said. It was the first honest thing you'd said to him in two years. "But I will be."
He pulled you into his side, kissed the top of your head. He didn't ask questions. He just held you.
On the podium, George sprayed champagne and smiled for the cameras. Somewhere in the paddock, Lewis was doing press interviews, pretending to be fine.
And you stood there, broken but standing, and realized something.
You couldn't control whether Lewis fought for you. You couldn't control whether you were enough for him.
But you could control whether you fought for yourself.
It would take time. It would take therapy and tears and probably more nights on bathroom floors. It would take learning who you were outside of loving him, outside of being his secret.
But you would heal. Not today. Not tomorrow.
But someday.
And unlike his someday, yours would actually come.
summary : everyone knows lewis hamilton is prioritizing his f1 career, but what happens when he meets you, the grid’s favorite party girl?
pairing : lewis hamilton x younger!reader
lina’s radio : i love age gaps and party girls, sue me
ynln
liked by iamrebeccad, alexandrasaintmleux, and 234,561 others
ynln girls just wanna have fun 💄
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iamrebeccad 🔥🔥🔥
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maxverstappen1 WHAT is going on in the last photo
⤷ ynln a blurry pic from my camera, duh! 🙄
user72 the most diva diva to ever diva
⤷ ynln lol thats actually @/georgerussell63
⤷ georgerussell63 keep my name out your mouth 😒
⤷ user62 IM CRYING GEORGE CATCHING STRAYS
charles_leclerc red for ferrari??
⤷ ynln you wish
alexandrasaintmleux gorgeous girl, i miss you ♥️
⤷ ynln i miss you more lovey 🤍
user59 hello who is this and why does the entire grid + f1 wags follow her
⤷ user77 she’s carmen and rebecca’s best friend, she’s been in and out of the paddock a lot these past years!
carmenmmundt i will gladly kiss you
⤷ ynln come here 💋
the morning after a party always begins with the same feelings: a pounding migraine, aches felt deep in your muscles, makeup stuck to the crevices in your face; ah, how you’ve missed it. you rise from your bed slowly, glancing around at the mess that litters your room. nothing new, you shrug to yourself as you move from your bed, kicking away a haphazardly thrown piece of lingerie you had half the mind to put on the night before. your movements are slow as you descend into your kitchen, the morning blurring together slowly, and only remnants of warm sunlight and the smell of coffee remain in your memory; that is until a piercing ring echoes in the living room of your home.
you seem to suddenly have a burst of energy, speedwalking to your phone, narrowly avoiding the mess of your heels from the night prior. “hello?” you call, sliding your phone between your ear and shoulder, grabbing your heels and stuffing them into your mudroom closet. “YN! I-” “christ lando! give a girl a break, i JUST woke up and i have a hangover you twat!” you groan, cutting him off; but his sheer excitement that you can hear through the phone causes you to break out in a small smile. “sorry, sorry…i just wanted to invite you to somethingg…” his michevious tone cause your eyebrows to rise, “i’m listeningg…what’s up?”
ynln added to their story
user62 replied to your story are you flying for a party in another city? loool 😭
carmenmmundt replied to your story i am SO excited to see u girl
⤷ ynln ugh i can’t wait to see your beautiful face
user27 replied to your story HELLO ARE YOU GOING TO THE SINGAPORE GP SHUT UPPP!!
alex_albon replied to your story okay so you didn’t want to tell your best friend you were coming to the gp 💔💔
⤷ ynln you’re like…insanely dramatic, wrap it up 🙄
user78 replied to your story is that first class???
user93 replied to your story SINGAPOREEEEE 🇸🇬
lando replied to your story hello where are you
⤷ lando HELLO ANSWER
ynln added to their story
lando replied to your story I DID NOT STRUGGLE!!!
⤷ ynln whatever helps you sleep at night 😴
georgerussell63 replied to your story he’s definitely rioting in your dms right now LOL
⤷ ynln you’d be correct 🙂↕️
user47 OMGG LANDO + YN CRUMBS
user71 landos stance BYE he looks like he’s gonna fall over 💀
francocolapinto replied to your story weak man 🥸
yukitsunoda0511 replied to your story 💀💀
you watch as lando hauls your suitcase through the hallway, watching as he places it down in front of a door. he taps on the door, “this is your room,” he moves to another directly across the hallway, tapping its door, “and this is mine!” he watch as he beams, a cheeky smile as he awaits your reaction. you roll your eyes, but cannot deny the smirk creeping into your lips, “okay creep…open the door for me,” you nudge your head towards the door, “i’m holding this heavy ass suitcase, hurry up,” “fine,” he opens the door, motioning you to walk in first, and immediately you’re hit with a barrage of sensations.
the first thing that hits you is the warm lighting of the luxury hotel room; the next physical thing that hits you is a multitude of arms wrapped around you. “what the FUCK-?” you pull away from the bear hug you've been trapped in, and you're met with the faces of carmen and rebecca. "OH MY GOSH!" you squeal, pulling the girls into a hug, "i've missed you guys so much!" they laugh along at your enthusiasm and carmen speaks up, "so excited to see you, my girl, george is excited to have you here this weekend!" she kisses your cheek affectionately, helping you bring your suitcase into the hotel room, "i don't care about that diva," you roll your eyes and rebecca chimes in, "yeah, carlos and i haven't seen you in ages, he thinks having his favorite party girl will somehow bring him luck," she chuckles, and you can only nod along. "like my surprise?" lando calls from the hallway, and you can only groan, forgetting that he was even there. "lando get out! unless you're buying me drinks!" you hear him scoff before a click of a door sounds throughout the room. "so...where we we?"
turning your head back towards your girls, you watch as they share a knowing look and smile, "so..." carmen starts, "soooo...what?" you reply, teasing her slightly. "have you met anyone? had sex? we want to know everything about your love life!" rebecca says, finishing the spaniard's sentence. "i can't believe that's the topic of conversation right now! but no, not seeing anyone, not having sex with anyone, and my love life has been dry," you say, taking a sip from your martini glass you snatched from the kitchen earlier—room service truly is a gift. "and besides, every man, since like forever, is a childish bore, i need a more mature man..." you trail off. the girls laugh, heads thrown back at your comment, "tell me about it!" you hear carmen cheer, "seriously. cheers to that!" rebecca smiles, and the three of you clink your glasses together.
