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mrsfancyferrari · 3 months ago

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Marriage of Convenience

Summary: Lewis has to get married to you for a year for his engagement in Ferrari. Who knew how much he would get sucked into your life…. pt 1

Song: Heartless · The Weeknd

Author’s note: Hey guys! I saw some tiktok that was about tropes with F1 drivers and Lewis's one was marriage of convenience. It has stuck with me ever since! I'll be using some real results from the races so it will not always be updated every week! Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 18.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

Lewis Hamilton, the illustrious Formula One champion, stood in the opulent office of his PR manager, the walls adorned with gleaming trophies and framed newspaper articles detailing his meteoric rise in the racing world.

The sun cast a warm glow through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the room in a hue of gold that matched the luxury that surrounded him.

Yet, the warmth did little to dispel the chill that had settled in his stomach at the mention of the words "marriage of convenience."

"But why now?" he pressed, his voice laced with a hint of desperation. "I've been single for years, and it's never been an issue."

His PR manager, a sharp-witted woman named Elena, leaned back in her chair, her fingers steepled under her chin.

She wore a smile that was both empathetic and firm, as if she knew this was a battle she'd already won.

"Lewis, my dear," she began, her British accent crisp and professional, "the rumors have been swirling like a tornado around a trailer park. Your personal life is becoming a distraction, and your competitors are using it to their advantage. A whirlwind romance, a quick 'I do,' and voilà, you're the settled, mature, and dedicated racer that everyone adores."

Lewis sighed, running a hand through his close-cropped hair. "Fine," he conceded with a begrudging nod. "But you're finding someone who understands this is all for show, right? No strings attached, no messy feelings."

Elena's smile grew wider, a knowing glint in her eye. "Leave that to me," she said. "I have the perfect candidate in mind."

"Her name is Y/N," Elena began, sliding a sleek manila folder across her desk. "She's a model and an influencer with a taste for fast cars and an even faster lifestyle."

She opened the folder to reveal a photograph of a breathtaking black woman with goddess braids that cascaded down her back like a midnight waterfall.

Her almond-shaped eyes sparkled with intelligence and a hint of mischief, her full lips curving into a smile that could make the sternest of hearts flutter. "Y/N understands the business, and she's more than capable of playing her part. She's signed an NDA that would make Fort Knox look like a suggestion box."

Lewis studied the photo, his heart racing slightly at the thought of being married, even if it was just for show. He wasn't a stranger to beautiful women, but this was different—this was a strategic move, a chess piece in the grand game of his career.

He cleared his throat, trying to push aside the butterflies. "Alright, let's get this over with. When do I meet her?"

Elena's smile remained unwavering. "Tomorrow night, I've set up a dinner meeting at Le Château de Lumières. It's the most romantic spot in the city, perfect for a first date that'll look like it was plucked from a fairytale."

Lewis nodded, his throat suddenly dry. "Fine," he murmured, his eyes still lingering on the picture. "But what happens after the season ends?"

Elena leaned in closer, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "Then, my dear Lewis, we orchestrate a spectacularly tragic fallout. Something dramatic, but not scandalous—perhaps you're both too busy with your careers, or you realized you were better off as friends. The public will eat it up, and you'll be free to pursue whatever—or whoever—you wish afterward."

He nodded, trying to calm down the tornado of emotions swirling inside him. Marriage, even a fake one, was a concept he'd never truly considered.

The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on his shoulders, but he knew he had to trust Elena.

She had a knack for spinning his life into gold, and if this was what she deemed necessary for his career to continue shining, then he'd have to go along with it.

Elena slid the folder back to him with a knowing smirk. "You can have the file if you want to admire her more," she teased, her fingertips brushing against the glossy surface of the photo. "Her numbers are in it, of course."

Lewis grumbled something unintelligible under his breath before snatching it and walking out of the office, his mind racing with a mix of apprehension and intrigue.

The folder felt heavier than it should have, as if it contained the weight of his future rather than just a few pieces of paper and a photo.

He knew the drill—fake relationships had been part of his public persona before, but marriage was a whole new level of commitment, even if it was just for show.

"Remember to study her likes and hobbies, you might find something in common," Elena yelled from the office. He couldn't help but smirk at her enthusiasm—it was infectious. He knew she had his back, and that was all that mattered.

Back in his penthouse, Lewis found himself staring at the folder on his coffee table, Y/N's mesmerizing eyes peeking out from the photograph.

He decided to take Elena's advice, eager to find common ground with his soon-to-be fake wife. As he scanned through the pages detailing her life, he found himself genuinely intrigued.

Her love for fast cars, her charity work, and her penchant for extreme sports mirrored his own passions.

Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad after all.

With a sigh of resignation, he pulled out his phone and searched for her social media profiles. He told himself he was only interested in her fashion sense, but as he scrolled through her feed, he couldn't help but admire her beauty.

Each picture was a masterpiece of angles and lighting, showcasing not only her impeccable style but also the way she carried herself with an air of confidence and grace.

Her figure was a symphony of curves, each one highlighted by the designer garments she modeled. But he was a man of integrity, so he focused solely on her outfits, nodding in approval at her exquisite taste in luxury brands.

He noticed her love for racing reflected in some of her captions, with shots at various Formula One tracks around the globe. It was clear that she had an appreciation for the sport that went beyond the glamour.

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"Fans would definitely believe this," he murmured to himself, his thumb hovering over the screen.

