#lh44 fluff

[23victoria]

a christmas fairytale!

​​pairings: 𝓵𝓮𝔀𝓲𝓼 𝓱𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓽𝓸𝓷 𝔁 𝓯𝓮𝓶!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

synopsis: 𝓵𝓮𝔀𝓲𝓼 𝓼𝓾𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓮𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓪 𝔀𝓱𝓲𝓽𝓮 𝓬𝓱𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓶𝓪𝓼!

word count: 1.4𝓴

authors note: 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓼, 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓼, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓻𝓮𝓫𝓵𝓸𝓰𝓼 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓪𝓹𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓬𝓲𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓭! 𝓱𝓸𝓹𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓮𝓷𝓳𝓸𝔂!!

𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓪 𝓫𝓮 𝓪𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓶𝔂 𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽?! CLICK HERE!

F1 MASTERLIST F1 CHRISTMAS MASTERLIST

The snow was lightly falling outside your bedroom window, tiny flurries caught in the pale glow of the streetlights. You had been absentmindedly sipping on your tea, the warmth a small comfort as you thought back to childhood memories of Christmas mornings. It had been years since you’d had a true white Christmas—so long, in fact, you could barely remember the last one. You’d sighed, mentioning this casually to Lewis a few days ago while you both were curled up on the couch.

“I’ve always wanted to experience a white Christmas again,” you’d said softly. “It just feels magical, you know? Like something out of a storybook.”

Lewis had nodded at the time, pulling you closer into his chest and murmuring something about making sure you’d get your Christmas miracle someday. You hadn’t thought much about it since then, figuring it was just another fleeting conversation.

So when Lewis walked into your shared bedroom late one evening, an excited sparkle in his eye and an air of mystery surrounding him, you had no idea what was coming.

“Pack your things,” he said, his grin infectious.

You blinked, lowering your mug. “What? Why? Where are we going?”

He chuckled, crossing the room to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “Just trust me, yeah? We’ve got a flight to catch tomorrow morning.”

���Lewis—what? A flight?” You stared at him, your mind already racing. “What are you up to?”

“You’ll see,” he teased, that mischievous glint in his eye making your heart flutter. “Just pack warm. And don’t worry about anything else—your self-care stuff is already sorted.”

You couldn’t argue with that. The next morning, you found yourself seated next to him on a private flight, still trying to piece together what was happening. Lewis, of course, was playing it cool, flipping through a magazine like he wasn’t hiding the world’s best-kept secret.

“Lewis,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “What did you do?”

He glanced up, that cheeky smile making an appearance again. “You’ll see, love. Patience.”

You huffed but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. He had a way of making everything feel exciting, even when you didn’t know what was happening. The flight was smooth, and soon enough, you were landing in a place that seemed straight out of a winter wonderland.

As you stepped off the plane and into the crisp, snowy air, your jaw dropped. Towering pine trees dusted with fresh snow surrounded the small airport, the mountains in the distance gleaming under the winter sun. You turned to Lewis, eyes wide.

“You didn’t,” you whispered, your breath visible in the cold air.

He grinned, shrugging nonchalantly. “We’re not even at the place yet.”

A squeal escaped you as you launched yourself into his arms, wrapping him in a tight hug. “You’re amazing! I can’t believe this!”

He laughed, spinning you around once before setting you down. “Just wait, love. This is only the beginning.”

The drive to your destination was nothing short of magical. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the scenery—the way the snow blanketed everything in sight, the way the sunlight glinted off the icy rivers. Lewis kept glancing at you, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips every time he caught you marveling at the view.

Finally, you arrived at the cabin. And by “cabin,” it was more of a luxurious winter retreat. The sprawling wooden structure was nestled in a clearing, smoke curling from the chimney, and fairy lights twinkling along the roofline. You stepped out of the car, your breath catching in your throat.

“Holy moly,” you whispered. “You booked us a cabin?”

Lewis stepped beside you, slipping his arm around your waist. “Actually,” he said, his tone casual but his smile knowing, “I bought it.”

Your head whipped around to look at him. “What? You bought it?”

“Well, I figured if we’re going to make this a tradition, we’d need a place to call our own.” His eyes sparkled as he looked at you. “What do you think?”

You stared at him, your heart swelling to the point of bursting. “You’re crazy,” you said, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Crazy for you,” he countered, his voice soft and teasing.

You couldn’t help but smile, leaning in to kiss him deeply. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, my girl,” he murmured against your lips.

The days that followed were a whirlwind of Christmas magic. Lewis had planned everything to perfection. One morning, you went skiing, and though you weren’t the most graceful on the slopes, Lewis was right there with you, laughing and cheering you on.

“Okay, okay,” he said, helping you back up after yet another tumble. “Maybe skiing isn’t your thing, but you look adorable trying.”

You playfully shoved him, but his laugh was infectious, and soon you were both laughing so hard you could barely stand.

Later, you built a snowman together in the clearing behind the cabin. Lewis insisted on giving it a racing helmet, made from a spare beanie and some sticks.

“He’s got to represent,” Lewis said, standing back to admire your handiwork.

The snowball fight that followed was chaotic and full of laughter. You squealed as Lewis tackled you into a snowbank, his grin triumphant as he pinned you down.

“Say mercy,” he teased, holding a snowball over your head.

“Never!” you shot back, grabbing a handful of snow and smushing it into his face. He let out a dramatic gasp before bursting into laughter, pulling you close and rolling onto his back, both of you lying in the snow, breathless and happy.

You visited the nearby town, taking pictures by the massive Christmas tree in the town square. The twinkling lights and festive decorations made everything feel even more magical. That evening, you attended a Christmas show, the local performers putting on a charming play that had you both laughing and applauding.

Decorating the tree in the cabin became one of your favorite moments. Lewis had brought ornaments, each one carefully chosen to reflect something meaningful in your relationship—a tiny racing car, a globe for your travels, a music note for your shared love of music. By the time the tree was finished, it felt like a piece of your heart was glowing right there in the living room.

“This is perfect,” you said, standing back to admire it.

“You’re perfect,” Lewis replied, pulling you into his arms.

The final evening, after a beautiful dinner at a nearby restaurant, you walked hand-in-hand up the snow-dusted driveway to the cabin. Lewis looked dashing in his slacks and button-up shirt, and you felt like a queen in your long red dress and heels.

“This has been so beautiful,” you said, your voice soft as you gazed up at the starry sky. “I wish my family could experience this.”

Lewis smiled, his expression unreadable. “I know,” he said simply.

When you opened the cabin door, the sight that greeted you made you freeze in your tracks. There, standing in the warm glow of the living room, were your family and his, all smiling and waiting for you.

Your hands flew to your mouth as tears filled your eyes. “Oh my God!” you cried, rushing forward to hug them. “It’s so good to see you all!”

You turned to Lewis, ready to thank him, but the words died in your throat when you saw him down on one knee, a small velvet box in his hands. Your breath hitched, your hands flying to cover your mouth again.

“Lewis…” you whispered, tears streaming down your cheeks.

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with love and adoration. “Y/N, you’ve made my life brighter in ways I never thought possible. Every moment with you is a gift, and I can’t imagine spending another day without you by my side. You are my heart, my home, my everything. So, Y/N L/N, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? Will you marry me?”

You were already nodding before he even finished, your voice breaking as you said, “Yes! Yes, of course, I’ll marry you!”

He slipped the ring onto your finger, and you threw your arms around him, kissing him deeply as your family cheered. When you finally pulled back, you whispered, “I’m so grateful for you. I love you so much. Thank you for everything.”

He smiled, his forehead resting against yours. “I love you too, my love. Anything for you.”

And as you stood there, surrounded by the people you loved most, you knew this was a Christmas you’d never forget.

@ham1lton @ietss @animeandf1lover @nelly187 @heartsfromtaeyong @bloodyymaryyy @nor-4 @zacian117 @mel164 @uhhvictoria @hadidsworld @zabwlky1999 @sya-skies @lillysbigwilly @avengers-assemble123456 @santanasaintmendes @km-23mr @hookhausenschips @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @Ronpho @minekarina @aeongism @Formula1-motogpfa @slagclarens @aleexvqa @f1updates4you @booksandflowrs @chaostudee @winkev1 @strawblueberrys @Blakesbearblog @cel-b @perfumejamal @aykxz98 @pandora-08 @teti-menchon0604 @bxtosa @fadingcloudballoon @whatevenisthisxxxxx @anamiad00msday @luula @tellybearryyyy @exotic-iris13 @magixpracticality @eoduuung @eternoangel @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @flowerpetalk @oledoledoffen @jimcarreyfann42 @revolutionsingingintherain @acesbakery @oliviah-25 @matcha—-matcha @unkownmystery_22 @sophienorris18-blog @armystay89 @paucubarsisimp

[maplesyrupsainz]

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙lucky charm | LH44˖⁺｡˚⋆˙

pairing: lewis hamilton x fem y/n reader (she/her)

genre: social media au, age gap

warnings: age gap, brief mention of sex but barely

summary: in which you find love on your travels

a/n: me when i finally get a lewis request 💃💃💃

request!!!: Lewis age gap insta au with Cindy kimberly face claim please

my masterlist

fc: cindy kimberly

instagram ->

carmenmmundt 📍 rome

liked by lewishamilton, georgerussell63, and others

carmenmmundt when in rome... 🇮🇹

tagged: yourusername

view all comments

user1 so classy as always ❤️

user2 where's georgeee

user3 who's that girl she's gorgeous wtf

user4 just her friend i think

georgerussell63 woww 😍😍

carmenmmundt oh stop it you!

lilymhe miss you babes!

carmenmmundt aww same, let's plan a trip soon 🥰

lilymhe oh 1000%!!!

user5 i love wag friendships sm

lewishamilton looks like fun!

liked by carmenmmundt

user6 random

user7 perhaps…

yourusername 📍 rome

liked by lewishamilton, carmenmmundt, and others

yourusername ti amo, italia 💚🤍❤️

tagged: carmenmmundt

view all comments

yourfriend1 where to next? 😻

yourusername london! you coming?

yourfriend1 well actually........ 👀

yourusername 🎉🎉🎉🎉

user8 omgg so cute

user9 carmen is so gorg

user10 y/n ur so beautiful wowwww

liked by yourusername

carmenmmundt miss you already ❤️

yourusername take me backkk 🇮🇹

yourfriend2 as gorgeous as ever 😘

yourusername ilyyy

yoursister so jealous omg looks amazing

yourusername you should come next time!!!

yoursister oh for sure

yourmother beautiful darling ❤️

liked by yourusername

lewishamilton gorgeous pics! i love italy

yourusername one of my fav places to visit!

lewishamilton mine too!

messages ->

instagram ->

yourusername posted a story

liked by yoursister, lewishamilton, and others

yoursister miss you!!!!

yourusername miss you babes

user11 so beautiful

liked by yourusername

user12 😍😍😍

liked by yourusername

yourfriend1 see you there x

yourusername omg i cant wait

lewishamilton no way! are you free to link up?

yourusername i could probably make some time for lunch?

lewishamilton yea! if that's not too much trouble

yourusername absolutely not! you can text me xx-xxx-xxx :)

lewishamilton 👍

messages ->

twitter ->

instagram ->

lewishamilton 📍 london

liked by yourusername, georgerussell63, and others

lewishamilton visiting home 🏠

view all comments

user17 omg??? soft launching already??????

user18 OMGGGG

user19 he loves her your honour

liked by carmenmmundt

user20 interesting interesting 🤨

user21 guys.....how old is she lol

user22 didnt even think about this

user23 she's in her 20s i fear

user24 …no comment

georgerussell63 whipped already

lewishamilton 🤷‍♀️ call me old fashioned

user25 yea old fashioned coz she's like 10 yrs younger than him 😂😂😂

user26 💀 violation

user27 not the classic age gap discourse abt 2 consenting adults...

liked by lewishamilton, yourusername

user28 them liking this 😂 they're already sick of it

user29 tbh she's cute as hell i love her lol

yourusername posted a story

liked by yourfriend1, carmenmmundt, and others

carmenmmundt miss you!

yourusername miss you babe

user30 oh to be friends with y/n

user31 still in london? 🤨

user32 feed us with bf lewis content 👀

lewishamilton you have other friends? 🤨

yourusername we're friends?

lewishamilton we aren't?

yourusername well i think we've got our wires crossed here… 👀

lewishamilton really? you free tonight? to uncross the wires, of course

yourusername for you? absolutely

lewishamilton pick you up at 7 x

messages ->

instagram ->

yourusername 📍 london

liked by carmenmmundt, yourfriend1, and others

yourusername pics i sent to my mother this week 🍒

view all comments

user33 oh god this is so cute

user34 is she lewis' gf?

user35 apparently

user36 the caption awww

user37 her mother? true coz she's so young 👶

user38 😂😂😂😂

user39 oh please 🙄

user40 the love note on the napkin... ur sick omg

user41 sooooooo dreamy oh my god

liked by yourusername

user42 awww y/n liked this comment 🥹

yourfriend2 been swept off your feet? 👀

yourusername ask me again in a week

yourfriend2 😂 trust me, i will

user43 OMG?

user44 how is she so gorgeous wow

user45 cant get past her being younger than me 😭

user46 some of u guys are wayyy too obsessed with her age?? it's getting weird

liked by yourusername

user47 she liked this...

user48 yup she's sick of it too 🤷‍♀️

twitter ->

instagram ->

yourusername posted a story

liked by lewishamilton, yourfriend2, and others

user49 CUUUUUTE

user50 ugh lewis is so doting bf

user51 he adores u girl

user52 luckiest girl on the planet

carmenmmundt & where are you now, missy?

yourusername budapest babe

carmenmmundt BUDA WHERE?

yourusername hm? 😇

carmenmmundt oh i will be seeing you this weekend

yourusername …

twitter ->

instagram ->

yourusername posted a story

liked by lewishamilton, carmenmmundt, and others

user58 oh my god 🥺

user59 WHAT THE HELL THIS IS SO CUTE

user60 we lost him folks

carmenmmundt oh i called it 😊

yourusername shoo!!!

mercedesamgf1 💙💙

liked by yourusername

user61 i love them omg

user62 the most gorgeous couple

lewishamilton 📍 budapest

liked by georgerussell63, yourusername, and others

lewishamilton back up on the podium, what a weekend!

tagged: yourusername, mercedesamgf1

view all comments

user63 AHHH he's whipped for her tbh

user64 omg two pics of her 👀

carmenmmundt lucky charm!!!!

liked by yourusername

lewishamilton seems that way yea 🩷

georgerussell63 congrats man what a race 🫶

lewishamilton 💙💙💙

user65 aww a roscoe appearance so cute

charles_leclerc congrats! sending love from leo to the both of you ;)

liked by yourusername

lewishamilton big love! ❤️

user66 soooooo cute

oscarpiastri so honoured to share the podium with you this weekend lewis!! & so great to meet y/n of course

lewishamilton pleasure was all mine! will see you up there again im sure 🔥

yourusername ❤️❤️❤️

user67 WTFFFF

user68 so cute & supportive i love this sport

yourusername so proud 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶

lewishamilton my lucky charm 💙 thanks for being there

yourusername oh im so honoured just to be invited!! you were amazing out there x

lewishamilton that's all i ever want to hear from u😉

yourusername 🥹🥹🥹🥹

THE END 💙

[cheriladycl01]

Kinktober 08/10/2024 Lewis Hamilton- Voice Kink

Plot: Lewis Hamilton can sing, it’s a known fact. And he has an incredible voice even when talking. But you can’t help but get turned on by the simplest of phrases.

Warnings: Kinktober SMUT, fingering, voice kink, p in v 18+ Minors DNI

Lewis’ voice to you was like treacle or honey, just a substance so sickly sweet that it made your teeth hurt.

It was so soft and level that whenever you were sad it cheered you up just listening to how calm and collected he sounded.

He had that slight American twang to the British, not to the point it was considered annoying but it almost added to the love for his voice.

Naturally you could listen to Lewis talk for hours, which was actually in hindsight a great thing for yours and Lewis’ relationship. You were not a talker at all, and you loved to listen to what Lewis had to say as it was always something worthy listening too. But then you were so in awe with him that you think you’d listen to him all day even if he were talking utter rubbish.

But … when you guys were intimate it was a whole other level. You’d do anything to here his voice drop just an octave and whisper in your ear, telling you how much of a good girl you’d been for him. Or all the times he’s talked you through your orgasms.

Today however you’d been so busy with work. You’d had the day in Paris modelling and then made the flight down to Nice for lunch with some friends and then drove back to Monaco to see your boyfriend. However the minute you’d walked in the door your work phone was ringing and you apologised to Lewis before he could even say hello.

You were in your little office typing away emails to both your manager and companies reaching out to you, when Lewis came padding into the room.

“Baby” Lewis says in his sultry voice that you knew he meant business, but with all the work you were engrossed in you’d not been paying attention and hadn’t heard what he said.

He huffs in mild annoyance, deciding physical contact may be the best way to advance his conversation with you. He comes up hugging you from behind making you jump a little turning to meet his eyes with a smile on your face.

“Hi” you say sweetly and Lewis looks down nuzzling just face into your neck. He says something mumbled into your neck causing a laugh to erupt from you both because it tickled and because you couldn’t understand a word he was saying.

“I wanna here that voice of yours handsome. Come on” you smile playing with the braids in his hair.

“You ignored me” he huffs out crossing his arms with what looks to be a pout in his face.

“Im sorry baby, you know what I’m liked when I get honed in on a task. It’s just me and the task” you offer with a sad look.

“So a task is more important than me” he challenges.

“Of course not baby. Come on, why you being so needy and cuddly. What do you want?” You humm as he hugs you together.

“You” he says softly, pulling your hips back into his crouch so you could feel exactly what it was he wanted.

“Please baby, I’ve waited all day just for you” he says his voice changing back to the sultry voice, the one that made you have the inability to say no and would probably bet you into some bad situations if Lewis wasn’t a good person.

“Yeah, and what have you waited for?” You ask looking at him.

“You, baby please!” He asks. He pulls your chair away from the desk looking over you.

“Come on baby, don’t you want to be my good girl and come to bed with me?” He asks and you shiver at his tone, a wet patch growing in your underwear at the anticipation of what was to come.

Lewis proceeds to pick you up, carrying you from your office space into your shared bedroom, gently placing you on the bed. He joins you kneeling in between your legs, running his hands up and down your body.

“You are so gorgeous. You’re mine right baby?” He asks and you nod.

“Tell me baby, tell me” he whispers into your ear as he leans closer to you. His fingers teasing your entrance making you breathe out.

“Im yours Lew, all yours. Fuck” you cry out listening more to his voice than focusing on the feeling of his fingers toying with your clit leaving breathing little gasps.

“I want you to suck me off pretty girl. Okay?” He commands lightly. Not even making it sounds like he was giving you an order. So you do, your off the bed in seconds on your knees as he positions himself so he’s sat up on the bed.

Your hands grab the base of his hard cock, your hands moving up and down in a fisting motion. And beofre your lips can even come into contact with his tip the dirty talking starts that has you nearly rubbing your clothed pussy against the carpet for some kind of friction.

“Awe your so good for me. You suck me so well” he starts and as your mouth kitten licks a strip of the vein up he moans.

“No one could make me feel like this but you. Making me feel like heaven baby” he moans as he tries to keep his hips in place and not thrust up into your mouth.

You continue your pace. Your mouth round the head while your hands focus on the girthy base, acting like a barrier to stop you from taking more than you could.

“Fuck your so good baby. Such a good girl” he says and your moaning around him from his softly said world that are making you feel like your in cloud nine.

Not longer after, he’s cumming down the back of your throat with no warning. You swallow all he gives you and the praise that comes after has your grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“You treat me so well hunny”

“You’re just so perfect”

“I struck gold with you”

“Come sit on my lap, and I’ll treat you just aswell” was the last thing he said before he helped pulling you up to straddle him.

He helps you sit down on him, your tight wetness clamping around him as you let him sink all the way into you.

Now Lewis loved when you rode him, but when he was in a gentle loving mood like now he always preferred you on your back, where he could control the pace himself and mould you into the most pleasurable position possible.

One leg was stretched up over his shoulder, and the other wrapped around his hip so he was able to get to your deepest spots and have your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Fuck, I’m stretching you out so good” he moans into your ear as he leans forward, breathing heavily with his hot breath fanning your face.

“You’re so pretty. I love you so much” he says as he slowly thrusts in and out. All you can do is focus on his voice as you keep him close to you and he keeps telling you how well your doing.

“Doing so well for me baby” he breathes out and he can feel you tighten around him.

“Always such a good girl for me, right?” He asks as his hands come up to tease your nipples with his left hand. He kisses up your collarbone and across your neck.

“Are you close baby? Can feel you” he moans into your mouth before pulling you into a passionate and loving kiss. Whiny moans coming from the back of his throat.

“So close Lew, please please” you beg holding eye contact with him. His soft brown eyes stay on yours as he talks you through your orgasm. Your hands find your way to his biceps and grip while you release the right coil in your stomach.

The feeling of your pulsing around him has his following after you breathing softly into your ear as he slows jis thrusts down before letting your leg up over his shoulder fall down to his waist.