ynln
liked by lando, kikagomes, carmenmmundt, and 302,564 others
ynln three's a crowd 🥂
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ynln @/georgerussell63 and @/carlossainz55 thanks for letting me steal your girlfriends, they're mine now
⤷ georgerussell63 bring her back
⤷ carlossainz55 tell her to come back home to me
⤷ user65 IM CRYING THEYRE NOT EVEN FIGHTING BACK
user83 not at a party? shockerrrr
user92 omg that bathroom is beautiful
carmenmmundt i loveeee you
⤷ ynln love u so much more
charles_leclerc invite me next time 🍾
⤷ ynln only if u buy me drinks
⤷ lando DONT FALL FOR IT SHE TOLD ME TO TOO
⤷ ynln dude f u stop raining on my parade
iamrebeccad 💋💋💋
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user86 this is such a different vibe from her last post LOL
⤷ ynln party girl me will return by the end of this week
ynln added to their story
singapore is hot. you feel absolutely gross, sweat sticking to skin, hair slightly damp against your forehead, hands clammy; it's by far one of your least favorite races you've attended in your recent years. but as much as you're disgusted by the heat, you know singapore is an iconic race, and where are you if not at an iconic race?
when you finally do enter the paddock, you're almost immediately bombarded by shouts and a few camera flashes. its no doubt due to your disappearance from the most recent races, its obvious the paddock has been absolutely deprived of your magnetic presence, you think to yourself, and you're chuckling at your own sarcasm when a voice breaks you out of your trance. "yn, oh my goodness!" its alexandra, charles' beloved girlfriend, and your stomach flips when you see her, "alex!" you pull her into a hug in front of her boyfriend, sticking your tongue out at him from over her shoulder. pulling back, your hands rest on her forearms, "gosh, you look beautiful," you eye her up and down, "we have to stay together today, i'm sure the world has missed us together," a teasing smirk tugs at your lips. you watch as she nods excitedly, and from behind her, you can hear a familiar monegasque's voice, "not going to say hi to me?" pulling away from alex, you finally look at charles, who's arms are spread, waiting for your hug. "you're so annoying, cha!" you say, but nonetheless, you pull him into a rib-breaking hug. "come to ferrari today, we'll make it worth it," he smiles cheekily as the both of you pull apart, and you can't help but nod, grabbing alexandra's hand and following her boyfriend.
walking into the ferrari hospitality is like your vision being assaulted with bright shades of only red. "jeez charles, how're you able to look at only one color-" you say as you're looking around, only to come crashing into something hard. "oof- what the hell?" you say pushing back the hard...object? a low whistle comes from whatever you've crashed into. definitely not an object. a pair of steady hands grabs your waist to prevent you from falling over, and from a distance you can hear a chuckle and a proceeding giggle. "sorry about that...wasn't watching where i was going," its a low voice that breaks you out from staring at the red race suit that you bumped into, "i'm-" "lewis hamilton, hello..." you say, glancing up to make eye contact, interrupting his introduction, "yn, yn ln," taking a step back, you outstretch your hand, motioning for a handshake. you watch as his eyebrows raise before taking your hand into his own, "glad to finally meet you, alex and charles tend to speak of you a lot," his eyes crinkle as he smiles at you, shaking your hand. letting go, you twirl a hair between your finger, smacking your gum in your mouth, "hah, do they? i'm surprised we haven't met earlier then..." you trail off, "well it's been great to meet you, but you should probably be getting ready for your race today, no?" you watch as he nods, eyes glazing over you for a split second before he says his goodbyes, continuing to walk where he was headed before he bumped into you.
lewis feels his heart beating out of his chest as he finally enters his driver's room, and he lets out a sigh of relief. he should be focused on this race; its incredibly important and its his first singapore gp with ferrari—a knock breaks him out of his thoughts. "lewis? lewiss!" its charles, and lewis knows what he'll say, he knows the monegasque watched the entire interaction. he can't help but feel the heat creep onto his ears and neck as he opens the door, where he's met with hazel eyes and a knowing smirk. he watches as charles shuts the door behind him before his composure cracks, "mate what was that? i could see how hard you were smiling, and i-" his eyes light up with mischief as he talks, and lewis can't help the bashful smile that comes onto his face. "see! you're even smiling now, just thinking about her, this is seriously a moment in history!" charles continues, lewis runs a hand over his face, warm as he recalls the interaction, "mate...shut up, it couldn't have been that bad," charles shakes his head, "i wish you could've seen yourself, i mean seriously!" "charles, please we have a race to perform in," lewis shakes his head, "okay...but don't think i'll forget about this!" he watches as charles points to him before walking out of his room, he was so fucked.
alex pulls you into a secluded area of the ferrari hospitality, gesturing for you to sit down. the moment you do, you watch as her lips move into a shit-eating grin, “yn…what was that?” she starts, you can only shake your head in disbelief, “i have no idea what you’re talking about…” you state, your words muffled behind your hand as you look around at anything but her. “yn, please. i watched with my own two eyes how you started twirling your hair! you had stars in your eyes! im telling you, i’ve never seen you react that way to any man.” you feel the blush creeping slowly onto your cheeks as you giggle. “okay sure…but he’s the lewis hamilton, he’s hot!” alexandra shrugs, and her expression says, you said it yourself. you groan, “you’re not going to let this go, huh?” you watch as her grin grows impossibly wider, “never,” she stands up then, holding a hand out to you, “come on, we’ve got a race to watch!”
you’re in the motorhome with alexandra, a ferrari headset adorning your ears as you watch the cars fly past the checkered flag. p6 and p8, not ferrari’s best, but you’re aware it could have been much worse. the rest of the night blurs together, a mixture of celebrations, laughs, and high fives; and just as you’re able to clobber into your hotel room, your phone rings.