They both shared a love for speed and the thrill of the chase—both on and off the track.

With a sigh, he set his phone aside and rolled onto his back, his thoughts racing faster than his cars ever could. The reality of the situation was setting in: he was about to embark on a season-long charade with a woman he had never even met. His stomach churned with a mix of anxiety and anticipation.

As he lay there, the sound of a bark pierced the silence, jolting him out of his contemplative haze. Quick footsteps approached, and before he could react, Roscoe's furry face poked into the doorway. The bulldog's eyes sparkled with curiosity, his tail wagging enthusiastically.

"Did you have a good nap, Roscoe?" Lewis asked, his voice thick with affection. The dog's response was a series of eager growls and sniffs as he trotted over to his dad, his paws thumping rhythmically against the hardwood floor.

Lewis chuckled and sat up, his six-pack abs rippling as he did so. He reached out and scratched behind Roscoe's ear, the dog's eyes closing in bliss. The simple act of bonding with his pet helped to ease the tension that had been building in his chest.

"Alright, buddy," he said, standing and stretching. The fabric of his sweatpants outlined the firm muscles of his thighs and the curve of his ass, evidence of countless hours spent in the gym and behind the wheel. "Tomorrow is a special day, so you better be on your best behavior. You're about to meet the woman who's going to be my fake wife and your fake mom for the season."

Roscoe cocked his head to the side, as if he understood the gravity of the situation. Lewis couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all—his burly bulldog playing step-son to a supermodel for the sake of his image. He stood up and padded over to the windows, his bare feet sinking into the plush carpet, the coolness a stark contrast to the warmth of the day outside.

He looked out over the bustling city, the setting sun casting a fiery glow across the horizon. It was a stark reminder of the race he'd run in the morning, the thrill of the wind in his face and the roar of the engine still echoing in his ears.

Tomorrow would be a different kind of race altogether—a race to win over the hearts of his fans, to keep the sponsors happy, and to maintain the facade of a perfect life. But as he felt the comforting weight of Roscoe's head on his leg, he realized that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be so bad to have a partner in this charade.

"Come on, let's get you a treat," Lewis said, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to resonate through the room. He walked to the kitchen, the dog's nails clicking against the floor as he followed. The sleek chrome and marble surfaces gleamed under the pendant lights, a stark contrast to the warm, lived-in feel of the living room.

Lewis grabbed a treat from the jar on the counter and tossed it to Roscoe, who caught it with surprising grace for his bulk. "You're going to need to charm her, buddy. Maybe even more than you charm the judges at those dog shows."

The bulldog's eyes lit up, and he trotted over to his bed, the treat forgotten as he began to perform a series of clumsy, yet earnest tricks.

Lewis couldn't help but laugh as he watched Roscoe's antics. "I think she'll love you," he said, his voice filled with affection. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves. We're both just actors in this little play."

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"Y/N, repeat what you just said," your mother repeated, looking utterly perplexed, her perfectly manicured hand hovering over the delicate china teacup as if it were a lifeline to sanity.

"I signed a contract to 'marry' Lewis Hamilton for a year," you announced with the casual air of someone discussing a weekend getaway, a smug smile playing on your lips as you watched the shock ripple through her impeccably made-up visage.

"The Lewis Hamilton?" she queried, her eyes narrowing to slits as she tried to process the ludicrous information you'd just served up like a hot slice of gossip at a high society luncheon.

"Yes, Mother," you drawled, not bothering to look up from your phone as you swiped through the latest collection of designer shoes. "The very one who races cars and breaks hearts for a living. But don't worry, this is strictly business."

Her silence was palpable, thick enough to slice with a knife. You could almost see the cogs whirring in her head, trying to piece together this unexpected jigsaw puzzle of your life.

Finally, she found her voice, "Why on earth would you agree to such a… such a… frivolous arrangement?"

"To boost our engagement," you said, enunciating each word with the precision of a seasoned politician, raising your gaze to meet hers. "It's a win-win, really. His fanbase goes through the roof, and I get to live like a queen for a year. Plus, think of the networking opportunities!"

"But your reputation," she gasped, setting the teacup down with a clink that sounded like a death knell for your social standing.

You rolled your eyes, "Mother, it's all just for show. And it's not like we're actually going to be doing the whole marriage thing. We're just going to pretend."

Her sigh was one of resignation, tinged with a hint of disappointment. "I just hope you know what you're getting into," she murmured, her eyes searching yours for a glimmer of doubt.

"Trust me, I've got it all figured out," you assured her, your voice a blend of confidence and nonchalance that would make any business mogul proud. "Now, if you wouldn't mind, I need to go pick out a wedding dress. The press will be all over this, and I can't disappoint them with a lackluster wardrobe."

Your mother's expression was a masterclass in poise under pressure. "Very well," she conceded. "Send me the pictures. I'll handle the social media side of things."

You leaned in to kiss her cheek, the scent of her expensive perfume lingering as you pulled away. "Thanks, Mother," you said with a wink. "I knew you'd understand."

As you sailed out of the room, her voice followed you like a soft breeze. "Just remember, darling," she called after you, "keep your emotions out of it. You're playing a role, nothing more."

Your heart thudded in your chest, a delicious mix of excitement and trepidation. You had signed up for a year of make-believe with the world's most desired man, and you had no intention of letting reality spoil the fantasy.

