#lewis ford x reader

[walkerstacoshield]

Don’t think about Lewis Ford standing on your front porch in the middle of the night, hands shoved deep into his pockets, rocking on his heels cause he doesn’t know how to say goodbye without making it harder for both of you;

Don’t think about the way he won’t come inside, cause if he does comr inside, he won’t be strong to leave;

Don’t think about the quiet way he says your name, like it’s a prayer, like it’s the last thing he wants to rememver before all the noise starts;

Don’t think about how he gently takes your hand and presses something into it - a folded piece of paper, worn at the edges - and says: “Don’t open it unless you have tp.”

Don’t think about the way he kisses you, not rushed, not desperate, but slow, deliberate. Like he’s memorizing the feel of your mouth just in case;

Absolutely do not think about the ghost of a smile he gives you when he turns to leave. Like he already knows he’s not coming back, bbut he doesn't want you to suffer for him in advance.

[magicalqueennightmare]

One Night

Corporal Lewis Ford (John Walker) x Reader

I’ve seen one too many “Overlord in MCU” aus 🤷🏻‍♀️

He just wants one night in your arms in exchange for signing what life he has left over to the government.

Fluff with some suggestiveness and angst

“We can’t” you knew this was a losing battle. Ever since they’d pulled him out of the ground in France, ever since you’d been assigned to help him “adjust” to the world since he’d been down since 1944 you found yourself drawn to the man in front of you. At first it was simply a curiosity on both of your ends. He was a super soldier of likes no one had ever seen. You were a woman born with abnormal healing capabilities. Two moths drawn to flames.

The more time you spent together the more that simple curiosity faded into friendship. He would tell you stories of the life he lived before the draft came knocking. He’d tell you of the horrors he’d seen in world war two and on one particularly rough night he finally told you about the day he died. You listened, sitting close to him on your couch and when you realized he had tears in his eyes and was expecting you to judge him that broke your heart. He was young when he’d been drafted and yet that day? He’d led his men, comforted the one he lost through death and still made a choice to sacrifice everything.

Not for the first time you wished your capabilities extended beyond physical injuries. You curled up next to him, falling asleep in each other’s arms and when the morning light found you still entangled it was a silent acknowledgement that everything had changed. 

He would ask for stories of your past, how you’d come to learn of your capabilities. He asked about your work, your exes. He was the most amazing man you’d ever met. Those bright blue eyes, dark blonde hair that would fall into his face if he moved just right and if you pushed it back a light blush would grace his cheeks. The scar that was under his right eye was slowly fading with the new serum on top of the previous one he’d taken. 

Now here you sat, three years after he’d been pulled out of the ground. Three years you’d been at each other's side every day and you were now facing being separated. He pulled you closer, tugging you into his lap. You gladly straddled his waist, hands going to his shoulders. He tilted his head to catch your eyes, that soft smile that as far as you could tell you’d been the only person to receive plastered on his face “Please Honey. I’ll be their golden boy puppet. I’ll do whatever I have to for you to have a future and for them to not replicate this damn serum that brings me back but for tonight, can I simply be a man in love with a woman?” 

Any and all pretenses fell at that moment. The thought of what his name was supposed to be escaped you. The only thing you could think about was how your heart was crumbling to bits in your chest. How you wished you would’ve known him then or that he would’ve been born now.  “Oh Lewis” you whispered and he pulled you into a slow kiss, lips devouring yours like you were the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted and he wanted to memorize it so if he never experienced it again. 

“My name sounds so damn good coming from your lips” he murmured against your mouth. He pressed another hard kiss to your lips before dipping his head down to your neck, tongue flicking out across your collarbone “You’re the only person that cares to use my real name. I know after tonight I can’t be Lewis Ford anymore” he pressed a kiss to the hollow of your throat before leaning back to look you in the eyes “But can I please see how many times I can get that pretty little mouth to say my real name before it fades away?”

You nodded and he shook his head “Now honey, we talked about this. I don’t know how men do it now but I want to hear you say it” you laughed lightly, fingers tangling in his blonde locks “I want you Lewis, please” he groaned, gripping your hips tightly and a gasp left you when you felt how his body was already reacting to you “You have me darlin. Everything I am. You have” he promised and stood with your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms around his neck to walk towards your bedroom.

When the morning light found you, Lewis was wrapped around you. His arms were holding you against his chest, like he could somehow protect both of you against what was to come.  “I got something for you” he spoke low, voice still rough with sleep. You turned to face him with a small smile “Lewis you didn’t have to get me anything. Last night was amazing” he nodded “I know but still” he reached over to the nightstand and picked up his dog tags and turned to hold them out to you. You could feel tears in your eyes as he placed them in your hand “I want you to have these. That way you know that I���m yours. The real me, my heart will always be yours”

You slipped them around your neck and he ran a finger over the chain before using two fingers to tilt your chin up for a kiss “I love you” he spoke against your mouth. “I love you too” you replied and he laughed low “Lewis Ford or John Walker?” you ducked your head to rest it against his chest, fingers finding the long healed scar that killed him that first time “Anyone and anything you are. I love with everything I am” 

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

‧₊˚✩彡 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚎 | 𝚌𝚘𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚕𝚎𝚠𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

wc: 2900

warnings: no use of y/n, lewis calls reader honey, he gets to live because i say so, overlord plot mentioned, reference to epic: the musical

Corporal Lewis Ford. Sent home with nothing but a medal of honor and an entire platoon of dead men to haunt him. Things he could never unsee. Nightmares before his waking eyes that would surely plague his sleep for the rest of his life. Scars that would never fully heal, that ached even now. 

But at least he was home. That little blue house on Baker Street with a well-manicured garden and a door that was just a little too squeaky for his liking. He would have to fix that now that he was back. A sight he never thought he would see again. It made him smile for the first time in days.

He couldn’t go inside. Not yet. Lewis had never been nervous about anything in his life. Not about asking for what he wanted. Not about standing up for himself. Not about getting called away to war. But now, standing in front of that house, his heart pounded. And he couldn’t stop fidgeting. With a sigh, he took off his hat and slicked back his hair. Straightened his collar. Touched the scar that cut through his eye.

Anyone he had ever met told him it made him look tough, scarier than his demeanor already made him. The men under his charge over in Europe wanted to know the secret of it. Was it a battle? A fight? An attack by an animal? They always tried to guess. But he would never tell, would let the mystery fester until they just gave up. 

They didn't need to know that the girl waiting for him inside that little blue house had given it to him all those years ago. An accident. A funny one. One that she felt terrible about for years to come. But he never minded. It brought him to her, and that was all that mattered.

Was that why he felt so anxious? Because you waited for him inside? He had never been scared of you from the moment he met you. From the moment you made him bleed, and he looked up at you from the ground. From the moment you started fussing over him and using your own dress to clean him up. It was you, what was there to be nervous about? 

Because this was the longest you had been apart since you met. Because he left you, not three weeks after your wedding. Because for the past month, he hadn’t written to you, unsure if he was going to make it out of Germany alive. He knew, deep down, that you were going to be mad at him for that. That you were going to be scared. He had looked death in the face, quite literally, during that war, and yet he couldn’t bear to see his wife upset. 

But he longed to see you. To touch you. To hear your voice. Your laugh. Every night, as he lay in his bunk or on the cold, hard ground, he thought of you. Your smile. Your kindness. How soft you felt beneath his hands. Your kiss. Lewis crumpled his hat in his hand. Fuck, he missed you so much. 

It was this desperation that forced his legs to move. Up the stairs to the porch and through the front door. 

It was unlocked, a habit he had been trying for years to get you to break, and he stepped right inside with a laugh. This hadn’t changed about you. The smell of mashed potatoes and pot roast permeated the air. It nearly made him groan. A record was on the player, filling the house with that Frank Sinatra music you loved. As he set down his bag, he smiled. You had been able to get the furniture just how you liked. It was all just boxes and mismatched chairs when he got called up to war. He had never seen the place like this before, but it didn't matter. It felt like home.

Because you were waiting for him in the kitchen. 

Apron on, working at the stove, humming under your breath. You looked beautiful. Hair down. Dress pressed and pleated just how he knew you liked. Barefoot and everything he had ever wanted for months. 

"Honey," he called to you, nearly breathless, voice nothing but a low gravel.

You turned with a jump. You hadn't heard him come in, and it made him smile. Of course,e you hadn't. You didn't suspect harm. You hadn't seen the horrors he had. You were spared that. Able to keep your innocence, keep the door unlocked and unsuspecting, and he wanted you that way forever. Always. 

You just looked at him for a moment, like he was a ghost. And maybe he was. For the past two weeks, you had convinced yourself that he was dead. That you were going to get the soldier at your door at any moment. Lingering on the edges of grief but daring to hope that maybe — just maybe, he was still alive. 

Now he was standing in your kitchen. Khaki uniform on, hat in hand. He looked different from the man you married. His crystal blue eyes looked tired. His frame looked lighter. He smiled, small and unsure, and it looked torn. This was no longer the man that you married. From his letters, you knew that he had seen things. Done things. He only ever wrote down vague inclinations, but you always had been able to read him — even through thousands of miles and his chicken scratch handwriting. 

Give me five minutes more. Only five minutes more. Let me stay, let me stay in your arms, the music droned. 

You had always moved to him like gravity — ever since that day you made that scar. So when you stepped towards him, you weren't surprised, and neither was he. He just stood there and waited, looking at you like you were the one who brought him home.

“Is it really you?” you asked, reaching out to him as if he might disappear at any moment.

He swallowed something thick. “It’s me.”

Your hand touched his cheek. Stubble and a new scar. His eyes fluttered shut at your touch. The wall that always seemed to be around Lewis Ford crumbled. Just like it always did around you. His face softened. His shoulders relaxed. His hands twitched at his sides, aching to touch you back.

This was your husband. This was your Lewis. You would fall in love with him all over again if you had to.

A smile, uncontrollable and breathless, overtook your face as the tears you had been holding in since he left built and fell. The hand on his cheek no longer simply touched but held him. He let out a ragged breath and leaned into your palm, turned his face to press his lips to your skin.

You crashed into him like a wave he wasn’t prepared for. But he caught you anyway, just like he always did. On tiptoe, your arms snaked around his neck — fingers threaded into his blond locks. Lewis curled around you, sturdy arms coiled around your waist like he was protecting you from something. Anything. Everything. One big hand slipped up your back, and Lewis thought this was really coming home. You. It didn’t matter where he was as long as you were with him. Holding you, feeling your skin, pushing you in infinitely closer — it felt like finally coming back to himself, even. His very bones were settling as he tried to pull you in tighter. You didn’t think he would be satisfied until you were in his very bloodstream. 

Pulling back to get a better look at him, you tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear, and his small smile was so warm it felt like fire. Your thumb brushed over that scar beneath his eye, and his eyelids fluttered again — his grip on your waist tightened. 

Then your face crumpled like he knew it would. “I was so scared, Lewis.”

"I know, honey, I know," he whispered, hands rising to cup your cheeks.

"I didn't hear from you for a month. Last you wrote you were going on some mission, talking like you weren’t coming back. I thought - I thought - " you struggled to get out.

His forehead bumped against yours, his brows furrowed. “Don’t think like that. I’m here…I’m here.”

"Why didn't you write to me?" you asked softly.

"Maybe one day I'll be able to tell you," he sighed, "But not today."

You leaned back to look at him, wide-eyed, curious, and scared. "What did you do?"

"Came back to you. That's all that matters."

He pushed your hair back behind your ear and took in your face. You didn’t like his answer. It was too vague, just like all his letters. But did you really want to know just how close to death he came? No. You hadn't seen the horrors he had. You were spared that. Able to keep your innocence, keep the door unlocked and unsuspecting, and you knew he wanted you that way forever. Always. 

He was here. With you. And he was right, that was all that mattered.

Lewis leaned in first, eyes slowly glancing towards your lips as he tilted your head just how he wanted. You could feel your heart pounding in your ears. It had been nearly two years since the last time you kissed. Did you even remember how? Oh, but of course you did. How could you possibly forget one another? It was tasting strawberries and being eight years old again. It was feeling an autumn breeze and thinking of home. There were things to relearn, but there was time, there was all the time in the world.

You completely forgot about your fear and your sorrow as he kissed you. As he quickly deepened it and backed you up against the dining room table. He had always been hungry when it came to kissing you. Ever since you were teenagers. Like he would starve without it or he was about to go on a lifelong fast. As if you had ever been able to deny him. Lewis Ford had crawled his way into your heart the moment you gave him that scar. The moment he laughed and tried to brush off your concern. The moment he looked up at you like something holy as you cleaned him up.

When you attempted to pull away from him, lightly gasping for air, his lips just trailed across your cheek. Along your jaw. Down your neck. It made you sigh, tilt your head back to let him do anything he wanted. All you had been dreaming about for years. But then you smelled the roast and the potatoes on the stove, and you gasped.

"Lew, dinner - !" you pushed at his shoulders and he stood up straight.

His eyes narrowed, but his thumb continued to pass over your pulse point. “Who were you cooking for anyway?”

“My parents,” you nearly laughed, “I better call them.”

“Hm, that’s a good idea,” he hummed, placing a few more kisses on your exposed collarbone. “I really don’t wanna share any pot roast with them.”

You snorted, so unladylike but so you that it hurt. He let you slip from his grasp to the stove, but not for long. He just followed behind you like some kind of lost puppy. He wanted to take his shoes off. He wanted to take off that uniform that felt like armor he no longer needed. He wanted a lot of things. But he wanted you more than anything.

The food was delicious, as your cooking always was. Way better than the stuff served at camp. It wasn’t hardtack or slop or even the “fancy” dinner they made at Christmas. It was your food. Made with love and seasoning he missed, and something that made him feel even more tired than he was before. While you ate, you talked. Really, you talked. About the neighborhood, setting up the house, what your family had been up to. And Lewis just listened. Reminded you of similar stories from your past and laughed with you. He didn’t talk about the war, and you didn’t push. Maybe one day he’ll tell you. But not today.

You tag-teamed on the dishes. You washed and he dried. The record had finished a long time ago. Now it was just silence as the sun sank below the horizon, and your elbows brushed together.

You led him to your bedroom, one you had only shared for such a short amount of time, and he felt like a foreigner in the space. Every nook and cranny spoke a language he couldn’t understand. The door clicked shut behind him, and he just continued to stand there on the rug, not moving, trying to translate.

“Lew? Everything alright?” you asked, looking back from the vanity as you removed the pins from your hair.

“Tired,” he answered, only partially the truth.

He was tired. It made his eyes and limbs feel heavy. But that wasn’t everything. He wasn’t the man you fell in love with when you were kids. He wasn’t the man you married anymore. He was someone else now. Changed by time and distance and loss and evil and horror. His time in the war was stained with red, betrayal, nightmares. He was always someone who was willing to do whatever it took to get the job done. It made him popular with customers at the pharmacy counter. But when lives were at stake, when faced with such wickedness, it turned him into someone brutal. Violent. Someone willing to play the game their way if it meant beating them. If it meant coming home to you. 

Could you ever want a man like that?

But then your hands were on him. Palms flat on his chest, as you gently forced him to sit down on the edge of the bed. 

“Let’s get you out of these clothes, my love,” you spoke to him softly. 

So softly it made him break. Made him curl his arms around you and pull you in. Made him bury his face in your middle and never want to come out again. Never want to be that brutal and violent man again. Your fingers threaded into his hair, and he couldn’t stop the noise that escaped him. Somewhere between a whine and a groan. He felt the rumble of your soft laugh, and it made him hold you all the tighter.

He let you slip from his grasp as you got to your knees. As you reached for his shoes. He shook his head. “Don’t…”

“Let me,” you insisted and he couldn’t deny you even if he tried.

You took off his shoes one at a time. Then undid his tie and set it reverently on top of the dresser. When he was back on his feet, you undid his belt and joined it with the tie. The buttons of his shirt were usually quick, easy work, but you took your time with each one. Slowly moving down his khaki shirt with his hand braced around the back of your thigh, right underneath your ass, bunching up your skirt. With the last button undone, you began to push the shirt from his shoulders, but then you saw that scar on his chest, and you couldn’t move.

It was new. Still pink and puffy. Nestled right beneath his heart and arching across his ribs in a jagged line. It made your breath catch in your throat, your hand rise to try and cover the terror overcoming your features. Whatever caused that scar, it could have killed him. Your hand reached out and touched the raised flesh gingerly. He could have died. You always knew that, in the back of your mind, that he might never come back home. Hell, you thought he was dead until he showed up in the kitchen earlier today. But knowing that he very well might have come so close to death, to never coming back to you, it made something inside you break all over again.

“Don’t think about it,” he whispered, squeezing the flesh of your thigh.

The tears welled up again, and you shook your head, willing them to go away. “Can’t tell me how you got this either, can you?”

“No, I can’t,” he replied, shaking his head.

“Will I ever get to know?”

“Do you want to?”

The tears finally fell as you shrugged. “I don’t know.”

That was the truth. Not knowing what he saw over there would save you so much pain. So much worry. So much fear. But you and Lewis had always shared everything. Every secret, every moment since the two of you met. What was he like over there? Who was he around his men? What happened that changed him from the man you married? Could you ever help him share the load of what he witnessed? You smoothed back his hair, teeth digging into your bottom lip. And Lewis just looked up at you like none of it and all of it mattered. 

“I love you, honey,” he spoke softly, like he always did around you. “No war or scars can change that.”

“I love you, too,” you replied.