“hello? who is this?” “did you not check your phone before i called?” a british voice answers back as you put your phone on speaker, placing it on the hotel vanity as you begin to take off your shoes. “hello mr. singapore winner, what can i do for you today?” you sarcastically reply, unzipping the boots on your feet. “party tonight, most of the grid’s coming, you in?” you let out a half-laugh, half-sigh. “i just took off my shoes, george!” you let out a fake groan, “just put on a new outfit-” “but…why would i ever say no, do you even know me?” as you cut him off you can hear as he cheers from the other line, “okay! i’ll send you the address,” “okay mister winner, i won’t keep you waiting,” you say, ending the call and stripping off your clothes before rummaging through your suitcase trying to find a suitable outfit.
ynln added to their story
alexandrasaintmleux replied to your story we are so hot
⤷ ynln you know it 😘
georgerussell63 replied to your story TAKE THIS DON MY PR TEAM IS YONAN KILL ME
⤷ ynln mmmmmmm i dont know!
user70 replied to your story HELLO THE CIGS???
user17 body is teaaaaa
lando replied to your story HAVE A DJ OFF I ITHH ME RIGJHT NOW
⤷ ynln your ass is TOO drunk, i don’t want you to be a pr nightmare tomorrow
user29 replied to your story BOTH TOPS FROM WHERE PLEASEEE
lewishamilton started following you!
you aren’t drunk yet, but you can feel yourself almost slipping through time. the music blares in your eardrums, lights flash directly into your eyes, and too many people are surrounding you where you sit at: a stool right at the bar. your vision blurs as you swiftly turn your head towards the bartender, his face nonexistent and irrelevant as you blabber out your order. as he hands you your drink, you thank him—although you’re unsure if its truly coherent—slapping your amex black card onto the slightly damp bar surface. you can barely make out his widened eyes as he hands you back your credit card, and you stuff it into your bra, downing your drink in one go before heading to the dance floor.
you're having the time of your entire life. the buzz in your head prevents you from focusing on anything other than dancing; you're grinding, laughing, and failing miserably while attempting to line dance. it comes to a point where you're still dancing as you're pushed into another body. "woah, are you all right?" you're almost taken aback that you are being spoken to and turning around, you're met with the eyes of another driver, "oh hi lance! how're you?" your words are slurred as you continue to blabber incoherently, giggling and laughing at nearly everything he says—not out of actual humor, but from the alcohol buzzing within your system. at one point, you feel his hands land somewhere on your body, and you're about to pull him off, but you're luckily taken back into the dance floor by one of your girls, oh how you'll thank her incessantly after this.
lewis is standing stiffly against the bar as he watches the scene unfold in front of him. you are laughing at some stupid joke that lance stroll is saying? he wouldn't believe it if he wasn't watching it with his own two eyes. what's really salt in the wound is how he knows the look in the canadian's eyes, almost like a hawk, and driven by something that is most definitely not just friendship. taking a small sip from his glass, he watches as you're pulled away—thankfully, in this case—and he lets out a sigh of relief, keeping his eyes on you as you disappear into the mass of people dancing. "ah...young love," lewis nearly spits out his drink as he's patted on the back, and as he looks to see who pulled his attention away from you, he's met with a particular spaniard and monegasque. "...what?" the duo chuckles amongst each other, settling down on barstools side by side of himself. "mate...we all see the way you're looking at her," charles begins, and lewis can't help but shake his head, placing his glass down on the surface of the bar as he opens his mouth to speak but is cut off. "seriously, you've got to get the girl!" carlos gestures to the crowd, he can't see you but somehow he knows you've likely gotten yourself deep within the dancing circle. "you guys are both insane." lewis sighs, rubbing a hand over his mouth, eyes searching for the back of your head within the crowd, "seriously, nothing is going on, we met once." "exactly, and you were totally head over heels for her! you were smiling so hard, i thought your face was going to break in half, i'll never forget it." charles lets out a breath, a shit-eating grin on his face as he stares at his teammate. " say what you want, call us crazy, but i know that look in your eye, cabrón," from the corner of his eye, lewis watches as carlos shrugs before standing up and patting his back, leading charles to follow him. as lewis dissociates further into staring at the dance floor—where he presumes you are—he cannot help himself but think, maybe they're right.
carlos stalks his way towards a couch filled with a few other drivers, charles in tow right behind him. "he say anything?" max starts the conversation as the duo sits down, a beer in hand as he shoots an amused look. the other drivers—alex, george, and lando—watch intently as charles runs a hand through his hair and down his face, "non! just said we were 'crazy'! can you believe?" he says dramatically, hands flailing around as he continues to speak. george's laugh bounces around, effectively cutting the monegasque off, "of course he said that! so typical...the man is just scared because he's been alone for a bit," the alcohol is clearly evident in the brit's voice as he blurts out his first thoughts. "and he's old..." lando chimes in, sipping his drink from a carved glass. a sea of chuckles passes through the drivers at the comment, "what should we do?" it's alex who continues the conversation, "i mean...sure he's old but i think she was telling lily something today that sounded a lot like having to do with a certain ferrari driver..." he watches as max shrugs and a few other drivers continue to nurse their drinks. "he IS old, that's why he doesn't want to try, he's scared!" charles' face lightens up as he continues to speak, "nice one genius, think we could've figured that one out ourselves," lando cuts him off, but he's caught off-guard as the ferrari driver's finger touches his lips in a shushing motion. "i'm not finished," charles clears his throat before continuing, "alex was saying that yn called lewis hot!" a round of gasps sound from around the couch, and charles' smirk widens. "he likes her too, we just have to...push them together!"
ynln
liked by lewishamilton, alex_albon, lilymhe, and 386,248 others
ynln think of me next time when you're at a party
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flavy.barla absolutely in love with you
⤷ ynln i love you hottie 😘
user56 i love her party girl life, literally my inspo for everything
user93 the it girl of the paddock idc idc 🙂↔️🙂↔️
charles_leclerc i know someone who thinks of you 🤔💭
⤷ carlossainz55 👀
⤷ lando 👀👀
⤷ user28 HELLO??? WHAT DOES THIS MEAN???