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The velvet leash grew taut as Lewis tugged it gently, urging the bulldog, Roscoe, to follow him through the dimly-lit corridor. The dog's jowls swayed with each reluctant step, a silent protest to the indignity of being tethered like a mere accessory.

Despite his displeasure, Roscoe's curiosity about the evening's events remained piqued. The whisper of fabric against fabric grew louder as they approached the private dining room, where the scent of fine cuisine wafted through the air.

"Come on, Roscoe, you have to meet her too," Lewis murmured, his voice a blend of excitement and nerves.

The restaurant's peculiar policy of leashing dogs seemed almost comical in the grand scheme of the evening, yet it was a small price to pay for the exclusivity of the venue.

The walls of the corridor were adorned with paintings of pastoral scenes, a stark contrast to the urban jungle outside.

Upon entering the room, a soft glow from the candles on the table cast a warm embrace around the figure of a woman who was more than just beautiful—she was an embodiment of elegance.

Her eyes sparkled like the diamond necklace that hung delicately around her neck, and her smile was as radiant as the polished silverware that lay before her.

As they drew closer, the air grew thick with anticipation, charged with the electricity of new beginnings and the thrill of the unknown.

Y/N's gaze fell upon the unusual duo—Lewis, the charming billionaire, and Roscoe, the leashed bulldog. Her eyes narrowed playfully as she took in the scene.

She knew that this was not a typical dinner date, and that was precisely what made it so alluring.

"Well, hello, Mr. Hamilton," she purred, her voice a velvet caress that seemed to resonate through the very air. "I'm surprised you didn't bring your entire zoo."

Lewis chuckled, his grip on the leash loosening as he felt the tension in the room dissipate.

"Ms. Y/N, I assure you, this is a very special occasion. Besides, I thought you'd appreciate the company of my best man here."

Her smile grew, a knowing twinkle in her eye. "Best man, huh?" she said, standing up with the grace of a gazelle. "I see you've got a sense of humor, Mr. Hamilton."

Roscoe, feeling the shift in the room, allowed his tail to wag slightly, his earlier annoyance forgotten as he caught the scent of her perfume.

It was a sweet, intoxicating blend of jasmine and vanilla that seemed to speak of exotic lands and passionate nights.

"And who's this handsome boy?" she cooed, leaning down to address Roscoe. The bulldog, ever eager for affection, leaned into her touch, his eyes closing in pleasure.

"Ah, this is Roscoe," Lewis said with a touch of pride. "He's a bit of a diva, but I assure you, he's quite well-behaved when properly motivated."

Y/N reached out to stroke the dog's head, her fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary, feeling the softness of his fur and the warmth of his body.

"Well, it seems I've got quite the welcoming committee," she said, straightening up to her full height and extending a hand to Lewis.

Their fingers met in a firm, yet delicate handshake, sending a thrill up his spine. Her touch was cool and smooth, like the finest silk, and it sent a jolt through his body that he hadn't felt in years.

"Lewis, please," he said, his voice a whisper. "I think we can dispense with the formalities."

Her hand remained in his, the warmth from their palms mingling, creating a current that seemed to pulse through the very air that surrounded them.

Y/N's eyes searched his, looking for a hint of what was to come, a promise of the evening's delights.

"Very well, Y/N," he murmured, the sound of his voice a caress that seemed to stroke her very soul. "Shall we sit?"

The three of them moved to the table, the leather chairs creaking softly as they settled into them. The table was set with fine china, the crystal glasses casting rainbows of light across the crisp, white linen.

A bottle of champagne chilled in an ice bucket, the promise of a celebration yet to unfold.

As they sat, Y/N couldn't help but feel a strange sense of déjà vu, as if she had been here before, with another man, under very different circumstances.

But this was no ordinary man, and this was certainly no ordinary dinner. The weight of the necklace grew heavier, a silent reminder of the deal she had struck.

The waiter, a young man with impeccable manners, approached with a silver tray laden with hors d'oeuvres. His eyes flickered briefly to the leash in Lewis's hand before he focused on the couple, his expression unchanged.

"Your usual, Mr. Hamilton?" he inquired.

"Yes, thank you, Freddie," Lewis replied, his gaze never leaving hers. "And for the lady?"

Y/N's eyes roved over the selection, her stomach fluttering with a mix of excitement and nerves. "Surprise me," she said with a smile.

The waiter nodded and deftly selected a few items before retreating, leaving them in the warm cocoon of the candlelit room.

The silence that followed was filled with the soft crackle of the candles and the distant clink of silverware on porcelain.

Lewis reached for the champagne bottle, his fingers sure and steady as he popped the cork with a flourish that sent a spray of bubbles into the air.

The sound was like a declaration of intent, a promise of the passion that was to come. He filled her glass, his eyes never leaving hers, and then his own.

"To new beginnings," he toasted, the crystal flutes clinking together like the ringing of wedding bells.

The bubbles danced in the golden liquid, a fizzy symphony of anticipation. Y/N took a sip, the cool liquid sliding down her throat with a tantalizing tickle that made her shiver.

She watched as Lewis did the same, his Adam's apple bobbing with the motion, a gesture she found inexplicably erotic.

"So, do you know more about this… arrangement," he asked, the word 'arrangement' rolling off his tongue like a secret shared between lovers.

"Yes, I do," she spoke politely, setting her glass down with a soft click. "We're supposed to take our wedding photos next week Thursday, but it can be changed if you like."