And there it was. The love that conquered it all. The war. The separation. The fear. The sin. Everything.

i no longer have a taglist, please follow @anniesocsandlibrary and turn on notifications for updates

[blvedisco]

The ending of Overlord didn't happen. I actually tradwifed Lewis and he's safe with me in a house in the suburbs. He's actually barefoot in my kitchen with an apron wrapped around his waist and a baby on his hip. He's finishing a pie and muttering under his breath about zombie nazis. I'm in the living room with some buddies sharing a beer and some laughs and they hear his muttering from the kitchen and I tell 'em "don't listen to the misses! He's forgotten to take his valium this morning". And my buddies all shake their heads in pity for my crazy housewife, but he's real pretty and can cook a mean jello salad, so we ignore Lew's muttering. 🏡👰‍♂️

[witchygagirl]

Not me high key researching a Fic thats literally for me and 2 other people 👀🫣🤷🏻‍♀️

[allhailbuckybarnes]

i can't stop starting new projects 😵‍💫

[witchygagirl]

Same! 🤣 the love I have for Corporal Ford is insane 🤣

Just went from @/starktonyx -> @dearwalker

After lots of thinking I’ve decided to finally change my username! I’ve had the last one for almost 6 years, and I wanted something to reflect my love for the blonde himbo I adore now 🫶🏼

Part of the reason why I put it off for a while was because none of my links will work after lmao 🙂‍↕️ so if you ever had the kindness to add any of my works to your lists, they won’t work anymore 🥺

I have to update everything so my masterlist will be under maintenance.

Tagging some moots, so you don’t forget about me haha 🫶🏼

@archangelswing @nexxen24 @bigtiddythanos @vividxpages @flowersforbucky @busyheadkeepbreathing @winterway @birdy-bat-writes @fire-joestar @mandoloriancookie @yuta-nakamots @yekaluvss-walkerr @johnwalkerrrrr @oghotonghoton-potiushi @sunnliqht @cursedheartsclub @honimello @witchygagirl @thesentrysagent @plincess-cho @dark-silhouette @mrsducky @whereiweep @chateaujoon @daydreamgoddess14 @secretwingsociety @bizarrescribblez @walkerstacoshield

[iamquiantrelle]

THE COMEBACK LAP • sir lewis hamilton (iamquaintrelle)

# pairings: lewis hamilton x afrolatina!fem reader

# tags: @queenshikongo3 @ggaslyp1 @snowseasonmademe @beauty-gurl @sailurmewn @lewismcqueen @purplerain-94 @vintagesoul-01 @purplelewlew @imjustheretomanifest @httpsserene-main @peaceiswonderful @scorpiobleue @deeziee @maximofflove @palefacestudentlove @justagirlwho-believes13 @boujiestpoet @gg-trini, @summergirljay, @kristyiana, @rethasavedlives @jajouska @determinednot2fall, @lovingayla

# summary: It's been almost five years since you last saw Lewis, and in those almost five years, so many things have changed......

# author’s note: This is a very short series, only 12 parts

# previous chapter | next chapter

The suite at The Carlyle was chaos in the most elegant way possible. Designer garment bags hung from every available surface, jewelry cases scattered across the marble coffee table like expensive confetti, and the scent of leather and expensive cologne hung heavy in the air. Lewis stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror, watching Eric McNeal make the final adjustments to his ivory Wales Bonner jacket with the precision of a surgeon.

"Stop fidgeting," Eric muttered around the pins in his mouth, smoothing the silk lapels one more time. "You're going to mess up the line."

"I'm not fidgeting," Lewis protested, but even as he said it, he felt his fingers drum against his thigh. He'd been restless since they'd landed in New York this morning, his mind still stuck on Saturday's conversation with Angela. Still stuck on you. Still stuck on Luna.

"You've been checking your phone every five minutes," Miles Chamley-Watson observed from where he lounged on the sofa, scrolling through his own device. Lewis's best friend looked perfectly at ease in his custom velvet Tom Ford dinner jacket, a stark contrast to Lewis's barely contained nervous energy. "What's got you so wound up? Usually you live for this shit."

Lewis caught Eric's eye in the mirror and saw the stylist's knowing look. Eric had been with him long enough to read his moods like weather patterns, and right now the forecast was decidedly stormy.

"Just thinking about the race yesterday," Lewis lied, adjusting the cowrie shell-adorned sash that hung from his waistband. "Another shit weekend."

Miami had been a disaster. P8. Eighth fucking place. Charles had finished P3, forty-three seconds ahead of him, and Lewis had spent most of the race fighting the SF-25's tendency to understeer through the technical sections while his mind wandered to you sitting somewhere in the media center, probably watching him struggle.

"The car's still not working with you," Miles said, finally looking up from his phone. "Maybe you should have stayed at Mercedes."

"Don't," Lewis warned, his voice sharper than intended.

Miles raised an eyebrow but backed off. He'd been Lewis's closest friend for a few years, had seen him through championship highs and personal lows, but even he knew when not to push about racing decisions.

"Right then," Eric said, stepping back to assess his work. "I think we're done. Grace outdid herself with this one."

Lewis turned to examine himself in the mirror. The ivory suit was a masterpiece—cropped jacket with pearl embellishments on the lapels, matching tuxedo trousers with a black stripe down the side, and the hand-embroidered sash that told stories of ancestry and heritage. The custom Stephen Jones beret sat perfectly on his head, adorned with a vintage Briony Raymond brooch that caught the light like captured starlight.

"The symbolism is perfect," Eric continued, his voice taking on that reverent tone he got when discussing the deeper meaning behind their choices. "The ivory represents purity and new beginnings. The cowrie shells are ancient currency, ancestral memory. And the pearls—"

"Mate, you sound like a museum placard," Miles interrupted with a grin. "But you do look good, I'll give you that."

Lewis had been thinking about this night for months, had worked with Grace Wales Bonner for weeks to get every detail perfect. Being chosen as a co-chair alongside Colman Domingo, A$AP Rocky, and Pharrell had been an honor he didn't take lightly.

"Very dandy of you." Miles stretched and stood, adjusting his shirt. "Though I still think you're mental for going straight from Miami to this. Most people would need a week to recover from that car disaster."

Lewis's jaw tightened. Yesterday's race had been more than just a professional disappointment—it had been a personal one. Knowing you were watching, knowing Luna had been there in the paddock, probably seeing her father struggle and not even knowing it.

"Speaking of disasters," Miles continued, apparently oblivious to Lewis's mood, "wasn't that your ex in the media pen? The one who vanished a few years back?"

Eric's hands stilled on the jewelry case he'd been organizing. Lewis felt his entire body tense.

"Miles—"

"What was her name again? The reporter? Gorgeous woman, bit stubborn, had that laugh that made you go all soft around the edges?"

"Her name doesn't matter," Lewis cut him off, but his voice lacked conviction.

"Right, well, she looked good. Different, though. Fuller." Miles was scrolling through his phone again, probably looking at paddock photos from Saturday. "And she had a kid with her, didn't she? Cute little girl. Three, maybe four years old?"

The silence in the room was deafening. Eric had stopped pretending to organize jewelry and was watching Lewis with the expression of someone witnessing a car crash in slow motion.

"Miles," Lewis said quietly, dangerously.

But his best friend was on a roll now, the way he got when he was trying to process information. Miles had only met you twice—once at a dinner in Monaco during the 2020 season, and again at a party after Lewis had won his seventh championship. Both times, he'd been polite but reserved, the way he got around Lewis's flings. Not because he didn't like them, but because he'd seen too many women come and go from Lewis's life to get attached.

But Miles remembered you. Remembered the way Lewis had looked at you like you were something precious, something worth protecting. Remembered how Lewis had been different when you were around—calmer, happier, more like the person he'd been before fame and pressure had built walls around his heart.

"She disappeared right around..." Miles's voice trailed off as the math clicked into place. His eyes widened. "Oh fuck. Oh, fuck, Lewis."

"Yeah."

"She was pregnant when she left?"

"Looks like it."

"And you didn't know?"

"No, I didn't fucking know." Lewis's voice was raw. "She left me with a text message and disappeared completely. Blocked my number, deleted her social media, changed her email. The whole thing."

Miles stared at him, processing. "Mate..."

"Don't say it."

"Lewis, if that little girl is yours—"

"Don't. Say. It."

But Miles wasn't backing down this time. His protective instincts were kicking in, the same ones that had gotten him through Olympic competition and had kept their friendship solid.

"She hid a baby from you, bruv," he said, his voice hard. "For four years, Lewis. Four fucking years. If that kid is yours, she had no right to keep that from you."

"You don't know the whole story—"

"I know enough. I know you would have stepped up. I know you would have been there for both of them if you'd known." Miles's voice was getting louder, angrier. "Jesus Christ, mate. The audacity of just... disappearing like that. Making that choice for you."

Lewis felt something twist in his chest—part anger, part hurt, part desperate hope that maybe Miles was wrong about Luna being his. Because if she was his daughter, if you'd known and chosen to raise her alone...

"Maybe there was a reason," Lewis said weakly.

"What reason could possibly justify hiding your child from you?"

Eric cleared his throat diplomatically. "Maybe we should focus on tonight? The Met Gala—"

"No, fuck that," Miles interrupted. "This is important. Lewis, you can't just let this slide. If that little girl is yours—"

"I said don't say it."

"Why? Because you're scared it's true or because you're scared it's not?"

The question hit Lewis like a physical blow. Because Miles was right—he was scared. Terrified, actually. Scared that Luna was his and you'd deliberately kept her from him. Scared that she wasn't and he'd built up this fantasy in his head based on a birthday coincidence and some wishful thinking.

Scared that either way, he'd lost something irreplaceable.

"Both," he admitted quietly.

Miles's expression softened. "Mate..."

"I keep thinking about her birthday. November eleventh. Same as my mum's. Same as my tattoo." Lewis touched the small numbers on his neck unconsciously. "What are the odds of that being a coincidence?"

"Pretty fucking slim," Miles said bluntly. "Which brings me to my next question: why the hell weren't you more careful?"

Lewis felt heat rise in his cheeks. "We were careful about other things—"

"Not the most important thing, apparently."

"Birth control works," Lewis protested, but he sounded defensive even to himself. "We were... it was 2020, mate. The bubble protocols, the isolation, being separated for weeks at a time. When we were together, we were practically living on top of each other. Being apart, having to work, racing..."

He trailed off, remembering those intense months when the world had been shutting down and opening up in cycles, when you'd been one of the few constant things in his life. The way you'd curl up in his Monaco apartment between races, working on your laptop while he did his simulator training. The way you'd wake up tangled together after weeks apart, desperate to reconnect, to remember what it felt like to be close to someone who understood.

"Priorities like condoms weren't exactly on my mind," he finished lamely. "I was coming off the 2020 championship, focused on getting the eighth title in 2021. And we were... we were bubble lovers, you know? COVID protocols meant we were basically living in each other's pockets when we were together."

Eric snorted. "You're so reckless, mate."

Miles burst into laughter, doubling over. "Bubble lovers! I can't believe you just said that with a straight face."

"It's not funny," Lewis protested, but he was fighting a smile now. "We were being responsible about everything else. Testing protocols, isolation, the whole thing. It just... other precautions seemed less important when we were basically quarantined together half the time."

"Until they became very important," Miles pointed out, sobering. "Lewis, if she knew she was pregnant and chose to leave anyway..."

"I know." Lewis ran both hands over his face. "I know what it means. But I need to know for sure before I... before I do anything."

"So what's the plan?" Eric asked, adjusting Lewis's brooch one final time.

"I don't know. I need to talk to her, but I don't even have her number anymore. Don't know if she's working Emilia Romagna next weekend, or if she was just in Miami as a one-off assignment."

"Hire a PI," Eric suggested. "I know someone discreet. They could find out where she's staying, what her situation is, whether that guy she was with..."

"Gabe," Lewis said quietly. "His name is Gabe."

"Right. Whether Gabe is her partner or just a friend. Whether he knows about... you know."

"Whether he knows he's not Luna's father," Miles finished bluntly.

The words hung in the air like a challenge. Because that was the question, wasn't it? Did Gabe know that Luna wasn't his? Did he know who her real father was? Or had you constructed some elaborate fiction to explain your daughter's existence?

"I'll make some calls tomorrow," Lewis decided. "Put some things in motion. But tonight..."

"Tonight you're a co-chair of the fucking Met Gala," Eric said firmly. "Tonight you look like a god in this Wales Bonner suit and you celebrate Black excellence in fashion and you don't think about anything else."

Lewis nodded, straightening his shoulders. Eric was right. He had responsibilities tonight, people counting on him to represent the theme with dignity and purpose. The exhibition, the first at the Met to center exclusively on Black identity and designers, was too important to let his personal drama overshadow it.

"Besides," Miles added with a grin, "if she's watching tonight—which she probably will be, since everyone watches the Met Gala—you want her to see you looking like this. Like you're thriving."

Lewis looked at himself in the mirror one more time. The ivory suit was perfection, every detail meaningful and intentional. The cowrie shells caught the light like liquid silver, the pearls gleamed against the satin stripe, and the vintage brooches added just the right amount of drama.

He did look good. He looked like a man who had his shit together, who wasn't spending his nights staring at old photos on his phone and wondering what if.

"Right," he said, turning away from the mirror. "Let's go make some magic."

***************************************************************

The Met Gala was everything Lewis had hoped it would be and more. The blue carpet was electric with energy, photographers shouting his name as he posed with the other co-chairs. Grace Wales Bonner had outdone herself with the design—every detail was perfect, from the hand-embroidered sash to the carefully chosen accessories that told the story of Black dandyism and sartorial excellence.

"Lewis! Over here!"

"Can you tell us about the Wales Bonner piece?"

"What does tonight mean to you as a co-chair?"

He answered every question with the passion and thoughtfulness the theme deserved, talking about representation and heritage and the importance of centering Black voices in fashion. But part of his mind was elsewhere, wondering if you were watching from your home in Seattle, wondering what you thought when you saw him looking confident and successful and completely unaware that his world had been turned upside down.

Inside the museum, the exhibition was breathtaking. Centuries of Black fashion history displayed with the reverence it deserved, from 18th-century portraits to contemporary runway pieces. Lewis moved through the galleries with genuine awe, stopping to read every placard, to examine every detail.

"You clean up nice, Hamilton."

Lewis turned to find Pharrell Williams at his elbow, resplendent in his own custom look. The producer and fashion icon had been instrumental in putting tonight together, and his approval meant everything.

"Grace Wales Bonner is a genius," Lewis replied. "She really understood the assignment."

"We all did. That's what makes tonight so special." Pharrell gestured around the gallery, where celebrities and fashion insiders moved between displays with reverent attention. "This isn't just about looking good—it's about telling our story."

Lewis nodded, feeling the weight of that responsibility. Tonight wasn't about personal drama or complicated relationships or children who might or might not be his. It was about something bigger, something that transcended his individual problems.

But even as he smiled for photos and gave interviews and posed with fellow guests, part of his mind remained three thousand miles away, wondering what Luna had eaten for dinner, whether she'd asked any more questions about her birthday, whether you were tucking her into bed while thinking about the conversation you'd avoided having.

Tomorrow, he would start looking for answers. Tomorrow, he would begin the process of untangling four years of assumptions and missed opportunities and carefully constructed lies.

But tonight, he was exactly where he needed to be.

Monday, May 5th - Capitol Hill, Seattle

Your alarm went off at 6:30 AM, same as every weekday morning, and you rolled out of bed to the sound of Luna's soft breathing from her own bedroom down the hall. The townhouse was quiet in the early morning light, the kind of peaceful that made you grateful for the choices you'd made—even the hard ones.

"Luna, baby girl," you called softly, padding into her room. She was sprawled across her twin bed, curls fanned out across her pillow like a halo. "Time to wake up."

She stirred, rubbing her eyes with tiny fists that made your heart clench because they were shaped exactly like Lewis's hands, just smaller. "Five more minutes, Mama?"

"We've got preschool today, and Miss Carmen is teaching you about butterflies, remember?"

That got her attention. Luna sat up immediately, curls sticking up in every direction in a way that made your chest ache. She looked so much like him in the mornings—same wild hair, same sleepy eyes, same little pout when she was still waking up.

The morning routine was practiced and efficient. Breakfast in the sunny kitchen overlooking the small garden you'd been slowly cultivating (scrambled eggs and toast cut into star shapes because Luna was going through a phase where all food had to be "special shapes"), getting dressed (a battle over which tutu was appropriate for preschool wear), and wrestling Luna's curls into two puff ponytails that she'd inevitably destroy by lunchtime.

"Mama, can we listen to the butterfly song?" Luna asked as you gathered her backpack and lunch box from the mudroom.

"Of course, baby."

The drive to Little Scholars Preschool took fifteen minutes through Seattle traffic, Luna singing along to her favorite songs with the kind of enthusiasm that only toddlers could muster. You tried not to think about Saturday, about Miami, about the way Lewis had looked when he'd crouched down to Luna's eye level and seen something that had made his entire expression change.

It had been three days since Miami. Three days of waiting for your phone to ring, for a message, for some sign that Lewis was putting the pieces together. But there had been nothing, and you were starting to convince yourself that maybe he'd written it off as coincidence.

Maybe he hadn't done the math.

Maybe you were safe.

"Have a good day, baby girl," you said, kissing her forehead as Miss Carmen helped her out of her car seat. "Uncle Gabe will pick you up for ballet, okay?"

"Okay, Mama! Love you!"

"Love you too."

You watched her run into the building, backpack bouncing, her little legs carrying her toward another day of finger painting and story time and the kind of innocent joy that you'd die to protect. She had no idea that her entire world might be about to change, that the man who'd smiled at her in the Ferrari garage had the power to disrupt everything you'd built.