“So well, you did so well sweetheart” he smiles kissing your lips softly.

“I love that you get off on my voice” he grins with a little laugh making your groan in embarrassment your cheeks flushing red.

“Shut upppp Lew” you laugh with him, pulling him down into another kiss.

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[moonlight-records]

Favorite Days | Multiple drivers

who's involved?: ln4, cl16, mv33, lh44, op81 & bonus

summary: a glimpse into driver's favorite thing they do with you

warning: fluff. just so much fluff.

fc: n/a

wc: 1.6k

a/n: hi! holiday season is fast upon us and so is my chaotic work schedule! with that my series: playlist series, toto concert series, and rbdhh are going to take longer for me to roll out but i have not forgotten them!

Max loves nothing than being an introvert with you. If Max could have it his way, the two of you would just stay home unless necessary. How could he not? When he’s streaming and takes a moment to turn around and see you on the couch watching TV. Jimmy and Sassy both curled up around you as you lazily pet whichever one is close. The way you’re so invested and silently reacting when you aggressively toss a hand out in shock. When you catch him staring and point to the TV as if he’s been watching the entire time seeing the same shit she is and he can’t help but smile and return to his stream. His favorite was ending stream and immediately going to you. You shift a bit to make room as Max lays on you, hugging your waist and he melts when you run your nails through his hair. How you two could stay like this for hours and be content in each other’s silence. It was pure bliss.

Lando adores game nights with you. He adores how you are so not competitive compared to him for most things. While Lando got really into games, even like Jenga, you were so nonchalant about it. You just smiled and laughed at Lando when he went on his little rants or his little gloats. He knew that you knew it wasn’t that deep. Though his favorite was you two playing ‘Overcooked’. It was the only time you got serious about a game. Suddenly you were calling the shots and now Lando was the one laughing as you yelled at him for forgetting a tomato or something. He almost fell over laughing the next time you two played and you presented two chef hats and told him you were giving him some ‘call out lessons’. Lando got them mixed up which resulted in him screaming from laughter as you gently smacked him with one of the pillows while shouting ‘HAVE I TAUGHT YOU NOTHING?’ It’s his favorite side of you during game night for sure.

Charles enjoys going on side quests with you. Charles really did try to balance his work and home life and he thought that he did well. Yet according to some of his ex’s they can’t handle all these random “side-quests” he takes (though he always made it a point to tell them). Yet, you are the complete opposite of them. You absolutely adored the random side quests Charles got to go on and was ecstatic when you got to join him because that meant more side-quests. You two getting lost to one restaurant and finding a cute ma and pop shop. Sometimes you guys would plan to hit a bar and end up outside, eating ice-cream, just people watching. Sometimes you two would just go out to walk and see where the day would take you guys. You were so easy going and just enjoying quality time with Charles that it was a breath of fresh air that he could be himself.

Lewis loves to spend a night in and cook with you because you always kept it interesting. The first time Lewis had ever cooked with you was in Brazil when he brought you to his house. You had insisted you wanted to help him cook and he let it. He had looked away for two seconds and whipped around to a very small fire starting on the pasta. You two swiftly put it out and Lewis couldn’t help the laugh as you apologize profusely. He reassured you that he is not upset or laughing at you but he’s laughing at the sheer shock of the situation. Lewis thought it was a fluke but realized the longer you two date that this is just you cooking. He found it both amazingly scary but truly enduring at your ability to take a simple dish and create some chaos about it. Though Lewis has now found peace in the chaos and laughter that followed along with the ‘how did you manage this?!’ ‘i don’t know this is a first!’ conversation.

Oscar finds the most mundane things exciting when you’re with him. Shopping his favorite thing to do with you. Typically, Oscar is in and out with the bare necessities for him to survive until another race weekend and only doubles during breaks. Though when you join him, shopping becomes the most interesting thing ever. It always starts with iced coffee and ‘we’re only buying what we need’ though you both know that’s far from the truth. He just happily pushes the cart as you walk up and down every aisle. Stopping to sniff the candles before getting both because it’s a ‘little treat’ and the ‘sale is too good to pass up’ (as if you were paying). He lets you pick out matching pajamas, board games, all the snacks and drinks. Oscar happily pays for everything and helps you load the car up and unload the car before you two are in your own little world for days on end.

Bonus!

Logan loves amusement parks at heart and it was bonus that you also love amusement parks. The two of you always made it a point to see if there was an amusement park nearby the hotel or track when he was in F1 and go check it out. When Logan was let go, he was absolutely devastated and really didn’t want to do anything. Though, when you mention that you’ve never been to Universal, Logan is rolling out of bed rambling bout how his parents had just renewed the family annual passes. Logan seemed to come to life after parking and making his way up the escalator with you and walking into the City Walk. The two of you went into Island’s first to some rides. You deemed the ‘Cat In The Hat’ ride was the weirdest ride you’ve done yet but overall, 9.5/10. You two then hopped over to Hollywood studios where you experienced the joy that is ‘The Mummy’. You two had a dance party in Spongebob’s shop under the pineapple (that you two were a little big for but still fit comfortably) before ending it with some Fat Tuesday’s and Voodoo Donuts. It seems that Logan can never have a bad day when he’s at an amusement park, sharing the joys of memories with you as he steps back, looking at all the photos he paid for from the rides smiling to himself.

Mick loves a good snow day. The days where there’s too much snow so everyone stays home. He loves making a cup of hot chocolate and just looking at the snow enjoying the quiet before you come in and gasp before disappearing. He turns seeing you come out about five minutes later, all bundled up and rushing out the door. Mick is quick to follow, bundling himself up before opening the door and getting a snowball right to the face. Mick shakes his head out before rushing you the best he can. He ends up tackling you, the two of you laughing and rolling in the snow as Nala, the Saint Bernard puppy you two had recently adopted, comes out and jumps around. She tries to eat as much snow as possible which you and Mick try to control so she’s not puking up water. The three of you (really you and Mick with Nala barking for support) make a snowman before Mick ushers you three in. Getting dried off, the three of you cuddle up under a blanket to watch movies.

Arthur loves playing music with you. Typically, Arthur is rather bashful about the music he makes as the imposter syndrome seeps in. Though when it comes to you, Arthur could sit for hours playing. His favorite is when you showed an interest in learning piano. The two of you on the piano bench, he guides your hand to the keys. Arthur rambles on about the keys and gently plays a scale before looking at you. He smiles seeing you try to intimate him, sticking his tongue out. It didn’t sound as fluid as him but you hit all the keys right. He gently places his hands over yours, guiding your hands to play the scale while murmuring about relaxing as you were so tense. It took you about three lessons to finally relax, which Arthur took as a huge win. His favorite is when he’s playing a piece and he glances over, seeing how you watch him with such a proud and loving smile. How your eyes sparkle in awe and how you whisper ‘wow’ as you watch him. He may never release his music to the public but he would gladly play all of them for you.

Toto actually quiet enjoys rainy days. He enjoys waking up to the sound of rain and watching the rain fall while he drinks his morning coffee. Typically, Toto would move as many meetings to Zoom as he could and only go into the office if necessary but there were rare days that he had nothing schedule when he wakes up to a rainy day. Now these days are his favorite because he loves watching you sleepily make coffee in one of his shirt. How you gently cradle your mug and take a sip and sigh in relief. Toto loves watching you shuffle to the living room and pick up your kindle before curling up on the couch. How you look up with a happy but sleepy smile as he sits next to you on the couch with his own coffee in the hand and blanket. Placing the blanket over both of you, Toto moved his arm as you cuddled up into his side. Placing a gentle kiss on your forehead, he turns the TV on, gently resting his cheek on top of your head as you two spend the morning laying around. Rainy days were truly his favorite.

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Shots and Chai

♥ masterlist | request rules | based on this request

♥ pairing: platonic!lewis hamilton x gn!reader

♥ synopsis: lewis comforts you after you get a shot

♥ one-shot/drabble - sickfic - as always none of the pictures are mine

♥ warnings: swearing, references to shots, and british english lol !!!

♥ a/n: this is kind of short but I hope you like it <3 I referenced a little that the reader is a driver I hope that's ok!

You were awoken by a soft knock on your bedroom door causing a tired groan to escape your lips. You had gotten your annual round of shots yesterday causing you to be tortured by soreness and insomnia. It was going to be a long week.

“Hey Y/n, is it ok if I come in?” you heard Lewis speak from behind the door.

"Yeah," you mumbled, rolling over and drowning yourself in blankets to protect your eyes from the sun that was peaking through the curtains. You winced, almost forgetting your arm still hurt as you accidentally laid on top of it.

"I got you some snacks," Lewis said, entering the room with a tote bag and his dog. Roscoe trotted along the carpet in your room and jumped on the bed beside you.

“Hey boy,” you smiled weakly, petting his back with one arm. 

"I figured if crisps won't make you feel better, Roscoe certainly will," he laughed.

You slowly sat up against your mountain of pillows.

"Thank you, Lewis. You really didn't have to."

“I insist,” he set down the bag full of chips, chocolate, and instant ramen down on the floor. 

You pushed yourself out of bed and wrapped your arms around Lewis’ torso for a big hug. Ever since your early karting days he’s been your biggest supporter; your grid dad who has so kindly let you stay in the guest room of his apartment leading up to the Monaco Grand Prix weekend. 

He rubbed your back and shoulders right before you pulled away.

“I’m going to shower, but feel free to help yourself to food, water, anything, yeah?” you said. 

-

When you got out from the bathroom and re-entered your room, Lewis was missing and Roscoe was tucked under the covers of your bed.

You notice a cup of Chai and a note placed under it on your nightstand. There was a condensation ring on the white paper and some ink reading:

I’ll be back with pain meds x -LH

You hopped back in bed, tucking an arm over Roscoe and snuggling the two of you up in a blanket. You closed your eyes and let yourself drift into a light sleep while you awaited the re-arrival of Lewis.

[maddsxfall]

someone make more lewis soft fics plsss

The Muse Behind The Camera

Lewis Hamilton x Fem!Reader 

Warnings: big time fluff, weird timeline but go with it please, toto and susie being their #1 fans, alcohol and the consumption of, lewis and y/n are really bad at flirting. 

Word Count: 3.6k

Author’s Note: lewis my beloved <333 I wrote this one a whim so go with it ?? also happy race day! 

—- 

Hidden behind a camera, barely noticeable to a passing eye but to the Mercedes crew, you were a staple; a much needed presence. 

The last 5 years, you have been their lead photographer and social media rep. Not a race had gone by without you being there, from sun up to sun down, you were clicking away on your laptop, snapping photos and joking around with the crew. 

Were you looking to do this as a full time gig? No, not really but the woman who had the position prior had a baby and decided not to come back so here you were, travelling the world and taking photos. 

Talk about a dream job. 

“Y/n! you want some photos of the car?” Toto calls for you from the other end of the garage and you walk over, camera hanging around your neck. “I already got some earlier,” you tell him.

“Did you get enough for today? Lights out in 20.” He leans on the edge of the desk, arms folded across his chest. 

“Don’t move!” You tell the man, he looks at you confused and the expression washes off his face when you pick up the camera. You hold the camera up and tilt your head, you hum to yourself. 

You hear Susie calling for him, walking into the garage. “Susie!” You call, waving her over. 

“Posing the boss man?” She glances at her husband, smiling. 

You hum and shuffle her over to his side where he moves his arm to wrap around her shoulder. The couple were smiling at each other and had completely forgotten that you were there. You take a few steps back, snapping a few photos of them; Susie’s hand on Toto’s torso, the two of them leaning into each other, laughing.  They’re wrapped up in each other, too busy to even notice that you’ve stopped taking photos. 

Clicking through the camera, you smile to yourself at the photos you had taken that day; the track, the crew, a few of Angela and Lewis walking towards the garage, some of George goofing around and the last few were of Toto and Susie. 

“Those are quite nice.” He peers over your shoulder, looking at the pictures on the screen. 

You hadn’t heard him walk up to you, his presence momentarily scaring you. “Holy shit! You scared me” you breathe, a hand pressed to your chest. Lewis smiled, a soft chuckle slipping past his lips as his hands came up to give your shoulders a squeeze. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to startle you like that.” Lewis’s hands were resting on your shoulders, his back almost pressed to yours. “It’s okay- Oh! Did I show you the photos I took of Roscoe?” 

You walked towards your laptop that was sitting on a table in the garage and Lewis had followed you over, his hands on your shoulders the whole time. When you sat on the stool, he leaned in, draping his arms over your shoulders with his cheek pressed against yours. 

Keep reading

[23victoria]

i loveddddd your recent fic so so much!! you’re such an amazing writer and i truly felt captivated throughout the story <3

as a third year med student i need to know if reader made it as a doctor or if she left her degree incomplete 🫣🫣

thank you so muchhhh!!!! this means so much!! thank you!! 🥹🤍✨

congrats on being in your third year of med school!!! im starting my second year in september!! 🤍🫶🏾✨

and yes she did!!

It had been a year since Y/N ended things with Jensen. The relationship had taken its toll on her, leaving her emotionally drained and unsure of the future. But as the months passed, Y/N began to find clarity. She realized that this was her opportunity to rediscover herself, to follow the dream she had once put on hold: becoming a pediatric doctor.

Returning to Harvard for her medical degree was both terrifying and exhilarating. It was a world she had walked away from, but now it felt like the right time to dive back in. With her sights set on pediatrics, Y/N threw herself into her studies. The coursework was grueling, and the long nights studying in the library often left her exhausted, but she knew this was her path.

As the months turned into years, Y/N worked tirelessly, earning both her Doctor of Medicine (M.D.) and her Ph.D. in Pediatrics. The journey was isolating at times, especially when she thought about who she could have shared it with. Her family had been there for her, and she was grateful for their unwavering support. But deep down, she felt the absence of someone else—someone who used to be her closest friend. She thought about reaching out to Lewis, to ask if he would come to her graduation, but something held her back. The last year had been about finding her own strength, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready to let him back in.

Graduation day arrived, and Y/N stood in her cap and gown, feeling a mixture of pride and loneliness. Her parents and siblings were there, their smiles wide as they watched her walk across the stage to receive her degree. The applause from the crowd was warm, but as she looked out at the sea of faces, the empty space where Lewis might have stood felt like a hollow ache. Still, she held her head high, knowing that she had earned this moment.

The celebration afterward was small, just her family and a few close friends. They congratulated her, hugged her, and told her how proud they were. But when the night was over, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that something—or someone—was missing.

A few years later, after completing her pediatric residency and gaining more specialized qualifications, Y/N found herself once again standing on the cusp of another graduation. This time, it was for an advanced degree in pediatric care, a milestone that signified the completion of her journey to becoming a pediatrician.

This time, things were different. Y/N had reconnected with Lewis during the Met Gala. From there Lewis had welcomed her back with open arms, supporting her unconditionally as she finished her training. He had become her rock, always there to cheer her on, offering words of encouragement when she doubted herself.

On the day of her graduation, the ceremony hall was packed, and this time, Y/N wasn’t alone. As she walked up to the stage to receive her degree, she heard a familiar voice above the rest—a loud whistle followed by an enthusiastic shout. “That’s my girl! Go, Y/N!”

She couldn’t help but laugh, her heart swelling with joy. Looking out into the crowd, she saw Lewis standing, a huge grin on his face, his eyes shining with pride. He was surrounded by her parents, siblings, and a group of friends who had supported her throughout this journey. But it was Lewis’s presence that made this moment feel complete.

As she walked across the stage, the applause of her loved ones filled her with a sense of accomplishment she had never felt before. This time, when she descended from the stage, Lewis was there waiting for her, his arms open wide.

He pulled her into a tight embrace, lifting her off the ground slightly as he spun her around. “I’m so proud of you, Y/N. You’ve worked so hard for this, and look at you now. I never doubted you!”

Y/N smiled, tears of happiness threatening to spill over. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Lewis. You’ve been my biggest supporter.”

He kissed her forehead, his voice soft as he spoke. “You did this, Y/N. You’re the strongest, most determined person I know, and I’m just lucky I get to be here to see you shine.”

As they posed for photos, surrounded by family and friends, Y/N felt an overwhelming sense of contentment. She had come so far, and now she was exactly where she was meant to be. With Lewis by her side, cheering her on every step of the way, she knew there was nothing she couldn’t achieve.

lewishamitlon

liked by y/nl/n, oscarpiastri, charlesleclerc, carlossainzjr, plus44, and 3,986,378 others

the love of my life is a total badass 🫶🏾���️, congratulations to my baby 🥳👏🏾, beyond proud of you 🥹🫶🏾❤️

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username1 congratulations 🎊🍾

georgerussell 👏🏻❣️

username45 okay doctorrrr 🤭

username44 omg!!

username22 she’s mother 🤭🥹🤍

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y/nl/n

liked by lewishamilton, charlesleclerc, bestie, ysl, arianagrande, kehlani, and 4,291,768 others

Dr. Y/N L/N! 🤭❤️✨

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lewishamilton so proud of you my love!! 🫶🏾❤️

oscarpiastri you deserve it!!

beyoncé congratulations beautiful girl 🥰

arianagrande beauty and brains!! 🥰

landonorris congrats Y/N/N!! 🤩🎊🍾

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an - ignore any typos pls

[no-144444]

mistake- l.hamilton

summary: lewis fucks up

pairing: dad! lewis hamilton x fem! mom! wife! reader

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“I’m home!” Lewis called into the house as he shut the door behind him. The patter of small feet down the stairs made his heart beat a little bit faster as the smile on his face widened. It had been a pretty shitty weekend, just hoping to stay in the points wasn’t what a 7 time World Champion should’ve been doing. He should be at the front, where Charles was. So he made his decision. 

“Hey baby,” you smiled, watching as your toddlers hugged his legs, both begging for ‘uppies’ as he greeted them animatedly. Archie and Milo, your 5 year old twin boys, Anna, your 4 year old, and Harry, your 3 year old, all grabbing for him as Riley, your 2 year old, was half-asleep in your arms. 

He smiled as he saw you, and leant down to the kids, greeting all of them with a hug and a kiss, then standing up and pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “Hey baby.”

He pressed a soft kiss to Riley’s head, gently stirring her out of her sort-of sleep. 

The 7 of you enjoyed dinner, Lewis put the kids to bed while you showered, and met you in your bedroom after what felt like the longest day ever. 

He wrapped his arms around you from behind as you brushed your teeth in the mirror. You smiled. 

“You alright baby?” you asked, finishing up. 

He sighed. It was as good a time as ever, he guessed. “It’s been a shitty season,” he lay on the bed, holding you close to him. “I got an offer.”

You blinked. “From who?”

“RedBull,” he admitted. 

“Wow,” you nodded, clearly a little shocked. “RedBull.”

“I might take it,” he admitted. Your jaw dropped. “I want the 8th. I want it so badly Y/n-”

“What about your promise?” you questioned. “You’re nearly 42 Lewis, and you have 5 fucking children and a wife at home who wait for you every single weekend. I know you want all the glory of being the greatest of all time, but will that really be enough for you?” You were exhausted by his ambition. “You’re already the greatest of all time Lewis, one more championship isn’t going to change that.”

“I know I can do it though,” he pressed a soft kiss to your temple. 

“But can RedBull?” you scoffed. “They’ve been fucking Lawson over for a whole year now. What makes you think you’ll be any different?”

He sighed. “Baby, I can’t stay with Ferrari for 10 years when we’re not winning races.”

“They are. Charles is. You’re not,” you scoffed, knowing how mean your words were. “I can’t keep fucking doing this. I can’t just be this perfect housewife. I need more than that. I had a fucking career before this, and you promised me it wouldn’t be put in on the backburner, yet it has been since Milo and Archie were born. You swore to me that you’d be finished when you were 40. You’re almost 42. I’ll never regret having our children, I adore them, but I do regret ever believing you when you said you’d support me.”

Your words cut him like a knife. He felt like shit. He’d done it again, fucking everything up with you. 

“Baby, I’m sor-”

“Don’t say things you don’t mean Lewis,” you scoffed. He opened his mouth to say something, but as if it were planned perfectly, Riley started crying, and you got up to tend to her. He sat back against the bedframe and sighed. 

What was he going to do?

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[maddsxfall]

this felt so realistic?? even though it isn’t bcos i’m never being invited to the met?!?

also, lewis’ met outfit 🤤🤤

Meet Me at the Met

Lewis Hamilton x up-and-coming singer!Reader

Summary: in which you go head over heels (quite literally) during the most important event of the year and end up right at the feet of none other than Sir Lewis Hamilton himself

Warnings: minor injury

The roar of the crowd hits you like a tidal wave as you step onto the iconic themed carpet of the Met Gala. Flashing bulbs from countless cameras nearly blind you as you blink rapidly, trying to adjust. Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel it thrumming in your throat.

“Over here, honey!” A photographer calls out, gesturing for you to turn towards him. You pivot gracefully, the layers of shimmering tulle from your Maison Margiela gown swirling around you.

“Work it! Look this way, sweetheart!” Another shouts, snapping shot after shot.