Her words hung in the air, a silent invitation for him to take the reins, to assert his dominance in this game of pretense they were playing.

He leaned back in his chair, stroking Roscoe's head as he contemplated her words. "I trust you have everything under control, then?"

Y/N's smile grew, a hint of mischief playing at the corners of her lips. "I always do."

"Excellent," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through her very core. "But there's something I need to discuss with you before we proceed."

Y/N's eyebrow arched slightly, a question lingering in her eyes. "And what might that be?"

Lewis took a deep breath, his gaze flicking to the dog for a brief moment before returning to her. "Do you mind if my dad comes with me?" he said, his voice a soft rumble. "He said this was the 'only' time he was going to see his son get married."

Surprise flitted across Y/N's features, but she quickly schooled her expression back to neutral. "Of course," she said, her tone even. "I would be happy to include your father in our…arrangement."

Lewis's eyes searched hers, looking for any sign of hesitation or mockery. Finding none, he nodded slowly.

"Thank you," he murmured, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders. "He's quite the character, but he means well."

Y/N's smile grew warmer, her eyes gleaming with understanding. "I'm sure he does," she said. "And I'm quite fond of characters myself."

"As long as my mother can come too," she said, her voice teasing.

Lewis's eyes widened, his grip on the champagne flute tightening for a brief second before he managed to compose himself.

"Your mother?" he repeated, his voice a mix of incredulity and amusement.

Y/N nodded, a wry smile playing on her lips. "Yes, my mother. She's quite the socialite, you know. She'll make sure the photos are absolutely perfect for the society pages."

Lewis's eyes searched hers, trying to discern if she was joking or if this was a genuine request. The thought of his stern, business-like father being a part of their staged nuptials was one thing, but the addition of her mother, a woman known for her sharp tongue and even sharper wit, was another matter entirely.

"Your mother, you say?" he repeated, his voice laced with a hint of apprehension. Y/N nodded, her smile unwavering, and took another sip of her champagne, her eyes never leaving his.

The bubbles danced on her tongue, a fizzy counterpart to the dance of emotions playing out before her.

Lewis's mind raced, trying to imagine the woman who had raised the enigmatic Y/N, who had agreed to this unorthodox union for the sake of his own ambition.

He could almost hear the whispers of her reputation, the tales of her social triumphs and the occasional scandal that had graced the pages of high society magazines.

"I see," he said finally, his tone measured. "And what does your mother think of… our arrangement?"

Y/N's laughter was like a chime of fine crystal, delicate and alluring. "Mother is quite thrilled," she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "She's always had a soft spot for a man who knows his worth and isn't afraid to show it."

Lewis couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease. Her mother's presence would add an unexpected dynamic to the already complex situation. But he knew better than to argue with a woman who could navigate the treacherous waters of high society with such ease.

"Very well," he conceded, his smile forced but genuine. "The more the merrier, I suppose."

The tension between them eased as they delved into their meals, the succulent flavors of their dishes a delightful distraction from the unspoken tension.

Roscoe, seemingly aware of the shift, settled at Lewis's feet, his snoring a gentle bass line to their conversation.

"Your mother is quite…known," Lewis said, choosing his words carefully. "What should I expect?"

Y/N's gaze grew distant as she thought of her mother. "Expect the unexpected," she replied with a knowing smile. "But she has a heart of gold beneath that tough exterior."

They ate in silence for a few moments, the weight of the unspoken contract hanging heavy in the air.

Finally, Y/N cleared her throat. “We should probably talk about…appearances. What’s the plan for things like…races?”

Lewis leaned back in his chair, pushing his plate away. "Right. Races. Well, the team and my management have a schedule in mind. They want us to be seen together at as many events as possible. It’s all about maximizing…visibility."

Y/N frowned slightly. “Visibility. Right. Well, my work is quite demanding, but I'll be able to attend at least 3 races at the start before my work starts again.”

Lewis seemed surprised. “Three? That’s…more than I expected, actually. Which races?”

“China, Japan, and Australia,” she replied. “I managed to clear my schedule for them. After that, it will be more difficult, but I can try to make a few here and there when I have more time.”

“Australia is a long way,” Lewis commented, more to himself than to her. “It’s a demanding circuit, and the jet lag is brutal.”

"I'm aware," Y/N said dryly. "I've traveled before."

He gave her a small, apologetic smile. “Of course. Sorry. It's just…it's a lot to ask you to be a part of this, especially knowing you have your own life and career.”

Y/N shrugged. "It is what it is. I agreed to it, didn't I?" she replied trying to stay formal.

Lewis nodded slowly. "Yes, you did. And I appreciate it. More than you know." He looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time that evening.

He saw a hint of apprehension in her eyes, but also a surprising strength. He wondered, fleetingly, what she really thought about all of this.

“So, Australia,” he continued, breaking the eye contact. “We’ll be traveling on different days, of course. Security and logistics are…complicated. But we’ll be staying at the same hotel. There will be a lot of press events, photo opportunities, things like that. My team will brief you on the details.”

Y/N resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Of course. I wouldn't want to deviate from the pre-approved narrative."

Lewis smirked, a genuine smile reaching his eyes for the first time. “You catch on quick. Look, I know this is all…surreal. And probably incredibly annoying. But I promise, I’ll try to make it as…bearable as possible. And I’ll try to be as respectful of your time and your life as I can.”