⤷ ynln what the fuck
user19 the drivers' comments.....what is going AWN
lilymhe so good to see my favorite girl again 🤍
⤷ ynln ugh i love you 💕
user10 hmmmm lewis liking HER post and FOLLOWING her...crazy bold bcs he only follows one another account...
the piercing ringtone that echoes from your phone instantly sobers you from your drunken slumber. you're in your bed, memories hazy as you try and recall the previous night, but only bits and pieces seem to fall into place. the ringing continues, you eventually realize, and you sit up, grabbing your phone and turning it to speaker. "hello..?" your hoarse voice speaks into the mic of your phone, you blink slowly as you listen for an answer on the other end, "hello? yn?" you seem to straighten up as you hear the voice, eyes wide. "yn? you there? i just-" the voice fades into the background as you register who's voice is on the other line. "hi...lewis, right...?"
your voice heightens in pitch, rivaling a hamster’s as you squeak his name out. you cut him off—probably—and you can hear him take in a sharp breath on the other side of the line. “yes, yes this is lewis…i just wanted to make sure you were alright after last night, you had a time,” you hear him slightly laugh out the last bit as you stand up from your bed. “sorry, refresh my memory, would you?” you say, pacing your room slowly, gnawing the inside of your cheek as you hold the phone impossibly close to your ear. “ah well…”
it happened sometime after you left lance and gravitated toward the inside of the dance floor by one of your friends—you presume—who’s face you aren’t able to make out. you’re yelling lyrics on the top of your lungs, bouncing up and down even in heels, you’re, in short, buzzing. well that is the case until you come crashing down, accidentally landing wrong from your jump. your heels cause you to lose your balance, and a deafening crack and pain explodes from your ankle, shooting up your leg. your eyes water, watching as others continue to dance. “fuck this…” you say, getting yourself up, wincing at the pain. as you move towards the edge of the dance floor, you will yourself to move to find a seat, settling on the couch where you see the other drivers talking animatedly amongst each other. you plop on the side of alex, and you can barely make out his face, your vision spinning, as he begins to talk. “what happened?” “mmmm fell wrong on my leg or something, i need another drink, this shit hurts,” tears fall from your eyes as you close them, the pain gnawing at your foot. you hear the shuffle of guys as they whisper, but you don’t care. “hold on, i’ll grab someone,” you hear one of the drivers say—though you’re unsure who—and you nod your head, slipping in and out of consciousness.
lewis is facing the bartender, halfway through paying his tab when george walks up to him. he’s slightly tipsy—that much he can note—as they exchange conversation. “mate, yn is injured,” his old teammate starts, words slurring slightly together. “charles and carlos told me to hop on over to you, thought’d be a good idea for you to get to know her…or something…” lewis shakes his head, of course, always up to no good. “why should i? i barely know the girl, are you mad?” he watches as george looks at him, almost disappointedly, “in my years as your teammate, i have never seen you look the way you look at her at anything else,” lewis scoffs, opening his mouth to retaliate, but george simply drunkenly puts a finger over his mouth in a shushing motion. “uh! before you say anything, she knows how old you are, she isn’t stupid! and plus…” the mercedes driver leans in closer to lewis to whisper, “she might’veee said something about you being hot!” his attempt at whispering clearly doesn’t work as a few people beside them turn their heads at his volume. lewis sighs, hand running over his face, “it’s not just age mate, i’ve just…i’ve just been alone for a while, i don’t want to mess this up, plus i’ve still got to know the girl…y’know?” he watches as george sends a sympathetic look towards him, but then he moves to stand next to him, patting his back. “look mate, you won’t. you’re awesome, yn’s awesome, you’d be awesome together. she really is great and we all think you guys are just beating ‘round the bush and should just talk to each other,” lewis looks in the direction george points to once he’s finished his spiel, and he notices you. your head’s thrown back, eyebrows scrunched together in what he deciphers is pain, and your leg is elevated on lando’s. “its your chance, mate. just think about it, okay?” george gives one last smack on his shoulder before he walks off back towards the couch where some drivers and you are sitting. fuck it.
lewis taps on your shoulder, and he watches as your eyes open, squinting slightly as you presumably attempt to decipher who he is. he notices the gleam in your eye as you do recognize him, eyes wide as you straighten up, moving your foot from lando’s thigh and accidentally slamming it onto the ground. he watches as your face contorts in pain, and how you whine as you try and rub your right foot. “you alright?” lewis smoothly says, crouching down to your height as you sit on the couch. he notices the way you shyly nod, refusing eye contact as you blush—or maybe its from the alcohol? he hears a few snickers from behind him, likely charles, as he continues, “you sure? you had a nasty fall back there, i noticed,” he goes to grab your foot in order to inspect it for any serious injuries, but you pull it back. “you were watching me, huh?” you finally make eye contact with him, and then its his turn to feel the heat creep onto his cheeks. a teasing whistle comes from behind him as he sputters out an excuse. your giggle breaks him out of his trance, and gosh your laugh is almost as beautiful as you are. you place your heeled foot into his palm, leaning closer to speak to him, “gonna help me, dr. hamilton?” he feels a newfound confidence as he holds your foot, “hmmm, looks like you’re out of commission today, pretty,” he looks up at you, and he notes how you flush a brighter shade, but your teasing smile never fades. he stands up, gently letting go of your foot, and he outstretches a hand towards you. “where are you taking me, hamilton?” you ask, taking his hand and standing. “somewhere to get that foot taken care of, your hotel far from here?” he watches as you shake your head, hand still in his as the two of you begin to walk, albeit with much difficulty. “i don’t want to hear any noises from across the hall, yn!” lewis watches as you whip your head around at the sound of the mclaren driver’s words. “i don’t fuck on the first date, norris!” you call back, a sickly sweet smile on your face as you laugh at lando’s shocked face. he feels his face erupt in heat at your words as you turn to face him, “sorry about that, shall we continue, mr. hamilton?”