You take a steadying breath, channeling every ounce of confidence you can muster. This is your first Met Gala, the biggest night of your fledgling music career so far. One misstep could be disastrous.

Your publicist Samantha appears at your side, perfectly put together as always in a sleek sheath dress. “You’re doing great,” she murmurs with an encouraging smile. “Just keep smiling and be yourself.”

Nodding, you continue gliding down the iconic path, pausing at the designated spots to pose for the ravenous paparazzi. An elegant string of Bulgari emeralds adorns your neck, glittering mesmerizingly under the bright lights.

“Miss! To your left please!”

You turn obediently, the intricate beadwork on your deep blue-green gown catching the flashes. Despite the oppressive late spring humidity, you refuse to let a single drop of sweat show. This night is too important.

After what feels like an eternity, a security guard appears to usher you up the final flight of stairs and into the main event. With a brilliant smile plastered on your face, you make your way carefully up the steps, lifting the delicate train of your dress to keep from tripping.

Suddenly, one sparkly heel catches on the fabric and you’re thrown off balance. Unable to catch yourself, you tumble head over heels back down the stairs, gasping in shock and pain as you land hard on the ground.

There’s a collective intake of breath from the crowd as you blink up at the bright lights, thoroughly stunned. Your vision is blurred and there’s a sharp throbbing in your head. When you try to push yourself up, bolts of agony shoot through your right wrist.

“Oh my god, are you alright?” A deep, accented voice sounds from beside you.

You turn your head and your breath catches in your throat. Crouched beside you in an exquisitely tailored double breasted suit and wool coat is arguably the most handsome man on the planet. His beautiful coffee-colored eyes are filled with concern as he reaches out to gently brush a loose strand of hair from your face.

“I … I think so,” you manage to stammer out, though your pounding head begs to differ. “Just clumsy, I guess.”

Despite the sheepish grin you attempt, a wince of pain crosses your features as you shift positions. Lewis’ brow furrows and he places one large hand on your bare shoulder to keep you still.

“Easy there, love. Don’t try to move just yet,” he soothes in that rich baritone that has melted millions of hearts. “You took quite a nasty fall.”

You nod mutely, unable to tear your widened eyes away from his handsome face. This couldn’t be happening … could it? Did you really just faceplant in front of the entire world and, perhaps more importantly, your celebrity crush?

“S-Sorry,” you whisper, utterly mortified. “I’m usually much more graceful than this, I swear.”

Lewis chuckles warmly and you feel your cheeks flush. “No need to apologize, darling. These things happen to the best of us.”

Nearby, Samantha is frantically trying to wave over security and a medic, her expression pinched with worry. You groan quietly as another stab of pain lances through your skull. Definitely a concussion, if your swimming vision is any indication.

“Let’s get you looked at, yeah?” Lewis murmurs, rising fluidly to his feet.

Before you can protest, he slips one arm behind your back and the other under your knees, cradling you gently against his firm chest. You suck in a shocked breath at the sudden movement, instinctively reaching up to grab onto his shoulders for stability. His Burberry suit is buttery soft under your fingers.

“Whoa … y-you really don’t have to carry me,” you stammer out as he easily lifts your frame.

Those rich brown eyes meet yours with an amused glint. “I insist. Can’t have one of the brightest new voices in music getting any more hurt, can we?”

You bite your lip shyly, unable to hold back a small smile of wonderment. Is this really happening right now?

“I’ll be fine, honestly,” you try again as Lewis maneuvers around the gathered crowd, heading for a discreet exit with Samantha close behind. “Just a little banged up.”

“Your wrist is already swelling, love,” he points out with a frown. “Best to get it checked properly, yes?”

“I … yeah, okay,” you acquiesce quietly, not having the energy or brainpower to argue with him further.

The two of you disappear through a door and down a mercifully empty hallway, leaving the stunned crowd and flashing cameras behind. Samantha is rapidly conversing with security to locate the nearest medic station.

“Thank you,” you murmur, letting your head rest wearily against Lewis’ shoulder. Up close, he smells incredible — like crisp bergamot and just a hint of expensive cologne. “For helping me, I mean. I’m sure you had better things to do tonight than playing knight in shining armor.”

Lewis smiles down at you, eyes crinkling in a way that makes your heart flutter unexpectedly. “What a coincidence, I just so happen to be a knight.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, suddenly feeling shy under his warm gaze. “Lucky for me then, I suppose.”

“Indeed,” he agrees with a wink. “Though I can’t take all the credit. That dress is clearly too stunning for us mere mortals to handle.”

A watery giggle slips past your lips before you can stop it. Even slightly concussed and in quite a bit of pain, you can’t deny that foreign flutters are dancing in your stomach just from being in Lewis’ presence. He’s even more charming in person than you ever could have dreamed.

“You’re too kind, Sir Hamilton,” you tease lightly. “But I’ll be sure to leave the couture gowns at home next time.”

Lewis opens his mouth to respond but is interrupted by Samantha hurrying over with a young medic in tow, his kit already open. The worried expression on her face deepens when she sees your obviously injured wrist cradled against your chest.

“Thank god you have her,” she exhales in relief, nodding towards Lewis. “What do we know so far?”

“Took a pretty hard fall down those stairs,” Lewis explains calmly as the medic kneels down to begin his assessment. “She was unconscious for a moment and seems to have injured her wrist as well.”

You wince as the medic gently prods along your forearm. “Definitely a sprain at the very least,” he confirms. “And with the way her pupils are reacting ...”

He shines a small light into both your eyes, brow furrowed in concentration. “I’d say mild concussion too. We should get her to the infirmary for further evaluation, just in case.”

Hearing his words, a small wave of panic crashes over you. Missing any part of tonight because of this would be devastating. You force yourself to sit up straighter, ignoring the way the room spins sickeningly.

“No, no I’ll be fi-”

“You’re not going anywhere but to get checked out properly,” Lewis cuts you off firmly, placing a staying hand on your shoulder. His expression brooks no argument. “Head injuries are nothing to mess around with, love.”

You open your mouth to protest again, but Samantha quickly interjects. “He’s absolutely right. We’re not taking any chances with your health.”

As much as you hate to admit it, they do have a point. If your condition really is as serious as the medic suggests, it could be dangerous to simply brush it off. You let out a resigned sigh, wilting back against Lewis’ sturdy chest.

“I suppose you’re ri-”

Before you can finish your sentence, a sudden dizzy spell washes over you. Bile rises in your throat as the room tilts crazily. Your voice trails off into an anguished groan as you squeeze your eyes shut, fighting off waves of nausea.

“Alright, that’s it. We’re getting you looked at immediately,” Lewis declares. He shifts you effortlessly in his arms and strides down the hallway, the medic and Samantha hurrying to keep up.

The rest of the journey to the infirmary is a blur. You’re vaguely aware of being transferred to a gurney and giving the doctor on staff your information. Lewis’ worried face keeps appearing in your line of vision, his voice a soothing balm against the incessant pounding in your skull.

Finally, the doctor confirms that while your concussion isn’t serious, you definitely need to be monitored overnight. A brace is fitted around your sprained wrist and you’re given strict instructions on managing the symptoms over the next few days. Throughout it all, Lewis remains stubbornly by your side, declining offer after offer to return to the main event.

Thoroughly drugged and exhausted by this point, you can barely keep your eyes open as a wheelchair is brought over to transport you out to the car waiting area. Lewis helps you into it carefully, crouching down in front of you with a tender expression.

“I’m so sorry,” you mumble miserably, gesturing vaguely to your bandaged wrist and slightly dazed state. “I’ve completely ruined your whole night … your entrance, your photo ops … everything.”

He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head adamantly. “Don’t be ridiculous, love. I’d take meeting someone as wonderful as you over all of that any day.”

You blink up at him in surprise, an embarrassed blush staining your cheeks. Did he really just say that? Lewis Hamilton, world famous athlete and heartthrob, thinks you’re wonderful?

“Still,” you protest weakly. “This is supposed to be your night to shine. And now you’re stuck playing nurse for a clumsy fool.”

Lewis arches an eyebrow sternly. “I think you’ve bumped your head around a bit too much, darling. That’s no way to speak about yourself.”

He reaches out to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear, his calloused fingertips grazing your flushed cheek with unexpected tenderness. Your breath catches in your throat at the gentle gesture.

“Missing out on some silly party is more than worth it to me if I got to meet someone as lovely as you,” Lewis continues honestly. His eyes are filled with sincerity. “The only thing I’m upset about is that you were the one who got hurt.”

You’re rendered speechless for a long moment, completely disarmed by his words. Never in a million years could you have imagined this kind of scenario playing out tonight. Is this all really happening?

Finally, you manage a weak smile, blushing furiously under his warm regard. “You’re too kind, Sir Hamilton.”

“Please, call me Lewis,” he insists with a wink. “And let me know where you’re staying, yeah? I’ll come by tomorrow to check on how you’re doing myself.”

Your eyes widen in surprise and you quickly scramble to recall the name of your hotel. “U-Um, the Lotte New York Palace,” you stammer out shyly. “But you really don’t have to do that ...”

Lewis waves off your protest easily, rising to his feet with a soothing grin. “Nonsense, it’s no trouble at all. I’ll be by with some breakfast to make sure my favorite new artist is being properly taken care of.”

With a final wink and dazzling smile, he steps aside to allow an assistant to wheel you towards the exit. Your head is still swimming, though you can’t blame it entirely on the concussion this time.

Did Lewis Hamilton, actual living legend, really just say he was coming to check on you tomorrow?

You allow yourself a tiny, bewildered smile as the night breeze washes over your heated cheeks. Somehow, despite all the mishaps, this crazy night had turned into something straight out of the kind of romantic comedy you secretly loved.

Perhaps falling on your face in front of the entire world wasn’t so disastrous after all.

[vroom--vrooming]

Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Summary: Lewis loves to spoil his girlfriend

Requested? kinda

The sun streams through the expansive glass windows of the Monaco boutique, bathing the marble floors in golden light. You glance at yourself in the mirror, adjusting the hem of the sleek dress you’re trying on. The soft fabric hugs your figure perfectly, and you smile to yourself, pleased with the choice.

As you step out of the fitting room, your heart skips a beat. Lewis is standing by the counter, dressed casually in a plain white T-shirt, baggy pants, and sneakers. His sunglasses rest on top of his head as he chats easily with the sales associate. You thought he was supposed to be in a meeting, but here he is.

“Lewis!” you exclaim, startled but delighted.

He turns to you, his grin widening. “Hey, love. Thought I’d surprise you.”

“You definitely did.” You walk toward him, your confusion giving way to joy. “What about your meeting?”

“Got canceled,” he says casually, taking a step closer. “Figured I’d spend my free time with you instead.”

Before you can respond, you notice him handing his credit card to the sales associate. “Pack up everything she liked,” he says confidently, flashing his charming smile.

“Lewis!” You place a hand on his arm, trying to stop him. “I don’t need you to do that. I have my own money.”

He looks down at you, his warm brown eyes filled with affection. “I know you do,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “But I want to spoil the person I love the most. Let me.”

Your cheeks flush as your heart swells. “You’re impossible,” you mutter, but a small smile escapes.

“Only for you,” he replies, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips. The world seems to fade for a moment, leaving just the two of you in your own bubble of happiness.

The sales associate clears her throat politely, snapping you both back to reality. Lewis smirks and slides an arm around your waist. “Anything else catch your eye, or are we good?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I think you’ve done enough damage.”

He chuckles, his grip tightening slightly as he pick up the bags and guides you toward the door. “Never enough for you, love.”

[verstappensrealwife]

Penny for Your Thoughts - SugarDaddy!Lewis Hamilton x Reader

[lewis hamilton masterlist  / f1 masterlist]

ʚɞ in which... the relationship between lewis and his sugar baby develops into something more. ʚɞ fluff, smut, angst (barely)  ⋆⭒˚.⋆ 5600 words ʚɞ warnings: use of Y/N, smut, Fem Receiving!Oral, lewis cumming in his pants, some swearing, mentions of sex in conversation, kissing, swearing, unspecified age-gap.

-୨♡୧-

-୨♡୧-

When lewis had met you he didn’t expect this… You were young and beautiful, and while he was equally beautiful, he was a little older.

Not that the age difference mattered to you. You weren’t with him for his good looks—though those certainly didn’t hurt. No, what drew you to him was the promise of his wealth, the endless opportunities for luxury that came with his lifestyle. 

And as it turned out, he didn’t mind one bit. Lewis didn’t expect love or devotion, nor did he demand intimacy—at least, not all the time. What he truly enjoyed was spoiling you, a pastime he indulged with an almost reckless abandon. With more money than he could ever hope to spend on himself, Lewis found it gratifying to watch you revel in the fruits of his fortune.

So you came to an agreement, you get his credit card, he gets to show you off like a trophy at different events and around the paddock. You were his trophy, and he was your benefactor.

-୨♡୧-

It was one of those nights where everything seemed to go wrong. You had arrived at the bar with your friends, but somehow, they had disappeared into the crowd, leaving you stranded alone at the bar, nursing your drink and wondering if you should just call it a night. The hum of conversations and clinking glasses faded into the background as you sighed, glancing at the empty seats around you, wishing for some kind of distraction.

Then, unexpectedly, a warm presence slid into the seat next to you. Lewis. He didn’t make any grand gestures, no flashy introductions—he simply settled in beside you, as though it were the most natural thing in the world, despite the many other open chairs. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, but when the bartender came by to take your order, he spoke up.

"I’ll take care of your next drink," he said, his voice smooth and casual, as if he already knew you.

You gave him a questioning look, but didn’t protest. A drink, a little distraction, that’s all you needed.

After a moment of silence, you let out a sigh, the weight of the evening still pressing on you. “Penny for your thoughts?” Lewis asked, his eyes studying you with a quiet curiosity.

“You’re gonna need a lot more than a penny,” you quipped, a forced smile tugging at your lips.

“How about 200…?” he replied, without missing a beat, as he casually pulled open his wallet.

“200 pennies?” You raised an eyebrow, unsure if he was playing along or actually serious.

“Euros,” he said, a confident smile curling at the corners of his lips. He slid ten crisp 20-euro bills across the bar with a slow, deliberate movement.

Your jaw dropped. The sheer audacity of it caught you off guard. “Not enough?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly, almost genuinely confused. “I can go get more from the cash machine if you need it.”

You stared at him, eyes narrowing. “Are you joking?”

He shook his head, no trace of sarcasm in his voice. “Not at all,” he said simply, pushing the money even closer to you.

A mix of disbelief and curiosity bubbled up inside you, but, against your better judgment, you reached out and took the money. With that, you found yourself explaining the miserable state of your night—the mix of bad decisions, lost friends, and the way everything seemed to be falling apart.

Somewhere between your rant and the last sip of your drink, the conversation shifted. The night took on a different tone, one of unexpected comfort and growing connection. By the time you found yourself back at his hotel room, the details of the evening felt like a blur. What you did remember, though, was the feel of his touch, the luxury that oozed from every inch of him, and the crisp, freshly handed-over credit card tucked into your pocket.

-୨♡୧-

And now, there you stood in Bahrain, playing the loving-girlfriend role (for the first time at a race) as you watched him drive around the track over and over again. You were wearing expensive shoes, a pricy dress, and your hair done up so perfectly you didn’t want to touch it.

After the race had finished and Lewis placed 7th,  You watched him climb out of the car, his posture tight, his expression far from pleased. He was used to winning championships, not fighting to stay in the points.

“Well done, Lew.” You had smiled when he came though the garage. He hummed a tiny thank you, clearly upset, and walked right by you. You looked down awkwardly, even the mechanics looked at you a little concerned. 

But then, Lewis paused, his frustration momentarily giving way to something else. He turned and reached for your hand, his fingers wrapping around yours with a kind of silent urgency. Wordlessly, he pulled you along with him, heading toward his motorhome.

You couldn’t help but smile, even in the midst of his disappointment.

"I need to go talk to the media," he said, his voice flat. You nodded, understanding the drill. "You can, uh... stay here if you want."

"Of course," you murmured. You didn’t mind

"You did great today," you added quietly, watching him closely. His eyes flicked to you, and for a fleeting moment, you saw something in them—a spark of emotion. It wasn’t just the casual gratitude he usually gave you. This was different, almost vulnerable, like he was searching for comfort, even if he wouldn’t ask for it outright.

He gave you a small smile, nodding in appreciation, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. You could tell the result still weighed on him. With a final, quiet nod, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

-୨♡୧-

It wasn’t long before Lewis returned, his shoulders more relaxed, though the lines of frustration still lingered on his face.

"Penny for your thoughts?" you asked with a teasing smile, hoping to break the silence.

He huffed a tiny laugh, a sound that was both resigned and weary. "Just not happy with P7," he admitted with a shrug. You nodded, sensing there was no need to push him further. "Can we go back to the hotel now?" he asked, the exhaustion evident in his tone.

You nodded immediately, stepping in line behind him as you left the paddock together, the bustling sounds of the paddock fading behind you.

-୨♡୧-

The soft click of the door closing behind him marked the end of the race day. Lewis leaned against the wall, watching you move effortlessly through the room, shedding the remnants of the event like a second skin. First, your makeup came off, followed by the careful undoing of your hair. Then, without a second thought, you peeled off the dress, the expensive fabric slipping down your body and pooling onto the floor, revealing a little more of you with each passing second.

And yes, he watched—he couldn’t help himself. You were still his girlfriend, after all, even if this wasn’t exactly the most conventional of relationships. He admired your figure, the way your skin caught the light in the room, the way you moved with effortless grace.

“Perv,” you teased with a laugh, throwing the dress carelessly over the back of the armchair before slipping into an oversized shirt—one that could’ve been his, though you weren’t sure. You glanced over at him, your playful smile lighting up the room.

He just smirked, unfazed by what you said. Taking a few steps closer to you, the tension palpable. His hands move to hold your bare waist, rubbing his hands up and down your sides, looking down at your body, each curve, each freckle or mark. He looks back up to you, your lips, staring. Before he leans forward, kissing you, its needy and passionate. 

Clearly the pent up frustrations with the car was getting to his head.

His hands roaming over your body, before he walks you backwards until your knees hit the back of the bed. He falls on top of you. Looking at you, really looking. Mumbling to himself about how beautiful you are. Then he’s on you again, his lips ravaging at your neck, nipping and sucking gently at the sensitive spot between your neck and collarbone.

Soft whines fall from your lips, tugging at his tshirt, urging him to undress. With one swift motion, he pulls the shirt over his head, throwing it somewhere behind him. He kisses down your body, pulling you gently to the edge of the bed before dropping to his knees. His fingers linger on your underwear, fingertips grazing the skin of your hips, looking up at you for a nod. 

“Please,” You pant. Thats all he needed. Wrapping his fingers around the waistband and pulling them off. He wastes no time, his head diving between your thighs. Your loud, desperate moans echoing throughout the room. His fingers glide up the back of your thighs till they cant go further, squeezing at the flesh.

You are a wreck. Writhing, moaning, shaking.

You cry out in pleasure, heels digging into the toned muscle of his back as he plunges two fingers into you. You’re trying desperately to move your hips to ride his fingers. “Lewis,” You whimper, wound up so tight you could burst. “Lewis- I- fuck I’m gonna-”

The words are lost on you as you scream, your body spasms, everything tingles as your cunt tightens around his fingers. Hips bucking upwards as pleasure floods through you.

He pulls his fingers out, and mouth away. Your juices spread across his mouth and chin. He gives you a drunken-looing grin as he stands up. You sit up onto your elbows, then your eyes shoot down to his crotch, the once light grey joggers now dark and wet around his crotch. He looks down, noticing your stare. “I- that doesn’t usually happen- you were just being so hot and I couldn’t really help it.” He says sheepishly.

“It’s hot,” You smirk with a small shrug.

After everything settled, the intensity of the moment slowly faded, leaving a soft, warm silence between you both. Lewis carefully helped you clean up (after washing his face), his hands gentle as he brushed some stray hair from your face, his eyes full of care and affection. 

You gave him a funny look as he stared intently at you.

“What? Can’t I admire my girlfriend?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You can, if this ever becomes a normal relationship.”

His smirk faltered for a second, replaced by something more serious. He watched as you crawled onto the bed, pulling the thick covers up to your chin, curling into the softness of the sheets. “Would you want that?” he asked quietly, the question lingering in the air between you. “Like, an actual relationship… not just—whatever this is?”

You shrugged, your eyes flicking to him before settling on the ceiling, lost in thought. “Maybe one day…” Your words hung in the air, both hopeful and uncertain, the weight of what you said not lost on either of you.

Lewis nodded slowly, absorbing the thought. There was no rush, no need for labels. But the way he looked at you—his gaze softening, his lips curling into a gentle smile—made it clear that, in some way, this was becoming something more. He didn’t say anything more, but the unspoken agreement between the two of you was clear: one day, maybe, things would change. For now, he was content to let the night settle in around you both, taking each moment as it came.