“I appreciate that, Lewis,” Y/N said, her voice softening slightly. “I’m not expecting this to be a fairytale, but I do expect us to treat each other with respect. We’re both professionals, and we should act like it.”

“Agreed,” Lewis replied, extending his hand across the table. "To professionalism."

Y/N hesitated for a moment before taking his hand. The contact was brief, but a faint spark seemed to pass between them.

It was nothing dramatic, just a subtle shift, a momentary acknowledgment of the strange and uncertain journey they were about to embark on together.

Lewis, observing Y/N stroking Roscoe, his bulldog, said, "So, what about dates?"

Y/N stopped mid-stroke, fixing him with a sharp glare. "Dates? Lewis, we're in a contractual agreement. This isn't real."

"What? I heard married couples still go on dates and we're going to be married soon," he retorted, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Y/N sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Fine. What are your hobbies so we can link them to it without making it too obvious that we're reading from a script?"

"Well, I like golfing, surfing, playing the piano…" he started, ticking them off on his fingers.

"Boring," Y/N teased, more out of habit than malice. Lewis didn't seem offended, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Okay, okay. What about you then? Give me something good to work with."

"Easy. Archery, animal riding, shooting…" she said casually, continuing to pet Roscoe.

"Shooting?" he repeated, thinking it was a joke. "Like…guns?"

"Yeah, shooting. I am one of the best shooters in my family," Y/N said matter-of-factly. Lewis looked genuinely shocked. "Guns? Really? You don't seem like a…gun person."

"Appearances can be deceiving," Y/N replied with a cryptic smile. "It's a family tradition. We've been competing in shooting competitions for generations. It's quite exhilarating, actually."

Lewis shook his head, seemingly trying to reconcile the image of the elegant, equestrian beauty with a crack shot. "Well, that's…unexpected. Maybe we could arrange a 'date' at a shooting range. Show the world a different side of you. Spice things up a bit."

Y/N considered this, a flicker of genuine interest in her eyes. “Perhaps. I haven’t been to the range in a while. I could certainly give you a lesson. Though I can’t promise you’ll be any good.”

Lewis laughed. "Challenge accepted. But you have to promise not to be too competitive. I'm a champion, you know."

"We'll see about that," Y/N said, a playful glint in her eyes.

The conversation drifted, covering details about their upcoming staged engagement party, the social media strategy, and the general rules of engagement (pun intended).

After an hour, they were both feeling the strain of the pretense. Roscoe, however, seemed to be thriving on the attention.

When they finally finished the catered lunch, Roscoe, true to form, woke up again, demanding belly rubs. It was time for Y/N to leave. Surprisingly, Lewis didn't want her to.

He found her sharp wit and unconventional hobbies intriguing.

"Do you need a ride home?" he asked, walking her to the grand entrance of the restaurant. The question felt surprisingly genuine, a departure from the carefully crafted facade.

"No, my friend is picking me up, thank you for the offer," she said.

They waited for a few minutes, a comfortable silence settling between them. The only sound was the gentle hum of the city in the distance. Then, a car pulled up and honked.

"That's her, I'll be going home now, bye Lewis," she said, her hand hovering for a moment before gently touching his arm.

The contact was brief, almost hesitant, but enough to send a strange flutter in his stomach. She then looked down, rubbing Roscoe's face, who was nestled in his arms. "Bye Roscoe, I'll see you soon,"

Then she walked down the opulent stairs, entered the waiting car, and with a final wave, she was gone, leaving Lewis standing alone in the doorway, Roscoe snoring softly in his arms.

That evening, Lewis found himself thinking about Y/N. He couldn’t deny she was interesting.

Far more interesting than the endless parade of socialites and models he usually surrounded himself with. . . .

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The roar of the Ferrari engine faded, replaced by a dull hum in Lewis' ears. He should have been focused on the intricacies of the new aerodynamic package the mechanics were painstakingly explaining.

Instead, his mind was a runaway train, careening toward a single, looming destination: Y/N.

He was getting 'married' to Y/N. For a year. The absurdity of it all still felt surreal, even after weeks of negotiations, contracts, and carefully crafted press releases. It was a business arrangement, pure and simple.

A calculated maneuver orchestrated by his management team to boost engagement, fan interaction, and ultimately, his brand. A fake marriage.

He hadn't even argued. His career was his everything. He'd poured his life, his soul, into racing. If this…stunt, this temporary charade, helped solidify his position, then he'd play the part.

But that didn’t stop the unsettling flutter in his stomach.

He only half-heard the mechanic's concluding remarks, a jumble of downforce percentages and drag coefficients. He mumbled a thank you, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips, and practically bolted from Maranello.

The image of Y/N in a wedding dress swam in his mind, a mirage both enticing and terrifying.

He gripped the steering wheel, pushing the car to its legal limit as he sped towards the Bridal Boutique. His own suit, a classic black tailored piece, was already sorted.

It had been his father’s, a detail that had felt strangely poignant amidst the manufactured romance.

Pulling up outside the boutique, he took a deep breath, trying to regulate his racing pulse. He stepped out of the car and headed inside, the tinkling of a bell announcing his arrival.

"Y/N's here," he announced to the receptionist, a woman with bright, friendly eyes. He felt a ridiculous need to justify his presence. "I'm…ah…Lewis Hamilton."

The receptionist's smile widened, a knowing glint in her eyes. "Ah, Mr. Hamilton! We've been expecting you. She's over there. You're a very lucky sir, she's very beautiful."