The drive home gave you too much time to think. About the look in Lewis's eyes when he'd seen Luna. About the way he'd said "congratulations" like the word physically pained him. About the fact that it had been four years and he still made your heart race just by existing in the same space as you.

You'd built a good life in Seattle. Shared this townhouse in Capitol Hill with Gabe, created a home that was warm and safe and entirely yours. Luna had her routine, her friends, her preschool where the teachers knew her favorite songs and her tendency to negotiate bedtime like a tiny lawyer.

It was a quiet life, maybe even a small one compared to the international chaos you'd left behind. But it was yours, and it was enough.

Or at least, it had been until Saturday.

Back at the townhouse, you settled into your home office with coffee and tried to focus on work. The ESPN assignment for today was editing an article about the WNBA draft, then a conference call about upcoming coverage. Nothing too demanding, which was good because your mind had been scattered since Saturday.

Your phone buzzed with a text from Gabriel around noon.

Gabe: Picked up Luna from preschool. She's telling me all about the butterflies she learned about. Ballet starts at 4.

You: How was she today?

Gabe: Good. Asked me if you used to have a boyfriend before her, though. Kid's getting curious about stuff.

Your heart sank. Luna's questions about her father had been getting more frequent lately, more specific. You'd managed to deflect so far with stories about how families came in all different shapes, how some kids had daddies and some didn't, how what mattered was being loved. But three-year-olds were persistent little creatures, and Luna was smarter than most.

You: What did you tell her?

Gabe: That some grown-ups have boyfriends and girlfriends and some don't, and that families come in all different shapes. She seemed satisfied.

You: For now

Gabe: For now. But babe, she's going to keep asking. And those questions are going to get harder to answer.

You set the phone aside and tried to focus on work, but Gabriel's words echoed in your head. Luna was smart, observant, and she was starting to notice that other kids talked about their daddies while she didn't have one to mention. How much longer before she started asking more direct questions? How much longer before your carefully constructed explanations stopped being enough?

By five PM, you'd managed to finish your articles and prep for tomorrow's assignments. Gabriel texted that ballet was going well and included a photo of Luna in her tiny leotard, arms raised in what was supposed to be a graceful pose but looked more like an enthusiastic starfish.

Your friends Kesha and Maya were due for dinner at six—a weekly tradition you'd started when Luna was a baby and you'd desperately needed adult conversation. They'd been lifesavers during those early months, bringing wine and takeout and helping you remember that you existed as more than just Luna's mom.

"Hope you don't mind, but I brought champagne," Kesha announced when she arrived, Maya close behind her. "I got the apartment!"

"The one in Ballard?" you asked, accepting the bottle and leading them into your kitchen.

"The very one. Exposed brick, clawfoot tub, and a rent that's going to make me eat ramen for six months, but it's mine!"

You'd been friends with Kesha and Maya for three years now since you met at a group therapy session. They knew you were a motorsports reporter, knew Luna's father wasn't in the picture, and they'd never pushed for details beyond that.

Kesha was a marketing executive at a tech startup, sharp and ambitious with a dating life that provided endless entertainment. Maya worked in public relations for the Seattle Art Museum, calm and thoughtful with a photographer husband who traveled almost as much as you used to.

They were good friends, loyal and supportive and genuinely caring. But they had no idea about Lewis, about the months you'd spent in his world, about the life you'd left behind. You'd kept that part of your past carefully locked away, partly for Luna's protection and partly because you weren't sure you could talk about it without falling apart.

"So how was Miami?" Maya asked as you pulled ingredients from the fridge for dinner. "Good interviews?"

"Yeah, it was..." You hesitated, hand pausing over the salmon you'd been seasoning. "It was interesting. Got some good quotes from the drivers."

"Anything juicy? Drama? Romance?" Kesha waggled her eyebrows. "Come on, give us something. You always come back from these races with the best stories."

If only she knew. "Nothing too exciting. Just the usual racing politics."

It was a lie, of course. But how could you explain that you'd run into your ex—if Lewis could even be called that—and discovered that seeing him still made your knees weak? How could you tell them that Luna's father was one of the most famous athletes in the world and had no idea his daughter existed?

You'd built your entire social life in Seattle around the assumption that your past would stay buried. Your friends knew you as a single mom who'd moved to the big city for work, not as someone fleeing from a relationship that had ended in heartbreak and secrecy.

"Speaking of excitement," Maya said, pulling out her phone, "the Met Gala is tonight. We have to watch at least some of it."

Your stomach dropped. "Actually, I was thinking we could just talk—"

"No way," Kesha interrupted. "It's fashion's biggest night. Besides, you work in sports media—don't you want to see if any athletes show up?"

Before you could protest further, Maya had found the livestream on her phone, propping it against the wine bottle so they could all see. The familiar sight of the Metropolitan Museum of Art filled the small screen, its steps covered in blue carpet instead of the traditional red.

"'Superfine: Tailoring Black Style,'" Maya read from the screen. "What a perfect theme. About time they centered Black excellence in fashion."

You busied yourself with dinner prep, trying not to watch as celebrities began ascending the steps. But it was impossible to ignore completely—Kesha and Maya were providing running commentary on every outfit, every pose, every dramatic moment.

"Oh my God, look at Colman Domingo," Kesha sighed. "That man could wear a potato sack and make it look elegant."

"And A$AP Rocky," Maya added. "He never disappoints with the drama."

You were managing to avoid looking directly at the screen until Maya grabbed your arm.

"Holy shit, look at this guy," she said, angling the phone toward you. "He's gorgeous."

Against your better judgment, you looked.

And there he was.

Lewis stood with the other co-chairs on the blue carpet, and he looked... God, he looked incredible. The ivory Wales Bonner suit fit him perfectly, every detail intentional and meaningful. The cowrie shells on his sash caught the camera lights like captured starlight, and the way he carried himself—confident, powerful, at ease in his own skin—made your chest ache with recognition.

You'd seen him in designer clothes before, of course. Those months you'd spent together, he'd always been impeccably dressed when he wasn't in racing gear. But this was different. This was Lewis as you'd never seen him—not as a driver or a competitor, but as a man who understood his place in the world and wasn't afraid to claim it.

It was devastating.

"Who is that?" Kesha asked, zooming in on Lewis's face.

"Lewis Hamilton," Maya answered. "Formula 1 driver. Seven-time world champion."

Your friends had no idea that they were looking at Luna's father. No idea that you'd spent some of the best months of your life in his arms, falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat and waking up to his sleepy smile. No idea that seeing him on their phone screen was making you question every decision you'd made in the past four years.

"He's gorgeous," Kesha continued, studying the screen with obvious appreciation. "I mean, he looks short, but I'd still fuck him."

You choked on your wine.

"Kesha!" Maya laughed. "You can't just say that!"

"What? I'm being honest. He's got that confidence thing going on. Very sexy. And those hands..." She gestured at the screen where Lewis was adjusting his beret. "I bet he knows what to do with those hands."

If only she knew exactly how much he knew.

"You okay?" Maya asked, noticing your sudden coughing fit.

"Wrong pipe," you managed, reaching for your water glass.

Your phone buzzed with a text from Gabriel, and you grabbed it gratefully, needing the distraction.

Gabe: Ballet is going great. Luna's got natural rhythm. Also, there's a new dad here who's been asking about you 👀

You: Tell him I'm dead

Gabe: Dramatic much? He's actually cute. Age-appropriate. Probably not secretly a famous race car driver

Your heart stopped. Gabriel didn't usually push like that, didn't make direct references to Lewis unless something was wrong.

You: What's that supposed to mean?

Gabe: Nothing. Just think you should get back out there. Luna needs to see you happy.

You: I am happy

Gabe: Are you though?

You didn't answer that, because you weren't sure. Were you happy? You had a good new job at ESPN after years of freelancing, a beautiful daughter, a nice home, friends who cared about you. You were no longer struggling financially or emotionally. You'd built a life that was stable and comfortable and safe.

But were you actually happy?

"Everything okay?" Kesha asked, noticing you staring at your phone.

"Just Gabe being Gabe. He's trying to set me up with someone."

"Good," Maya said firmly. "It's about time."

"I'm not ready to date."

"You've been saying that for three years," Kesha pointed out. "At some point, 'not ready' becomes 'scared.'"

They weren't wrong. You had been saying that for three years, ever since you'd felt emotionally stable enough to let people into your life again. But the truth was more complicated than that. It wasn't that you were scared of dating—it was that you'd never gotten over the one relationship that mattered.

How could you explain that every man you'd met paled in comparison to memories of Lewis? That no one else had ever made you feel the way he had—completely seen, understood, cherished? That even now, watching him on a tiny phone screen, your body remembered what it felt like to be held by him?

On the screen, Lewis was being interviewed by someone from Vogue, talking about the significance of the theme and his role as co-chair. Even through the phone's small speaker, his voice sent shivers down your spine. He sounded older, more mature, but it was still the same voice that used to whisper your name in the dark.

"He seems really thoughtful," Maya observed. "I love when athletes use their platform for something meaningful."

"Mmm," you managed, not trusting yourself to say more.

Instead, you forced yourself to focus on dinner conversation, on Kesha's excitement about her new apartment and Maya's latest projects at the museum. Normal things. Safe things. Things that had nothing to do with ivory suits or Met Gala co-chairs or the way Lewis Hamilton still made your heart race after four years.

But even as you laughed at Kesha's dating disasters and offered advice about apartment hunting, part of your mind was three thousand miles away, wondering what Lewis was thinking as he posed for photos and gave interviews.

Wondering if he was thinking about you.

Wondering if, after three days of silence, you were safe—or if the quiet life you'd built in Seattle was about to come crashing down.

Because if there was one thing you knew about Lewis Hamilton, it was that he never let mysteries go unsolved. And Luna—beautiful, brilliant Luna who looked more like her father every day—was the biggest mystery of all.

You just hoped he wouldn't figure it out.

At least, not yet.

As your friends continued to coo over the Met Gala coverage, you excused yourself to check on dinner, stepping into the kitchen where you could breathe. Through the window, you could see the small garden where Luna liked to play, where she'd built fairy houses out of sticks and leaves just that morning.

This was your life. Quiet dinners with friends, preschool pickup, ballet practice, bedtime stories. It was a good life, a peaceful life, a life where Luna was safe and loved and blissfully unaware that her father was currently being photographed by every major fashion publication in the world.

You pulled your phone out again, scrolling to Lewis's contact—still saved in your phone after all these years, though the number had been disconnected long ago. For a moment, you let yourself imagine what would happen if you texted him. If you told him the truth about Luna, about why you'd really left, about the anonymous message that had sent you running.

But then you heard Luna's laugh from Gabriel's latest video update, and you remembered what you were protecting. Not just yourself, but her. Her routine, her stability, her innocence.

Lewis lived in a world of constant travel, media scrutiny, and pressure that would crush a normal person. It was no place for a three-year-old, no matter how much he might want to be involved.

You'd made the right choice four years ago.

You just had to keep believing that.

Even as Lewis smiled for cameras three thousand miles away, looking like a man who had everything in the world except the one thing that mattered most.

........tbd

[separatetheyolk]

In Your Corner | Lewis Hamilton X Male!Reader

ʚɞ featuring: Lewis Hamilton

ʚɞ you were never meant for the spotlight. You were supposed to be a normal person, working a 9-5 job and drive home in a beat up 2009 ford focus to a one bedroom apartment. That was what you were born for. The monotony of a doomed society. But here you were. Dating the most accomplished driver in F1 history.

ʚɞ alternatively you’re having a bad day. Lewis helps to make it a little easier.

ʚɞ contents: anxiety, angst I guess but also kinda not at the same time, comfort, y/n usage, paparazzi and the bs that comes with them

ʚɞ word count: 1711

ʚɞ note: male/masc reader intended. He/him pronouns used for the reader. I’m in the mood for some loving, soft but also protective Lewis content :(

The moment you’d woken up something just felt.. off. The feeling felt familiar. But you just couldn’t place why you were feeling it. A tight ball in your throat impossible to swallow down. A never ending pit of despair eating away at your stomach. You’d woken up alone, looking to Lewis’ side of the bed. Clearly, he’d tried to make it. But it seemed as though your movements had crumbled the duvet back up again.

You hadn’t wanted to move at first. You wanted the blankets to swallow you whole. Leave you to wallow in this feeling, drown in it. But you couldn’t. No, it was qualifying for silverstone today. One of Lewis’ more important tracks to preform well on. You wanted to be there for him incase he needed anything. Support, water, food. Anything at all.

So reluctantly, you decided getting up was the best course of action for the day. Rising from that oh so comfortable cocoon of warm blankets and clean sheets, you shuffled through to the main room of your suite. “Lew?” You called as you poked your head past the doorframe. Voice echoing slightly off white walls only to find absolutely no one. And that ball in your throat seemed to grow just a smidge.

You made your way around the room slowly, checking under tables, behind sofas, each of Roscoe’s many dog beds just to find he was missing too. Concluding that Lewis had took the dog out for a walk, you made your way to the sofa. Setting a few pillows against the hard arm rest and curled up in the corner where it met the back.

About fifteen minutes later, your ears perked up to the sound of the heavy room door opening and closing. Lewis still out of sight muttering to Roscoe about how he was the ‘best boy’ and asking if he enjoyed his walk. But soon enough the beloved Bulldog came into view, plodding over and with some help jumped onto the sofa. Clambering in your lap looking for some love thus breaking the ball you’d made with your body. Although that really didn’t take much effort.

“Babe?” Lewis called, keeping his voice low just incase you were still asleep, walking into the room as he shoved his coat from his shoulders, hanging it up carefully on the hook. You watched his face light up when he’d spotted you scratching a spot behind Roscoe’s ear, moving over to sit beside you and wrapped his arm around your shoulder. Directing you gently to his side. “How’d you sleep, love?” Lewis asked, smoothing out the mess of bed hair you hadn’t taken care of just yet. “You were out like a light when I woke up.”

Slowly you moved to rest your head on your boyfriend’s shoulder. Shuffling carefully so your body was turned towards him more. Adjusting Roscoe slightly as you went. Taking advantage of this new position, you wrapped an arm loosely around Lewis’ waist, letting out a content sigh. “Slept fine..” you spoke. It coming almost as a whisper. You swore you could hear Lewis’ expression change.

“Just.. fine?” He asked, not wanting to pry, but also wanting to make sure you knew he was there for you. Whether that was a person to rant to, cry to, cuddle with, or just sit in silence with.

“Yeah.. took a while to get my head down but once I did it was just, well.” Your shoulder shrugged slightly, at a loss for words. “Fine.” You felt as Lewis’ arm moved from your shoulder to around your back, pulling you closer and giving you a comforting squeeze.

Lewis was silent for a moment. Unsure if he should throw some advice his boyfriends way way, or just reassure him that he was here. Eventually, he settled on the latter, nodding slowly. “I’m in your corner, baby.. whatever you need.”

————————————

f1.announcements

liked by user1, user2 and 7,528 others

f1.announcements

Lewis Hamilton and his partner Y/N L/N have stepped foot back on Silverstone’s tarmac!

Lewis looking sharp as ever

comments

user1 bro dates Lewis Hamilton and he shows up in a hoodie 💀

user2 it must be so embarrassing for Lewis omg

user3 I hate how people compare the two :(

user4 We do have a point, though

user3 What? That Y/N is his own person? Has his own likes and dislikes?

user4 Chill man it’s just an outfit

user3 I thank you for proving my point

————————————

You took a shaky breath as you walked through crowds. Occasionally getting separated from Lewis which you very much did not like. No thank you. No siree. You’d went with one of Lewis’ hoodies to try and blend in. A hard task with who you were dating.. and what he was wearing. But it had been worth a shot anyway. A blind shot in the dark that missed but a shot regardless.

You’d managed to catch back up to Lewis, arm wrapping around his. Your other hand coming to rest on his bicep as you dodged people and touches like they’d burn you to a crisp. Keeping your eyes away from cameras, which mostly resulted in having them fixed to the floor.

Your hold on Lewis’ arm tightened as that anxious feeling began to bubble. Trying to keep yourself in check. Reminding yourself to not ruin this for him. This was his track. His pride and joy. But more importantly this was his job. You couldn’t go around having panic attacks. No, just keep a smile on your face and keep walking. God you were sure you looked like a wimp right now.

Lewis had caught the hold tighten on his arm, eyes darting down briefly to you as he walked. Wordlessly, he pulled the arm from your hold. A movement you didn’t fight but caused your heart to hammer hard against your chest. Carefully, he set his arm around your waist. The hold secure and unmoving. More comforting than before. You felt his hand grip to your side. Giving you another squeeze like he had done that morning.

To others and more importantly the media, this looked like a loving embrace. A couple happily together, enjoying eachother a company and not afraid to show eachother affection. And that was still the case on all counts. But behind that, it held such a deeper meaning. The simple touch of Lewis’ hand, an arm wrapped around you, it was enough to calm storms and tame seas that ravaged your mind.

“Almost there, sweetheart..” Lewis spoke under his breath. Mouth unmoving as he done so. It pulled you from your thoughts, looking around at the crowd as you grew closer to the garages. Nodding wordlessly, you kept close to him. Not trusting your voice just yet.

The rest of the walk was hell on earth to you. It felt impossibly slow despite only stopping once or twice. Lewis would pull his hand away briefly to sign autographs as he walked before setting it back around you. Eventually, you both settled on hand holding instead since that was much easier. Fingers interlocked, Lewis pressed a kiss to the back of his boyfriend’s hand. Blush rising to the tips of your ears hidden by hair that just about fell over them.