-୨♡୧-

You hadn’t gone to the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix—things had gotten too hectic, and you needed some time to yourself. But you were at the Australian Grand Prix, and it was Friday. The buzz of the paddock surrounded you as Lewis was out on track, doing his practice laps, while you sat in the garage. The hum of the engines and the chatter of the crew filled the air as you made small talk with one of the mechanics, discussing anything and everything to pass the time. The world of F1 still felt like a foreign one to you, but you were learning.

After a while, Lewis returned to the garage, stepping out of the car with the usual furrow in his brow. He immediately started speaking to the mechanics about the car, explaining in technical terms the issues he could feel. It was all a blur of words you couldn’t quite grasp, but you could tell by his tone that he was frustrated.

-୨♡୧-

You hadn’t gone to the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix—things had gotten too hectic, and you needed some time to yourself. But you were at the Australian Grand Prix, and it was Friday. The buzz of the paddock surrounded you as Lewis was out on track, doing his practice laps, while you sat in the garage. The hum of the engines and the chatter of the crew filled the air as you made small talk with one of the mechanics, discussing anything and everything to pass the time. The world of F1 still felt like a foreign one to you, but you were learning.

After a while, Lewis returned to the garage, stepping out of the car with the usual furrow in his brow. He immediately started speaking to the mechanics about the car, explaining in technical terms the issues he could feel. It was all a blur of words you couldn’t quite grasp, but you could tell by his tone that he was frustrated.

-୨♡୧-

Saturday came, and it wasn’t the best of results. Lewis had qualified 11th—a decent starting position, but not where he usually found himself. His frustration was palpable, but it was nothing a good evening couldn’t fix. After the race, he took you out to a nice dinner, treating you to some of the finest food in the city. He even bought you a new perfume—a gesture that was more thoughtful than extravagant. The evening ended with you both lying side by side in bed, staring at each other, the soft hum of the city outside the windows creating a peaceful atmosphere.

“Remember like, a month ago…” Lewis started, his voice breaking the comfortable silence. You nodded, prompting him to go on.

“When we were talking about being, like… a proper couple—would you wanna maybe try that?” he asked, his voice cautious, like he wasn’t sure how you’d respond.

You lay there, processing the question. He sounded so nervous, and for a moment, it made you wonder why. Why was he asking? Why now? The uncertainty lingered in the air between you, but after a moment of thought, you gave a small, genuine smile.

“Yeah,” you said softly, making his eyebrows raise in surprise. “Sure—why not?”

-୨♡୧-

Oh, how naive you were.

Less than 24 hours later, you could’ve strangled him.

The race had been a disaster—Lewis had DNF’d, and it was clear he was livid. But it wasn’t the result that was bothering him—it was the way the whole weekend had unraveled, and somehow, he made it your problem.

You didn’t see him at all until after the media duties, and even then, it was like he was avoiding you. He walked past you in the paddock without so much as a glance. You stayed in his driver’s room, trying to give him space, but your patience was wearing thin. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he entered, his body tense, his face still etched with frustration.

He didn’t even look at you.

“Are you oka-” you started, your voice soft, hesitant.

“Just shut up,” he snapped, cutting you off, his tone sharper than you’d ever heard. His words hit you like a punch to the gut. You froze, your mouth falling shut in shock. “All the fucking time, just—‘Lewis, Lewis, Lewis,’” he mocked, mimicking your voice with an exaggerated sigh, his frustration boiling over.

You sat there, stunned, trying to process what was happening. This wasn’t the Lewis you knew—this wasn’t how he usually acted, especially not toward you. The words stung, leaving you speechless, unsure of how to react.

Before you could even respond, he turned to say something else, but you couldn’t take it anymore. You stood up, moving quickly toward the door, your heart pounding in your chest. Without saying a word, you left the room, not wanting to be in the same space as him anymore.

“Wait—no—Y/N—fuck,” Lewis called after you, his voice laced with regret, but it was too late. You were already storming out, heading straight for the nearest taxi, leaving the driver’s room—and Lewis—behind as you made your way to the hotel, the sting of his words lingering in the air between you.

It was almost 10 PM when he finally walked through the door, his presence quiet but heavy. You had been in bed for a while, reading your book as though everything was fine, pretending you didn’t care that he had just hurt you. Of course, you cared—you always cared—but right now, you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing how deeply it stung.

He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching you, waiting for some kind of acknowledgment. He called your name softly at first, then again, a little more insistently, when he realized you weren’t responding. When it became clear you were intentionally ignoring him, he sighed, his voice filled with regret.

“I— Princess, I really am sorry.”

Still, you said nothing, keeping your focus on the page, even though you could hear the sincerity in his tone, and the words on the page were melting together, you ignored him. With another heavy sigh, he reached for one of the pillows, dragging it off the bed before retreating to the small sofa across the room. He grabbed the thinnest blanket he could find, folding it around himself as best he could.

“Goodnight,” he said, his voice soft, sad. You didn’t respond, not wanting to break your silence just yet. You turned off your light, rolling over to face the wall, your thoughts swirling.

Sleep came quickly for you, but not for him. The couch was far too small, too uncomfortable for someone his size. You could hear his restless shifting—the soft groans and quiet huffs that filled the room as he tried, unsuccessfully, to find a comfortable position.

Eventually, you woke up to the sound of him fumbling with the couch. You blinked a few times, your mind still fuzzy from sleep, before calling out to him, your voice confused.

“Lewis?”

He froze instantly, embarrassed by the noise he had made. “Sorry,” he muttered, trying to adjust quietly, shifting his body awkwardly to find some semblance of comfort.

By this point, you had hoped he would have just climbed into bed with you. It was obvious he wasn’t getting any sleep on the couch, but he wasn’t making any move to join you. You let out an exasperated sigh, pushing yourself up on one elbow, your eyes adjusting to the dim light in the room. You yawned, looking at him with disbelief.

“Are you seriously still trying to sleep on that thing?”

“It’s fine,” he lied, adjusting the pillow again for what felt like the hundredth time. “Just go back to sleep.”

You rolled your eyes, clearly unimpressed by his stubbornness. “Lewis. Just get in the bed.”

He opened his mouth to protest but stopped himself. “But I—”

“Get in,” you repeated, cutting him off firmly, patting the empty spot next to you.

There was no more arguing after that. With a small grunt of defeat, he climbed into the bed beside you. “Sorry,” he muttered again, though the apology felt more genuine now.

You nodded, not needing to say more. “It’s okay… just shut up now,” you yawned, your eyes drifting shut as you sank back into the pillow.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The room was quiet, the tension still hanging between you, but it was starting to fade. You could feel the weight of the day slowly slipping away, your exhaustion starting to settle in.

And then, without warning, you found yourself crawling toward him, drawn to his warmth. You threw your arm over his chest, resting your head against him, your legs tangling with his under the covers. He tensed at first, clearly surprised by the sudden closeness, but within moments, his body relaxed, and his arm came around you, pulling you into him.

You could feel the steady beat of his heart against your ear, the warmth of his skin beneath your touch, and despite the tension of the night, everything felt right again. Silent, comfortable, and for the first time that evening, at peace.

-୨♡୧-

It had been a few months since the Australian Grand Prix, and now, here you were, trudging around the Silverstone track in the blistering British summer heat. Every step felt like a mountain as jet lag clung to you like a weight, and all you wanted was to collapse into bed for a solid, uninterrupted sleep. But instead, you were stuck walking the track with Lewis—who, despite his usual high energy, seemed to be in no rush.

The two of you had been taking things slowly in your growing relationship, maybe even too slowly for your liking. The pace was frustrating at times, especially when you wanted more but couldn’t push him faster than he was willing to go. You wanted to enjoy your time together, but you couldn’t help feeling like you were standing still while he took his time to figure things out.

But right now, you just wanted to get this walk over with. You glared at the track, imagining it as a long stretch of nothing but sleep.

“Okay, Grandpa, get a move on. I am exhausted,” you said, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice, but it came out sharper than intended.

Lewis shot you a sly smirk, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Well, I can certainly understand why,” he teased, his voice dropping to a playful, suggestive tone. “I did fuck you pretty well—”

Ok, maybe not taking the relationship entirely slowly.

“Okay!” you quickly interrupted, your face flushing with embarrassment. Not in public, please. “No need to be crude in front of the children,” you added, nodding toward Kimi, who was walking a few feet ahead with George and Carmen, all of them oblivious to your exchange.

Lewis burst into laughter, his playful side coming to the surface as he pushed you lightly in retaliation. You responded with the same energy, shoving him back and laughing along with him. The two of you exchanged grins, the tension of the last few months lightening for a moment.

You’d been together for months now, shared countless moments, laughed, argued, spent time together both in and out of bed. You’d done everything that a couple should do, or so you thought.

But there was one thing that hung in the air, unspoken, like a cloud that never seemed to lift: the three words. Those three simple words that could turn the connection between you two into something deeper, something permanent. And yet, despite everything, he still hadn’t said them.

You couldn’t help but wonder if he was waiting for something, or maybe he just wasn’t there yet. Maybe he didn’t feel the same way. You’d never pushed him, never asked for those words, but they were always in the back of your mind, like an unfinished sentence.

Sometimes, you'd see flashes of affection in the way he looked at you, in the little things he did, but there was always this strange emptiness when it came to those words.

But what did it all mean if he couldn’t say it?

-୨♡୧-

Qualifying day dawned, and it was clear that the team had made significant progress overnight. The car felt more alive, and Lewis was able to extract more from it with each lap. He pushed through the first two sessions with a mix of determination and calculated risk, knowing that every second counted. 

In Q1, the pace had been good, but there were still a few corners that didn’t feel quite right. It was enough to get him through, though, and as the weekend progressed, the confidence built. 

By Q2, Lewis was firing on all cylinders, and the team’s strategy seemed to be paying off. The car’s balance was improving, and with each lap, it was clear he was getting closer to the top.

But when it came time for Q3, the pressure was on. He pushed hard in the final sector, his focus unwavering as he navigated the tight corners, pushing the car to its limits. The lap had been enough to secure 2nd place. He wasn’t quite on pole, but he was in a great position, only a fraction of a second behind the pole sitter.

There was a sense of pride as he climbed out of the car, a slight smile tugging at his lips. He had fought hard for that position, and the team’s work was paying off. The atmosphere in the garage was electric, with engineers high-fiving and congratulating each other. Now, it was all about turning that qualifying pace into a solid race result. But for now, 2nd place felt pretty damn good.

He walked over to you, in the corner of the garage, beaming at you happily with his helmet tucked under his arm. “Not bad for a grandpa, huh?” he teased, his voice laced with playful smugness.

You rolled your eyes at him, fighting back a smile. 

“You’ve got to admit, I’ve still got it,” he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he leaned in slightly, clearly enjoying the moment. He was so proud of what he'd accomplished, and you couldn’t deny that you were proud of him too.

“Did you ever lose it?”

He flashed you a grin, clearly satisfied with your approval, before he leaned in to give you a quick kiss on the cheek. “God, I love… erm… when you come to races…” he says, clearly stopping himself from saying ‘I love you’. He clears his throat. “It’s not over yet, though. I’m gunning for that top spot tomorrow,” he said, the competitive edge in his voice returning.

You smiled, watching him walk away, the energy around him infectious.

-୨♡୧-

In the dimly lit hotel room, the soft glow of the television illuminated the quiet space. A film was playing, but neither of you were paying much attention to it. You lay there, side by side, your heads nestled into the pillows, the comfort of the bed surrounding you both. The hum of the movie blended with the sound of your voices, an easy conversation flowing between the two of you.

You were close, so close, you could feel the warmth of his body next to yours, his hand resting gently on the bed near yours. There had been an unspoken tension for a while now, something hanging between you both. You could feel it in the way he looked at you when you laughed, in the small touches, the way he’d hold you just a little longer than necessary when you hugged. It was as if the words were right there, on the tip of his tongue.

You were almost sure this was it. This was the moment.

The conversation had shifted, casual at first, but then he turned to you, his expression softening. The way he was looking at you now, it was different—more intense. You could feel your heart start to race, anticipation building.

"I was thinking," he started, his voice quieter than usual. You looked up at him, holding your breath, hoping he was about to say what you were both thinking.

He paused, and you could feel the weight of the silence stretching between you, and in that brief moment, everything felt like it was about to change.

“I—” he began again, his eyes locking onto yours with a gaze that sent a flutter through your chest.

You were ready. This is it, you thought. Finally.

But then, just as you were about to exhale in relief, he shifted in the bed, his expression changing as he sat up slightly, breaking the moment.

“Did you hear about the new engine updates for next race?” he asked, casually, as if he hadn’t just been on the verge of saying something that would change everything.

Your heart sank a little, the words you were waiting for slipping away, replaced by the familiar mention of the track, the car, the race. You blinked, trying to shake off the sudden disappointment, but it lingered in the air.

You nodded slowly, a soft smile playing on your lips, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. "Yeah, I did. I think we could be in for a good one next time."

He didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he did but chose not to acknowledge it, diving into the technical details with his usual enthusiasm. You listened, nodding in all the right places, but in the back of your mind, that moment—the moment—still lingered, unanswered.

You lay back down beside him, the distance between you not in inches, but in the words that had almost been spoken, and the ones that never came.

-୨♡୧-

“Good luck, Lew,” you whispered against his lips, your hand resting on his chest for a brief moment.

Without a word, his lips met yours, a slow, lingering kiss that seemed to stop time for a moment. The buzz of the crowd faded into the background as you melted into the kiss, his hand cradling your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin.

When he pulled away, his eyes locked onto yours, his voice barely a whisper, “I’ll make it count.” His words were full of focus and confidence, the kind that left no doubt he was determined to win this one. You smiled, your heart swelling in your chest, knowing he would give it everything.

“I’ll be here,” you replied softly, squeezing his hand before he turned and jogged toward his car.

The race began in a blur of roaring engines, speeding cars, and deafening excitement. Lewis was in the zone, navigating the twists and turns of the track with precision and power. You could see it in the way he drove—the focus, the confidence, the hunger for victory. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the screen, your heart in your throat with every corner.

Then, it happened. With one final push, he crossed the finish line, the roar of the crowd erupting around you. He had done it. He had won his home Grand Prix- again.

The victory was his. And the joy was contagious.

As he pulled into Parc Fermé, you rushed over to the barriers, your heart still racing from the intensity of the race. You were front and center, waiting for him to emerge from his car. When he did, he looked absolutely elated, his face glowing with the purest happiness. He waved to the crowd, then immediately made his way toward his team, hugging everyone in sight. Each embrace, a moment of triumph. You watched as he celebrated with them, his adrenaline clearly still running high.

And then, after what felt like an eternity, he spotted you.

With a wide grin, he sprinted toward you, his helmet still in his hand. The world seemed to pause as he reached you, his eyes never leaving yours. There was no hesitation. He threw his arms around you, pulling you in close, and without a second thought, he took off his helmet, tossing it aside. His lips found yours, this time even more urgent, more intense than before the race. His kiss was full of raw, unbridled emotion—adrenaline coursing through him, the exhilaration of the win, and the joy of having you there with him to share it.

His lips moved against yours with the same intensity as the race itself, as if this moment was the culmination of everything. His hands were everywhere—one holding you close, the other gently cradling your face. You could taste the sweat and the salt from his skin, the remnants of the race, but it was a kiss that felt like everything you had both been waiting for.

When he finally pulled away, breathless, a satisfied grin plastered across his face, he looked down at you, his eyes sparkling with adrenaline. 

"Penny for your thoughts?" you asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes, knowing how excited he was, knowing how much this meant to him.

“I love you,” he blurted out, his voice thick with emotion, the words tumbling out without any hesitation, as though the moment had finally come and there was no holding back anymore.

Your eyes widened, surprised by the bluntness of it, but then an exasperated laugh escaped your lips, the tension of the past months lifting off your shoulders. “FINALLY!” you exclaimed, smiling at him as the words sank in. You reached up and kissed him again, this time with even more feeling, pulling him back into you. 

“I love you too,” you murmured, your arms around his neck as you kissed him again, this time without holding back. The crowd, the team, the celebrations all seemed distant, fading into the background as you reveled in the most important moment of the day—the one that had been building up for so long.

And in that moment, everything felt perfect.

-୨♡୧-

Please, please like please like please comment love love love <3

Click here to be added to the tags list ❤️ 

-୨♡୧-

tags: @canyonmoon-2 @justaf1girl @youdontknowmeshh @vex-et-soleil @raizelchrysanderoctavius @sid3r3us @taisferrari-blog @darlingboydiaz @little-miss-naill @meyla123X @flowerpetalk @yellowcordycepts @dstark-0706 @atintina @willowsnook @dummythicc @47chickens @oldfashioned-lovergirl @galaxygurlll @carlossainzapologist @hahdb8 @kawaiifurychaos @gabriellsz @Iloveyou3000morgan @dr3wstarkey @alex-wotton n @oliviah-25 @iamafootballfanmiasanmia @alexxvicry @pear-1206 @seonghwaexile @killjoycra @abq654 @anamiad00msday @prettypink11 @ferakillia @ascybous @becca-bec0a @okdokeygryssel63 @a-person-7002 @prttylight @lewishamiltonismybf @xoscar03 @i-wish-this-was-me @aykxz98 @nina-or-anna-or-nora @mrsdominickstark @ragingrainbowship @blahblechblah @sakusaomies @ivegot4gcses

[norrisainz33]

Secrets || CL16 & LH44

☆ summary: y/n hamilton is headed to the olympics and her secret boyfriend (her brothers future teammate) ends up confirming their relationship at the olympics

☆ pairing: charles leclerc x hamilton!reader

☆ fc & warnings: georgia-mae fenton & none

☆ requested: yes! thanks for the olympic gymnast idea 🫶🏻

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

ynhamilton has made a post

liked by lewishamilton, roscoelovescoco, georgerussell63, mercedesamgf1, charlesleclerc, and 645,238 others

ynhamilton: quick someone tell mini me that she’s going to the olympics 🤭

view all 876 comments

user1: AHHHHHH OMG!!! CONGRATS

roscoelovescoco: prouds of you aunties

ynhamilton: thank you my sweet sweet little baby

user2: the hamiltons are going to take over the world just wait

fernandoalo_oficial: show them how it’s done mi princesa

ynhamilton: will do my best nando 🤍

user3: beautiful , perfect , flawless

lewishamilton: that’s my girl! i can’t wait to see you shine

ynhamilton: love you big bro 🤍

user4: the best sibling duo in existence

user5: y’all see charles hiding in the likes 🫣

user6: y/n prolly giggling and kicking her feet rn

user7: girl says she has a crush on a certain ferrari driver one time and you guys won’t let her live it down 😭

user6: user7 don’t forget that one time they were caught hanging out

user7: user6 she was in the paddock for her brothers race!!

user6: idk the way he was looking at her was anything but casual user7

ynhamilton has posted to her story

view all story replies

user5: YOU MADE IT

user7: style icon y/n is in the building

lewishamilton: 💪🏻 win us a medal sis

ynhamilton: win me a race brother! also give roscoe a kiss for me please - i already miss him :(

lewishamilton: he misses you too

user8: the olympics should be thanking you for participating fr

charlesleclerc: good luck mon amour ❤️

ynhamilton: thank you charlie! i wish you could be here

charlesleclerc: i know darling im sorry i cant be!

user9: brb buying this exact set as we speak

user10: mother has landed

roscoelovescoco has made a post

liked by ynhamilton, lewishamilton, charlesleclerc, landonorris, teamgb, simonebiles, mercedesamgf1, and 436,125 others

roscoelovescoco: we loves aunties y/n! watching froms homes but still so prouds 🇬🇧 p.s my new friend leos watches withs us

view all 345 comments

user11: roscoe’s insta will always be one of my favorite things on the internet

user12: roscoe supporting his favorite auntie is the sweetest

lewishamilton: roscoe would be there if he could! good luck today, y/n/n 🫶🏻🇬🇧

ynhamilton: big big love to you both 🤍

user22: look at grandpa using his emojis

ynhamilton: i love you with my whole heart roscoe

roscoelovescoco: roscoe loves y/ns

user13: hold on is he talking abt leo leclerc

user6: are charles and lewis watching y/n??? together?????? no way

user9: is roscoe hard launching y/ncharles

charlesleclerc: leo is wishing y/n all the best today ❤️

ynhamilton: thank you little leo ❤️

user6: guys i swear they are together

user7: user6 im gonna hold ur hand when i say this

texts between you and charles

ynhamilton has made a post

liked by teamgb, charlesleclerc, fernandoalo_oficial, lewishamilton, patriciooward, and 762,194 others

ynhamilton: i’m headed to the finals! oh what a surreal feeling this is. being an olympian was and always has been a dream of mine since i was a little girl so to step on this mat and to make it this far is the blessing of a life time ✨

view all 887 comments

user12: CONGRATS GORGEOUS

user87: hamilton hamilton hamilton

fernandoalo_oficial: proud is an understatement

ynhamilton: 🤍

lewishamilton: you’re a star

ynhamilton: that’s you mr champion

user13: how does she make everything she does look so beautiful

user14: i love seeing women succeed

charlesleclerc: truly incredible performance

ynhamilton: 🥹 thank you charlie

user6: he’s here

roscoelovescoco: yess yous are the bests in the worlds

teamgb: that’s our girl! making us proud out there y/n 🇬🇧🤍

charlesleclerc has posted on his story

view story replies

user98: and where are we headed mr leclerc? paris perhaps?