Lewis swallowed, feeling a lump form in his throat. He murmured a thank you and navigated through the maze of tulle and lace.

His gaze scanned the room, passing over blushing brides-to-be and their entourages, until he found her.

Y/N was standing on a raised platform, surrounded by fabric and mirrors. She was facing away from him, but even from this distance, he could see the curve of her neck, the way the light caught in her hair.

She was wearing a simple, elegant gown, ivory silk that cascaded to the floor.

The satin felt heavy against your skin, a stark contrast to the lightness you usually embraced. You stared at your reflection, a stranger in a sea of white lace and tulle. This wasn't you.

This wasn't the free-spirited, motorcycle-riding, target-shooting version of yourself that you carefully cultivated. This was… bridal.

And you were about to be a bride. For a year. To Lewis Hamilton, the racing prodigy whose reputation was as fast as his cars.

You swirled again, the dress billowing around you like a cloud. It was beautiful, objectively. Expensive, undoubtedly. But it felt like a costume, a character you were trying to embody but couldn't quite grasp.

Father would have loved it. Traditional, elegant, perfectly… safe. A sigh escaped your lips. Since when did you care about safe?

You had been trying on dresses for hours, each one more elaborate than the last. Each one failing to capture the essence of you. You knew Lewis was going to be late.

His team meetings always ran long, especially with the season going to be in full swing soon. He’d apologized profusely over the phone, his voice laced with a nervousness that mirrored your own.

You glanced at the clock on the wall. Still another hour to go. “Next!” you called out to the stylist, your voice echoing slightly in the opulent boutique.

You needed to get this over with before Lewis arrived. The thought of him seeing you in this parade of frills and lace sent a shiver down your spine.

Dress after dress, disappointment mounted. A mermaid gown that made you feel like you were suffocating. A ballgown that swallowed you whole. An A-line that was simply… boring. None of them felt right. None of them felt like you.

Standing before the mirror, you examined the latest contender – a strapless, heavily beaded monstrosity that sparkled under the chandelier light.

You looked like a disco ball. A very uncomfortable, very expensive disco ball.

“I can’t do this,” you muttered to yourself, the words barely audible. You had agreed to this arrangement – the fake marriage, the orchestrated photos, the carefully crafted narrative designed to boost Lewis’s public image.

You knew what you were signing up for. But seeing yourself in this getup, imagining walking down the aisle towards a man you barely knew, felt surreal.

He cleared his throat. "Y/N?"

You spun around, the heavy dress making the movement awkward. Lewis stood just inside the doorway, his shoulders filling the space.

The breath caught in his throat. The receptionist hadn't exaggerated. You were stunning. The dress, while beautiful, paled in comparison to your natural radiance. Your eyes, usually sparkling with playful mischief, were now tinged with a nervous apprehension that mirrored his own.

"Lewis," you said softly, your voice a low, melodic hum. "You made it."

He managed a weak smile. "Couldn't miss it. The… dress looks amazing on you."

"Thank you," you replied, your fingers nervously pleating the fabric. "Did… did you see your suit?"

"Yeah, it's… it's great. My father's. Which feels… I don't know, significant, somehow. Even though all of this..." He trailed off, gesturing awkwardly around the room.

"Is what it is," you finished for him, a hint of wry amusement in your voice. "A very public, very expensive, agreement."

The silence that followed hung heavy in the air, thick with unspoken anxieties and uncertainties. You both knew this wasn’t a real marriage.

It was a business transaction, a carefully calculated move to improve Lewis’s image and, let’s be honest, give your fledgling art career a boost. But standing here, in a bridal boutique, surrounded by the symbols of love and commitment, it felt… complicated.

"So," he said, trying to inject some levity into the situation, "are you ready to become Mrs. Hamilton for the next year?"

A small smile touched your lips. "As ready as I'll ever be. Just try not to crash the car on our wedding day, okay? Think of the engagement rates."

He chuckled, the sound easing some of the tension in his shoulders. "Wouldn’t dream of it. My driving is worth more than that." He paused, his gaze sweeping over you. "Is this the dress you're picking?"

You shook your head, the movement causing the beads to clatter softly. "I hate it. It doesn't represent me. It's… too much."

"Maybe your fiancé should pick one for you," one of your entourages said. You forgot they were even there. All this while they were sitting on the couch, probably bored out of their minds.

Lewis seemed surprised by the suggestion, but a playful glint appeared in his eyes. "Sure, I think I know your taste well." Before you could protest, he disappeared into the racks of dresses, a wide grin on his face.

"Don't pick something too girly!" you yelled after him, and you heard his laughter echo from behind a curtain.

You rolled your eyes and turned to your entourage, “I should have never let him do that.”

“But it’s too late now!”

Lewis emerged, holding a dress that was… surprisingly you. It was a sleek, ivory slip dress, with delicate lace detailing at the neckline and a subtle, almost imperceptible train. It was understated, elegant, and undeniably chic.

"Well?" he asked, holding it out. "Think this is more your style?"

You took the dress, running the silk through your fingers. "This is... perfect. How did you know?"

He shrugged, a self-deprecating smile on his face. "I've been paying attention. Besides, anything would be better than that monstrosity."

The fitting room suddenly felt smaller, the air thicker. You met his gaze, a silent acknowledgment passing between you. This was going to be a strange year, a year filled with pretense and performance.

But maybe, just maybe, there was a sliver of something real amidst the artifice.