Lewis said his quick hello’s, excusing himself as he led you to his room. Or rather, steered you. Hands on either side of your waist, you in front. Keeping you mostly out of sight as SkySports workers angled their shots into the Mercedes garage. The two of you disappearing around the corner and into said room. The moment the door was shut and blinds drawn your shoulders relaxed, rubbing your face. “I’m sorry..” you spoke. Coming out as a mix of a whimper and a groan. “I’m so sorry- I know this is your day I don’t know what’s wrong..”

“Hey.. hey hey, hey no.” He shook his head, quickly making his way to you with three large strides. Hands coming to your cheeks and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Oh baby..” he whispered, hands now moving from your cheeks. Arms wrapping around your waist to hold you close. He felt you press your face to his neck, speaking up. “You can’t help it, love. You can’t stop it. And no one here expects you to.. I don’t expect you to.”

Carefully, he moved the both of you two the sofa, sitting down and carefully pulled you onto his lap. Straddling him. Again, you pressed your face to your boyfriend’s neck, Lewis pressing kisses to your clothed shoulder. “You need to start getting ready.. qualifying will be soon.” You spoke up, but made no effort to move.

Lewis smiled softly at that comment, shaking his head. He slipped a hand under your hoodie but still over your shirt, rubbing up and down your back soothingly. Feeling your body melt against his with each movement. “Babe I couldn’t give a crap about quali right now.. all I care about is you. And I’m not leaving this room, you’re not leaving my lap, until you’re at one hundred percent.”

“But-”

“Not a single ‘but’ is needed baby.. that’s how this works.” He pressed another kiss to your shoulder. “I love you.. and that love comes before any of this.” He heard you mumble something into his shoulder, followed by a sniffle. “Hmm? Baby what was what?” He asked softly, looking down to you with a frown.

You lifted your head slightly away from his shoulder, a shaky “But it shouldn’t have to be like that..” coming from you.

With a frown, Lewis pulled you back slightly. “Love, I asked you to be my boyfriend. I asked you to travel with me. I asked you to be my rock. And I asked I asked you to let me be yours. I done that knowing about your anxieties. Knowing that you’d need me.. and I’m so unbelievably happy that you trust me enough to let me help you.” He moved to fix a few strands of your hair, smiling softly. “And I’m so grateful you said yes.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, moving to hold you again. “You got me in your corner, love. Whatever you need.”

[walkerstacoshield]

❛No grave can hold my body down, I'll crawl home to her — Corporal Lewis Ford × reader.

So the idea for this came from Hozier's Work Song, which is on this playlist for our Corporal that @witchygagirl tagged me <3 a while back. It's been in my drafts ever since and I decided to review it and post it now cause yes thank you and sorry if it sucks

Divergence from canon (he survives the explosion cause I don't feel like a widow today 🫡), mention of death and injuries (nothing super graphically described), hurt/comfort (I tried?), possible mistakes. I think that's it thanks

You had stopped counting days, switching instead to the rhythm of field dressings and morphine drips, the stench of blood clung to your uniform no matter how many times you scrubbed it. The world was still spinning, but your hands were steady. They had to be.

You hadn’t seen Lewis Ford since the village. That cursed village. The last you heard, he’d gone underground with a satchel of explosives and a man already dead in every way but body. He was gone. You tried not to cry so much, telling yourself that Lewis had already bled everything he had to give into the dirt of that place, that if there was any mercy left in this world, it would’ve let him finally rest. Finally have peace.

But then the doors banged open, and you dropped the gauze in your hands. He was there. Standing. Breathing. Bloodied and broken, but he was there. In front od you. He didn’t stumble, didn’t seem to feel the bone-deep gashes that had soaked through the remnants of his uniform. His skin was torn in places, bruised in others. His ocean blue eyes were darker than you remembered, wide, wild, like he’d stared down the devil and hadn’t quite come back whole. When his eyes landed on you, something fragile inside cracked. He rasped your name, voice rough like gravel soaked in rain. “I found you.”

You crossed the tent in three strides, heart in your throat, eyes wide and already watering. You reached out, not quite touching him, afraid he'd vanish in front of you.

“You- this, can't... I saw saw everything fall.” you whispered trembling. “They said no one-” you took a deep breath, finally gathering the courage to touch him. You felt heat pulsing under skin that should’ve been cold, your hands now trembling against him. “They- Lewis, they said you were dead...”

“I think I was.” he said, voice low. “But I couldn’t stay down.”

You didn’t understand yet. Not the serum, not what it had done to him, not the way his body had kept going long after his soul wanted to rest. But in that moment, you only knew one thing: he had come back. For you. And that was all that mattered.

He didn’t say much more, just let you lead him by the wrist, gently, to the nearest cot. He moved like a machine wound too tight, only when necessary. The others nurses in the tent had fallen into stunned silence. You knew the look they gave him, half pity, half fear. None of them could quite believe what they were seeing. Neither could you.

You sat him down carefully. He barely winced, even as the cot creaked beneath his weight and the dried blood cracked over his ribs. You went to work without asking, muscle memory guiding your hands. Clean water. Gauze. Shears to peel away what was left of his uniform. You swallowed down the thick knot in your throat when you revealed the extent of the wounds.

"Jesus, Lewis…” your hands paused, hovering above a stitched-over wound that looked barely scabbed. You looked up at him, brows furrowing. “You should be in agony.”

He didn’t answer, just looked at you. Really looked. Like he was trying to memorize the shape of you, every blink, every crease of concern around your mouth. There was something haunted in that gaze, but beneath it… peace. The kind born not of safety, but of arrival.

“I heard your voice.” he said quietly. “In the dark. Thought I was dying, and it was… the last good thing I remembered.”

You blinked fast, trying not to let the tears spill. “...It wasn’t your time.”

His lips curved faintly. Not a smile, exactly. “Didn’t feel like that mattered.”

You didn’t say anything, you couldn’t. Your mouth was open, but no breath came. Just the ache of him, sitting there like a ghost who hadn’t figured out he was still tethered. Ford looked down at his hands, the skin along his knuckles was cracked, half-healed, stained in ways you knew scrubbing would never fix. They trembled, but not from pain. Not from fear. Just the weight of it all. You knelt in front of him, close enough to see how his pupils twitched, how the muscles in his jaw tensed like he expected to be ordered back into the fire. You reached forward slowly, wrapping your fingers around his wrists. They were warm. Burning, almost. The heat of something still trying to burn out what wasn’t human anymore. With your touch, his breath caught. You saw it in the flicker of his throat, in the way he didn’t pull away, but didn’t quite lean in either; The weight of it all, the church, the lab, Wafner, the serum, it came down like a collapsed roof in his chest.

“I kept thinking…” he said, slower now. “If I made it out, if I saw you again... maybe that’d mean it wasn’t all just blood. That something good came out of it.”

Your fingers slid higher, resting just over his pulse. It was too fast. Unnatural. But it was still there. “It did,” you said. "It did, Lew."

He looked at you, and you knew the grief in his eyes wasn’t just for what he’d done, it was for daring to be here. Daring to have this moment. You leaned up, brushing your lips against his, soft and slow, like you were reminding him how to be touched without recoil. You felt the shudder go through him. Not fear. Not desire. Something deeper.

“I don’t know what’s still mine, sweetheart,” he murmured. “after all that.”

You pressed your forehead to his, hands rising to cradle his face; ruined, scraped, beautiful in a way only the broken can be. “Me.” you said against his lips. “I’m still yours.”

Something in him gave then. Not loudly, not all at once, but like a thread finally loosening in the fabric of a man who’d been stitched too tightly for too long. He leaned into your toych, exhaling like it hurt. Like letting go was the worst kind of pain.

“If there’s nothing waiting for me after this,” he whispered, “no heaven, no hell… I don’t care. I just wanted to make it back to you.”

Your throat burned again, and now the tears came anyway. You didn’t try to stop them anymore, you let them fall, quietly, steadily, as he buried his head against your shoulder. Not a soldier now. Just a man whose body had carried him through death itself, who came home not for glory, but for the one thing that made him feel human again. And when your hands curled around the back of his neck, you could feel it, the need to believe this was real. That you still loved him, no matter what those hands had done. That in this low, quiet place, maybe there was still something like freedom.

You held him until the shaking stopped.

You held him until he believed it.

[magicalqueennightmare]

Out of Time- Pt. 1

Corporal Lewis Ford (John Walker) x Reader (nicknamed Dahlia)

Seventy years or so later Lewis Ford takes a full breath of air and realizes he indeed survived the war after all.

Mention of death, violence, threat of violence

You were summoned to Ciel Blanc, France at a moment’s notice. Matter of fact when you’d been called to meet the jet at the hangar it was an hour before wheels up. Now you were following multiple men in white coats, armed guards and just people lingering around. The entire town looked like it was alive with whatever they’d discovered to warrant you coming in.

“Where are we going?” you asked the head of security Erik Lyle. He looked back at you “Down here” and motioned for you to follow him down a ladder. You shrugged and followed him. Not like they were going to kill you, or hell maybe they were. At least you would be out from under this agency then.

The further down you went on the ladder the more of a chill you got and the more chatter you heard. “Just what is this?” you asked and felt Erik’s hands hovering over your hips “Not trying to touch ma’am. Just ensuring your footing is secure” 

Once your feet hit dirt you offered him a smile “At ease soldier. We’re good” he smiled back and waved a hand “These tunnels haven’t been used since world war two. They were actually blown on d day. Nazi’s had a radio tower base down here that was blocking air support for allied troops. Four men of our side took on forty of theirs and won”

You nodded slowly, “Impressive but not sure what that has to do with me being here” he held his arm out “Allow me to lead you ma’am and I’ll try to explain what you’re walking into” you slipped your arm through his and he gave a small tug in a direction so you followed. “Now there were a few stories. A few different versions but one remained true. D day was a success because of one man’s actions. Corporal Lewis Ford. Had he not made the sacrifice he did that day the tower wouldn’t have come down, his other men wouldn’t have come out and the allies wouldn’t have had air support needed for victory” “Brave man” you acknowledged and he half smiled “Indeed”

He’d lead you into an open room that was a mixture of a cavern and a crude lab. In the center of the lab was a table with what looked like a cocoon on it. “What is that?” you asked and he swallowed hard “I believe that is Corporal Ford” 

You pulled your arm out of his and slowly approached the table. The cocoon was made out of a hard, tar like substance but you could just make out the man’s build and face. He was tall, blonde hair with a small scar under his right eye but beyond what appeared to be very old dried blood on his face he appeared human. “How?” you whispered, hands hovering just above the substance when the faint feeling of his heartbeat hit your senses. It was off, just slightly but there.  It took every ounce of strength you had to not stumble back “This man is still alive. We need to get him out. Now”

Erik watched you for a moment “That’s why you’re here” you spun to face him “Why?” he waved a hand towards the Corporal “He went down violently. We don’t know how he’ll be when we crack that thing open” you made the connection without him having to say it “You want me here in case he kills someone” he nodded “Exactly” your eyes flickered back towards the Corporal’s still form and your heart ached. What was it about this man who lived so many years before you were ever born that was tugging at your heart so? 

“They’re getting him out regardless, aren’t they?” you needed to know. He nodded slowly “It’s you or custody” you shook your head “I’ll assume full responsibility. They can add time to my contract” he raised an eyebrow “Dahlia, are you sure?” 

You looked back at the Corporal, eyes flickering across his face “I’m sure” Erik nodded “I'll get them to get started getting him out the tar cocoon” he turned to walk away. You didn’t follow, not at first. Your fingers came into contact with the tar and you could feel the different injuries that healed on Corporal Ford but hadn’t healed quite right. You’d have to reset some bones. 

“Corporal Ford, well figure this out. I promise you” you whispered before turning to follow Erik.

Since coming onto Shield’s radar as a teenager you’d made one thing clear. You may be under them, they may have a contract on you that kept extending to the point they may very well own you until the day you died but you refused to submit to them. Now was definitely one of those times.

There was a mobile command station set up with links to the white house and secretary of defense Ernest Hamilton. “Ms Lockwood..” he began and you cut him off with a wave of your hand “This man is a hero. You’ve said so yourself. D day would not have been won had it not been for his sacrifice and you’re telling me you want to what exactly? Shove him in a cryo chamber and treat him like fucking Hydra?”

“And you’re certain you can control him? He’s not even yet out. How do you know if he’ll agree to it? If he won’t attack everyone the moment he’s conscious. How do you know he’s not a threat?” you crossed your arms, staring him down through the screen. “I’m not going to try to control him. I’m going to talk to him like he’s a human being. As far as agreeing to it? I’m sure I’m a better option than the fucking governement. As for attacking everyone, might I circle back around to HE IS A FUCKING WAR HERO”

Secretary Hamilton sighed “You’re taking on a huge risk. If I assign you to this. To help him adjust this is years undertaking. You’re signing your life away to help this man” you shrugged “My life was signed away years ago when my father put his signature on that line” he looked past you to Erik “Very well. Ms Lockwood is now assigned to oversee Corporal Ford being unencapsulated and awoken. At which time he agrees to move forward with integrating into society he will be fully under her responsibility. Her contract will be amended as needed” 

Secretary Hamilton focused his attention on you “Good luck” then signed off. You took a deep breath then turned to face Erik, “How far along are they on getting him out?” he looked up from the screen in his hand “About halfway. I told them to not go any further until you were there, just in case” you nodded “Lead the way back down into hell”

What comes after death? That was a question that bothered so many people. If someone ever asked Lewis’ mother she would’ve said something about heaven and hell. She was a good woman, went to church every sunday and believed in helping your neighbor. Lewis himself never gave too much thought to it. Not before the war when he was working in the pharmacy just trying to get by, not when the draft letter came. Hell he didn’t even think about it the first time he got shot at.

There wasn’t much use in worrying about whatever came after death while you were still alive. It could distract you, that could get you killed. It was like he’d told Boyce, “keep worrying about dead bodies, you’re gonna be one” 

It wasn’t until he felt that damn hook slide into his chest that he thought about what would come after death for the first time. He knew he wasn’t getting out of that place. When he fought to get himself down, when the hard floor slammed into him, worsening the wounds he already had. When he made the decision to grab that syringe of serum and slam it into his thigh. He’d already known he was knocking on death’s door.  The only choice he had then was if he was willing to take Boyce down with him and risk those troops not getting air support they needed.

When he shoved Boyce out of that gate, giving the order to take down the tower, he knew that was it. He’d find out what came after death. When he pulled the explosive down and lit it as the Nazi Captain crawled back out of the tar pit and other bodies began to drag themselves out. He kept his head high, that was all he could give himself in those final moments. Dignity in death.

In what felt like the blink of an eye the next thing he knew air rushed into his lungs. It burnt worse than the damn serum had. He nearly fell off the table he was laying on, pushing himself to get up when he realized he by far wasn’t alone. He clamored off the table, cursing when he realized he had no weapon at all. He was surrounded by men in lab coats, armed guards in army uniforms and a woman in pants and a plain t-shirt with a leather jacket? 

The woman took a step forward, in front of the men. She held her hands out in front of herself, the act almost reminded him of someone trying to approach an animal they were worried was rabid.  He was the rabid animal. He watched her carefully but she didn’t get any closer, she kept her eyes on him but spoke to the lab coats “Get the fuck out of here you idiots. He went under in a fucking nazi lab” 

Damn, that was a mouth to be on such a pretty little thing. The lab coats scrambled out of the room. She turned back to him, offering a small smile “Corporal Lewis Ford?” he nodded, not quite sure if his voice would even work but tried it anyways “Yes ma’am” his voice sounded like he had gargled fucking rocks but it worked at least.  She smiled a bit bigger and told him her name “But you can call me Dahlia”

He still had the table between them and didn’t trust any of this but she looked harmless enough, something about her felt comfortable or more comfortable than anything he’d experienced since that damn letter found its way to his hands to tell him he had to go to war. “Dahlia” he tried her name and she nodded “Corporal, I need to tell you something and it’s not gonna make sense but please believe me” 

“Try me” he laughed, a low bitter sound. Her eyes held so damn much sadness before she ever spoke “You’ve been down here for about seventy years give or take but you still very much look like you’re around the same age as me” 

“What the fuck?” The guards took a step towards him and he straightened his posture, glaring at them before he realized why they’d taken a step forward. The metal bed he’d been on, the one his hands had been resting on was crumpled under him like a tin can. 

Dahlia held up her hands to the guards “At ease. He just woke up, he doesn’t know his strength. None of us do. We’re gonna give him time to adjust and if any of you sons of bitches get trigger happy remember I can reverse what I do also” Lewis had no idea what it was she did but every guard slowly lowered their weapons. Her eyes looked back at him “Can we talk? Just you and me” he by far trusted her more than any of these men. He nodded so she looked at one of the guards, who Lewis could easily pick out as being in charge “Erik, send your men up. You stay at the door. Me and the Corporal are gonna talk”  

Erik repeated the order, he himself retreating to the doorway leading out of the cavern area they were in. That alone told Lewis he had indeed blown the lab. Dahlia watched him carefully “Can I come around the table? I don’t want to hurt you Corporal. I just…I can help if you’re hurt anywhere physically anyways” 

He walked around the table, a little slower than he would have liked but his entire body felt stiff. “That’s normal if you’re wondering. You were prone for a very long time” she spoke low, her eyes meeting his. She barely came up to his shoulder but she’d commanded an entire room full of people. She had no rank showing, wasn’t dressed in a lab coat or military gear. “What are you?” the question escaped him and she laughed lightly “What indeed”

She stepped a little closer to him, one of her hands coming up to the side of his face. She didn’t touch him but he could feel the warmth of her body “The sensation may be a little unnerving the first time but I promise you it is nothing that will cause you harm” she assured him. 