lewis feels the cool breeze of the singapore night hit him as he walks out hand in hand with you. his eyes are trained on your feet as he hears your breath hitch with every step you take. “here, come on,” he stops, letting go of your hand, as he places a hand behind your knees and the other supporting your upper back. “wha-? what are you doing?!” he watches your eyes enlarge almost comically, still glistening with tears due to your pain, as he picks you up with ease. you let out an involuntary giggle—music to his ears, he thinks—“you are crazy, hamilton!” he only shrugs, a smile tugging at his lips, “well, your hotel isn’t far, right? besides, im quite strong and you’re quite light…and anyway, call me lewis,” you poke a finger into his cheek drunkenly, laughing as you do so. “princess treatment won’t get you to my heart just yet,” you chuckle, lewis only shakes his head, “picking you up? princess treatment? you’re injured, its only right.” he’s in disbelief, “any man who doesn’t do this is either weak or not a man,” he watches as you divert your attention, your voice small as you reply, “yeah…i guess so,” you make eye contact with him, smiling slightly, “thank goodness i have you!” lewis flushes slightly, a flip in his stomach as he listens to you blabber drunkenly. he continues to walk forward, arms flexing every so often, eyes straight ahead before he hears you speak. “lewisss! my hotel’s hereee!” you wave a hand in front of his face, pointing towards the large building on his right side. “ah, alright- woah, there missy-” you attempt to practically launch yourself out of his arms, but he holds you steady, arms flexing as he tightly keeps you in place. “you’ve got that foot problem, pretty, let’s not go hurting ourselves more,” he watches as your face blooms with a blush across your cheeks, and he lets you down, a gentle hand on the small of your back. “thank you, lewis, i really appreciate it,” you beam a smile at him, craning your head to look up at him. “no problem, just the gentlemanly thing to do, yn,” he smiles back, but it falls as you trip backwards on your heels. he watches as you panic, before he quickly steadies you, an arm behind your upper back while the other rests on your right hip. his face is impossibly close as he catches you, eyebrows furrowed in worry and his breath hot against your lips. “you okay?” he pulls you up, hands still resting on your body as you manage to squeak out a small yep! “you clumsy girl, my goodness,” he shakes his head in disbelief, holding out a hand to you as he watches you wipe your hands against your legs. “thank you…again,” you say, taking his hand into your own as he leads you to the front of the hotel entrance, his eyes boring into yours.
he can’t help but swallow a gulp as he makes eye contact with you, your eyes shining in the dim light that filters outside through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the hotel. “you’re sure you’ll be alright?” he asks, clammy hands settling in his pockets. “yeah, thank you, i- i really appreciate it.” you smile shyly, looking up at him through tired eyes. he nods in acknowledgment, “okay, just be sure to put a cold compress on it, alright? it doesn’t look crazy injured but its better to be safe than sorry-” an abundance of words fall out of his mouth, urging you to take care of yourself, but his voice dies out as you hand him your phone. “your number? i’m sure i’ll need your gentlemanly services another day if we’re in the same area,” you say bashfully, avoiding eye contact in case of rejection. “oh- yeah- yeah no problem…” his voice jumps an octave as he types in his number, handing your phone back to you. he stares at you as you—presumably—assign a contact to his name, and when you look up again he opens his mouth to speak but is once again cut off by a slightly wet sensation on his cheek. you pull away from his side, giving him a cheeky smile. “a thank you, for dealing with me tonight.” you say as you eye his cheek, a sweet stain of lipgloss adorning it, marking him. “i’ll see you around, yeah?” you give him one last look over your shoulder, a tantalizing smirk playing across your lips, as you slip through the large hotel doors, leaving lewis outside. he watches your figure slightly limp through the open lobby, before you get into the elevator, giving one last wave to the ferrari driver as the doors close. he’s left alone with his thoughts as he taps his cheek, and speechless, he can’t help but curse you in his mind. he’s so irrevocably fucked.
later that night…
the next morning…
the memories from the previous night flood back into your brain as you nod along to lewis’ voice. “…yeah really i just wanted to call and ensure i wasn’t getting ignored, hah,” you hear him let out a breathy laugh from the other end of the line, “ah shit! what time is it?” you curse, “12:56, i guess you can understand why i called,” he chuckled out, amusement lacing his tone as he realizes why you hadn’t answered. “yeah my goodness, i’m so sorry! i didn’t know it was that late, christ…” you shuffle around your room, careful to not put an insane amount of pressure on your right foot. “its alright, just thought i’d call for good measure, you know? how’s your foot by the way?” you wince at the mention of your injured appendage, and you sit on the edge of your bed, “still aches a bit, but nothing crazy!” you manage to squeak out, rubbing the ankle of your foot, groaning in relief at the motion. “i’ll probably just stay in all day, would be smart not to hurt myself more, yeah?” you hear lewis laugh and you can’t help but giggle as well, “yeah…would be smart considering i saw how clumsy you were yesterday,” you smile, letting out a sound of agreement as a steady, comforting silence fills the air. “how about i come over, you know, to make sure you don’t starve or have to doordash?” your eyes widen as you listen to lewis’ words, “oh no, that’s really alright i mean-” you sputter out, heat crawling up to the tips of your ears and across your face. “i’m offering, as long as i’m not a burden, i’d love to cook for you,” “no, no you wouldn’t be a burden at all, but are you sure-” you’re cut off by the sharp sound of his tongue clicking in faux annoyance, “i’m sure, i’ll see you in…20? sound good? just send me your hotel room number, i’ll be there.” you nod, but then realize he cannot see you, “yes…sounds great, i’ll see you then, lewis!” you respond, albeit probably a bit too excitedly, “i’ll see you then, pretty.”
a series of knocks sounds throughout your hotel room, breaking you out of your trance of staring at the hotel kitchen island. you breathe in, preparing yourself to open the door. “good afternoonnn,” you smile as you open the door, stepping aside to let the brit through. “hey, pretty,” he responds, a smile teasing his lips as he trudges through the hotel room, setting groceries down on the kitchen island. you close the door, a resounding click echoing throughout the entryway. you drag your feet behind you, standing across from the ferrari driver, leaning against the island as you watch as he unpacks various ingredients from the bag. “what’s on the menu tonight, chef lewis?” he glances up at you, giving a pointed look, “you should be resting, you’ll see what i make you when its finished. but for now, sit on your couch and put something on, i’ll grab you an ice pack to keep on that right foot,” he leaves no room for argument, voice stern, but his eyes soften as he watches you make eye contact before dejectedly walking towards the living area. “alright…i’ll be over here if you need me!” you call from the couch, laying down as you flick on the tv. “won’t be necessary!” he responds back, going to prepare his ingredients.