ynhamilton: holy moly you look incredible 🤤

charlesleclerc: merci mon coeur ❤️

user65: why you looking at me like that

fernandoalo_oficial: you better bring our girl some luck !

charlesleclerc: working on it 💪🏻

lewishamilton: see you soon mate

user23: ARE YOU GOING TO PARIS YES OR NO

user34: ohhhh you look scrumptious

user44: i already miss seeing your car go round in circles

f1gossip has made a post

liked by user1, user2, user5, user6, yourbff, user8, user7 and 154,354 others

f1gossip: Lewis Hamilton pictured attending the Olympic gymnastics finals to support his sister y/n! the surprise of the evening is that Charles Leclerc is also in attendance and sitting with Lewis and y/n’s friends. there’s been quite a few rumblings that y/n and Charles are a couple - is this confirmation?

view all 304 comments

user44: lewis ages like fine wine istg

user16: CHARLES LECLERC AT THE OLYMPICS?! that twitter user was right

user6: I KNEW IT!!! I KNEWWWWW IT!! Y/NCHARLES FOR LIFE

user8: maybe they’re just bonding before next season

user65: forza ferrari!!!

user10: odd place to choose for a bonding event

user21: idk if i even want mother with that man

user17: out of all the drivers he’s not a bad choice

user18: the english and monegasque royal family’s coming together ,, it’s so beautiful

ynhamilton has made a post

liked by lewishamilton, scuderiaferrari, patriciooward, charlesleclerc, fernandoalo_oficial, nicorosberg, yourbff, and 456,321 others

ynhamilton: regardless of the outcome i’m proud of me, i’m proud of my teammates and i’m proud to represent team gb. obviously a medal would have been nice but when you have competition like THE simone biles just being here is a win. thank you to lewie, yourbff1, charles and yourbff2 for making the trip to paris to cheer me on 🤍🇬🇧

view all 546 comments

user28: you’re still a medalist in my book

yourbff1: my bestie is that girl ✨

user29: the hamilton genes are insane

yourbff2: you are the most incredible, talented, amazing, perfect, gorgeous, slay, demure woman in the whole world

lewishamilton: proud big brother moment! was such an amazing experience to get to cheer you on and experience the atmosphere. i love you sissy ❤️

ynhamilton: wouldn’t be here without the support from the best big brother in the world 🤍

user37: that leo is gorgeous

simonebiles: you have so much to be proud of! great job out there y/n 🤍

ynhamilton: you have no idea how much that means to me!! thank you simone 🥹

charlesleclerc: i think red is your color 😉

charlesleclerc: but for real, félicitations ma belle

ynhamilton: i think it might be my color too 😏

user6: omgomgomgomgokgogm

nicorosberg: congratulations to my favorite hamilton

ynhamilton: thank you nico 🤭

user33: HAHAH NICO BFFR

georgerussell63: you made us proud y/n/n!!

ynhamilton: georgie!!!! i 🤍 u

charlesleclerc has made a post

liked ynhamilton, scuderiaferrari, carlossainz55, lewishamilton, yourbff, teamgb, roscoelovescoco and 876,213 others

charlesleclerc: was lucky enough to take the prettiest girl in all of paris out last night ❤️

view all 876 comments

user19: if charles had to be taken off the market im at least glad it’s y/n

roscoelovescoco: yous betters be goods to my favorites aunties or i’ll bites you ❤️❤️❤️❤️

charlesleclerc: don’t worry roscoe, i’ll treat her like the princess she is 🤍 (leo would also bite me, he likes her more than me so it’s ok)

ynhamilton: you’ll be the first to hear abt it if he doesn’t roscoe 😘

user13: get him roscoe!

user56: the way their outfits match ,, please

ynhamilton: the best date ever 🤍

charlesleclerc: je t'aime mon olympien [i love you my olympian]

user18: the hard launch to end all hard launches

maxverstappen1: oh thank god. now we can finally play padel not in secret

ynhamilton: is that all you care about max

maxverstappen1: ….. no

user6: i hope you know i’ve been ride or die for you two for months now

ynhamilton: i know girly

user6: ok wow idk how to act uhhh hi y/n 😭😭😭

user34: i mean look at them im sick. i cant wait for lewis and y/n to be at ferrari next season

user87: the girlfriend effect already taking hold i see ,, that is a fine suit charles

scuderiaferrari: we’re glad red suits her so well 😉

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: thank you for reading!! likes and reblogs appreciated! still making my way through my requests, thank you for being patient with me :)

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[maddsxfall]

domestic lewis>>>

home

lewis hamilton x reader

summary - a small drabble of lewis coming back home from a race to his wife and babies. 

masterlist 

-

8:26 pm.

that’s when lewis’ flight was landing. the captain had announced it over the intercom and he let out a breath. it was currently seven, so there were only a few more hours before he’d be home. 

lewis loved racing, he loved the adrenaline, the atmosphere, he loved winning. but he loved you more. and he adored your children. you had a small three year old girl, isabella, and just had a newborn boy, noah. since noah was so small, you had stayed back the past few races and lewis couldn’t stand it. after an exhausting race or an energetic high, all he wanted to see was your smiling face. 

having dated for three years, married for four, so overall by his side for seven - lewis hated to be apart from you. you were his rock, his comfort, his encouragement, and his support. with your job being beyond flexible, you rarely missed races - which lewis is now learning was something he took great advantage of. when isabella was born, he was on break between seasons, therefore when it started again she was old enough to tag along with you both. noah being born mid-season, lewis was experiencing a separation anxiety like no other. he was itching to see you, to hold you, to hug and kiss his babies, and overall to relax.

he was constantly tense when you weren’t around, worried about yours and the kids well being along with the pain and stress from being apart. not many were able to tell other than a few superfans who read deeply - noticing when asked about you in interviews his eyes would lightly gloss over, eyebrows knit slightly, and his words would come out with a tinge of melancholy. or when he would be in his driver’s room after a race, alone, and toto would walk by, noticing his strongest driver showing his only weakness. 

but even though the separation hurt, there was nothing like coming back home.

8:26 pm.

his flight has landed and lewis is jumping out of his seat with newfound energy. grabbing his things in haste, he rushes off the private plan and towards the car waiting for him. it was too much of a disruption for you to pick him up this late, the kids already put down and you most likely nodding off yourself. therefore lewis opted for a car, and thirty minutes later he’s exiting it and walking towards your shared home. his footsteps are filled with anticipation, a small jump to them as he holds himself back from practically sprinting into the home. 

from inside, you hear the keys fumbling around from your place on the couch. you swiftly and softly stand, making your way to the door in order to rush into your husband’s arms as soon as possible. the past weeks have been hard on you as well, wanting to be by your husband's side constantly. you didn’t want to be apart from him a second longer than necessary, flinging open the door before lewis had a chance to unlock it. you don’t even let him get a chance to enter before your arms are flying around his neck, his own dropping what he held and trading it to hold you instead. you both let out long breaths, a show of your anxiety finally exiting after being apart. 

“missed you so much,” he mumbled into your shoulder, slightly rocking you both back and forth. 

“missed you so much too,” you sigh into his neck, breathing in the scent you loved so much. him. separating slightly, but not completely, he leans down to meet your lips in an eager, yet tender, kiss. after the time apart, the first kiss back always left you tingly, the feeling always migrating from your lips to your entire body. it was a spark that you always had with lewis, yet came into full effect whenever he was gone for a while. 

you separated again, only slightly, and giggled into him, “i love you, lew,”

“i love you too, baby,” he smiles sweetly, dropping down to plant a few more pecks to your lips before grabbing his bags and going to move inside the house.

he smiles as he walks through the home, smelling the candles you always light after dinner, spotting the little indent from where you sat on the couch, seeing the small playmat that was still set out from where noah most likely was while you were cooking. noticing the plate of food wrapped up on the counter - the leftovers you always leave out for him to eat when he gets back.

he smiles as you drag his luggage over to the bottom of the stairs and make your way into the kitchen, moving to heat up his dinner for him. he hops up onto the counter as you hand him the plate, you standing in between his legs. he eats and recounts the entirety of the weekend, as per your request, telling you about the drama, the race, the interviews and everything else. 

you both were too wrapped up in each other to notice a tiny pitter patter of feet making their way down to meet the both of you. isabella had heard slight commotion and knew her dad had finally arrived home. ever the daddy’s girl, she needed to see him as soon as possible and climbed out of her bed, pushed back the hair from her face, and went on her excursion to the kitchen. 

“dada?” she whispered from the doorway. both you and lewis turned, slightly shocked she was awake, but also heartwarmed at the little sleepy girl in her footie pajamas. 

“hi, bug,” he whispers back, sliding off the counter and making his way to her. he brings her up to sit on his hip, hugging her as she holds onto him in return, “i missed you, lovebug,” whispering into her hair. 

“missed you too, dada,” she burrows herself even further into her father, “don’t wike when you go,”

“aw, bug, i don’t like when i go either,” he chuckles a bit. you slide out of the kitchen after cleaning up lewis’ plate, letting the father-daughter duo have their moment. making your way to his bags, you lift them and begin the trek upstairs towards your bedroom. once inside you check on noah, still too little for the nursery as he sleeps in a bassinet beside your bed, and then move around to unpack your husband’s essentials in order for him to go to sleep easier tonight. 

as you’re bustling around between your bedroom, the adjoining bathroom, and closet, you start to hear the small voices soon approaching. lewis saunters in, isabella still tightly holding him, and he makes his way to the smallest in the family. cooing lightly at the little boy, trying not to wake him, lewis basks in the feeling of his family all together in one room. something he will never take for granted.

you walk towards him, letting him know all his essentials were unpacked if he wanted to get ready for bed and he nods, dropping a kiss to your cheek as a perfect thank you. moving to put isabella on your bed, she begins to whine, not wanting to let go of her dad. 

“i’m just gonna have a shower, lovebug, i’ll be quick, okay?” he speaks softly to her.

“pwomise?” she asks, eyes giving the most puppy dog expression you had ever seen. 

lewis chuckles at her sweetness, leaning down to kiss her head, “i promise, bug, and then you can sleep with mummy and daddy tonight,”

“otay,” she giggles, crawling across the bed to get under the covers and make herself comfortable. you and lewis share a laugh as he makes his way into the bathroom, about to take a record-breakingly quick shower in order to be back with his girls soon enough. 

finally ready for bed, he exits the bathroom, seeing you and isabella cuddled together as she attempts to fight sleep, waiting for her dad to be back soon. 

“scoot over,” he smiles, getting into the bed. isabella scooches over, her dad finally arriving in the bed and laying an arm out. you make your move to lay on it, also wanting to be close to him. now that lewis is comfortably laying down, isabella crawls on top of him, deciding her spot for the night would be right on his stomach, head nuzzling straight into his neck. you copy her actions, moving closer to your husband and laying your head on his other shoulder. 

lewis sighs in content and happiness, home with his two best girls cuddled into him and his little boy sleeping away just a foot over. he pulls his arm that was behind your head to wrap around your waist, bringing you closer to him. his other arm wraps around isabella’s back, gently stroking her to sleep. he can be world champion seven, eight, times - yet nothing beats being home with his family.

-

[harrysfolklore]

the bestest - lh44

summary: lewis hamilton wins the silverstone grand prix, and his daughter thinks he's the bestest. wc: 1.7k. based on this request

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

The British Grand Prix always carried a unique significance, but this year felt particularly momentous. Fans filled the stands, waving flags and banners, their cheers echoing through the circuit.

For Lewis, this year felt extra special because his wife and little girl were joining him, and that was enough to give him an extra boost of motivation for the upcoming race.

Alana Hamilton is just four years old, and she's the light of your lives. She's a curious child who always has a smile for everyone, her bright eyes constantly scanning her surroundings for new wonders to discover.

And she has her father completely wrapped around her tiny finger, everybody knew it.

Alana clung to your hand as you made your way to the paddock, her eyes wide with wonder at the spectacle around her. She had been to races before, but this time she was more aware of her surroundings and everything happening.

“Mommy, look at all the people!” Alana exclaimed, her eyes wide with wonder as she held your hand. “They’re all here for Daddy?”

“Yes, sweetheart, a lot of them are here to see Daddy race," you smiled at her, "He has a lot of fans who love to cheer him on."

“I’m going to cheer the loudest!”

Alana’s gaze followed every movement, her curiosity sparking with each new discovery. She was soaking it all in—the hustle of the team members, the hum of the engines, the vibrant colors of the team uniforms.

When you and Alana arrived at the team garage, Lewis was there, busy with pre-race preparations. He looked up, his face lighting up at the sight of his family.

“There’s my little girl,” he said, bending down to scoop Alana into his arms.

Alana giggled, her small arms wrapping around his neck. “Daddy, are you going to win today?” she asked, her voice full of hopeful excitement.

Lewis brushed a kiss on her forehead. “I’m going to give it my all, princess. With you cheering me on, I have a really good feeling about today.”

As Lewis held Alana, George Russell, his teammate, walked by and smiled warmly at the scene.

"Well, if it isn't the Hamiltons, my favorite family," he said, his tone friendly and genuine.

Alana's face lit up with recognition. She remembered George from previous encounters and team events. "George!" she exclaimed, waving enthusiastically from her perch in Lewis's arms.

"Hello there, little champion," George chuckled, giving Alana a gentle high-five. "Are you excited for the race today?"

"Yes! Daddy's going to win because he's the bestest driver in the whole wide world!" she declared with innocent confidence, looking at Lewis with adoring eyes.

Lewis couldn't help but beam with pride, though he tried to maintain a humble demeanor. "Well, I don't know about that, sweetheart. There are a lot of great drivers out here today."

"But you're the bestest, Daddy," Alana insisted, her conviction unshakeable.

George laughed good-naturedly. "Well, Lewis, looks like you've got your biggest fan right here. No pressure or anything," he teased.

You smiled, watching the interaction. It was heartwarming to see how the team had become like an extended family, especially for Alana.

"Alright, princess," Lewis said, giving Alana one more squeeze, "Daddy needs to finish getting ready for the race. You be good for Mommy, okay?"

Alana's grip tightened around Lewis's neck, her little face scrunching up in defiance. "No, Daddy, don’t go!"

“Sweetie, Daddy has to race now," you gently stroked her back, "We’ll be right here watching him the whole time.”

As Alana clung tighter to Lewis, her eyes welling up with tears, you could see the conflict on your husband's face. He hated leaving her upset, but the race was about to start.

"Hey, princess," Lewis said softly, gently prying her arms from around his neck. "Remember what we talked about? Daddy has to go fast in the car so he can come back to you even quicker."

Alana's lower lip trembled, but she nodded, reluctantly loosening her grip. "Okay, Daddy. Be fast and be safe."

"I will, princess. I promise," Lewis kissed her forehead tenderly.

He handed her to you, and Alana nestled into your arms, still watching Lewis with wide, admiring eyes. He turned to you next, his expression softening.

"I'll see you both soon. I love you."

You smiled, leaning in to kiss him. "Be safe out there."

With one last glance at his family, Lewis turned and headed towards his car, his determination renewed by the love and support he carried with him.

As you made your way to the VIP viewing area, Alana's eyes darted everywhere, taking in the sights and sounds of the bustling circuit. The roar of engines filled the air as the cars lined up on the grid.

"Look, baby," you pointed, "There's Daddy's car. Number 44, remember?"

Alana nodded eagerly, her eyes fixed on the sleek silver Mercedes. "Go, Daddy, go!" she shouted, even though the race hadn't started yet.

Throughout the race, you explained what was happening in simple terms Alana could understand. She cheered every time Lewis's car came into view, her enthusiasm making everyone around melt.

"Daddy's car is going so fast! He's the bestest!" Alana exclaimed, her eyes wide with wonder.

When the final lap came, the tension was palpable. You held Alana close, her little hands clutching your shirt as she watched Lewis take the lead. As he crossed the finish line first, the grandstands erupted in roars.

Alana’s eyes widened in amazement. “Mommy, did Daddy win?”

“He did, sweetheart!” you exclaimed, hugging her tightly. “Daddy won!”

"Daddy won! Daddy won!" she chanted, her voice filled with pure joy.

You couldn't help but laugh at her enthusiasm, your own heart swelling with pride. "Let's go see Daddy, shall we?" you suggested, taking her hand.

You hurried to the pit lane, eager to congratulate Lewis. As he climbed out of the car, the sight of you and Alana brought a huge smile to his face. He reached out, and Alana practically leapt into his arms.

“Daddy!” she shouted, hugging him tightly. “You did it!”

Lewis laughed, his eyes shining with happiness. “We did it, baby girl.”

Lewis held Alana with one arm and reached out to pull you into the embrace with the other. The three of you stood there, a little island of family amidst the chaos of the celebration.

"I'm so proud of you," you whispered to Lewis, giving him a quick kiss.

Alana, not wanting to be left out, planted a big kiss on Lewis's cheek. "Me too, Daddy! You're the bestest ever!"

As the celebrations continued around you, Lewis kept Alana in his arms, not wanting to let her go. She had always been clingy with him, especially since he was away a lot of weekends for races. She missed him a lot, and every moment they spent together was precious to her.

When it was time for the post-race interview, Lewis tried to set Alana down, but she clung to him, her small hands gripping his suit. “No, Daddy, hold me.”

“Come on, sweetheart, let Daddy do his interview,” you coaxed.

Lewis looked at you with a soft smile. "It's okay, I'll take her with me. I'll pay whatever fine the FIA gives me," he said, adjusting Alana in his arms. You couldn't help but chuckle, knowing how much this moment meant to both of them.

As Lewis approached the interview area, he saw a familiar face waiting for him - Nico Rosberg, his former teammate and rival. Nico's eyebrows raised slightly at the sight of Lewis carrying Alana, a small smile making its way to his face.

"Lewis, congratulations on your win today," Nico began, microphone in hand. "And I see you've brought a special guest with you."

Lewis grinned, bouncing Alana slightly in his arms. "Yeah, this is my daughter Alana. She's my good luck charm today."

"Hello there, Alana," Nico smiled warmly at her, "Did you enjoy watching your dad race today?"

Alana, suddenly shy in front of the camera, buried her face in Lewis' neck but peeked out with one eye. "Daddy is the bestest," she mumbled.

The crowd around them collectively "aww'ed" at her adorable response. Lewis chuckled, patting her back gently.

"Well, Lewis," Nico continued, "that was an incredible drive today. Can you talk us through that final lap?"

As Lewis answered, discussing the intricacies of the race, Alana stayed nestled in his arms, occasionally lifting her head to look around curiously and playing with the zipper of her father's suit.

When the interview concluded, it was time for the podium ceremony. Lewis knew he couldn't take Alana up there with him, no matter how much he wished he could.

"Alright, princess," he said softly, "Daddy has to go up on the big stage now. Can you stay with Mommy and watch?"

Alana's grip tightened, her lower lip trembling. "No, Daddy, I want to stay with you!"

You stepped forward, gently prying Alana from Lewis's arms. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's watch Daddy get his big trophy. We can wave to him from here."

Reluctantly, Alana allowed herself to be transferred to your arms, her eyes never leaving Lewis. As he walked towards the podium, he turned back to blow a kiss to both of you.

You found a good spot near the podium, holding Alana up so she could see clearly. Her eyes widened as she watched Lewis climb the steps to the top of the podium.

"Look, baby," you said, pointing. "There's Daddy on the top step. That means he won!"

Alana's face lit up with pride and excitement. "Daddy won! Daddy won!" she chanted, clapping her hands.

As the British national anthem played and Lewis stood tall on the podium, trophy in hand, Alana watched in awe. When Lewis spotted you two in the crowd, he gave a special wave and blew a kiss your way, making Alana squeal with delight.

"He sees us, Mommy!" she exclaimed, waving back furiously.

You hugged her close, your heart full of love for your little family. "Yes, he does, sweetheart. He's waving just for you."

As the champagne spray began, Alana giggled at the sight of her daddy getting all wet. It was a perfect end to a perfect day, one that you knew would be etched in your family's memories forever.

[pucksandpower]

Second Heart

Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics

Lewis Hamilton x Senna!Reader

Summary: all you’ve ever wanted was to be able to race just like your Papai … no matter the cost (or in which always going for a gap that exists runs in the Senna family)

You sit cross-legged in front of the TV, shoulders hunched, the remote clutched tight in your little hand. The screen crackles, and there he is — Ayrton. Papai. His yellow helmet blazes under the bright afternoon sun, the car flying down the straight, smooth as a bird on water.

Your eyes don’t blink. The sound of engines growls through the speakers, vibrating all the way to your heart. It’s like he’s right there. Alive.

And so fast. So, so fast. You almost feel like you’re in the car with him, that if you close your eyes, you could taste the gasoline and the rubber, the wind whipping across your face.

“Papai …” you whisper, pressing the volume button louder.

Adriane steps into the room, the clink of her bracelets soft but steady. She pauses when she sees you, arms crossed, one hip jutted out.