He swallowed hard but let her touch him. Her skin was soft on his face, the lightest scent of something sweet hit his nose before she smiled slightly “Just close your eyes” he did as she asked.

The next feeling was like pinpricks moving throughout his body, like when your leg fell asleep and it was just waking up. Bit by bit his muscles started to loosen, like he hadn’t been laying for seventy years. After a moment her hand fell away and she whispered “You can open your eyes”

When he did she was still standing in front of him. “Feel any better?” he took a step and he wasn’t as stiff, he felt pretty damn good physically to be honest. “What was that?” It was a fair enough question. She laughed “Well, I’ll tell you mine while we figure out yours. Fair enough?” “Fair enough” he agreed. 

She motioned for him to follow her. The two of them walked a little further into the cavern, away from the table he woke up on before she turned to face him “How the hell are you alive?” “I don’t know” it was the only answer he had for her. He had no idea how he was alive. 

“Corporal, I’m here to help you. There was talk of a failed serum, no one bought into it but standing here and looking at you? I’m starting to believe it” her voice was low and it struck him that she was trying to make sure Erik didn’t overhear them. “The serum didn’t work. On Chase it made him some…thing” he muttered, remembering the young man turning into something none of them recognized in Chloe’s attic. “Any other subjects?” she  asked and he waved a hand around “The captain, the ones I blew to hell with me or so I thought. They were half crazed or walking bodies. I felt it when it started to work on me, felt like my insides were getting ripped apart”

Her gaze dropped down for a moment before she muttered something under her breath. “What?” he wasn’t trying to be aggressive with her but dammit he wanted answers too. She took a deep breath and raised her eyes to his “You were the specimen they were looking for. Sometimes with things like that.. It takes specific biometrics to meld together” he raised an eyebrow “Honey, I worked in a pharmacy then was in the army” 

She laughed lightly “The serum worked within you because your body held the missing parts” “So I’m alive because of that shit?” he asked and she nodded “That and a mixture of it seems like when you blew the labs it knocked your body into the tar and it basically preserved you” “What now?” he was so far out of his own time, everyone he once knew was dead. He had so many questions, about the war, his family but for now it was clear. If he was surviving this, he needed Dahlia’s help. She nodded “Now? We get you some clothes from this decade, a good hot shower and figure out what’s next”

Part 2

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

❝ I just want to look at you like this for a moment. ❞

❝ Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this? ❞

You won’t break me. I promise. ❞. For our Corporal

our corporal 🥹

Lewis didn't know how he ended up back home. Back in bed with you, but it didn't really matter. Not with you panting and blushing beneath him in nothing but that too short nightgown you knew drove him mad.

"Honey," he breathed his name for you and you smiled.

"Come here," you whispered back.

He felt your hands thread into his hair and it made him grunt, his eyelids flutter. Such a simple touch and he was already falling apart. His hips rolled forward into your leg, hard and aching, and it made you giggle. Then you pulled him down into a kiss and it felt like he could breathe for the first time since he crossed an ocean away from you. Your lips were so soft against his, perfect. But he grinned when he pulled back and you whined high in your throat.

"I just wanna look at you like this for a moment," he said, pushing your hair back behind your ear. "You look beautiful."

You just smiled and blushed, like you always did when he complimented you. But he couldn't just look at you forever. Not with you wriggling your hips and pawing at his chest like that. It made him smile as he ducked down to mouth at your neck.

"God, do you know how long I've been waiting for this?" he muttered.

"Too long, my love."

Wait, when did he get inside you? When did he take that nightgown off? When did you get so fucked out looking, glassy eyed and breathless and sweaty, like he had made you finish as many times as you could count? He thrusted slowly, cautiously, and your walls hugged him in a way he had only dreamed about. You whimpered beneath him and he couldn't stop the choked noise that escaped his throat.

"Fuck, honey, you feel so good," he spoke against your sweat slick skin.

You hummed in response, fingernails digging into his shoulders. Then you huffed and muttered: "You won't break me. I promise."

That broke something in Lewis. He had wanted this for so long. Wanted you for so long. Waited and waited and waited with nothing but your letters and his hand in the middle of the night to satiate him. He practically growled as he hooked your legs over his shoulders and pistoned his hips into. Rough and hard and making him see stars. You cried out, hands clutching at him as you chanted his name like a prayer.

"Lewis, please don't go," you begged him breathlessly.

"I'm not - I'm not goin' anywhere, honey."

But then his eyes snapped open. Darkness. The top of a canvas tent. The sounds of soldiers milling about outside. He wasn't home. You weren't with him. His jaw clenched and his fists tightened, ready to hit the next thing that entered his vision.

He left you.

[cheriladycl01]

Best Secret Santa - The Grid x Driver Reader Part 2

Plot: in which everyone wants to have Y/N as their secret Santa because she is the best gift giver and never fails to make peoples day going above and beyond for it!

A/N: A Part 2 was heavily requested! I know it's very far from Christmas but still vibes :)

2024

You smile happily at the camera messing with Max and his cap changing the angle that it was sat on his head.

"So we've got you and Max opening your gifts together this time because of scheduling struggles etc. What an amazing year it has been for Red Bull again. P1 for Y/N the first woman in motorsport to be a World Champion and P3 for you Max. Amazing year, amazing team mates and we look forward to having you together for the next few years!" she smiles and you both nod, Max indicates for you to talk first and you nod.

"Yeah, I'm in shock. It was a difficult year. So many people were strong this year, Lando coming in 2nd. Mclaren had an amazing car this year and the battle was continuous for the whole year and you know I think it was way more enjoyable for fans this year" you smile knowing that some people last year didn't appreciate Red Bull's and Max's domination.

"Yeah you know I agree, I think it was a more difficult year this year as we can tell. I think we'll come back stronger in 2026 with Ford as our partner. But the disparity in race wins this year i can imagine was more enjoyable" Max admits with a nod and a smile at you, pulling you into a side hug, he'd become like your older brother in the time you'd raced with him.

"Yeah of course, and it was a crazy year. Even before the season started we had silly season begin with Lewis confirmed move to Ferrari, then the confirm of the Fredrick Vesti move to Mercedes in 2025. We then had Andretti finally be confirmed in the summer break after being rejected in Feb as a 11th team and Liam Lawson and Theo Pourchaire would join the grid, so for a year that we thought would be solid it really wasn't!" the F1 presenter exclaims looking between the two of you.

"Yeah i think everyone was shocked with everything that went on in February, and how the 2025 line up is looking but you know its a fast paced sport both on and off track" you smile and she pushes yours and Max's presents forward.

"Okay here we go, Secret Santa for Y/N and Max!" Max opens his gift first from Oscar, thanking him.

"Okay my turn! I'm kind of scared!" you say looking at the bag in front of you.

"Well theres another present to come as well but because of what it is, we have to wait to give it to you" the presenter asks and Max side eyes you, looking at your reaction as you reach into the bag.

You reach in pulling out a bag of cat treats and a little fluffy mouse toy. After a second of looking at the camera and presenter confused you turn to your team mate.

"I feel like this is from you..." you laugh, observing the treats and mouse toy. However, next second another F1 team member comes up next to you with a ball of fur in their hands making you flinch in shock.

"Oh my gosh, is that?" you ask looking at the little kitten now being placed in your lap. You look over at Max with tears in your eyes before you fully start to cry.

"Oh Y/N!" Max exclaims pulling you into a hug, not realizing you'd have this kind of reaction.

"I've been saying to Max for so long that I'm really lonely these days when i go home from races!" you smile holding the little grey British short hair cat up to observe him.

You hold him against your chest which he happily nuzzles into falling back to sleep.

"What are you going to call him!" the presenter ask and Max looks over in curiosity.

"My immediate thought was Red Bull, but I think that sounds a little silly. Hmmmm I'll call him Perceval" you smile, kissing the small cheek of the sleepy kitten.

"Is that a shout to Ferrari driver Charles Leclerc?" she smirks and your face reddens a little realizing you have in fact used Charles' middle name for your new cat.

"No, No! He's a British Short Hair, and I feel like Lord Perceval suits him as he's grey and knights wore silver armor!" you explain yourself giggling a little at the end as Max nudges you.

"Thank you so much Max, I don't think I'll be able to part from him so he'll have to come to all of my races with me!" you grin, pulling him into a hug, careful not to squish Perceval who is now rested in your lap.

*Flip*

"And here we have Mclaren driver Oscar Piastri who along with his team mate Lando Norris has had a fantastic year in 2024 and has managed to come P5 this year!" the presenter exclaims looking at Oscar.

“Yeah it's been a great season for Mclaren, you know and I'm really proud of Y/N for everything she's done this year you know not just as a driver but as a woman, she made absolute history today winning and taking the championship. I cant wait for 2025, i think with the new rules its going to be interesting to see how the grid changes up" Oscar smiles.

"Okay, so this is your second secret Santa. Here are the said presents!" the presenter says as a large Christmas themed bag is pushed forward.

He reaches into the bag trying not to spoil it by looking in there taking out the first nicely wrapped gift. He carefully unwraps it seeing a Papaya shampoo and conditioner set.

"Love that we are keeping on brand, it's actually very funny because my girlfriend has this exact shampoo set i think" he says observing it, looking to see if it was in fact Lily's choice for hair wash products.

"That wouldn't shock me, its a good brand and her hair always looks so smooth and shiny!" the presenter offers making Oscar blush a little and grin.

"Mmmm next gift feels a little heavier! Oh wow, a whole cricket set! This is between three people now, this is either Yuki, Lando or Y/N because they are the only people I've told about me getting into this again recently! My trainer and I when we go back to Australia normally will play as part of training!" he says observing the painted bat that was fully personalized to Oscar and what he liked.

"Wait, did Y/N paint this?" he asks looking at little things across the bat, everyone knew Y/N loved art in her free time and would always draw or paint for the drivers and the mechanics.

"You secret Santa did yes!"

"Then is has to be Y/N, i don't think anyone has the level of skill Y/N does!" he exclaims before placing the bat down lightly and moving onto the next gift.

"No way" he laughs pulling out a shirt that has that one smiley beluga cat meme on it that everyone compares Oscar to and a picture of Oscar smiling next to the cat.

"This is 100 percent Y/N, she is always saying i look like this damn cat!" he laughs.

"Okay final present is a bit of a odd one because we actually have to show you an announcement video... to show you the present. You've really got into Valorant recently correct?" the presenter asks and he nods with a confused look in his eyes, having no idea what's going on.

"Yeah, I've played COD for as long as i can remember with Logan, and I started playing with Lando. But Lando suggested Valorant with his friend Max who started to play it more. It's my fav game now!" he explains.

"Okay well here is the official announcement Riot will be posting in 3 weeks, first teaser to come tomorrow!" she exclaims before turning the laptop round to him.

On the screen it shows the head of riot talking about partnerships of 2025.

"As Red Bull very kindly sponsor us and our championship competitions, we are giving back by collaborating with Formula One Red Bull driver Y/N Y/L/N. She has created an agent with help of our graphic design team" he says and Y/N smiles.

"This is the second Australian Agent to come to the Agent Line-up and I'm very excited to be able to dedicate new Controller agent Ozzy to my close friend and fellow driver Oscar Piastri, he has been playing Valorant for quite a while so the character design is based off him" you explain after a cut in the video.

"Now please enjoy some gameplay footage of the new Australian Agent!" you say before it cuts to the reveal of the agent. And to Oscar's shock, the character does look a lot like him, its actually uncanny.

"This is such an amazing gift, I honestly don't know where she pulls all these ideas from... its insane how much she cares and listens to people. She's actually the sweetest person ever and I'm so happy to be able to drive with someone like her" Oscar smiles before the video moves to the next person.

2025

"Now unfortunately this wasn't a great season for you, or for team mate Max was it!" the presenter smiles sadly. You'd come P6 in the constructors while Max had come two above you in P4.

"Yeah I mean Ferrari really flew this season with two great drivers like Lewis and Charles, coming P1 and P2, obviously the Mclaren was just as quick if not quicker than last year so Lando is P3, Obviously Max in P4, the Mercedes was very quick this year hence George in P5. It was a risk with the new rules and using Ford as the supplier and the things we've got wrong we know what they are and we've fixed them for 2026 and I think we'll have better year" you sigh. Max was more consistent than you this year, but you were the only Red Bull driver to take a win this year, it was a rough year considering your 3 years of victories prior, but like Christian had said to the both of you, you live and you learn.

"That's amazing to hear! How do you feel Lewis getting his 8th?"

"I think his time in Mercedes had come to and end and I don't find it shocking that he's changed Ferrari for the better and will pave the way for Charles to become a World Champion!" you explain and she nods before pushing a bag lightly towards you.

"Onto more fun things, its that time of year that we all cannot wait for, its Secret Santa 2025!"

The bag was large but as she pulled the presents out she could see that they were wrapped awfully. She tried not to laugh as she separated out the gifts on the table observing each one.

"Okay, I'm liking the choice of paper, it's very festive. I'm going to have to give the person who wrapped these a wrapping lesson at some point though!" you giggle a little before tearing into number one.

"Omg! tickets to go see Captain America: Brave New World!" you exclaim.

"This either has to be my good friend Esteban Ocon, as a fellow MCU enjoyer or its my little brother on track, ie Mr America himself Logan Sargeant!" you ask looking up to the presenter who just giggled.

"Okay, next present is holy shit, tickets to Disney World!" you look up in shock.

"Look on the back who you are going with" she smiles.

"Tickets for me, you, Oscar and Lando! Logan oh my gosh you are so sweet you are literally the best person ever! Merry Christmas and I'll see you behind me on track in 2026!" you exclaim before the cameras cut out.

*Flip*

"George it's been a fantastic year for you coming in P5, and beating last years world champ! How does it feel?" she asks.

"Yeah, i think Y/N is a brilliant driver and its unfortunate Red Bull had as many faults as they did but that just goes to show how with her and Max it's not just the car its the driver as well. I think i would have quit half way through the season if i had as many issues as they did. But that just goes to show their resilience!" George says politely.

"Okay well, It's gift giving season and your secret Santa has most defiantly treated you!"

"Holy shit" he says turning to his left seeing the massive wrapped box and then a smaller bag next to it.

"I'm going to open the big one first!" he exclaims looking at it greedily.

"Of course you are" the interviewer laughs shaking their head.

"This is like, really expensive. No way!" he scans, after having torn the cardboard away from the state of the art bike sat in front of him, everyone knew George liked cycling, so this was a very nice gift.

"Oh and LOOK! It has mine and Alex numbers added together on it" he observed running his hand over the cyan colours, making out as though its a piece of art!

"Okay next one, is these two in this little bag, we have... ooo this is pretty heavy! It's oh okay its a book, The Art of George Russell: Every Shirtless Photo of George Russell!" he introduces before flicking through it showing the book to the camera, there was little personalized annotations on each photo inside.

"I love this so much, I know its Y/N whose got this for me because she has such a unique and interesting sense of humor, hmmmmm there's got to be another joke" he says before reaching further into the bag to pulling out a smaller and lighter gift.

"A Williams hat, and a .... Brazilian Flag Key Chain. Even though these are Y/N's joke presents they are always still so thoughtful. My time in Williams taught me so much that I carried through into Mercedes with me and Brazil was my first Win in Formula One, and it was really just special to me!" he exclaims smiling, placing the hat on his head before adding the key chain to his set of keys that he fished from his back pocket.

"Okay, last present George!" the presenter exclaims shoving a bigger bag towards him that had a bow tying it together.

He pulls open the bag spotting a few different unwrapped items.

"OH! This is a glamping set! Carmen has been begging and begging me for ages to take her camping in the Lake District as I used to do it all the time when we were kids, I tried to explain to her she wouldn't like camping as it gets kind of dirty. So this whole set is perfect!" he admits, looking through the tent, the air mattress and all the other little bits and bobs alongside it.

"Thank you so much for all of this Y/N i really really appreciate it all. I cant thank you enough!" he grins.

2026

"What a phenomenal year its been, we've had Lewis gain his 9th WDC, Y/N 2nd, Charles 3rd, Lando 4th and Max 5th!" the presenter smiles over to you.

"Yeah, I think we majorly fixed the issues we have last year, but I think we've still got some way to go and you know progress doesn't happen in one season so the on look for 27 is gonna be great!" you grin.

"Okay now it's all our favorite time of the year! It's secret Santa!" she comments and hands you the bag.

"Hmmmm, okay first gift these are..." you says as you pull out a wooden box with a carving on the top. You open it pulling on the metallic latch in the edge and spot inside custom chopsticks that had a red dragon going up the length.

"Oh woah, these are so beautiful, this has to be Mr Zhou Guanyu!" you grin holding them up to the camera holding your hand behind them as if you were one of the beauty influences showing of a blush or lipstick.

"Influencer era" you say making sure they could see every angle of them!

"Wait, can you guys get me anything I can test try them with?" you ask and you wait a little before some brings you out some dishes you could use your new chopsticks with.

"Mmm this is delicious!" you exclaim, and quickly finished up the food they'd provided you with.

"Omg these are crystals! Zhou and I were talking about these and the differences in meanings of the minerals"

You would always wear a good luck necklace in your races that got approved by the FIA when you first started racing. Everyone on the grid knew that you were into crystals and zodiacs, you'd have long conversations with Lando about the western Zodiac signs, and how him being a Scorpio worked well with your Y/S/S.

"These are really beautiful gifts, thank you Zhou! I absolutely love them and I will be sure to use the crystals at every race!" you grin smiling into the camera.

*Flip*

"Liam... Liam this will be your second secret Santa, you've had an amazing year in Racing Bulls and we cant wait to see what you do next year!" the presenter smiles looking towards the younger male.