30 minutes later, you hear the click of the stove and the smell of spices invade your nose. you sit up, disregarding the ice pack lewis gave you twenty minutes prior, and lower the volume of the tv. “its all set!” you hear him call from the kitchen, you walk through the living area and into the kitchen portion of the hotel room and you’re met with two plates of food and a flushed lewis—although its probably due to the heat while cooking, but you cannot deny that he looks gorgeous right now. “oh wow…this looks…amazing,” you’re at a loss for words as you sit down, eyes glazing over the dish in front of you. “it’s my favorite, vegan curry, thought maybe i’d share it,” there’s a proud smile on his face when you look up to make eye contact with him, and you can’t help but to break into a grin of your own. “sit down, why are you just standing over me?” you tease him, he shakes his head in response, “i, at least, want to watch your reaction to your first bite, then i’ll sit beside you,” he chuckles, watching as you shrug and pick up your utensils, “then i guess i have no choice but to try your michelin star cooking, chef lewis!” you say, drawing out his name before taking your first bite. he watches as your face contorts into a pleased expression, and a knowing smile graces his lips. “good, huh?” he asks, moving to sit beside you. you turn your head to face him, chin in your palm as your mouth opens in disbelief, “this is delicious, you need to cook for me more often!” he chuckles, reaching for his own set of utensils as he eyes how you continue to eat from his peripheral. “i’ll keep that in mind.”
you’re admiring the flex of his back muscles while he washes the dishes; you’ve finished eating and of course you wanted to help him out but he insisted you stayed sitting. you watch his forearm and biceps bulge with every movement he makes, and you don’t realize you’re staring until he waves a hand in front of your face. “hello? earth to yn,” your eyes snap up from his arms to his eyes as you try to listen to whatever on earth he’s talking about. its hard, you think, you’re being blessed with such a perfect view of him that his words become background noise. a snap brings you to reality, and you see his brows furrowed in worry, “are you okay? i can leave if you want, i mean if you need to rest or something…” he trails off, scratching the back of his neck. you lean forward on the island, chin in your palms as you make direct eye contact with lewis from across where you’re sitting. “i like you,” you watch as his face blooms with color, and he begins sputtering. you move from your seat, standing in front of him as you smooth out his t-shirt, “i hate this game of cat and mouse. i like you, and if i’m not wrong you like me, right?”
lewis is positively gobsmacked—that’s got to be the only word for it. you’re staring at him so prettily through your lashes and he can feel your hands grazing ever-so-slightly against his body as you “smooth” out his shirt. his mouth is slightly agape as he listens to your words, “y-yeah i do…” he feels the blush paint his face, but he steps backwards, releasing your hands from his shirt. “but i- i don’t know, you’re young and i’m forty, you know? i just…i’ve been alone for a while, i- i don’t know if you’d be ready for someone like me-” his mouth spills out a plethora of genuine confessions, and just as his emotions reach their peak, he’s cut off by a soft pair of lips on his. his body goes nearly rigid before he’s leaning into the kiss, hands on your hips as he pulls you closer to him. you pull away, much to his chagrin, a soft smile splaying on your lips. “i like every part of you, lewis, and i know what i’m getting myself into, and im ready. stop overthinking, you old man,” you giggle, and he can’t help but chuckle too. “you’re gonna regret saying that,” he says against the shell of your ear, pulling you in for another kiss.
ynln
liked by lewishamilton, georgerussell63, lando, and 528,826 others
ynln this old man is mine, thanks!
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lewishamilton “old” is a stretch, but i am yours ♥️
⤷ ynln whatever helps you sleep at night oldie ♥️
iamrebeccad finally not a childish bore of a guy
⤷ carmenmmundt cheers to that!!
⤷ ynln hehehe
user20 HELLO THIS WAS SO RANDOM
user18 the FLOWERS UGHHH i’m SO jealousss
alexandrasaintmleux congratulations, so happy for u ❤️
⤷ ynln i love u my girl
user29 the hand holding im sick
charles_leclerc finally 🙏
⤷ ynln shut up u schemer
lewishamilton
liked by ynln, carlossainz55, charles_leclerc, and 1,270,826 others
lewishamilton my party girl @/ynln
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ynln one day i’ll get you to party with me
⤷ lewishamilton then who will carry you home?
⤷ user25 HELLO HIM CONFIRMING THE TWEETS
user10 holy body tea, can he handle all that???
georgerussell63 i expect a thank you speech when you’re married
⤷ lewishamilton i’ll think about it
user27 a lewis hamilton hard launch, we used to pray for times like this
Not the peaceful kind of quiet—the kind that settles gently and feels comforting. No, this had been different. Heavier. Like something was missing, and the walls knew it.
Six months.
It had been six months since Roscoe passed.
And even now, there were moments where it didn’t feel real. Moments where Lewis still expected to hear the soft padding of paws across the floor, or a familiar huff from the corner of the room. Sometimes, he still glanced toward Roscoe’s favorite spot by the window without thinking.
It was strange, how silence could feel so loud.
Lewis stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, staring absently at his cup of tea. It had gone cold, but he hadn’t noticed.
Behind him, you watched quietly.
“You’re thinking about him again,” you said softly.
He didn’t turn, but his shoulders shifted slightly.
“Yeah,” he admitted.