"When I go change into this, why don't you go try on your father's suit?" you suggested, trying to break the unexpected tension.

Lewis's smile widened. "Good idea. I'll see you in a bit." He winked, and with that, he left the fitting room, leaving you alone with the dress and your increasingly complicated thoughts.

The ivory silk felt cool against your skin as you slipped the dress over your head. It fit perfectly, as if it had been made for you. You looked in the mirror, and for the first time since agreeing to this ridiculous scheme, you didn't feel like you were playing a part.

You felt… like yourself. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't be a complete disaster.

"Lewis? Are you there?" you asked hesitantly from behind the curtain.

"Yep, just waiting for my future wife to be revealed," he joked.

"Okay," you said shyly, feeling a blush creep up your neck.

You could hear the rustle of fabric and a muttered, "Alright, here we go." Then, with a dramatic flourish, the curtains were drawn open, revealing Lewis in a impeccably tailored suit.

It was classic, understated, and undeniably him. In his hands, he held a bouquet of bright yellow and blue flowers.

He stood there, momentarily speechless, his eyes fixed on you. The air crackled with an unspoken energy, a palpable tension that both thrilled and terrified you.

"Wow," he finally breathed, his voice a low rumble. "You look… incredible."

You felt your heart skip a beat. "You don't look too bad yourself."

He grinned, handing you the flowers. "Yellow and blue. They're your favorites, right?"

You took the bouquet, inhaling their sweet fragrance. "They are. Thank you."

"Right, we'll leave you alone to suck up the moment," the main entourage, Monica, announced, herding the rest of the entourage out of the room.

The door clicked shut, leaving you and Lewis alone in the opulent room. The weight of the situation settled heavily on your shoulders.

You walked towards the plush velvet sofa and sat down, the voluminous dress swallowing you whole.

"Where's Roscoe?" you asked, referring to Lewis’s beloved bulldog. "I miss him." You’d met Roscoe several times during the contract negotiations and found the wrinkly pup to be far more endearing than his owner, at least initially.

"So you miss my dog but not me, your future husband, your future love of your life, your…" Lewis teased, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Okay, okay, I get it," you said, slapping his arm lightly. "I missed you too." It wasn't entirely a lie. During the days of rehearsals and media training leading up to this day, you'd found yourself strangely comfortable around him.

He was surprisingly down-to-earth, considering his fame and fortune.

He chuckled, the sound easing some of the tension in his shoulders. "So… do you need help getting out of that dress? I'm sure you're dying to take it off."

You laughed, a genuine, bright sound that surprised him. "Actually, I was kind of enjoying it. Makes me feel like a real princess, even for a few hours."

"Well, you certainly look like one," he said, a genuine compliment escaping his lips.

"Alright, enough flirting," you said, trying to regain your composure. "We have a fake marriage to attend."

"Right," he said, suddenly remembering the logistics of the whole thing. "The venue, the vows, the… first dance."

"Don't worry," you said, your eyes twinkling. "I've taken care of most of it. The venue is a beautiful church outside of Florence. The vows are… well, let's just say they're carefully worded. And the first dance? I'm thinking something slow and romantic. What do you say?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Slow and romantic? You think you can handle it, Mrs. Hamilton?"

You grinned, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Try me, Mr. Hamilton."

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I think… I think I might just enjoy that."

The drive to the church felt surreal. You were seated next to Lewis in the back of a sleek, black car, the Tuscan countryside whizzing by in a blur of vineyards and olive groves. You expected awkward silence, maybe a stilted conversation about the weather. Instead, Lewis surprised you.

"So," he began, turning to you with a genuine smile, "tell me, what do you actually know about Formula 1? Besides the fact that I'm supposedly good at it?"

You chuckled. "More than you probably think. I've been following the sport since I was a kid. My dad's a huge fan, and he practically raised me on a diet of qualifying laps and race strategy."

His eyes lit up. "Really? Most of the 'celebrity' guests I meet at the races barely know the difference between a pit stop and a penalty. It's… refreshing to actually talk to someone who gets it."

He launched into a detailed explanation of the upcoming season, his passion evident in every word. He spoke about the new regulations, the aerodynamic changes, the challenges they were facing with the car's performance.

"We're struggling with the downforce," he explained, his brow furrowed in concentration. "The simulations are promising, but we're not seeing the same results on the track. We're working on adjusting the suspension and the rear wing design to try and find that extra bit of grip."

You listened intently, nodding occasionally, asking informed questions. "Have you considered tweaking the differential settings? Maybe a more aggressive locking strategy could help with traction out of the corners?"

Lewis stopped mid-sentence, staring at you in surprise. "That's… actually a really good point. I hadn't thought of that. I'll bring it up with the engineers. You have to come to the factory in Maranello so you can get to know the team before the season starts."

"I'd like that," you admitted, a genuine smile spreading across your face.

This wasn't the superficial celebrity encounter you'd anticipated. He was treating you like an equal, someone whose opinion he valued. It was… disarming.

As the car pulled up to the church, a mix of nervousness and anticipation fluttered in your stomach. You were about to 'marry' a Formula 1 legend, a man you had met, for the sake of boosting his public image. The absurdity of the situation hit you full force.

The church was even more breathtaking in person. Nestled amongst rolling hills, its ancient stone walls seemed to whisper stories of centuries past.

There were some photographers strategically positioned, discreetly snapping aesthetic pictures of the venue. They were there to sell the illusion, to capture the romance that wasn't truly there.