"It's been a great second season in F1, I think after my years as a reserve driver i was starting to doubt myself but I'm glad that I'm here and racing!" he smiles back at her.

"Okay, so with your secret Santa, it's a little complicated. We're going to have to take you somewhere else to show you one of your presents. But here are the first few!" she smiles handing him a medium sized bag.

He reaches in taking out the first present which is a Lightening McQeen plushie.

"Ahhh, i think a lot of the drivers know my love for the man and legend himself, the reason i got into racing so this could be anyone” He reaches back into the bag to pull out a Red Bull team member top and water bottle.

"Oh!" He looks up in shock before laughing.

"This is definitely Y/N! She's helped me a lot through out the season and is helping me to progress each day! Thank you so much Y/N"

“Okay now if you’d kindly follow us, with this blind fold on we will lead you to the next present!” The presenter says offering him a blind fold. Off camera they walk him to the hotel elevator and out to the car park.

In front of him stands a red Chevrolet, with the number plate LM95 RBR which could either stand for Liam or the initials of his idol Lightening McQueen, with the cars number after it and then RBR for Red Bull Racing. Little did people know that you’d pulled a Lewis Hamilton 24.

Lewis was retiring after 28 season. He’d told you earlier, as it still wasn’t public knowledge. And Ferrari had come to you about the replacement, at first you were thinking you didn’t want to leave Red Bull, but a chance at Ferrari was everyone’s dream in this sport.

So you would be driving for Ferrari from 2029 onwards with Charles Leclerc as your partner, who also wasn’t aware about the move.

Obviously you had to tell the red bull team you were leaving and had pushed them to sign on Liam Lawson as their second driver, push him to be the new Max Verstappen and eventually take that number 1 seat when Max retires.

This is why you’d done the tease of the red bull merch towards Liam, and that’s why he looked shocked in the camera because you both were some of the only people aware.

“Okay you can take the blindfold off” the presenter says and he does, and tears build up in his eyes as he sees the custom painted red car in front of him. It was an older model, one that he could modify and make better which made it such a good gift as Y/N new he liked fixing cars as a hobby.

“This is probably the best gift and most thoughtful thing I’ve ever received! Oh my gosh I wish she was here right now” he says a little overwhelmed as he looks at the car.

“But I am, get in loser we’re going shopping” you shout sticking your head out the passenger side window of the car before you open the door getting out.

Liam runs over to you, pulling you into a huge hug thanking you for the gift. Cameras cut as the two of you inspect the car, pointing little details out that he may have missed.

2027

“What a season it’s been phenomenal we’ve had Charles Leclerc get his first WDC, we had Lando come 2nd with an insanely quick McLaren and he gave us a further contract extension till 2030 in his Papaya team! And you Y/N in 4th just a point behind Lewis Hamilton and a point ahead of George Russell. Great season! How do you feel!”

“Yeah I’m feeling great, there are so many names on the grid right now that it’s really spiced up the races and is having some great battles for podiums out there causing all kinds of wins! I’m proud of what we’ve done in Red Bull and can’t wait for another year!” You grin.

“Okay as usual onto presents, now this is an interesting one and I think you will enjoy who your Santa is!” She grins leaning in her hand as she watches you open it.

“Lots of Ferrari Merch, so it’s either Lewis or Charles, I want to lean towards Charles as the WDC this year! But you never know, is Lewis even in it this year? Oh my gosh did he rejoin?” You ask in shock!

“Okay what else have we got here, oh my gosh it’s a fucking Birkin bag!” You scream looking at the camera in shock. Obviously you were friends with everyone on the grid, it was just in your nature. So obviously you got talking to people about what you did and didn’t like. And when you were taking to Lewis, Carlos, Lando and Charles before a post race interview panel, you all got talking about fashion trends you liked. Hence the very expensive Birkin in front of you.

“This has to be from Lewis, but Charles was at the conversation where we talked about this bag, oh my this is difficult” you exclaims before you finalise its Lewis and you make a gesture of excitement for getting it right.

“Thank you everyone and a goodnight, I’m going to sexily walk away with my Ferrari merch tucked inside the Birkin” you whisper up close to the microphone before they capture you walking off in style.

*Flip*

“Carlos Sainz, you’ve been phenomenal in Audi this year how is the car staring to feel?” The presenter asks.

“Yea, I think you know in one season you cannot expect to get it right, but now that it’s our second year it’s coming along really nicely and I can see us being difficult for the 2028 season ahead” he explains well PR trained and ready for anything.

“Okay Secret Santa time! Let’s go” they say after continuing the small Audi on the ride debate.

“Yes I’m excited I see lots of presents for me, which can only mean uno persona, mi Amiga Y/N!” He exclaims and the presenter just rolls her eyes knowing people at this point know if they’ve been lucky and got you or if they have anyone else because of the vast presents around them!

“Okay well let’s see what Y/Ns got for you”

He proceeds to open a medium sized gift which is a jar of chilis that makes him laugh, as he observes the jar carefully.

“I shall give these to mi madre for cooking, she makes the best food with these chilis you’ll have to come try some time Y/N” Carlos says sending a wink towards the camera that fans would later go wild over.

“Oh this is heavier oh, oh it’s golf clubs and shoes, these are mmmm how does Lando say it, ‘lush’? Is that the word im looking for?” He asks coolly as he inspects the present.

He looks behind him, to see what looks to be just cardboard wrapped around something, he deems it in his head to be a canvas.

As he tears of the cardboard and bubble wrap, he’s met with a paining by you that he looked at and assumed must have taken you hours, of him stood by his race car for each year he had in F1. It was a huge canvas, one that looked like it belonged on a wall in a museum, the art on it did too.

“This is, wonderful. I don’t think I’ve seen something so good since Picasso himself” he admits continuing to look over the painting.

“Thank you for all of these gifts, I truly love them!” He admits.

2028

“So this year felt like 2024 all over again, we had the retirement of Lewis, and you are taking his seat in 2028 alongside Charles Leclerc in Ferrari, how does that feel Y/N!” The presenter asks and you smile.

“I think if you ask any driver what team they’d love to drive for before they leave it will always be Ferrari so the fact that I have the opportunity to drive for them in the next few years and try to win a championship again with them, I’d be honoured” you admit smiling.

“And now we know what last years secret Santa really meant for you when you gave Liam Lawson Red bull gear knowing he’d be driving for them in 2029 and last year, no wonder Lewis gave you his Ferrari merch, it’s because you are taking over his seat!” she asks and you just laugh and nod.

“We’ve had a fantastic year we’ve seen Lando take his first WDC, with Y/N coming in 2nd really trying to show her new team she is ready for them! While her team mate Max Verstappen didn’t have an amazing season coming in 7th” they answer and you clap and praise Lando saying how far he had come and how proud you were on him and how it was such an honor to drive on track with him.

“Okay anyway onto secret Santa Y/N!” She exclaims pushing a small bag towards you.

You grin opening it up, to be met with …. A bottle of WKD…

Very random.

“Okay so WKD is like a teen/young adult alcohol in the UK, so my thoughts would be on Lando, or like George maybe??” You ask before the interviewer has an evil and mysterious giggle on.

“So your secret Santa when you found out it was you, got a little nervous. So he prepared this recording for you, and one final present” the interviewer says before turning the laptop to you and shocking you see …

“Charlie?!! He’s my secret Santa?” You ask in shock.

“Hello Y/N, I will admit I panicked when I was given your name in secret Santa, I’ve had a crush on you since way back in the karting days when I first met you. So, as your secret Santa, my other gift to you, is a date with me! I also hope you like the final present I made for you! I cannot wait to be your team mate, and maybe more if I’m lucky in the future”

The camera pans back to you and your face in bright red, an unflattering blush in your already sun kissed face.

“Here’s the other present” the presenter says tentatively pushing forward a neatly wrapped presents, the work for sure of Pascale Leclerc.

You open up the contents finding the original CD case you’d give him, for his secret Santa back in the day. You open it up seeing a cd and a slip of paper fall out. On the paper we’re all the song titles which had something to do with you, or your career.

He’d quiet literally placed your life inside songs …. And that was quiet the gesture.

“What a whirlwind of a year 2029 will be huh!” You joke before the cameras cut off!

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @spideybv28 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @kapsylia @laneyspaulding19 @lazybot @malynn @cassielikereading @viennakarma @teamnovalak @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @jlb20416 @yourbane

[witchygagirl]

Muzzleflash & Silence by @bratty-in-boots (Slow burn. When Lewis’ squad finds a woman running from her captors they don’t know just who they’ve found or what she’ll end up meaning to them all, especially a certain blue eyed Corporal)

After The Last Salute by @anniesocsandgeneralstore (Lewis survives AU and gets to go home to his honey)

A One Shot by @walkerstacoshield (Before Lewis leaves. Be prepared to cry)

No Grave by @walkerstacoshield (Canon divergence. Lewis pulls himself out of the ground somehow and finds his way to the only home he knows)

A One Shot by @anniesocsandgeneralstore (Lewis dreaming of his honey)

A blurb by @anniesocsandgeneralstore (Right as Lewis prepares to leave)

Corporal Ford Playlist - by @antisocialdorito

Until The End - @magicalqueennightmare (I feel weird putting my fic but it’s Lewis falling for a little live-wire nurse thats on the front line- another he survives AU)

[totothewolff]

Season of Love (2/?)

+18 | Toto x reader fem!teamprincipal, romance, comedy, and some good drama.

Summary: One night on a pier in Monaco, while admiring the sea under the night skies, you tell Toto: "I came to the conclusion that love is simply not meant for me." That's the answer to a question you have been asking yourself for the longest time. But what if he proved you wrong? Author's note: This is a multichapter Toto Wolff x team principal reader fic set along a season of F1. It's a very immersive story full of drivers, team dynamics, races, mystery, and smut. You just bought the Williams team, but nobody really knows who you truly are.

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Dances with Wolff Arc Chapter 2: Lights out, and away your feelings go!

Australia By mere luck, Toto had one of those sponsors' events in the afternoon, and he was wearing a Tom Ford tan suit with a white shirt, a classic ensemble, instead of his usual Mercedes kit.

And you, well, you looked so chic wearing a romantic Saint Laurent satin mini dress with an off-the-shoulder neckline paired with ribbon bowtie Jimmy Choo stilettos up to the occasion.

You wave Sam goodbye as she enters the car and returns to the hotel. And then Toto and you stay standing there, not knowing what to do next.

—So, at what time is the reservation? —Toto asks you.

—In two hours, it is downtown.

—Good. We are getting there on time, right?

—Oh yeah, we can go on my c... —You look at the empty space where your Lambo was parked - well, where Michael parked it, now empty and immediately take out your phone, shit! You left it on airplane mode. All messages and missed calls start to appear, red dots everywhere. Your assistant asked if you needed the car or if they had moved it to the hotel hours ago. Later, she sent the chauffeur to pick you up, but he couldn't reach you. He waited for you a long time and left.

—My team took my car, so...

—No worries. I can take us there.

"For sure you can!" you thought. Jesus, why were you so horny lately?

Toto then texts his chauffeur, and on your way, you two go; it was a quiet ride for a bit.

—So...

—So...

You both laugh at the back of the car.

—So our minds are connected, huh? —you joke, referring to your tendency to talk at the same time.

—It's becoming a bad habit, yes ��Smiles. —I was going to ask you where have you been existing. Everyone close to me seems to know you, but they never mentioned it before; I feel left out; somehow, I have no idea who you are —Toto tells you.

—First of all, I take serious offense that neither Niki nor Sam mentioned me before; how dare they? And to answer your question in Belgium. I met Niki recently and Sam forever ago but she is pretty private so I guess that's why.

—Umh, I thought Sam and I had something special, but I'm calling it quits —Toto says. —She keeps secrets from me —putting on a fake sad face.

—Welcome to da' club. She's all Lewis's now.

-

Then, at the restaurant.

Toto and you were greeted by a blond supermodel-looking hostess who took you to your booked table. You entered the historical building - big old brown bricked walls, high ceilings with restored wooden beams, and dark marble tile floors - barely lit with just a couple of lights strategically placed reflected on the walls. The tables were small and intimate, and all the furniture was statement pieces - wooden carved and expensive textiles - the silverware and china were spectacular. The place was a printery back in the day, and it ended up in the middle of downtown and has now turned into a Michelin-starred restaurant.

The hostess acted extra caring with Toto, taking all the time to tenderly adjust his blindfold and explain every single step and detail of the dining experience. Since he couldn't see her, she went all handsy, relying on touch a bit much, and for obvious reasons, she tied your blindfold too tight. Really, girl?! Sorority like in where?

—So it's crucial for the experience when you give the food to each other, slowly savor the flavors and then start a conversation about each dish, what it made you feel, what reminded you of, what you thought it was, taking turns —she tells you two as she takes each your hand and makes you feel the space where a single plate full of finger food where to be placed - on top of a marble "lazy susan." —Please let me know if you need me —a lot of emphasis on "need me" and more addressed to Toto than you.

Wait, what?! Give each other the food?! What on earth?! You are so glad Toto isn't able to see you because, for sure, you are tomato red. Then you hear the hostess walk away.

—I frequent high-cuisine restaurants all over the world, yet I haven't dared with this one. It has so many mixed reviews —Toto tells you.

—I met the Chef at an auction gala for charity. He sat at our table and sold us the idea, which sounded exciting and intrigued me, so I told him I would stop by when in Melbourn —you add. He never mentioned that we had to feed each other during the experience.

A moment later, the dish arrived, and the experience began. Your hands were shaking a little bit. Your days went from ignoring Toto's bare existence to placing food into his mouth now.

—By all means, you go first —He offers you. Why did he have to be a gentleman?!

—Sure, thanks —You don't know where to start, so you pick a bite and stay there frozen when Toto notices it softly grabs your hand to guide you to his mouth to avoid you pocking him an eye with the food. Many "Oh god, oh god" fill your mind. You could sense him slowly biting the food from your fingers, his warm breaths on your skin, while hearing soft crunch noises.

He munches. And you wait, hand now resting on the table.

—Soft skin —he says.

—That is what it tasted you like?!

—No, of course not —Toto softly chuckles. —You have soft skin. The bite tasted like, amh, some sort of Gnocchi, but it wasn't. I'm not a big fan of this one and its flavor.

—So you like Italian cuisine?

—Everyone likes Italian cuisine, duh.

—Excuse you? That attitude, Sir! —you flirt, I mean, joke with him.

—Yes! I used to spend the summers in Italy with my family. It is a country that reminds me of my father. Cinque Terre has a special place in my heart.

—You miss your dad —You say before thinking, shit! Now he will assume that Sam and you gossip about him or think you Googled him. Shit! You are supposed to not know anything about him. Lol, if he knew. —It must be hard being away from family all the time with this busy schedule —Smart girl... Good save..?

He looks at you, a bit confused. —Ahm, yes. I miss my dad.

—Okay, it's my turn! —you shift topics quickly and naturally.

Toto picks up a small bite, and you wrap your hand around his wrist, guiding him to your mouth. Your thumb finger could feel his pulse, which weirdly relaxes you. You bite the food slowly, and your lips make a bit of contact, brushing the skin of his fingers.

—What does it taste you like? —he asks you. You try your best not to have dirty thoughts.

—Feet? God, this is awful —you answer while trying to chew the fucker.

Toto almost chokes on his water. Who calls feet a signature Michelin-star dish?

—I'm so hating this! I can't with pretentious places, to be honest. Uptight people are the worst!

—You tell me I live surrounded by those, but you will be fine. Why did you mention the uptight people?

—Send tips. Because there is no way an average person could have come up with this idea and this type of food! What are these flavors, honestly?!

—You are hilarious.

—Aw, thanks. What am I to you, a clown? Well, every circus needs one... I'm glad to help! Why do you keep laughing, stop!

—You are so right; F1 can be a circus! —Toto admits.

—So, what's your job at the F1 circus? No, seriously, don't laugh. TOTO STOP. Do you juggle or what? —You two keep reaching closer over and under the small table, knees now touching.

—Highly accurate! Or I could be that one guy on the tightrope! —He waves his arms.

—So meta. Listen, for us girls being the ones stereotypically called "catfight-ty," you guys...

—You have no idea! And it is just starting...

—Does the drama get too good? You are getting me excited! Don't play with my heart, Torger.

—I won't —Somehow, it sounds more profound and meaningful. Silence.

—Can we go back to the food, please? We are getting distracted from its delicious flavors —you say amidst giggles. —What? Don't you believe me? This dish is so good, "Latifi good".

Chuckles. Then you notice Toto left his right hand on top of yours this whole time.

With your free one, you pick up another portion. —Oh, you are going to love this one. Smells, uhm, so good. Wait for my soft hands to come closer —you tease Toto.

He loses it. People around you start judging you two; you are being "noisy."

—Why suddenly I don't want to open my mouth? I'm not helping you get there anymore. Find your way; if you miss it, then I'm so sorry.

—Oh, don't you worry, "Tots". I can always ask for more of these.

—Oh god, no.

The dining experience ended on the sixth small bite, thank Jesus. You two never walked out of a restaurant that fast, and none of you felt like staying to experience the drinks part, judging by the food.

But were in desperate need of refreshers. The night was now fully set, and the air was fresh. You two walk almost hand in hand on the sidewalk under the clear skies, choosing to explore the city, looking in the surroundings for a pub. You were lured by a very busy one - with live music - three drunk girls burst out of the door in a great mood, and it looked packed; then it must be good!