You walked over, slipping your arms gently around his waist, resting your cheek against his back.
“I miss him,” he added, his voice quieter now.
“I know,” you murmured.
There was no need to say more. You both felt it—the absence, the love that didn’t go anywhere even after he was gone.
After a moment, Lewis exhaled slowly and turned in your arms.
“I saw something today,” he said.
You tilted your head. “Yeah?”
“A rescue,” he explained. “Online. Just… scrolling, you know. I wasn’t even looking for anything.”
Your heart gave a small, careful tug.
“And?” you asked.
He hesitated.
“And I couldn’t stop thinking about him.”
You studied his face—the softness in his eyes, the uncertainty.
“Do you want to show me?” you asked gently.
He nodded, reaching for his phone.
When he handed it to you, the screen displayed a photo of a small dog—big ears, slightly oversized paws, and the kind of cautious expression that suggested he hadn’t quite figured the world out yet.
“Oh,” you breathed, your heart instantly melting. “He’s… adorable.”
Lewis smiled faintly. “Yeah. He is.”
“What’s his story?” you asked.
“Rescue said he was found on the street,” Lewis said. “Bit shy. Still getting used to people.”
You looked back at the photo, something warm and fragile blooming in your chest.
“He looks like he needs a home,” you said.
Lewis nodded.
There was a pause.
Not an uncomfortable one—but a meaningful one. The kind where both of you were thinking the same thing, but waiting to see if the other would say it first.
“Do you think…” he started, then stopped.
You met his eyes.
“Maybe,” you said softly, “we’re ready?”
His expression shifted—hope flickering carefully through the grief that still lingered.
“I don’t want it to feel like we’re replacing him,” he admitted.
Your hand found his, squeezing gently.
“We’re not,” you said. “Roscoe isn’t replaceable. He never will be.”
Lewis swallowed, nodding.
“But loving another dog?” you continued. “That doesn’t take anything away from him. If anything… it’s because of him.”
He let out a slow breath, like something inside him had loosened just a little.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”
You smiled.
“So,” you said, holding up the phone again, “should we go meet him?”
—
The rescue center was quieter than you expected.
There was the occasional bark, the soft shuffle of movement—but mostly, it felt calm. Gentle.
Lewis walked beside you, his hand brushing against yours every so often, like he needed the reassurance.
“You nervous?” you asked lightly.
“A bit,” he admitted. “Feels… big.”
“It is big,” you said. “But it’s a good kind of big.”
A volunteer approached, smiling warmly.
“You must be here to see Milo,” she said.
Lewis glanced at you. “Milo?”
“His name, for now,” she explained.
You smiled. “We like it.”
“Come with me,” she said.
She led you down a short hallway, stopping in front of a small enclosure.
And there he was.
Smaller than you expected. Softer, too. His fur was slightly scruffy, his ears perked but cautious, and his eyes—his eyes held that same uncertainty you’d seen in the photo.
He didn’t rush forward.
He just watched.
Lewis crouched down slowly, not wanting to startle him.
“Hey, mate,” he said gently.
Milo tilted his head.
“It’s okay,” Lewis murmured. “We’re not scary, I promise.”
You knelt beside him, your shoulder brushing his.
“Hi, baby,” you said softly.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—slowly, carefully—Milo took a step forward.
Then another.
Until he was just within reach.
Lewis didn’t move too quickly. He let Milo come to him, let him sniff his hand, get used to his presence.
And then—
A small, tentative tail wag.
Your heart swelled instantly.
“Oh my god,” you whispered.
Lewis smiled, something bright and genuine breaking through in a way you hadn’t seen in a while.
“Hey,” he said softly, reaching out to gently scratch behind Milo’s ear.
Milo leaned into the touch.
That was it.
That was the moment.
You both felt it.
Lewis glanced at you, his eyes shining slightly.
“Yeah?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah,” you nodded, your own eyes misting. “It’s him.”
—
The drive home felt different.
Lighter.
Milo sat in the back seat, curled up in the blanket you’d brought, occasionally glancing around like he couldn’t quite believe this was happening.
Lewis kept checking the rearview mirror.
“He’s okay?” he asked for the third time.
“He’s perfect,” you assured him, smiling.
When you pulled into the driveway, Lewis paused for a moment before getting out.
“You alright?” you asked.
He nodded slowly.
“Yeah,” he said. “I just… haven’t done this in a while.”
You reached for his hand.
“We’ll do it together.”
He squeezed back.
“Together,” he echoed.
—
Inside, the house felt… different.
Still familiar. Still filled with memories.
But no longer empty.
Milo padded cautiously across the floor, his nails clicking softly as he explored. He sniffed everything—the couch, the rug, the corners of the room—taking it all in.
Lewis watched him carefully, his expression soft.
At one point, Milo wandered over to the window.
The same window.
Roscoe’s window.
He paused there, looking out.
Lewis’s breath caught slightly.
You slipped your hand into his.
“It’s okay,” you whispered.
He nodded, his voice quiet but steady.
“Yeah,” he said. “It is.”
Milo turned, trotting back toward you both before settling down nearby with a small, content sigh.
Lewis let out a soft laugh.
“Already making himself at home.”
“Of course he is,” you smiled. “He knows he’s safe.”
Lewis crouched down, resting his hand gently on Milo’s back.
“Welcome home, mate,” he said.
Milo’s tail thumped softly against the floor.
Lewis looked up at you then, something warm and whole in his eyes again.
Not replacing.
Not forgetting.
Just… growing around the love that had always been there.
And as the evening settled in—quieter now, but no longer heavy—the house finally felt like home again.
requested: Yes, even though by mistake, dear anon, I accidentally deleted your message: forgive me.
notes: I had so much fun writing this short story. I adore Lewis, and ever since he joined Ferrari, he’s earned a permanent place in my Italian heart. So thank you for asking me to write this scene!