“I thought you were doing homework.”

You don’t answer, too lost in the footage. The video cuts to a slow-motion shot of Ayrton weaving through the rain, tires spinning in the spray like magic. They call it genius — what he did at Monaco, at Suzuka, at Donington Park. To you, it’s just your Papai being Papai.

“Turn it off.” Your mother’s voice sharpens now. She hates it when you watch these tapes. You’ve heard her say it before, more times than you can count — It’s not healthy. You shouldn’t keep living in the past. But you don’t feel like you’re living in the past. You feel like you’re meeting him for the first time, every time.

“Just five more minutes,” you plead without looking away.

“No.”

“But I-”

“I said no, agora!”

Her tone makes you flinch. The remote slips from your hand onto the floor with a dull thud. But you still can’t tear your eyes from the screen, where Ayrton’s car crosses the finish line, the Brazilian flag draped over his shoulders as the crowd roars. Your heart beats faster. There’s a strange energy in you, like the buzz before a storm. You push yourself up to your knees, your voice small but determined.

“I want to race.”

Adriane’s laugh is immediate and sharp, like glass shattering. “Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not being silly!” You twist around to look at her now, the words spilling out. “I wanna race, Mãe! Like Papai!”

Her face changes. The air shifts, heavy and strange. You see it happen — the tightness in her jaw, the way her smile falls away like it was never there.

“No.”

“But-”

“No!” She snaps, louder this time, and it makes you shrink back. “Absolutely not. Never.”

You bite your lip, feeling the burn at the back of your throat. But you don’t stop. Not yet.

“Why not?” You whisper.

Your mother exhales sharply through her nose, as if the question alone is an insult. She crosses the room in two quick strides, crouching down until her face is level with yours. Her hands, delicate but strong, grip your shoulders tighter than usual.

“Because racing is dangerous,” she says, enunciating every word like she’s trying to hammer them into your skull. “Do you understand me? It’s not a game. It took your father from us.”

Her voice wavers on the last sentence, but you don’t care. There’s something stubborn growing in you, something you don’t quite recognize yet.

“Papai loved it.”

“And look where it got him,” she shoots back, her voice sharp as a knife.

You blink, stunned by the words. She’s never said it like that before. She sees your expression — hurt, confused — and her face softens, just for a second.

“Sweetheart …” She sighs, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “I know you miss him. I miss him too. Every single day. But I won’t let racing take you away from me.”

“But it won’t-”

“Enough.” Her voice is final, the way grown-ups’ voices get when there’s no more room for argument. “This conversation is over.”

You open your mouth, then close it again. She’s already standing up, brushing invisible dust from her jeans. The TV hums in the background, the commentators babbling about pole positions and podiums.

Adriane snatches the remote from the floor and jabs the power button. The screen goes black, as if Papai never existed at all.

You feel hollow.

Your mother stands there for a moment, the silence thick between you. Then she crouches again, her hands cupping your face this time, thumbs brushing over your cheeks.

“Listen to me.” Her voice is quieter now, almost pleading. “I lost your father. I can’t-” She stops, swallows hard. “I can’t lose you too. Okay?”

You don’t nod. You don’t speak. You just stare at her, your little heart breaking in ways you don’t fully understand yet.

“I’m serious,” she whispers, her forehead resting against yours. “No racing. Not ever.”

And then she kisses the top of your head, soft and lingering, as if that alone could erase the conversation, the dream, everything. She walks out of the room, her footsteps fading down the hall.

You sit there for a long time, staring at the blank TV screen, fists clenched in your lap. Your chest feels tight, like something inside you is being squeezed too hard.

You think about Papai. About how he smiled in the cockpit, how the car seemed to dance under his hands, how the crowd chanted his name like a song. He wasn’t afraid.

And neither are you.

You pick up the remote again. Your thumb hovers over the play button, hesitant for just a moment. Then you press it.

The screen flickers back to life, and Ayrton is there, flying through the rain like a miracle.

You smile.

One day, you think.

One day, you’ll race too.

***

The front door clicks shut behind you as you step into the house, dropping your school bag with a heavy thud. You bend down to untie your sneakers, already rehearsing what you’ll tell your mom — how your science project earned a gold star, how you managed to trade a snack with João without getting caught. You have it all planned, down to the way you’ll grin when she offers you that after-school snack.

But as soon as you straighten up, the voices hit you.

Loud. Sharp. Angry.

You freeze, one hand still on your shoelace.

“You have no right — none — to tell me how to raise my daughter!” Your mother’s voice is sharp, like glass breaking. She’s in the living room. You can’t see her from the hallway, but you don’t need to. You can imagine her perfectly — the tight set of her mouth, the way her arms probably cross over her chest.

And then, another voice, familiar in a strange way. Low and hard. “I’m not telling you how to raise her, Adriane. I’m telling you what she told me — how she called me crying because you refuse to let her chase the only thing she’s ever wanted.”

Alain.

Your heart skips. You know him. Everyone knows him. Papai’s fiercest rival — and, in the end, his friend. The man from the stories, from old photographs your mother keeps locked away. Alain, who came to the funeral and cried even when the cameras weren’t on him.

Why is he here?

You step closer, drawn by their words like a thread pulling you tight. You press yourself against the wall and peek around the corner, just enough to see them.

Adriane stands in the middle of the room, arms crossed exactly like you pictured. Her blonde hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders, but her face is tight, her jaw locked in anger. Alain stands across from her, looking just as frustrated. His hands move as he talks, fast and insistent, like he’s trying to grab hold of the air between them and shape it into something that makes sense.

“She’s seven!” Your mother snaps, her voice cracking at the edges. “She doesn’t understand what she’s asking for.”

“She understands better than you think,” Alain fires back. “She understands perfectly. She called me in tears — tears, Adriane — because you shut her down without even listening.”

“I listened.” Her voice drops, low and furious. “And I said no.”

Alain scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “You said no because you’re scared.”

Your mother’s eyes flash. “Of course I’m scared! She’s my daughter! You, of all people, should understand-”

“I do understand.” Alain’s voice softens, but only just. “I carried his casket. I watched you cry over him. But that’s exactly why you can’t do this to her.”

Adriane’s face crumples for a split second, so brief you might have missed it if you hadn’t been watching so closely. “He’s not here, Alain,” she whispers, and it sounds like a confession and an accusation all at once. “He’s not here to see this, to say if it’s right or wrong. And he’s not here to save her if something goes wrong.”

Alain’s voice drops, steady and determined. “And you think Ayrton would want you to stop her? You think he would want her to live her whole life wrapped in fear because of what happened to him?”

“She’s my child.” Adriane’s voice cracks like a whip, but there’s something desperate underneath it now, like she’s fighting to keep her footing in a conversation she knows she’s already losing. “And I will not lose her.”

Alain’s eyes narrow. “You’re not protecting her. You’re imprisoning her.”

Your mother stares at him, her breath coming fast and uneven. For a moment, everything goes still — so quiet you can hear the ticking of the old clock on the mantel.

Then Alain steps forward, his hands on his hips. “If you won’t help her, I will. I’ll teach her to kart myself if I have to.”

Adriane barks out a bitter laugh, but it’s laced with pain. “You can try,” she says, her voice brittle. “But don’t expect me to come watch. I refuse to set foot at a race, and I won’t look at her as long as I know there’s a chance she won’t come back.”

Her words hang in the air, thick and suffocating. You feel like you can’t breathe. You press yourself harder against the wall, your chest tight with emotions you can’t name.

And that’s when the floor creaks.

Both of them turn at the sound.

“Meu Deus …” your mother whispers, her hands flying to her mouth. “You’re home.”

Alain’s face softens instantly. He kneels down, arms open. “Come here, sweetheart.”

You hesitate, just for a moment. Then, without thinking, you bolt from your hiding spot and run straight into Alain’s arms. He catches you easily, wrapping you in a hug that feels like safety. Like warmth.

Adriane stands frozen, her hands still over her mouth. Her eyes are wide, filled with a mix of heartbreak and anger and something you don’t fully understand.

Alain pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands resting gently on your shoulders. “Hey,” he says softly. “I’ve got a question for you.”

You blink up at him, your heart pounding.

“How would you like to come to Switzerland with me?” His voice is calm, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. “You could learn to kart there. I’ll teach you myself. What do you think?”

Your heart races. Switzerland. Karting. Learning to drive. It feels like a dream, one you didn’t even know you could have.

But then you look at your mother.

Adriane’s face is pale, her hands still clutched tight over her mouth like they might stop her from saying something she’ll regret. Her eyes are glassy with unshed tears, and there’s a kind of pain in them that makes your chest ache.

You know what this means to her. You know how much it hurts.

But you also know what it means to you.

You’ve wanted this for as long as you can remember — for as long as you’ve been able to understand what racing is. And here it is, right in front of you. A chance.

You swallow hard and look back at Alain. His expression is kind but serious, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“It’s your choice,” he says quietly. “No one can make it for you.”

You take a deep breath. Your hands shake a little, but you ball them into fists to steady yourself.

“I want to go,” you whisper.

Your mother makes a soft, choked sound — like someone punched all the air out of her.

“Minha filha …” Her voice breaks.

You look at her, and it feels like your heart is splitting in two. “I have to, Mãe.”

She closes her eyes, pressing her hands tighter to her face. For a moment, she just stands there, trembling. Then she drops her hands and wipes her eyes with quick, angry swipes.

“Okay,” she whispers, her voice raw and broken. “Okay. Go, then.”

The words sting, sharper than anything you’ve ever felt. But you nod. You have to.

Alain gives your shoulders a gentle squeeze. “We’ll call every day,” he promises, glancing at Adriane, though she won’t look at him. “Whenever you want.”

Your mother doesn’t answer. She just turns away, her shoulders hunched like the weight of the world is pressing down on her.

Your heart feels heavy, but there’s something else now too — something lighter. Hope.

You glance up at Alain, and he smiles, soft and warm.

“Switzerland, huh?” You say, trying to sound brave.

Alain chuckles. “Switzerland.”

And for the first time in a long while, you feel like you can finally breathe.

***

Life in Switzerland feels like a dream. Every morning, the mountains rise outside your window, peaks dusted in snow even as the spring sun warms the air. The international school Alain enrolled you in is small, the kids friendly. They speak a mix of languages — French, German, Italian — and though it’s strange at first, you like how every word feels like a little puzzle to solve.

But school is just the beginning of your day. The real magic happens afterward.

Every afternoon, Alain picks you up in his car — a sleek, silver Audi with leather seats that always smell faintly like coffee — and takes you straight to the karting track just outside town. There’s a rhythm to your days now: school, then the track, where the scent of gasoline and hot rubber fills the air.

“Come on, petite championne,” Alain says every day as you hop into the kart, the nickname slipping off his tongue with an easy smile. “Let’s see if you can make me proud today.”

The kart rumbles beneath you, a buzz that shoots from your hands to your heart. The moment your foot touches the pedal, the world falls away. The wind rushes against your face, the engine purring with every twist of the wheel.

Here, in the kart, you feel free — like nothing can catch you, not even the pieces of your life that feel too big or too broken to understand.

Alain watches from the sidelines, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, his face calm but focused. He takes notes every time you race, shouting tips when you pull up to the pit lane.

“Don’t wait so long to hit the brakes before that hairpin, you lose too much time,” he’ll say. Or, “You’re getting faster through the straights. Don’t get greedy on the corners, though — you’ve got to feel the grip.”

You listen to every word, hungry to learn. And when he grins after you complete a lap, clapping his hands like you just won a Grand Prix, your heart swells.

By the time you drive home, your body hums with exhaustion, but it’s the good kind — the kind that comes from chasing a dream.

And every night, after dinner, there’s dessert.

“Glace au chocolat tonight?” Alain asks one evening, pulling two tubs of chocolate ice cream from the freezer.

You grin. “With whipped cream?”

“Obviously,” Alain replies with mock seriousness. “What kind of barbarian do you take me for?”

He adds a mountain of whipped cream to both bowls, handing one to you before plopping down on the couch with his own.

As always, an old race plays on the TV. Tonight, it’s Monaco — 1988, the race your father dominated, right up until the moment he crashed into the barrier. The screen flickers as the cars glide through the tight streets, their engines howling between the stone walls.

Alain leans back against the couch cushions, spoon in hand. “See that?” He says, pointing at the screen with a mouthful of ice cream. “Your papa’s line through the Swimming Pool section — perfection. Like poetry in motion.”

You tilt your head, studying the way the yellow helmet zips through the narrow chicane. “How did he do it?”

Alain smiles, scooping another spoonful of ice cream. “He just knew. Ayrton could feel the track better than anyone else. It was like … like he was connected to the car in a way no one else could be.”

You lick your spoon thoughtfully. “Did you hate him?”

The question catches Alain off guard. He freezes, then chuckles, shaking his head. “Hate him? No.” He pauses. “Not really, anyway.”

“But you fought a lot.”

“Oh, we fought.” Alain smirks, a mischievous glint in his eye. “He drove me absolutely mad sometimes.”

You giggle. “Why?”

“Because he never gave up. Not even for a second.” Alain gestures toward the TV, where your father’s car rockets through the tunnel. “Ayrton wasn’t just racing other drivers — he was racing himself. Always trying to be faster, better. It was exhausting.”

He says it like a joke, but there’s warmth in his voice, too. You can hear it.

“And that drove you crazy?” You ask, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear him say it.

Alain laughs, a soft, fond sound. “Completely crazy.”

You curl deeper into the couch, your ice cream bowl balanced on your lap. “But you were friends, right? In the end?”

Alain’s smile fades a little, but it stays, softer now. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “In the end.”

There’s a silence between you, filled only by the hum of the TV and the occasional scrape of your spoons against the bowls.

You glance at Alain, his expression lost somewhere between memory and regret. “Do you miss him?”

Alain looks at you, and for a moment, you’re not sure if he’ll answer. Then he gives a small nod. “Every day.”

You nod, too, even though you didn’t really know your father — at least, not in the way Alain did. But somehow, you miss him all the same.

The race continues on the screen, the cars weaving through the streets of Monaco, chasing the perfect lap.

“You’ll be just like him one day,” Alain says suddenly, breaking the quiet.

You blink, surprised. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Alain replies, nudging your shoulder with his. “You’ve got the same fire in you. The same stubbornness, too, I think.”

You laugh, and Alain grins, pleased with himself.

“You just need to tweak your braking,” he adds with a playful smirk. “You brake like me, not like him.”

“Hey!” You protest, shoving his arm lightly.

He chuckles, holding up his hands in surrender. “What? I’m just saying! Ayrton would fly into corners like a madman. Me? I was always a bit more … sensible.”

“Sensible is boring,” you tease, scooping up the last bit of ice cream.

Alain pretends to be offended, clutching his chest like you’ve wounded him. “Boring? Sensible is what win me four world championships, thank you very much.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re grinning.

The credits for the race coverage roll, but neither of you makes a move to turn off the TV. These moments — curled up on the couch with Alain, the scent of whipped cream still in the air — feel like they could stretch forever.

And maybe, just maybe, they do.

***

Four years blur by like the laps on a familiar circuit. Days turn into months, and months into seasons. You grow taller, sharper, and faster. The kart becomes a second skin, every turn and apex something you know instinctively, like breathing. The track is your playground now — your sanctuary.

Alain teaches you everything: not just how to drive but how to think, how to be patient when you need to be and ruthless when the moment calls for it. He tells you about strategy and racecraft, how to listen for the slightest change in the engine’s pitch, how to make yourself invisible in the slipstream until the perfect moment to strike.

Some lessons come easy. Others, not so much. Like when he makes you practice for hours in the rain, your hands frozen, your kart slipping through puddles. Or when you spin out during a practice race and Alain doesn’t even flinch. He just waves his hand in the air.

“Again!” He shouts from the pit lane. “You have to get comfortable with making mistakes, petite. No champion gets there without a few bruises.”

And so you go again. And again. Because this — this dream — is the one thing you want more than anything.

Now, after all those years, the day has finally arrived. You’re old enough to compete in the FIA Karting Championship. This is what you’ve been working toward.

But Alain surprises you one quiet evening at home. No ice cream, no old races on TV — just you and him, sitting across the kitchen table with two mugs of hot tea. His face is serious, but kind.

“There’s something we need to talk about,” he says, tapping his fingers lightly against the mug. “You have a choice to make.”

You lean forward. “What kind of choice?”

Alain tilts his head, his sharp hazel eyes studying you carefully. “Your name.”

You frown. “My name?”

“Yes. You’ve been racing locally for a while, but things are different now.” Alain takes a sip of tea, gathering his thoughts. “The FIA Karting Championship is international. There will be journalists, scouts, team representatives. If you race under your real name, everyone will know exactly who you are.”

You sit back, the weight of what he’s saying slowly sinking in.

“You can use a pseudonym if you want,” Alain continues. “Plenty of drivers do it, especially when they want to build their career on their own terms.”

You blink, caught off guard. You’ve thought a lot about racing — how fast you want to be, how badly you want to win. But this? The idea of hiding your name? It’s a curveball you didn’t see coming.

Alain gives you time to think, his hands wrapped loosely around his mug. “There’s no shame in it, petite,” he says gently. “It’s not about denying who you are. It’s about deciding how you want the world to see you.”

The words hang between you. He’s not pressuring you — Alain never does that — but you can feel the weight of the decision anyway.

You toy with the edge of the mug in front of you, tracing the rim with your fingertip. “Do you think … if I use my real name, people will only see Papai?”

Alain shrugs, but his expression is thoughtful. “Some will. There are people who won’t be able to separate you from Ayrton. They’ll compare you to him before you’ve even taken a proper lap.”

You nod slowly. You’ve known this would happen — how could you not? But hearing it out loud makes it more real.

“At the same time,” Alain adds, “it’s not something to be ashamed of. Ayrton was … well, he was Ayrton. If anyone has the right to be proud of their name, it’s you.”

You bite your lip, the edges of uncertainty fraying inside you. “What would you do?”

Alain smiles softly. “It’s not my decision to make, ma chérie. This is about you. Your future.”

You stare into your tea, watching the steam curl toward the ceiling like tiny ghosts. A part of you aches at the thought of hiding your father’s name — like you’d be denying him, pretending he didn’t matter. But there’s another part, quieter but insistent, that wants to know what it’s like to stand on your own. To earn your place without the shadow of a legend following you everywhere you go.

You tap your fingers against the table, the rhythm matching the beat of an engine in your mind. And then, suddenly, the answer clicks into place.

“I think …” You take a deep breath. “I think I want to use a different name. Just for now.”

Alain raises his eyebrows, curious but approving. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod, more certain now. “It’s not because I’m ashamed. I’m not. I want people to know one day. Just … not yet.”

Alain leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. “So what’s the plan?”

You grin, the excitement building in your chest. “I’ll race under my mother’s last name. And when the time’s right — maybe after I win a few championships — I’ll tell them.”

Alain chuckles, shaking his head. “You think they’ll like the surprise?”

You laugh, a full, bright sound that feels like relief. “Can you imagine their faces?”

Alain grins, clearly amused. “I can already hear the headlines.” He adopts an exaggerated announcer voice: “The karting prodigy who stunned the world by revealing she’s Ayrton Senna’s daughter!”

You burst out laughing, the tension from the conversation melting away. “They’ll lose their minds!”

“And you’ll love every second of it,” Alain adds with a knowing smirk.

You grin, unable to hide the spark of mischief in your eyes. “Maybe a little.”

He shakes his head fondly, ruffling your hair as he stands up from the table. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“Comes with the territory,” you say, beaming.

Alain gathers the empty mugs and places them in the sink, still chuckling to himself. “Well, I think it’s a smart choice. Gives you time to find your own rhythm.”

You nod, feeling lighter than you have in days. “Yeah. It feels right.”

Alain leans against the counter, crossing his arms as he looks at you. There’s pride in his eyes — quiet, steady, and unmistakable. “Your papa would’ve been proud of you, too,” he says softly.

Your throat tightens, but you smile through it. “Thanks, Alain.”

He nods once, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Come on,” he says, nudging his head toward the living room. “Let’s celebrate with some dessert. I think we’ve got tarte au citron in the fridge.”

You follow him, your heart light and your steps easy. The road ahead is still long — there will be races, wins, and losses. But for the first time, it feels like it’s yours to drive.

And that? That’s the best feeling in the world.

***

The drive from Switzerland to Imola is quiet. You sit with your thoughts, the hum of the engine beneath you and the road stretching endlessly ahead. Alain offered to come with you, but you declined. This is something you need to do alone.

It’s not that you didn’t want his company, it’s just … how do you explain to someone — even someone who knew your father so well — that you need to meet this place on your own terms?

For eighteen years, you told yourself you weren’t ready. Maybe you never would be. But here you are, taking deep breaths as you steer your way closer to the circuit where it all ended. Where everything about your life changed before it even really began.

When you finally arrive, the gates to the Imola track feel strangely peaceful, nestled under a canopy of autumn leaves. The air is crisp, and the sky is that soft, pale blue you only get in early fall. You park the car and head toward the Ayrton Senna memorial, your footsteps crunching through the leaves littering the path.