It was. —Do I ask to pour you a pint, too? Or are you on a diet or something? —Toto offers you on his way to get drinks. A great cover of "Your Love by The Outfield" played in the background. The singer had great vocals, and the guitarist was so talented.

—On a diet? God, no. I'm not that fit! Who gives that excuse? Who's that picky?

—There are people —Toto answers, a bit sad. You wonder if Sussie behaved like that. Of course, you don't dig.

While he goes on his mission, you find the last free table for yourselves. The place was what you pictured when someone said "pub". A classic, extensive wooden bar, tap beer, and tons of bottles on display. Small round tables, bar stools, and many empty frames hanging on the wooden panel walls mixed with art deco posters. It's nothing fancy but eclectic and cool.

As time passed, you two got drunk and the beers, too. You talked and talked and talked about everything. At least what you two wanted to share, obvious subjects were avoided. Toto didn't mention Sussie the whole time, and you chose not to reveal much about your "situation." The two of you formed a bond and had such chemistry none could explain. You were feeling so comfy with each other. He looked so happy and having a blast, and you were, too.

Then, the drinking contest started, and you sent your best knight to battle. You ended up sitting cross-legged on top of the bar with your short dress going up with your every move, surrounded by a group of people watching the spectacle - as well as the other couples of contestants - with Toto on his feet right next to you, resting one of his hands on your thighs. At the same time, you poured the beers directly into his mouth. The first one to finish a row of four pints with no pauses and successfully do "the loaded twirl" - four fast spins - then walk to ring the bell at the end of the counter - without falling - could leave not paying a penny, and win a cool metal medal too.

Toto sounded the bell first. And the place went fucking nuts.

By the end of your night out, you two couldn't even walk straight as you were being playful on the sidewalk on your way to meet your driver. At some point, you lost a heel while dancing, you knew how to move and rhythm was natural to you. Toto carried you around until a good soul gifted you his flip-flops; the poor unknown hero was so into you. Fantastic pubs and guys on flip-flops, thank you, Australia.

While rocking the stranger's flip-flops with your Saint Laurent mini dress, you were singing and throwing some moves on the street at the sound of "Notorious by Duran Duran" - it was the last song you heard the band played before leaving and got stuck in your head - it was around 4 a.m. by then.

Toto had his medal wrapped around his head, looking all stupid and hot. There is no sight of his suit jacket. He must have lost it when you took him to the bathroom - of course, you waited for him outside. He was too drunk to get there alone - or when you two started dancing, burning some of the alcohol in your systems.

There is something about him that makes you feel so many things, and you don't want the night to end. And you wanted to spend more time with him, listening to his voice, hearing his laugh, looking at his eyes, having his body near yours. You find him so attractive.

—I don't remember the last time I had this much fun; it must have been ages ago! —he says, way too loud and drunk.

—Me too! We should do this again! Are you sure it's here? —you reply, looking around. No cars in sight.

—Yes! I'm not that drunk. Here is where the pin marks —he says, looking too closely into his phone. His nose almost touched the screen, looking at the map.

—Let me see.

—Nein —He raises his phone, extending his arm, placing it out of your reach. You jump to grab it, failing miserably. You ended up bumping him instead. Balance isn't a thing for any of you at the moment. And you both get closer. At some point in the night, you two started to behave like magnets, unable to keep away from each other, all handsy. Toto places a hand on your lower back to steady you.

You aren't sure if the sensation you are feeling is the alcohol in your system or the butterflies in your stomach.

—You are so carefree. Zero pretentious. So fun. So captivating, so... —Toto says in such a dangerous voice, staring at your lips with his fingers, placing your hair behind your ear.

You two get closer.

—So..? —You beg him to continue, staring at his lips too. You take the lead and start closing the distance between you.

It's been a while since either of you had sex in your lives.

Or love.

He looks at you with desire and affection but without moving an inch. Then Toto decides to take a step back.

That distance feels like miles, and the car arrives. Ending an almost perfect night.

You feel ashamed since you overstepped and carried yourself away. None of you mentioned what just happened on the ride back to the hotel.

-

Spending time with you starts to feel like a necessity to him now.

Toto is standing there, left shoulder leaning against the bar wall near where the band is playing, sipping his beer, watching you dance with some strangers, glowing and smiling, and having fun among those girls while he admires your curves and body movements. You have the magic to make him forget about the rest of the world, its people, and its problems. Going out with you tonight felt like healing, like self-care. 

After days of being heartbroken, Toto called things off with Sussie, which was not an easy choice. She was the love of his life, or so he thought, and after spending a significant portion of your life with someone, saying goodbye to that person is never easy.

Even if tonight was great and felt like a lucid dream, he couldn't escape reality forever. This Cinderella story had an end.

Of course, he notices the way you look at him. The attention you pay to his every word, your excitement every time you make him smile, or how you lean closer to his touch whenever the two of you make accidental - or not - contact.

But he wasn't ready for you. Of course, he would love to make a move and enjoy the whole of you, explore your every corner, trace your hips with his hands, and feel your body beneath his, making you release sounds he would love to hear. He wanted to fuck you badly, but you weren't just for a one-night stand.

You deserved someone who could fully admire you. That worshiped you. And Toto wasn't able to be that guy at the moment. He felt wounded and needed time for himself.

So, when you had the courage he lacked to make the move, knowing that if he accepted that kiss, you would wake up tangled in his sheets, he stepped back.

Seeing your surprised, embarrassed, and hurt reaction spiraled him into coming days of somber mood and turned into a quiet ride back to the hotel.

-

Once you reach your destination, the driver opens the car door for you, and you step out of it, praying your balance has returned. After that fiasco ending of the night, all the alcohol in your system seems to have evaporated thanks to that emotional gut punch Toto gave. You glimpse Toto catching your step, walking now as normal as you.

You two may be walking seemly normal now but your looks scream drunks, loud and clear! - messy hair and clothes, not to mention your flip flops, a thing that made you smile as you remembered the now distant memory - as you passed by a floor-to-ceiling mirror on the way to the elevators.

The bellboy pushes the buttons to open the elevator doors for you.

—On which floor is your room? —he asks.

—Oh, no, we aren't...

—Eleven —you answer a little deadpan, interrupting Toto.

—Fourteen —he mumbles.

As you two go up, you start saying goodbye, also wanting to cut the tension a bit. —It was a fun night, "Tots"! My liver may disagree, but we'll see —you smile.

—Yeah, yeah, it was, except for that horrid food —he replies.

—Let's not, let's bury that part.

He nods with a small smile. The door opens on your floor. You smile at him one last time and head out.

Toto wants to say, "Wait!" or follow you down that corridor, inviting himself to your room and bed, but instead, he remains just standing there, and the elevator goes up.

-

You take your time to walk down the corridor, hoping there is still a chance, till you hear the sound of the elevator's doors closing and following it, total silence, no footsteps, no movement. So you let out a sigh and get inside your room.

You are left facing a feeling of emptiness and solitude as you walk across the empty and dark suite with your surviving heel in hand, and then you toss it across the room on the carpet. You enter the shower and start washing your make-up and body off, letting your mind wander to the idea that the two of you could be there right now.

So, a bit defeated by not having Toto's naked and wet body before you, you send yourself to bed, struggling to fall asleep and shut down your brain; after a while, you feel yourself drifting away in the arms of Morfeo - and sadly not Toto's.

-

—He thinks I'm captivating and have soft hands —you say while giggling like a teenager, adding sugar to your Chai at the end of the counter. Already in a better mood, trying to look at the bright side of things.

—Soft hands??? —Sam replies, making a silly face and grabbing a napkin.

You two meet on your way to get Starbucks, located two buildings away from the hotel. You are still hungover and need fuel before stepping into the paddock.

—You know, never mind. I don't want to know —Sam adds, biting her bagel.

—Oh, wait. No. Nothing like that happened —you wave your hands in concern.

—Calm down; you know he and Sussie are in the middle of a time-off. Nothing wrong if it had happened. He has been in such awful moods lately that I think he needs it to happen. This time, their breakup seems real.

—Really!?

—Can you at least don't sound that excited? Oh god, you are smiling. I hate love —Sam sips her black coffee, rolling her eyes at you.

—Leave me live my fantasy, alright? —praying sign, you joke.

—Now you will be all weird around him, won't you?

—Nooo, well, maybe a little. What? Like you don't ship us.

—Puff —Sam lets out.

—Oh, you fed me way too many details about him for years and set us up last night just because, huh?

—Okay. Fair. I sold you the idea. Am I clever, or what? Listen, I care about you two a lot, and frankly, I think you are great for each other.

—Ooh, so Sam Dobrev has a heart.

—Shut up! Please don't make me regret it —she replies, all done with life.

-

—Hi, big guy —Sam pops her head inside Toto's office, simultaneously knocking on the open door.

—You owe me one —Toto answers deadpan. Concentrated, looking straight at his iPad, not bothering to look at her.

—Why?

—That restaurant you made me go to was horrible.

—Well, I didn't pick the place, so no whines to me, but at least the company was fantastic, right?

—Umhju —Toto mutters, still looking at the screen. Then silence.

Sam interprets that answer as I'm not telling you anything else.

—Since you are here trying to gossip. Aren't you busy? If you have free time, you could help me with several things.

—Jeez, that mood. I'm not here to gossip. Here, sign this. Niki needs it.

Toto reads the paper Sam just gave him and picks up his phone. —I need to make a call. Would you mind closing the door on your way out? Thank you.

—Okay —Sam answers slowly and exaggerates the "O" while doing what was asked. Even she knows messing with a somber Toto wasn't a good idea.

Unfortunately for you, no gossip or insights of your night out were obtained from Toto.

-

It was a Grand Prix victory for Lewis. And a third place for Mick, but since it was his first podium, you guys celebrated as if he had just won the race. Sadly, Millie got pulled out of the track for a technical issue with the car.

You were hoping to chitchat with Toto at the podium ceremony, make him laugh a little, and watch his beautiful smile. Well, you hoped that the entire day, actually. But he was nowhere to be seen.

Until you spotted him in the distance, there was no casual way to start a conversation with him that way, and you didn't want to be perceived as pushy or desperate going straight to him. So you let the idea die. There was no rush.

If something was meant to be, it will happen without forcing things.

Right?

-

Azerbaijan

On the paddock in Baku, Toto chose to behave the opposite of that night in Melbourne. Serious, professional, and borderline unfriendly - but still polite.

That caught you off guard, and it was so confusing. After spending that great time together, you thought you two were on your path to becoming friends or more if luck was on your side. You didn't get the sudden change, and it was a bit hurtful when you went to say hi to him - all warm and smiling - and he gave the cold shoulder with a blunt "Good morning" and kept on walking.

You stood there looking a bit stupid, wondering if you did something to bother him or if he was acting Austrian. Maybe Toto was feeling really uncomfortable by how you approached him at the end of that night. Damn, drunk you!

But then, a couple of hours later:

"Unknown" is typing...

—Darci told me you left your office to have lunch. But I'm here outside your hospitality and don't see you - Toto.

Your assistant gave him your number. —Hi!!! Yes, I'm here having lunch.

—Where? I'm wearing my good glasses, and I'm sure you are not that bald guy eating a salad.

—Sandro is a very nice guy. Look up, grandpa!

—The rooftop? What are you, a pigeon?

No joke in reply, just an honest: —I like the view from here. It's peaceful! Bonus points for being private. No one bothers me here or intrudes. It's my secret special place. Do you want to join?

Toto finishes climbing the ladder and goes to greet you, kissing you on the cheek. As he does so, a crazy thought crosses your mind: What if you turn your head? Is stealing a kiss considered harassment? But you don't.

You two share your homemade Yakimeshi - you love cooking even if you have a private Chef, and you are damn good at it, well, according to everyone that has eaten your food, so you ask the hotel to get you the fresh ingredients you need - while talking about the day, sharing ideas, throwing shade, and enjoying each other's presence.

—What a diva! —you reply, grabbing a portion with your chopsticks.

—I know. I expected better, but engineers... you know —Toto shrugs.

—Ye! —you agree. Sometimes, they acted, well, a little bit challenging.

Toto was acting so relaxed and casual as you expected him to be, and not what was going on in the morning. You wonder so badly why there is a change in ways, but you don't dare to ask.

"What if he has bipolar disorder?" a question that came to your mind at some desperate point during your day. Not that there was something wrong with that.

The sun is setting, and you two enjoy the view, sitting next to each other - no space in between - He places his arm around you, palm resting next to your left hand, but without making physical contact.

This becomes a routine for you two, lunching together on the rooftop of the W hospitality, away from the rest of the world, in your private little bubble. It becomes your favorite moment of the day. And Toto's, too, even if he swore he would never like routine.

-

Miami

—Excuse me, excuse me, how did the tire taste you like? —you tease a very solemn Lewis walking past you on the paddock while you pretend to hold an invisible mic at his face, acting like a reporter. An instant smile forms on his lips.

—Roscoe attack! —Lewis commands.

Roscoe stares at him for a second and then wanders to sniff a palm tree, not caring.

—I think your trick didn't work —you get closer to greet him with a hug.

—He is too lazy for that —he tells you while embracing you.

—You are too cute; don't listen to that man! —you say with a silly voice, addressing Roscoe, letting Lewis go, and flexing to pet the dog, rubbing around his ears, which Roscoe seems to enjoy.

It was a Qualy of hell for Mercedes. Lewis's car's back tire flew out into the air before bouncing on a safety barrier at speed, almost hitting him back. Plus, George's car ended up in the gravel after losing power.

In contrast, Williams did great. Mick was one with the car, achieving the day's fastest lap.

—Feeling better, sweetie? —you ask Lewis with honest concern, after seeing the incident unfold and how he made it out of the car really distraught.

Although you must admit that even though that whole thing wasn't funny, the memes were pure gold, so you texted Toto your pick: the one where the tire hit the space station with a photoshopped explosion, the one with Lewis's face photoshopped on a baseball player hitting a home run, but instead of the ball it was the tire and your favorite, the one with photoshopped Toto, Lewis, and George riding the tire to the sky.

—Yeah. I'm good. A positive mindset always helps, thanks.

—I think I just saw you kicking, crying, and screaming in the bathroom, Mr. Positive Mind Set —Sam joins the conversation, teasing him.

—HA HA

—So, what's the plan for tonight-A? —she asks.

—Noone human says tonight like that. Not even Michael Jackson on drugs —you tell Sam.

—We are in Miami, chica! Aren't we clubbing?! —she replies.

—Are you high?

—I will if we go out...

—You realize we are here for work, right? —Lewis asks her.

—Like we haven't done it before. What's the worst that could happen? Toto finding out? You losing the race? Toto, finding out you lost the race because you went out clubbing with us?

—Yes! —you all answer at the same time. —To all of that —you add.

—Well, not if Toto comes with us...

Lewis starts laughing like a madman. —Sam, are you suggesting convincing Toto to go clubbing with us the night before the race so he doesn't get mad if he finds out we went clubbing?

—I got lost, mate —George arrives, earing that last part, trying to figure out what the hell.

—Well, I'll not be convincing him. Y/N is.

—ME?!

—If you really love me, you will —Sam pushes you toward the Mercedes' motorhome.

Gaslighting a bit much?

-

How am I supposed to do this? I'm going to sound so unprofessional. Although, technically, you two went out pub-ing?? and got drunk the night before the race in Australia. Okay, that made-up word sounds terrible; let's never use it again, so there may be a slight chance to relive that.

At least you needed to practice your words before going in there since "Hi, Toto, wanna go clubbing?" wasn't an option but destiny was a bitch; you two crossed paths before you had the opportunity to rehearse. Toto was on his way back to his office; he left his badge access on his desk. He seemed surprised to see you there; you were far away from the Williams' grounds. So you are forced to improvise.

—Are you looking for Sam?

—No, not really, not this time.

—Oh. Niki?

—Nope.

—Lewis?

—You.

Toto was now standing right before you with his hands in his pockets, all tall and handsome. You liked him even more when he wore his reading glasses.

You start a bit shy; Toto has a powerful presence. —I heard Miami has excellent places, and because last time I made you join me for that awful dining experience, I thought maybe we could go out and have a good time but in a better establishment.

—Tonight?

He sounds slightly judgy. You go on: —I was talking with the guys, and they mentioned "Floyd." It sounds great...

—The guys?

—Sam and Lewis, and George...

—Ooh, they sent you? Sam!

Oh boy.

—The cocktails sound goo...

—I'm not taking my drivers drinking or to a nightclub before the race or allowing it. It's ridiculous —Toto interrupts you again.

You look at him, now slightly nervous and bummed out.

—None of us is going; it's not happening —Toto adds firmly.

Yeah... He was a pro at the top of his game. Of course, he cared about discipline, mindsets, and winning races and titles; what were you thinking?!

You nod apologetically. Your eyes look a bit sad, well, because... You don't need to explain why. Just start turning around to head back and tell them the news.

—Wait! We could go to "Basement", which has a bowling alley and a DJ. But no drinking! Not even a drop for anyone; we must return to the hotel at a reasonable hour. Do you like that? That makes you happy?

—Sounds perfect to me —your smile is big and bright. Did Toto change his mind to please me?

-

To make things even, you end up bringing Millie and Mick. You wanted to make clear you weren't playing unfair tactics with your opponents. You earnestly desired to spend a good time with the people you began to care about.

The place was all for yourselves. It was a club slash bowling alley with colorful neon lights reflecting on the lanes, varying intensities and colors to the DJ's beats. It was a dope place.

Lewis invites Seb. They two took bowling seriously and had a years-long competition. They show you a list of their scores on Lewis's iPhone going back to the dark ages.

Bono also shows up, and Carlos and Lando, too, God knows how.