I know it’s short, but that’s how I pictured it: a little slice of life filled with fluff and sweetness!
summary: A lazy morning turns into the sweetest chaos when Lewis and his wife reveal their biggest secret in their own way.
genre : Slice of life, fluff, romance, sweetness
word count : 1170
read more from me: Formula 1 Masterlist
You come out of the bathroom smiling and climb onto the bed on all fours until you’re right above him. You lower your face just enough to kiss his neck.
“Wake up, sleepyhead, I’m hungry…” you whisper, and realize that Lewis isn’t actually asleep, a smile already drawn across his face.
“Good morning, troublemaker,” he greets you, opening his eyes while you sit on top of him, your hand tracing across his chest.
“Good morning, my love,” you answer with a playful tone.
“How long have you been awake?” he asks with a yawn, placing his hands on your hips.
“For a while. I already had breakfast and a shower, but I’m hungry again,” you say, making him laugh. “And I came up with a brilliant plan about that thing we talked about last night…” you add, grinning.
“Let’s hear it… Your brilliant plans scare me,” he teases, earning a playful slap on his arm.
“Careful, Hamilton, I’m pregnant and dangerous,” you warn him, half-seriously, while he moves both hands to your rounded belly.
“Dangerous, you’ve always been,” he says, smiling. “But since you’ve been pregnant…” he adds, leaning back on the pillow. “So, tell me, how exactly do you plan to hide this secret from the world?”
“I’ll wear your clothes,” you declare, as if your early-morning epiphany, the one that came to you while you were secretly eating Nutella sandwich (vegan Nutella, because your husband is the most annoying kind of health freak), was the most brilliant idea ever.
Lewis stares at you, puzzled.
“I’m serious, fashion statement. With your baggy stuff, we can hide the bump for a little longer…” you continue.
“Yes, for a couple of weeks at most…” he bursts out laughing. “…baby, it’s growing fast, I honestly don’t know how we’re supposed to keep it hidden.”
“I don’t want to stay home just to keep people from finding out, Lewis. I want to come to the last races,” you protest.
“I don’t want you to stay home either. We’ll do what we can, and then… they’ll see her,” he reassures you. “My PR told me we should be the ones to announce it…”
“Yes, but no nauseating hand-on-belly photos or… things like that, I’m not an Easter egg,” you cut him off, and Lewis bursts into laughter. “Do you remember what ideas they had for our wedding?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Those were normal ideas, sweetheart,” he defends himself.
You roll your eyes. “…in the end, my way worked better,” you say with a grin.
“Yeah… sure…” he mutters, remembering that you had posted a photo of him asleep on the plane, mouth open, with the caption: Despite everything, I said yes.
“I’m an original type,” you say proudly.
“Far be it from me to say otherwise,” he agrees, pulling you down for a kiss. “Let’s just tell them, your way, but let’s tell them. You’re five months along, how much longer can we run from the press?” he asks softly.
“Not much…” you admit, curling up against him. “But she’s ours, not the world’s,” you murmur, stroking your belly.
“She’s mine,” Lewis jokes, “her dad’s, and no one else’s,” he adds, making both of you laugh.
“Poor girl, with such a jealous father…” you tease. “Post something, Lewis, right now, anything, no photo shoots, no scripted captions. Take a photo and write that we’re expecting the most beautiful thing in the world, that’s all,” you say as he strokes your face. “I don’t want it to look fake.”
Lewis smiles, kisses the top of your head, and reaches for his phone on the bedside table.
The picture is blurry, you can barely be seen, but it shows you both laughing and the bump is visible.
The caption is simple: The three of us.
Lewis posts it, and chaos explodes.
Comments, phone calls, his PR probably having a heart attack, his assistant ready to kill him, and half his team wondering how to explain that he can’t make announcements like this on his own.
But Lewis always does whatever he wants, or you want, however he wants, or you want, and that’s one of the things you love most about him.
“I think we just dropped a nuclear bomb,” you laugh, scrolling through Instagram.
“I’ve approved a press statement, okay? Nothing cheesy, nothing you wouldn’t say yourself,” he reassures you. “But at least this way, I won’t be in total chaos at the media day on Thursday,” he laughs.
You’re in the kitchen, both dressed and ready to go out, but you changed your mind. Hard to have a quiet lunch after what you’ve just told the world.
Lewis stands behind you and wraps his arms around you, hands on your belly, face buried in your neck. “You always have your own way of doing things,” he murmurs.
You laugh softly. “You love me for that,” you reply.
“To death, baby…” he smiles, tightening his hold. “…If she ends up with your personality, heaven help us. How am I supposed to survive both of you?” he teases, kissing your neck while you lean back against him, soaking in that moment of tenderness.
“You, my love, are the one who will make everything work,” you whisper.
“Me?” he chuckles, and you turn your head to look at him.
“You. I already know it, and you’ll understand it the moment you hold her in your arms,” you say softly, smiling.
“For now, I’ve got you in my arms,” he says, “the genius behind that post that’s been making my phone vibrate nonstop for the past two hours…” he jokes, and you laugh out loud.
“Do you want me to give an interview on Thursday too…?”
“…no!” he interrupts immediately. “Your interviews are dangerous, you either insult someone or say something totally inappropriate…”
“I only said you’re good in bed! Don’t make it sound like a crime!” you protest, throwing your arms up, while he shakes his head and goes to pour himself a drink, laughing.
As much as that comment boosted his ego, ever since that infamous remark he’s made you promise to think before talking to journalists. You argued that you had thought about it and just told the truth… but apparently, some truths are better left unsaid.
“So now that it’s public, can I assume you’re coming with me for the last three races?” he asks. “It’s safe for you both, right? Because…”
“…yes, it is. I’m fine, the doctor’s traveling with us, and no, I’m not spending a month without you,” you cut him off. “I have needs, Hamilton, and you’re required forthem,” you tease, laughing.
“So you’re coming for the sex… good to know,” he replies with a grin.
“Not only that, you’re sweet and cute too, but mostly, let me repeat, you’re good in bed,” you continue playfully, and before you can react, he sweeps you up into his arms.
“Let’s go make sure I still am, okay?” he laughs, kissing you as he carries you back to the bedroom.