Each step feels heavier than the last, your pulse loud in your ears. You try to steel yourself — this is just a monument, just a place. You’ve been to a thousand race tracks in your life. But this one is different. This one holds pieces of someone you never got the chance to know.

As you approach the monument, you expect silence. You expect to be alone. But then you notice someone sitting there — another figure crouched near the bronze statue of your father.

The man shifts, startled by the sound of your footsteps on the gravel. His head turns, and you recognize him almost immediately.

It’s Lewis Hamilton.

He blinks up at you, clearly not expecting company either. There’s a moment of awkwardness, both of you standing there, caught off guard in a place meant for solitude.

You clear your throat. “I’m sorry,” you say softly. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

Lewis waves off the apology, his face softening. “No, no. You’re not bothering me.” He pulls himself up a little straighter, brushing leaves from his jacket. “I always stop by here before Monza. Helps me … I don’t know. Reset.”

You nod, unsure what else to say. There’s something strange about seeing him here — Lewis Hamilton, one of the biggest names in motorsport, sitting quietly in front of your father’s monument like he’s just another fan.

“I came for the same reason,” you admit. “I’m Brazilian. Wanted to pay my respects.”

At that, something shifts in Lewis’ expression — understanding, maybe. “You’re Brazilian?” He repeats, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That explains it. Every Brazilian racer I know carries Senna with them like … well, like a second heart.”

You laugh softly, kicking a stray leaf with your shoe. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

Lewis shifts, resting his forearms on his knees as he looks back at the monument. The wind stirs the leaves around your feet, scattering them across the ground.

“He’s always been my hero,” Lewis murmurs, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “Even before I really understood what racing was, I just … knew he was special.”

You don’t respond right away, your gaze fixed on the familiar features of the bronze effigy — your father’s intense, focused expression captured in metal. It’s strange, standing here with someone who feels the same reverence you’ve always felt but never quite known how to express.

Lewis glances at you again. “What do you race?” He asks, genuine curiosity in his voice.

You tuck your hands into your jacket pockets. “Formula Renault 3.5.”

His eyebrows lift, clearly impressed. “That’s a serious series.”

You shrug, trying to play it cool, though there’s a flicker of pride in your chest. “Yeah, it’s been good so far.”

“Good enough to think about Formula 1 one day?” Lewis asks, a knowing smile on his face.

You grin. “That’s the plan.”

He chuckles, the sound warm in the cool air. “Well, I’ll keep an eye out for you. What’s your name?”

For a split second, you hesitate. But you remind yourself — he doesn’t need to know everything. Not yet. “Just … Y/N,” you say casually. “For now.”

Lewis tilts his head, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, but he doesn’t press. “Y/N. Got it.”

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, unsure how to fill the silence. But it’s not uncomfortable — just … quiet.

“You said you come here every year?” You ask after a moment.

“Before Monza, yeah,” Lewis confirms. “It’s become sort of a ritual. Helps me feel grounded, I guess. Reminds me why I do this.”

You nod, understanding more than you expected to. There’s something about this place — this simple, quiet memorial — that strips everything else away. The politics, the pressure, the noise. It leaves only the pure love of racing behind.

Lewis stands then, brushing dirt from his pants. “Well,” he says, “I should probably get going. Got a long weekend ahead.”

You nod, though part of you wishes you had a little more time to talk to him. There’s something easy about the way he carries himself — no arrogance, no pretense. Just a racer who loves what he does.

Lewis glances at the monument one last time, his gaze lingering on your father’s face. “He would’ve loved to see how many of us still race because of him,” he says quietly.

Your throat tightens, but you manage a small smile. “Yeah. I think so, too.”

He gives you a nod, something warm and reassuring in his expression. “Take care, Y/N. I’ll be watching.”

With that, he turns and walks down the path, his footsteps crunching through the leaves. You watch him go, the wind stirring around you again, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and autumn.

For a long moment, you stay there, standing in front of the monument, just you and the bronze figure of your father. You don’t say anything — there’s nothing that needs to be said. But in the quiet, you feel a strange sense of peace.

Maybe it’s the years of racing, the laps you’ve turned, the lessons you’ve learned. Or maybe it’s just knowing that people like Lewis exist — people who carry your father’s spirit with them, even though they never knew him.

You brush a hand over the cool surface of the monument, tracing the edge of the plaque with your fingers. “I’m gonna make you proud,” you whisper.

And this time, you believe it.

The wind picks up again as you turn away from the monument, heading back toward the car. Monza is waiting. And so is the rest of your story.

***

The paddock feels like a world unto itself — buzzing with life, engines roaring in the distance, team personnel hurrying from garages to pit walls.

You’re barely a day into your first GP2 weekend with DAMS, and it’s already overwhelming. The DAMS crew is friendly but businesslike, and the constant stream of engineers, mechanics, and journalists passing by your garage is a reminder that you’ve officially stepped onto the big stage.

Your heart pounds as you adjust the collar of your race suit, nerves crawling under your skin. You spent the morning doing seat fittings, debriefs, and media duties, but now you’re finally free for a few minutes before the next round of meetings.

Alain walks beside you, calm and collected as ever, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. He’s been like a steady lighthouse in the chaos of this new chapter, guiding you through the storm with quiet assurance.

“Remember,” Alain says as you both weave through the paddock, “it’s just another race. Keep your focus. Don’t let the noise get to you.”

“Easier said than done,” you mutter, scanning the sea of faces for anyone familiar — or anyone dangerous, like a journalist with too many questions.

Alain smirks knowingly. “That’s why you have me.”

You can’t help but grin, a flicker of relief easing the tension in your chest. Alain’s been by your side for so long now that the idea of navigating a race weekend without him feels unthinkable.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you spot someone you weren’t expecting: Lewis.

He’s walking toward the McLaren motorhome, surrounded by team personnel and a PR officer trailing closely behind, clipboard in hand. You see the moment recognition flickers in his eyes — he stops mid-step, gaze locking on you like he’s just solved a puzzle.

“Y/N?” He calls, eyebrows raised in surprise.

Alain glances sideways at you, bemused, but you can’t help the small, slightly guilty smile tugging at your lips. You wave at Lewis, feeling a little awkward but genuinely happy to see him.

Lewis strides over, his PR officer groaning softly but trailing after him anyway. “I thought I’d see you around here eventually,” Lewis says with a grin. “Didn’t think it would be so soon.”

You shrug, playing it casual. “Surprise.”

His eyes flick to Alain, standing quietly beside you. “And you … know Alain Prost?”

Alain raises a polite eyebrow, but there’s an amused glint in his eye, as if waiting to see how you’ll answer this one.

You shift on your feet, aware of Lewis’ confusion. “Yeah, he’s … been my mentor for years.” You keep your explanation vague, not ready to drop the full truth just yet.

Lewis frowns slightly, processing the unexpected connection. “You’ve been working with Alain Prost?”

You nod. “Since I was a kid.”

Lewis lets out a low whistle, looking between the two of you with new appreciation. “Wow. That explains a lot.”

Before you can respond, his PR officer steps in, clipboard clutched tightly in one hand. “Lewis, we really need to-”

Lewis waves her off without breaking eye contact with you. “Five more minutes. It’s fine.”

The woman hesitates, then sighs in frustration and backs away to give him space. Lewis turns his full attention back to you, his easy grin returning.

“So, GP2, huh?” He asks, hands on his hips. “How’s it feel to finally be here?”

“Terrifying,” you admit with a laugh. “But also kind of amazing.”

“That’s how you know you’re in the right place,” Lewis says, his tone encouraging. “The nerves mean you care.”

Alain watches the exchange quietly, and you can tell he’s measuring Lewis, sizing him up — not in a competitive way, but in that protective way he’s always had with you. It’s subtle, but you know Alain well enough to see it.

“I’ll make sure to catch the feature race,” Lewis promises, his grin widening. “I’ll be cheering you on.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying not to show how much that means to you. “Oh yeah? You sure you have time to slum it with us junior drivers?”

Lewis laughs, genuinely amused. “Come on, now. I started in GP2, remember? I know exactly how tough it is.”

“Guess I’ll have to put on a good show, then.”

“You better,” Lewis says, mock-serious. “Otherwise I’ll never let you hear the end of it.”

The two of you share a quick, easy laugh, and for a moment the chaos of the paddock fades into the background. It’s just two drivers, standing in the middle of it all, sharing a moment of understanding.

“You’re going to crush it,” Lewis adds, his voice low and certain.

Something in his tone makes you believe it — makes the nerves that have been simmering all day settle, if only for a moment.

Alain clears his throat softly, a reminder that time is ticking. “We need to get back to the team,” he says, his voice gentle but firm.

Lewis nods, taking the hint but not before offering you one last smile. “Good luck, Y/N. I’ll see you out there.”

You return the smile, feeling lighter than you have all day. “Thanks, Lewis.”

He gives Alain a respectful nod before turning to leave, his McLaren team falling into step around him as he disappears into the paddock.

As you watch him go, Alain leans in slightly, his voice quiet but laced with amusement. “Friend of yours?”

You smirk, still watching Lewis disappear into the crowd. “Something like that.”

Alain chuckles, and the sound is warm, familiar — like the engine note of a car you’ve driven a thousand times.

“Come on,” he says, nudging your shoulder gently. “We have work to do.”

You follow Alain back toward the DAMS garage, the nerves still there but tempered now with something else — excitement, anticipation, maybe even a little confidence.

Because this is your moment. Your chance to show the world what you can do. And with people like Alain and Lewis in your corner, you know you’re not facing it alone.

***

The Bahrain sun beats down relentlessly, the heat pressing against your skin even through your race suit. Sweat clings to your brow, mixing with the overwhelming, heady cocktail of fuel, rubber, and victory. You’re breathless, exhausted — but none of that matters.

You did it. You won.

The feature race trophy feels almost weightless in your hands as you stand on the podium, the sound of the Brazilian anthem thundering in your ears. The cameras flash, the crowd cheers, and for the first time since you entered GP2, you allow yourself to savor the moment. You close your eyes for a second, letting the anthem sink deep into your bones, and think of your father.

When the rose water sprays, it feels like you’ve broken through a barrier — proof to yourself and to the world that you belong here. That you’re not just someone chasing the shadow of a name, but a racer in your own right.

The post-race chaos is a blur — interviews, debriefs, more interviews. It’s not until you’re finally allowed to step away from the DAMS garage, damp with sweat and floral liquid, that the realization hits you again: you won your first GP2 race. The adrenaline still courses through your veins, but beneath it, there’s a quiet hum of contentment.

You round the corner of the paddock, searching for a quiet moment to collect yourself — when a familiar voice calls your name.

“Y/N!”

You turn, and there he is: Lewis, dressed casually in his McLaren team kit, that signature grin stretched across his face. His eyes are bright under the paddock lights, and his presence feels like a cool breeze against the heat of Bahrain.

Before you can say anything, he’s already jogging up to you, wrapping you in a quick, spontaneous hug. The smell of his cologne lingers in the air between you — spicy and warm, like cedar and citrus.

“That was incredible!” Lewis says, pulling back to look at you. “Seriously, you drove like a pro out there.”

You grin, still catching your breath. “You saw the whole race?”

“Of course I did.” He says it like it’s obvious, as if there was no way he could have missed it. “I told you I’d be cheering you on, didn’t I?”

“Guess I didn’t disappoint, then,” you say, teasing.

“Not even a little.” His grin softens into something warmer, more personal.

The way he looks at you — like he’s genuinely proud — makes your chest tighten, but not in a bad way. It’s strange, but comforting, the way he’s here, grounding you in the whirlwind of it all.

“Come on,” Lewis says, gesturing toward the paddock hospitality area. “You deserve a proper celebration. We’ll grab something to drink, at least — water, preferably, because you look like you’re about to melt.”

You laugh. “Thanks for the concern, but I’m not passing out just yet.”

“Still,” he insists, walking beside you. “Gotta take care of the winner, right?”

You follow him, your steps lighter than they’ve felt all weekend. It’s easy with Lewis — talking, walking, just existing in the same space. You can’t tell if it’s the lingering buzz of the win or something else entirely, but there’s a sense of ease between you that you haven’t felt with anyone in a long time.

He leads you to one of the quieter corners of the paddock, where a small group of McLaren personnel are relaxing. Lewis grabs two water bottles from a nearby cooler and tosses one your way.

“Catch.”

You catch it easily, the cool plastic a relief against your palm. “Thanks.”

Lewis leans against the back of a chair, his posture relaxed, but there’s a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. “So … how does it feel?”

“To win?” You twist the cap off your bottle and take a sip. “Like … I don’t know. Like I can finally breathe again.”

He nods, like he knows exactly what you mean. “First win’s always special. But there’ll be more. I can feel it.”

You tilt your head, amused. “You think you’re a psychic now?”

Lewis chuckles. “Nope. Just good at spotting talent.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but there’s no denying the warmth his words spark inside you. You glance away for a moment, trying to shake the strange flutter in your chest.

“So,” he says after a beat, “what’s next? A second win in Spain?”

“I mean, that’d be nice,” you say, grinning. “But I’ll settle for finishing with all my wheels intact.”

“Good plan,” Lewis agrees, laughing. “That track’s a nightmare.”

The conversation drifts easily from there, flowing from racing to random paddock gossip to stories from his early days in GP2. You’re both standing close — closer than two people probably need to stand. But it doesn’t feel uncomfortable. In fact, it feels … nice.

He pauses for a second, watching you with that thoughtful expression he gets sometimes, like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on beneath the surface.

“You’re really something, you know that?” He says softly, almost like it’s just for you to hear.

The words catch you off guard, and you feel your cheeks warm under the intensity of his gaze.

“Just doing my best,” you say, trying to play it off, but your voice sounds quieter than you intended.

Lewis’ eyes linger on yours for a moment longer, and there’s a flicker of something between you — something unspoken, but not unwelcome.

Before either of you can say anything more, a loud cheer erupts from a nearby group of mechanics, jolting you both back to the present. You laugh, the moment slipping away like sand through your fingers.

“Guess the celebration’s already started,” you say, motioning toward the rowdy crowd.

Lewis grins. “Looks like it. You coming?”

You hesitate, not because you don’t want to celebrate, but because part of you likes this quiet bubble you and Lewis have found.

“I think I might stay here for a bit,” you say, leaning against the wall and taking another sip of water.

Lewis doesn’t move to leave. Instead, he stays where he is, like maybe he feels the same pull to stay in this moment, too.

“You know,” he says after a beat, his voice low and a little more serious, “I meant what I said earlier. About you being something special.”

You meet his gaze, and there’s no teasing in his expression now — just quiet sincerity.

“Thanks,” you say softly, the word not nearly enough to convey what you’re feeling.

He holds your gaze for a second longer, then gives you a small, crooked smile. “Guess I’ll just have to keep watching and see what you do next.”

“Guess so.”

And just like that, the air shifts between you — charged with possibility, like the moment before a green flag drops.

You don’t know what’s coming next, but for the first time in a long time, you’re not afraid of it. Not when Lewis is standing here, smiling at you like you’re the most interesting thing in the world.

And somehow, you think, this might just be the start of something worth chasing.

***

It’s late in the evening, and the Monaco paddock has fallen into a rare lull. The energy of race day — mechanics scrambling, journalists hounding drivers, engines screaming — has settled into a quiet hum. Most people have retreated to their yachts or hotel rooms by now, leaving only the occasional team member wandering through the maze of garages and hospitality areas.

You sit with Lewis on the edge of the harbor, the two of you tucked away from prying eyes. The water laps gently against the docks, and the principality’s golden lights reflect across the surface like scattered coins. Neither of you say anything for a while, content to let the quiet fill the spaces between you.

It’s been like this more often lately — stolen moments between races, conversations that drift into the small hours of the morning, and the unspoken pull that keeps you near each other, even when there’s no real reason to be.

Lewis shifts beside you, resting his forearms on his knees. “You ever just sit somewhere and wonder how the hell you got here?” He asks, breaking the silence.

You glance at him, the glow of the streetlights catching the sharp angles of his face. “All the time.”

He gives a small laugh, running a hand over his braids. “Monaco’s something else, isn’t it?”

You nod, hugging your knees to your chest. “Feels like the kind of place people dream about … like it’s not even real.”

He looks over at you then, his gaze lingering a moment too long. “Yeah,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Not sure what’s real sometimes.”

There’s something heavy in his voice, something unspoken. And for the first time tonight, the quiet between you doesn’t feel as comfortable. It feels loaded, like you’re both waiting for the other to say something neither of you know how to say.

You tilt your head slightly, studying him. “You okay?”

Lewis exhales slowly, glancing out over the water. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

He hesitates, like he’s not sure how to begin. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately … about the future. About what I want, and where I want to be.”

You shift closer to him, sensing that this isn’t just idle talk. “What do you mean?”

He leans back on his hands, staring at the water like it might hold the answer. “I’ve been with McLaren my whole career. Since I was a kid. But … I don’t know. Lately, it feels like I’m stuck. Like I’ve hit a wall.”

You frown. “What are you saying?”

He looks at you then, and there’s something raw in his expression — something vulnerable. “I’ve decided to leave McLaren at the end of the season. I’m signing with Mercedes.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and unexpected. You blink, trying to process what he just said. “Mercedes?”

He nods slowly. “Yeah.”

“But … McLaren’s your home.”

Lewis shrugs, but there’s a sadness in his eyes. “It was. But things change. And if I don’t take this chance now … I think I’ll always wonder what could’ve been.”

You stare at him, your mind spinning. “Do people know yet?”

He shakes his head. “Not many. Just a few people on the team. I wanted to tell you before it got out, though.”

You chew on your bottom lip, absorbing the weight of his words. “That’s a big decision, Lewis.”

“I know.” He looks at you, his gaze steady. “But it feels like the right one. Even if it’s scary as hell.”

You let out a breath, feeling a strange mix of emotions — pride, worry, something you can’t quite name. “Well … if it’s what you want, I guess it’s the right move.”

He smiles, but it’s a small, almost hesitant thing. “Thanks.”

The silence stretches between you again, but this time it feels different. Like something has shifted — not just because of what he said, but because of the way he’s looking at you now.

“You’ve been there for me a lot lately,” he says softly. “I don’t think I’ve said how much that means to me.”

Your heart beats a little faster. “It’s no big deal.”

“It is to me.” His voice is low, and there’s something in his gaze that makes your breath catch.

He shifts slightly closer, and suddenly the space between you feels impossibly small. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, the subtle brush of his shoulder against yours.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

You look up at him, and the world seems to narrow down to just this — just the two of you, sitting on the edge of the harbor, the night air thick with something electric.

And then, slowly — almost hesitantly — he leans in.

For a split second, you think about pulling away, about the million reasons why this might not be a good idea. But before you can overthink it, his lips brush against yours.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll pull away. But when you don’t, he deepens it, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face.

It’s not the kind of kiss that demands anything — it’s the kind that promises everything.

When you finally pull back, your heart is racing, and your mind feels like it’s spinning in a thousand different directions.

Lewis looks at you, his forehead resting gently against yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he admits, his breath warm against your skin.

You smile, feeling a strange mix of exhilaration and disbelief. “Yeah?”

He nods, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. “Yeah.”

For a moment, neither of you move, caught in the quiet aftermath of the kiss. The world around you feels distant, like it’s just the two of you, floating in your own little bubble.

Finally, Lewis pulls back slightly, though his hand lingers on your face. “So … what now?”

You let out a soft laugh, the sound light and easy. “I have no idea.”

He grins, and it’s the kind of smile that makes your chest feel warm. “Guess we’ll figure it out, then.”

You nod, your heart still racing. “Yeah. I guess we will.”

And somehow, even though nothing feels certain — his future, your career, whatever this thing is between you — there’s a strange sense of peace in the not knowing.

Because whatever happens next, you know you’ll face it together.

***

The air in the McLaren garage is thick with anticipation. Cameras are set up, media personnel are adjusting their equipment, and there’s a palpable buzz in the air as the press conference prepares to start. You stand just behind the curtain, your heart racing. You can hear the hum of voices in the room beyond, reporters murmuring to one another, waiting for the big reveal.

The past few months have felt like a whirlwind — a blur of contract negotiations, meetings with McLaren’s team principal, and the quiet, creeping excitement of finally getting the chance to do what you’ve always dreamed of. But now that the moment is here, the weight of it is settling in. You’re not just about to become the first woman in F1 in decades, you’re about to step into the spotlight as Ayrton Senna’s daughter.

You take a deep breath, glancing down at the McLaren-branded polo shirt you’re wearing, the crisp fabric somehow making everything feel more real. This is happening. After all the years of hard work, all the sacrifices, you’re about to make history.

Alain stands beside you, his face calm, but his hand on your shoulder is firm and reassuring. “You ready?” He asks, his voice low, but steady.

You nod, swallowing down the nerves. “I think so.”

“Just remember why you’re doing this,” he says softly, his eyes meeting yours. “This is about you. Not your father. Not anyone else. You.”

You offer him a small smile. Alain’s always been good at grounding you, at reminding you that you’ve earned this, regardless of who your father was. He’s been there through it all — your highs and lows, your victories and failures. And now, here he is, standing beside you as you take this monumental step.