Lando starts stretching right in front of you, warming up, and making eye contact with you while doing his poses in a bit too sexual and exaggerated way. Samanta and you start laughing at him for acting all idiot. You two sit on the bowling benches while drinking Coke and eating popcorn.

—Every group needs a slut —you tell Lando.

—I don't think you are impressing her, man —Carlos joins, watching the spectacle, on his feet.

—It reminds me of when little children warm up before jumping into the pool —you kill Lando with your words.

—You have never seen legs like this —he tells you, overconfident. All of you laugh. —But, I will fight for your heart, malady. Is there another knight brave enough to face me in a bowling fight to the death?

—But what's the prize?! —Seb screams across all lanes.

—A NIGHT with the princess —Lando claims.

—Keep dreaming, sweetie —you reply.

—A KISS from the princess —he backtracks.

—Fine! Everyone, write your names here! —Sam takes a Post-it and a pen out of her purse - an assistant's habit - and passes them around.

—WHAT?! What are you doing?

Sam starts folding the papers and mixing them up. —The council calls Sir Hamilton to the pit!! Please choose your horse and weapon for the fight (lane and bowling ball) —Sam reads Lewis's name from the paper she picks up, and then she selects another one. —Warrior Dobrev to the fight! —cheers are heard, and Mick and Carlos pat Millie on the arm and back; Vettel massages her shoulders when she stands by her approach area. —Knight Wolff to the pit! And last but not least, Warrior Bonnington, too! —there were only five lanes. —You all brave souls are to fight buffoon Norris for a kiss of the Lady. Lord Vettel and I will oversee the combat.

—Hey! —Lando complains, pouting. Then, George starts motivating him, and they start making stupid grunts and jumps before the bowling round begins.

—The battle commences now! —Sam calls.

—You really need to stop watching House of the Dragon —you tell her.

—It's official: Bono is the worst player I have seen —Vettel interrupts, watching Bono be the first to get disqualified. —Is it okay if I leave you a second? If I don't go and bother Lewis every time to time, I get anxious —Sebastian sweetly tells you.

—Go, honey —You pat his hand and let him go. You two were watching the competition unfold together.

Lando, Lewis, and Toto were really good at it, but Millie was in a league of her own.

—How can someone so tiny have such a steady grip? —Lewis tells her she was in the lane next to his.

—Lew, I gladly would share with you all my secrets if I wasn't determined to win this —Millie replies.

—So you really want to kiss her? —he is curious, and a little smile forms on his lips.

—Look at Y/N, I wouldn't mind, but I don't want to. I think all five of us here hate losing... or love winning. Well, except for Lando, I believe he truly wants to kiss her.

"Not just him," Lewis thinks, looking in Toto's direction. After years of being teammates, he could read him like a book. It isn't just Sussie who has him shifting moods. Since you appeared, Toto began to act all weird. When Lewis noticed the looks you both exchanged, everything made sense to him.

And another fantastic strike from Lando.

Millie was almost right. Lewis loves winning and hates losing, but not when friends or feelings are in the middle. A lesson Sebastian taught him. So Lewis prepares and throws the worst shot he has ever made. His bowling ball bounces, hits the gutters, and invades the next lane, instantly disqualifying him.

Hisses and laughs fill the room. Lewis turns around, shrugs, smiles, and goes to take a seat. A minute later, he feels a thumb rubs his neck, caressing it. —Sir Hamilton, my good Sir, you sure are an honorable and respectable fellow —Sebastian tells him with his best Shakespearean voice.

—Stop talking like that, please.

—It doesn't please you how this low-grade peasant talks, good Sir?

The face Lewis gives him is priceless. Vettel laughs, and Lewis slides closer to him on the bench.

A loud "AAARGGH" comes from Lando as he dramatically throws himself to the floor. Wooff, what an awful shot.

—Luck next time, Lando! —Sam teases him as Carlos and George pass by, carrying him to the benches, one grabbing him by the legs and the other by the arms. Out of the competition, he was.

Now, it was a Dobrev vs. Wolff clash.

—Make our house name proud, niece! —Sam yells at her.

—You are having too much fun, aren't you? —you tell her.

—Sorry —Sam covers her face with her hands, monkey emoji-like. —Your knight made it to the final. Good for you, girl, but Millie is ruthless, so...

—I know! I can't watch any more. I'm too nervous! I feel like I will puke if Toto wins or if he loses.

—...she misses.

—WHAT?!

Okay, okay, this wasn't happening. Oh God. Sam turns to you and gives you a smile The Grinch will envy.

—Knight Wolff wins the battle! And takes the princess! —Sam announces. You shoot her a dead glare. —...'s kiss

Cheers are heard. Then everyone gets on their feet and starts chatting and bowling. Laughs and mocktails fill the room.

You pass Lando, still lying on the bench, on your way to get a drink. Now you need tequila in your system. —Oh, I'm so wounded! Only a kiss on the lips would heal me —he tries, offering his arms to you. The kid has the material to be an actor.

—Carlos!! Lando needs you!! —you joke back in answer, smiling at him. Lando gets on his feet in less than a second. —All good, I feel better! —he tells you, chuckling.

Toto is there when you reach the bar, sipping a whiskey on the rocks. —Not a drop of alcohol, you said? —you mock him.

—And you are here to ask for a Coke, right? —he teases you.

—A Paloma, please —you ask the bartender. —You could be a professional bowling player —Please let that become a meme, you think, and an image of a Toto in a complete bowling outfit surrounded by a group of senior citizens with white hair comes to mind.

—You picture it; that's why you are smiling.

—Nooo...

He arches an eyebrow.

—Fine. I admit it! —you sit on the bar stool next to him and rest an elbow on the bar counter, smiling like an idiot and gazing at Toto until he notices it and gets on his feet. 

—I haven't seen you play, let's go! —he tells you.

—Oh, if this really were the old ages and it was me who had to fight for your hand, consider yourself single for the rest of your life...

-

You all arrive together at the hotel and walk inside the lobby, making a lot of noise.

—Shuusshh!! Zack doesn't know I'm not in my room! —Lando whispers, looking around.

—Sure, he is hiding behind that plant, Lando. That old fart is so fucking asleep in his bed, mate! Calm down! —Vettel adds.

—Hey! You haven't kissed Toto yet —Lewis recalls and addresses you.

—Right! Give him his prize! —Mick adds.

You feel your cheeks turning red. —Are you all going to stare and make it all weird?

—YES! —everyone answers.

—You guys suck! —you complain, pretending to be annoyed at them.

—Not as much as I would like to. WHO SAID THAT?! —Millie dirty jokes, looking around.

—Millie Alexandria Dobrev! —Sam shouts, shocked. —I can't believe you...

Between giggles and two Croatians fighting in the background, you kiss Toto for the first time.

With your left hand, wrap Toto's bicep and rest your right on his chest as you reach his lips on your tiptoes. The kiss is brief, delicate, more like a brush of lips, but it is enough to make the butterflies in your stomach go wild and to still be on cloud nine when you reach your room.

-

Monaco

You were so excited to be officially living in Monaco. It was your first week there, and you had never lived on your own before. And since Sam also resided there, you spent lots of time together. You two were enjoying the break and touring the city around.

Miami went terrific, and that kiss still made rounds on your head.

Sam and you were walking in the area close to your new place when you turned the corner and were greeted by this scene: A furious Monegasque girl screaming at the top of her lungs in French words that did not sound nice at all and throwing objects out the window while a man on the street was trying to picking them up and reason with said girl. Some people were staring, and others were rushing to pass by.

—Is that Charles?! —Samanta asks you, stunned, pointing to the guy crouched and picking up what looked like a pair of Jordan's.

Yeah, that was Charles Leclerc. You two look at each other concerned and rush to help.

—Hi —Sam shouts among the screams in French.

—Oh, hey, Sam —Charles looks pretty embarrassed.

You quickly offer him the almost empty tote bag you were carrying and speed walk to grab an open, worn-out cardboard box from the greengrocery next door. The three of you start getting his things inside while avoiding getting hit by the last objects thrown out.

—Thank you —he says to you. —My girlfriend went mental.

All of you hear a loud bang and look up; she shuts the windows dramatically. "More like ex-girlfriend now" you think.

—Merde —you hear Charles say. —My keys and wallet are inside there, fuck!

You can't avoid feeling bad for the guy. He looks so done with life right now.

—Ahm, Charles, if you want to join us, we are grabbing lunch. We can grab some cocktails, too; I'll treat you guys. You seem in desperate need of alcohol and a chat.

—You're right, I need alcohol, thank you. I would love to.

The three of you walk your way to a restaurant Charles loves. It was pricey, but you agreed to let him pick the place since you were spoiling him and trying to lift his spirits.

—Huff, why are all the streets in Monaco inclined? —you complain after climbing the fourth hundred stairs of the day. —On the bright side, tho, I just need to live here to skip leg day at the gym.

Charles laughs. That's good!

The face the hostess makes when you three arrive and place the second-hand cardboard box with Charles's things on the fancy counter - clothes, some books, sneakers, a Funko Pop of Charles himself for some reason, and what looks like Xbox controllers, a man's most prized possession - makes it worth it almost losing your legs to get there.

—Good evening. Table for three? Right this way. Terrace, as usual, Mr. Leclerc? —she asks.

—Yes, please.

You are led to your table. It was a sea-inspired high-cuisine restaurant. The ceiling of the place had a breathtaking art installation: A whale made from bamboo wind chimes. —The waiter is on his way; here is the food and mixology carte —she offers you. It takes you a long time to read the entire selection.

—Ask for whatever you guys want; the check is on me. Don't hold back —you offer them.

—Great, then! It would be two spritzes instead of one, please! —Sam gestures with her fingers at the waiter, who is already taking your order. Sam seems so happy and excited; for someone who grew up that rich, she loves getting stuff for free.

—I would like a Tequila and Tonic with two tequila shots, please —you finally choose.

—A margarita and two shots of tequila for me. To start —Charles orders.

The drinks arrive quickly. At the same time, you hear everything about Charles' toxic relationship, giving him the space to spit it all out; as more alcohol makes it to the table, the more details you get.

After a good couple of hours of free therapy, high cuisine, drinks, relationship advice, and tragic love stories, it got dark.

—Well, it was a damn good chat! I'm glad we were able to help you, my friend. But we better go —Sam says to Charles. —I'm walking you back to your place —she addresses you. —I have to wake up early tomorrow. Toto wants me to join the Mercedes' Zoom call at 7 a.m., and I don't want to see his annoying, angry face at me.

The thought of an angry Toto makes you bite hard the tiny chocolate cake you are eating as dessert.

—Oh, no worries! It's just all the way down the street; I will get there without problems —you say while savoring the remains of your cake.

—Are you sure? —She inquires. You forgot how protective of you Samanta was, even if she was younger than you.

—Yeah, go, go. It's never a good idea to make an Austrian guy angry —You joke.

Charles choked on his drink, laughing. —Sweet Lord.

Sam giggles, hugs you two goodbye and waits for her Uber.

—It's late, I'll walk you. There are plenty of good hotels near your building and the marina; since I'm not going home, I need to book a room —Charles mentions.

—If you don't mind, you can crash at my place; there's not much furniture yet, but you are welcome to stay —you tell Charles. He seems relieved.

Charles sees what you meant with "not much" - just a small table with no chairs, one kitchen counter stool, a mattress in the bedroom, another on the living room floor, and some boxes, making the place look way bigger - as you two enter your apartment.

—I just got the keys —you excuse yourself.

—Oh wow, this view reminds me of my grandparents' apartment view from growing up —He reaches the balcony fast. —Oh, look, you can see the old side of Monaco from here! Good memories! —He ignores your comment, not caring much about the furniture or decor.

He seems in a better mood than before.

—Well, let me know if you need anything. Sleep well! —you say, on your way to your bedroom.

—Thank you, good night!

You hear noises outside your bedroom's open doors a few minutes later. Charles moves his mattress nearer the plug on the wall and connects the charger you lent him to his phone. With that change in the arrangement, you are both placed facing each other in different rooms and with distance in between.

Since none of you seemed able to fall asleep that night, you better keep chatting, each of you resting your back against the wall, relaxing, and him crossing his arms behind his head.

—So you are besties with Sam?

—Yes, she was one of the first people I met when I arrived in Belgium —you answer and look out of your bedroom's massive floor-to-ceiling window to the beautiful sea and the tiny-looking lights of Monaco. He stays silent, waiting for you to continue.

—So, how was growing up here? —You ask him and were sincerely curious but also want to switch the subject of conversation from you to him.

He tells many anecdotes of his childhood and buzz about some of the high society Monegasque families. He seems to enjoy gossip, and you are here for it.

Until you feel your eyes shutting down and fall asleep with the sound of his voice.

-

Two weeks later, Charles was still staying at your place; there was no furniture yet, however. By the third week, you arrive home, and all of Charles' things are filling the space. He moved "his bed" to one of the guest bedrooms and packed the living room with boxes. His piano starts serving you two at your dining "table." You always ate there, sitting, standing, taking turns: breakfast, Charles, lunch, you, etc.

He is just one box away from officially becoming your roommate. Of course, you don't mind. After many years of feeling alone, you desperately needed a friend and its company.

Charles' wireless speaker is the most significant addition to the apartment; it was never turned off, both of you being obsessive music maniacs, constantly introducing new music and artists to each other.

It is your turn to pick a song, and you want to lift the spirits while unpacking boxes and arranging things, so you turn the volume all up and hit play. Bad Bunny's "Yo perreo sola" started blasting.

You start singing and dancing to the beat, shaking it, and then Charles joins you in the chorus, singing the lyrics perfectly and throwing some great dance moves. You two start twerking.

—You know this song? Wait, you speak Spanish?! —you ask loudly, almost screaming. The music is so loud.

—My mom is Colombian. Didn't I mention that? My dad is the Monegasque one. I know my reggaeton and merengues by heart —he screams back. —I know all the good clubs in the city with this type of music, we should go and dance our asses off.

—Oh, for sure we are!

Another level of friendship is unlocked.

-

The three of you are inseparable. It is the weekend, and Charles took you and Sam on his boat sailing to an excellent spot to take a swim. Coronas, good music, sun, and fresh water fill your day.

You came up with a competition to see who jumped out of the boat the funniest way because you three were dumb. Charles wins by jumping and agitating his arms and legs like an old cartoon falling or very Gaga at the Super Bowl. Your stomach hurts from laughing, and your face from smiling.

After that, you all lay flat on your stomachs like iguanas under the sun, getting tan atop the boat; you don't remember a day nearby when you felt so happy. You felt at home with those two by your side.

-

It was around 4 a.m. and pitch black when Charles was suddenly awakened by sorrowful sounds coming from your bedroom.

He rushes and quickly opens the door, not caring to knock. He finds you crying, curled in your bed; you look like a total mess with red eyes, messy hair, and softly shaking, and Charles reacts like a headless chicken, pacing frantically around the room before getting to his senses and starting supporting a very troubled you.

—I got an idea that could help you feel better! —he tells you.

—Yeah?

—You trust me?

You nod.

—Let's go! —he offers you his hand and leads you out.

You take the lift to the basement parking lot, where Charles' Ferrari is all poorly and crocked parked outside lines of your apartment's parking spaces - that man was a great driver but terrible at parking - next to it is his powerful Ducati Panigale black motorbike is waiting for you.

Soon, you two are on his bike, crossing the streets of Monaco at full speed. Getting further away from the city and into the road. You tightly wrap your arms around him as he tells you you are entering the highway, and he begins to speed, pushing the bike's engine.

You could feel the fresh nightly ocean breeze hitting your body and entering your pores, every time more violently as you moved and Charles kept speeding up. You could see the full moon reflecting on the ocean waters. It was a clear night, with no stars in sight.

You love the rush and adrenaline of this speed ride. Charles speeds even more, and you hear the violent roar of the motor, the bike reaching its maximum. Then, in that brief moment, you get why all drivers are passionate about F1. Now you get it. Your sad tears become happy ones. You have never experienced something like this before, and it makes you feel so alive. The air feels so cold and harsh at the speed you are going that you almost feel it cutting your skin. It is a sensational feeling.

Charles then starts to slow down till he parks the bike and turns the engine off, helping you get on your feet, and you two lay on the grass after arriving at the destination.

—What a view! —you let out. The two of you are far away from the city, and you can see Monaco at the distance from the cliff you are on top of.

—This is my secret spot. I have been coming here since I was young when I felt I needed to clear my mind or wanted to escape everything. This view humbles you and calms you down at the same time —Charles confesses.

—Thanks for sharing it with me —you say to him, extremely grateful.

—It's the least I can do.

You can hear the waves hitting the cliff rock below you, and you admire the infinite ocean in front of you. The two of you sat there for a long time.

—Whenever you feel ready to talk about it. To open up about your past, who you are, or why you cried tonight, I will be here to listen —Charles offers you, breaking the comfortable silence. He is a kind and sweet person, a good person. And you aren't used to that.

He places his hand on top of yours just briefly, and you feel so happy to have a friend, to have him, no love feelings, no desire in between, just genuine friendship and honest support. 

He deserves the truth, and you want to let him know, but you are afraid of the repercussions. You don't want to get judged or, worse, to lose him.

-

Charles has been paying attention to you these past weeks and has noticed how you avoid or change subjects whenever your past or private life gets mentioned.

Every day that passes, he gets to know you more. It is just a matter of time before the truth comes out.

To be continued... < Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter >

[komotionlessqueenmm]

Imagine # 879

Gif NOT mine.

If this gif is yours (or you know who's it is) please let me know, so I can give you/them credit.

Gif credit goes to - @topherfoxtrot (Unless told otherwise.)

Year posted - 2021