The curtains part, and the team principal, Martin Whitmarsh, steps onto the stage. The room quiets as he approaches the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us today,” he begins, his voice carrying through the room. “It’s not often we get to announce something of this magnitude. Today, McLaren is proud to welcome a new driver to our team for the 2013 season. Not only will she be the first woman to compete in Formula 1 in over 20 years, but she’s also someone with a legacy that speaks for itself.”

There’s a murmur of curiosity from the crowd, and you know the moment is coming. The reveal. The truth that you’ve kept hidden, even from the people closest to you.

“Please join me in welcoming, Y/N Senna.”

The sound of your name, followed by your father’s, echoes through the room like a ripple of shock. For a brief moment, there’s stunned silence. Then, the cameras start flashing, the murmurs turn into a roar, and all eyes are on you.

You step onto the stage, trying to steady your breath. The weight of the announcement, of who you are, feels heavier than you expected. But you push through, meeting the gaze of the journalists, the photographers, the team members standing off to the side. You can’t see him from here, but you know Alain is watching from the wings, his quiet support steadying you.

Whitmarsh continues speaking, but the words blur together as your mind races. It’s not until you hear the murmured whispers in the back of the room that your attention snaps back.

“Senna?”

“Ayrton’s daughter?”

“Why didn’t anyone know?”

As the press conference wraps up, and you’re led off stage, the questions start flooding in. Journalists swarm, desperate for a quote, for more insight into the mystery that you’ve kept hidden for so long.

But before you can respond to any of them, a familiar voice cuts through the noise.

“Y/N.”

You freeze, your heart dropping. You know that voice. You turn slowly, and there he is — Lewis, standing just a few feet away, his face unreadable.

The PR team tries to shuffle you away, but you shake them off, making your way over to him. “Lewis …”

He cuts you off, his expression dark. “You’ve been racing for all these years, and you never thought to tell me? Not once?”

The sting of his words catches you off guard, and you open your mouth to respond, but he continues, his voice low but sharp. “I thought we were close. I thought we were-” He stops, running a hand over his face. “You let me fall for you, and you didn’t even tell me who you really are.”

You feel the blood drain from your face. “Lewis, it wasn’t like that-”

“Wasn’t it?” He takes a step closer, his eyes searching yours, hurt and confusion written all over his face. “I get it, okay? You didn’t want people to treat you differently because of your name. But me? I thought we were past that.”

“I didn’t want to use my father’s name to get ahead,” you say, your voice trembling slightly. “I wanted to make a name for myself, first. And I didn’t tell you because … because I didn’t want it to change how you saw me.”

“Well, it’s changed everything now,” he snaps, his voice tight with anger. “I thought I knew you, but clearly, I didn’t.”

You take a step back, the weight of his words hitting you harder than you expected. “Lewis, please. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He lets out a bitter laugh. “Didn’t mean to hurt me? You’re Ayrton Senna’s daughter, and you never even mentioned it once. How could you keep something like that from me?”

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill over. “I didn’t want it to come between us.”

“Well, it has,” he says, his voice quieter now, but still laced with pain. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

You stare at him, your chest tightening. The distance between you feels insurmountable now, like a chasm that you don’t know how to cross.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Lewis looks at you for a long moment, his expression softening slightly, but the hurt still lingers in his eyes. “I need some time,” he says finally, his voice rough. “I just … I need to figure this out.”

You nod, the tears finally spilling over. “Okay.”

He turns and walks away, leaving you standing there, your heart heavy and your world spinning.

As you watch him go, you can’t help but wonder if things will ever be the same between you.

***

The air at Imola is still. The late-summer heat clings to your skin, and the only sounds around you are the distant hum of cicadas and the soft crunch of leaves underfoot as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. You stare at the stone memorial, the bronze relief of your father’s face, the flowers people have left here over the years. Some are wilted, some fresh. There’s even a small Brazilian flag tucked against the base.

You exhale slowly, your hands stuffed deep into the pockets of your jacket. It’s been exactly a year since you first stood here, heart in your throat, hoping to find some kind of connection, some kind of clarity. The weight of the past year presses down on you now — signing with McLaren, the media frenzy, the fallout with Lewis.

And Papai. Always Papai.

You kneel, brushing a hand over the smooth stone, fingers tracing the engraved letters. “I made it,” you whisper. “I’m almost there.” Your voice catches on the words, a lump forming in your throat. “I wish you were here to see it.”

You close your eyes, trying to imagine what he’d say if he were standing beside you. Maybe he’d be proud. Maybe he’d tell you to push harder, go faster, never settle. Or maybe he’d tell you to slow down, to find a way to reconnect with your mother before it’s too late. But he’s not here. That’s the problem, isn’t it?

A soft rustling sound pulls you from your thoughts. Footsteps, deliberate but hesitant, approach from behind, crunching through the dry leaves scattered on the ground. You turn, and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s Lewis.

He’s wearing a hoodie, hands tucked into the front pocket, his brows peeking out from beneath a baseball cap. He stops a few feet away, his dark brown eyes meeting yours. There’s something guarded in his expression, but there’s warmth there, too.

You straighten slowly, your heart hammering in your chest. “What are you doing here?”

Lewis shrugs, his gaze flickering to the memorial and back to you. “Monza’s coming up. Thought I’d stop by first … like I always do.”

The tension between you feels like a wire pulled taut, ready to snap at any second. For a moment, neither of you says anything, the silence stretching out like a canyon.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here,” you finally say, your voice quieter than you intended.

He takes a step closer, his eyes searching yours. “I didn’t think I’d see you here, either.”

You bite your lip, looking away toward the memorial. “I needed to. Before the race. I … I haven’t been here since last year.”

Lewis shifts, the soft scrape of his shoes against the ground. “I remember.”

The air feels heavy between you, thick with all the things you haven’t said to each other. The words are right there on the tip of your tongue, but they feel tangled, impossible to untangle without breaking.

Lewis is the first to speak again, his voice soft but steady. “I’ve been thinking a lot. About what happened. About everything.”

You swallow hard, your hands clenching into fists in your pockets. “Me too.”

“I was angry,” Lewis admits. “Hurt, too. But … I get it now. Why you didn’t tell me.”

His words catch you off guard, and you glance at him, surprised. “You do?”

He nods slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. “I know what it’s like to feel like you have to prove yourself, like the world’s already decided who you are before you even get a chance to show them. I just … I wish you’d trusted me with it.”

“I wanted to,” you say, your voice cracking slightly. “I did. But … it’s complicated.” You look down, kicking at a stray leaf with your shoe. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to figure out how to be his daughter without being defined by it. And now … now it’s all out there.”

Lewis steps closer, closing the gap between you. “You’re not just his daughter, Y/N. You’re you. And that’s who I fell for.”

The warmth in his voice makes your chest tighten. You blink quickly, trying to keep the tears at bay, but it’s no use. They spill over anyway, and you wipe at them angrily with the sleeve of your jacket.

“It’s not just about the name,” you whisper. “Racing … it’s all I’ve ever wanted. But it’s also what took me away from my mom.” You take a shaky breath, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “She can’t even look at me without seeing him. I haven’t had a real conversation with her in years. The last time we talked was my birthday. And it was just a two-minute call.”

Lewis’ face softens, and he reaches out, gently brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, sniffing quietly. “It’s not your fault. It’s just … hard, you know? I love racing, but it feels like it’s cost me everything else.”

He takes another step closer, his hand lingering on your cheek. “You’ve got me,” he murmurs.

You look up at him, your breath catching in your throat. “Do I?”

He smiles softly, his thumb brushing along your jaw. “Yeah. You do.”

The world feels like it tilts for a moment, everything narrowing down to just the two of you standing here, beneath the shadow of your father’s memory. And before you can think too hard about it, before the doubts can creep in, you lean in, closing the distance between you.

The kiss is soft at first — tentative, like neither of you wants to break the fragile peace that’s settled between you. But then his hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and the kiss deepens, the weight of everything unsaid dissolving in the warmth of his touch.

When you finally pull away, both of you are breathing hard, foreheads resting against each other.

“I missed you,” Lewis whispers, his breath warm against your skin.

“I missed you, too,” you admit, your voice barely audible.

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world fading away.

Eventually, Lewis pulls back slightly, his hand still cradling the back of your neck. “So … what now?”

You smile, a small, genuine smile that feels like the first one in a long time. “Now … we go win at Monza.”

He grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Damn right we will.”

You laugh softly, the sound light and free, and for the first time in what feels like forever, the weight on your chest lifts.

As you stand there, hand in hand with Lewis, you glance back at the memorial one last time. “I think he’d be happy,” you say quietly.

Lewis squeezes your hand gently. “I know he would.”

And just like that, the knot in your chest loosens. You’re still Ayrton Senna’s daughter. But you’re also yourself. And that? That feels like enough.

***

The crowd roars so loudly that it feels like the earth itself is shaking. São Paulo is electric, the grandstands packed with people draped in green and yellow, waving flags, and chanting. You’ve been in big races before, stood on podiums, and tasted victory. But this … this is different.

This is Interlagos. This is home. And for the first time in your career, you’re leading an F1 race in front of your people.

“Alright, Y/N,” your engineer’s voice crackles over the radio. “Five laps to go. Everything looks good on the telemetry. Just bring her home.”

Your heart pounds against your chest as you navigate the tight curves of the circuit. Every bump, every rise, every dip feels familiar. You’ve studied this track since you were a child. This is where your father was a legend — and now, it’s where you can make your own history.

The tires hum beneath you, vibrations pulsing through your hands and feet. The sky is dark with heavy clouds threatening rain, but the track is still dry, for now. Behind you, Sebastian Vettel is chasing hard in second place, his Red Bull a glimmer in your mirrors, but you don’t think about him. Not now. This is about you. About crossing that finish line first.

Four laps. Then three. Every second feels like an eternity. You can hear the crowd over the sound of the engine, their voices rising every time you fly past the grandstands. “SENNA! SENNA!” they chant, over and over, as if your name — your real name — was always meant to be called alongside your father’s.

“Two laps, Y/N. Gap to Vettel is two seconds. Stay focused.”

Your grip tightens on the wheel. You shift gears, your mind and body moving in perfect sync with the machine around you. The wind whistles past your helmet as you race up the hill toward the final turn.

On the final lap, it starts to drizzle — just enough to slick the track and make things dangerous. Your car twitches as the tires search for grip.

“Be careful, Y/N,” your engineer warns. “You’ve got this. Just stay calm.”

You breathe in. Breathe out. And then the chequered flag waves ahead of you, and the world explodes into color and sound.

“P1, Y/N! P1! You’ve won the Brazilian Grand Prix!” Your engineer’s voice is hoarse with excitement. “That was incredible — you just won at home!”

Your heart leaps as tears spring to your eyes. You punch the air, screaming into the radio, not caring who hears. “YES! YES! WE DID IT!”

The car coasts into parc fermé, the engine humming its final notes as you switch it off. You rip off your gloves and helmet, letting the cool air hit your damp face. The grandstands are still shaking with the cheers of thousands. Your name — Senna — is on every banner, every poster, and every fan’s lips.

You climb out of the car, adrenaline still surging through your veins, and jump onto the chassis. The crowd roars even louder as you throw your fists into the air, pointing toward the sky. The thought flashes through your mind: This one’s for you, Papai.

You jump down and make your way to the barriers where your team waits, already celebrating with hugs, fist bumps, and slaps on the back. You push through the throng of mechanics, your heart so full it feels like it might burst. And that’s when you see her.

Among the sea of McLaren team uniforms, standing stiffly with her arms wrapped around herself, is your mother.

Your steps falter for a moment, shock flooding through you. She’s here. She’s really here. You blink, wondering if the tears in your eyes are playing tricks on you, but no — there she is. Adriane.

She’s thinner than you remember, her hair streaked with more silver now. She looks out of place among the mechanics, but she’s here. Her eyes, so much like your own, are filled with something you haven’t seen in years — pride. And something more. Regret.

For a moment, you just stand there, frozen. You don’t know whether to laugh or cry or run the other way. Then her face crumples, and she takes a tentative step forward, her arms reaching for you like she used to when you were small.

That’s all it takes. You close the distance in an instant, throwing yourself into her arms.

“Mãe!” The word leaves your mouth in a sob, and before you know it, you’re both crying, clutching each other like you’re afraid to let go.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers into your hair, her voice trembling. “I’m so sorry, minha filha. I was wrong. I should’ve-”

You shake your head against her shoulder, holding her tighter. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

She pulls back slightly, cupping your face in her hands like she used to when you were little. “I didn’t think I could do it,” she admits, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I was so afraid I’d lose you too. But then … then I watched you out there today.” Her voice cracks, and she brushes a strand of hair from your face. “And I saw him. I saw Ayrton. But more than that, I saw you. My daughter.”

You can’t speak — your throat feels too tight, and the tears won’t stop. So you just nod, leaning into her touch as the noise of the paddock fades into the background.

Adriane pulls you back into a hug, and for the first time in years, you let yourself feel it — the warmth, the love, the mother you thought you’d lost. And somehow, standing here with her in your arms, it feels like you’ve come full circle.

After a long moment, she pulls back and wipes her tears, a shaky laugh escaping her. “Look at us. Crying like fools.”

You laugh too, sniffling as you wipe your own face. “It’s okay. It’s a good day to cry.”

A voice cuts through the noise — your team calling you for the podium ceremony. You glance over your shoulder, feeling the weight of the moment settle on you. You turn back to your mother, hesitant. “Will you stay?”

She smiles, her eyes still glassy with unshed tears. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

You nod, squeezing her hand one last time before you let go and jog toward the podium. The crowd’s roar is deafening as you step up to the top step, your name flashing on the giant screens around the circuit. The Brazilian flag rises slowly, and as the national anthem plays, you close your eyes and let the moment wash over you.

It feels like home. It feels like peace. It feels like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Later, after the champagne has been sprayed and the trophies have been handed out, you find Lewis waiting for you in the paddock, a grin stretching across his face.

“Not bad, Senna,” he teases, pulling you into a warm embrace.

You laugh, pressing your forehead against his. “Not bad yourself, Hamilton.”

The two of you stay like that for a moment, the chaos of the paddock swirling around you, but all you can feel is the steady beat of his heart against yours.

“Your dad would be proud,” Lewis murmurs, his voice soft in your ear.

You smile, closing your eyes. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I think he would be.”

***

The sun is setting over Monaco, casting the apartment in soft golds and pinks. You let yourself in quietly, the cool metal of the front door clicking shut behind you. Training was brutal today — your arms ache, and every muscle feels like it’s been wrung out. All you want is to find Lewis, maybe curl up on the couch together and recover with some takeaway.

You kick off your sneakers, already untying the knot in your ponytail, when you hear voices from the living room. You pause mid-step.

Lewis is talking to someone — no, two people. You creep forward on silent feet, heart quickening as the voices grow clearer.

“-I love her more than anything,” Lewis says, his voice low but certain. “And I want to spend the rest of my life with her.”

Your breath catches. You flatten yourself against the wall, just out of sight. It feels like you’ve stepped into some kind of dream, one where the pieces of your life are rearranging themselves into something both surreal and perfect.

Then you hear your mother’s voice — gentler than it used to be, softened by time and the walls you’ve slowly chipped away.

“You want my blessing?” Adriane says, her words slow, as if she’s tasting them, feeling their weight.

“I do,” Lewis replies. “I wanted to ask both of you. It felt right.”

Both of them? You inch closer, daring to peek around the corner. And there they are — Lewis, sitting on the couch, his elbows on his knees, looking more serious than you’ve ever seen him. Across from him sit your mother and Alain, side by side like a pair of mismatched bookends.

Alain leans back, arms folded, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he’s trying not to smile. “You realize what you’re getting into?” He asks dryly. “She’s more stubborn than Ayrton ever was.”

Lewis chuckles, but it’s a little nervous. “Yeah, I know.”

Adriane tilts her head, studying him like she’s trying to see through to his soul. “And if she says no?”

Lewis’ face softens, a quiet kind of love settling into his expression. “Then I’ll still be with her. Because I don’t need her to marry me to know she’s it for me.”

Something cracks open inside you. It feels like standing on the podium in Brazil all over again — overwhelming and humbling and impossibly full. You press a hand to your mouth, as if that will steady the emotion threatening to spill over.

Your mother leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. There’s a moment of silence so thick it hums.

“When Y/N was seven,” she begins slowly, “she told me she wanted to race. I told her no. I thought if I kept her away from the track, I could protect her from the same thing that took Ayrton from me.” She sighs, her gaze dropping to her hands. “But all I did was push her away.”

Alain clears his throat, glancing sideways at her. “It’s not easy,” he murmurs, more to Adriane than to Lewis. “Loving someone who belongs to the track.”

Your mother nods, her eyes glassy. “But you’ve made her happy. You’ve given her the space to be who she’s always wanted to be.” She pauses, blinking quickly. “And I see Ayrton in that. In you.”

Lewis rubs the back of his neck, clearly moved but trying not to show it. “That means more than you know.”

“And you promise me something,” Adriane says, her voice gaining strength, as if she’s gathering all her fears into this one request. “That you’ll never try to stop her. Not when things get hard. Not when it scares you.”

Lewis leans forward, looking her dead in the eye. “I swear. I’d never take that from her.”

Your mother exhales, like a weight she’s carried for years is finally lifting off her shoulders. “Then you have my blessing,” she says quietly.

Alain smirks, slapping Lewis on the back. “Looks like you’re in for the ride of your life.”

They laugh softly, the kind of laugh that comes with hard-won understanding.

And that’s when the floorboard under your foot creaks.

All three heads whip toward the sound, and you’re caught, frozen halfway between hiding and stepping forward.

Lewis’ eyes widen, and then a slow, guilty smile spreads across his face. “How long have you been standing there?”

You step fully into the room, arms crossed but fighting back a grin. “Long enough to hear that you’re plotting something.”

Alain chuckles, standing up and brushing off his jeans. “I think that’s my cue to leave.” He winks at you, patting Lewis on the shoulder as he makes his way toward the door. “Good luck.”

“Thanks, Alain,” Lewis mutters, rubbing his palms against his thighs, clearly nervous now.

Your mother rises as well, hesitating for a moment. She looks at you, her eyes soft. “I’ll call you later,” she murmurs, reaching out to squeeze your hand briefly before following Alain out the door.  

And then it’s just you and Lewis, standing in the golden light of your apartment, the door clicking shut behind your mother and Alain.  

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep your voice light. “So … what was all that about?”  

Lewis steps closer, and suddenly the nervous energy from earlier melts away. He takes your hand, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your palm.  

“Y/N …” he begins, and there’s something so tender in the way he says your name that it makes your heart skip a beat. “I wanted to do this the right way. To ask the people who mean the mos to you.”  

Your breath catches as he drops to one knee, right there in the middle of your living room.  

He pulls a small box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a ring that catches the light like starlight on water. It’s simple, elegant, and perfect.  

Lewis looks up at you, his dark eyes filled with love, nerves, and hope. “I love you, Y/N. I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you at Imola. And I want to spend every day from now on making you as happy as you’ve made me.”  

You cover your mouth with your hand, tears already welling up in your eyes.  

“So,” he says with a smile that’s both warm and a little crooked. “What do you say? Will you marry me?”  

For a moment, all you can do is nod, words caught somewhere between your heart and your throat. Then you finally find your voice.  

“Yes,” you whisper, your smile breaking wide and free. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” 

Lewis’ grin lights up the room, and he stands, slipping the ring onto your finger before pulling you into his arms. You kiss him, slow and deep, and in that moment, it feels like everything — the years of struggle, of loss, of love — has brought you to exactly where you’re supposed to be.

When you finally pull away, breathless and giddy, Lewis leans his forehead against yours, his hands cradling your face.

“Guess Alain was right,” he murmurs, grinning. “This really is the ride of my life.”

You laugh, pure and full, wrapping your arms around him tighter. “Buckle up, Hamilton,” you tease. “It’s only just getting started.”

[pandagas]

౨ 𝐅𝟏 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄 𝐓𝐎... ৎ ᯓᡣ𐭩

max verstappen is the type to remember anything you have said to him, from you favorite type of flower to your favorite memory of your childhood.

charles leclerc is the type to always ask for five more minutes in bed, you warn him that he’s going to be late but he just tightens his arms around you.

oscar piastri is the type to lay his head on your laps when you’re reading a book and simply ask to you read out so he can listen — will melt if you scratch his hair too.

lewis hamilton is the type to do that 'hand thing' yk? you’re walking behind him so he just extends his hand without looking for you to hold.

carlos sainz jr is the type to tuck your hair behind your ears if it gets in your face, it’s such a smooth movement that you often don’t even notice it.

lando norris is the type to be always taking pictures of you out of nowhere. “you look beautiful”, literally treats you like his muse.

yuki tsunoda is the type to cooks for you — he LOVES seeing your eyes shine every time you try the food and love even more when you shower him with kisses telling him what a great boyfriend he is.

george russell is the type to grab you hand and put in his pocket if it’s cold outside.