Lewis left the car first, extending a hand to help you out. "Ready?" he asked, his voice surprisingly gentle.

You took his hand, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver through you. You smiled and walked towards the entrance of the church, the sound of hushed chatter growing louder with each step. Your palms were sweating, and your heart hammered against your ribs. You were anxious. Terribly anxious.

Lewis squeezed your hand reassuringly. "It's gonna be great, wifey," he murmured, a playful glint in his eyes.

You nodded, trying to force a smile. "Just…don't call me that in public, okay?"

He chuckled. "Deal. And relax. Everyone here is in on it. It's just us, our friends and family."

The heavy wooden doors swung open, revealing a small gathering of people. You saw a mixture of familiar faces – yours and Lewis's close friends, the ones trusted enough to keep the secret – and family. All their faces were directed to you.

You and Lewis were immediately engulfed in hugs and pats on the back. Some of your friends were teary-eyed, overcome with emotion, while others offered proud congratulations. The scene was chaotic, overwhelming, and strangely…supportive.

"You look beautiful, darling," one of your friends gushed, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. "I'm so happy for you both!"

You managed a weak smile. "Thanks, Sarah. Don't cry, you'll ruin your makeup."

Finally, you spotted your mom across the room, engaged in conversation with Lewis's father. Your mother was already crying, naturally. She always cried at weddings, even the fake ones. Seeing her emotional state made your own eyes start to sting.

"Mom!" you called out, gently extricating yourself from the throng of well-wishers.

Your mother turned and rushed towards you, engulfing you in a tight hug. "My baby is getting married!" she sobbed, her voice thick with emotion. "I'm so happy for you, sweetheart. He seems like such a wonderful man."

You glanced over at Lewis, who was smiling warmly at your mother. He could charm the birds out of the trees, you thought.

"He is, Mom," you said, deciding to play along. "He's wonderful."

She pulled back, holding you at arm's length, and examined your face. "Are you happy, darling? Really happy?"

You hesitated for a moment, the question hitting you with unexpected force. Were you happy? You were about to embark on a year-long sham marriage with a man you barely knew. Logically, the answer should be no. But as you looked at Lewis, standing there patiently, a curious feeling began to stir within you. Maybe, just maybe, there was more to this arrangement than met the eye.

"Yes, Mom," you said, surprising yourself with the conviction in your voice. "I'm happy."

Your mother squeezed your hand. "That's all that matters. Now, go get married!" She beamed, wiping away a stray tear with the back of her hand.

Just then, Anthony Hamilton approached, his face etched with a nervous concern that mirrored my own. He fidgeted with his tie, avoiding direct eye contact.

"Y/N, dear," he began, his voice a low rumble. "Are you… are you sure you want me to do this?" He gestured vaguely towards the makeshift altar. "It’s not too late to back out, you know. Lewis… he can be a handful."

My heart went out to him. He was a good man, Anthony, despite the pressures of his son's demanding career. He probably felt as uncomfortable with this whole charade as I did.

"Of course, Mr. Hamilton," I answered, offering him my most reassuring smile. "I feel like it would be the best option for everyone." For Lewis's career, for my future, for my mother's peace of mind.

His eyes welled up, and he nodded slowly, his voice thick with emotion. "Alright, alright. But promise me you'll look after him, eh? He needs someone solid in his corner."

"I promise," I said, though I wasn't sure if I was promising him or myself.

"Alright! Everyone go to your positions now!" the videographer yelled, his voice cutting through the emotional tension like a rusty knife. The sound of hushed conversations and shuffling feet filled the room as everyone scrambled to their assigned seats along the aisle.

Anthony, after taking a deep breath, offered me his elbow. I placed my hand there, the silk of my dress cool against his suit. We walked behind the large oak doors that led into the ballroom, hiding from the expectant gaze of the crowd. I could feel my pulse throbbing in my ears.

Suddenly, the opening bars of "Canon in D" filled the room, a classic choice for a deeply un-classic situation.

"Ready?" Anthony asked, his voice barely a whisper.

I took a deep breath, forcing a calmness I didn't feel. "Ready."

The doors swung open, and I started to walk. Slowly. Deliberately. Each step was calculated, designed to capture the perfect angle for the cameras. The faces of the guests blurred into a sea of expectant smiles and glittering jewels.

She could see her mother beaming in the front row, her eyes brimming with tears. Y/N hoped they were tears of joy, not disappointment that her daughter was entering into such a transactional union.

At the end of the aisle, Lewis stood waiting, looking impossibly handsome in his custom-tailored suit. He caught my eye, and for a brief, fleeting moment, I saw something flicker in his gaze – a vulnerability, perhaps, or just a raw, naked ambition.

We reached the altar, and Anthony squeezed my hand before stepping aside.

"You look lovely, Y/N," Lewis murmured, his voice low and smooth.

"Thank you, Lewis," she replied, keeping her voice equally neutral. "You don't look so bad yourself."

The officiant, a jovial man who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else, cleared his throat.

"Dearly beloved," he began, his voice echoing through the hall, "we are gathered here in the presence of God, family, and friends to witness a joyous occasion—the union of Lewis Hamilton and Y/N L/N in holy matrimony."

The ceremony was a blur of rehearsed lines and forced smiles. They exchanged vows that felt hollow and meaningless. They slipped rings onto each other's fingers, the cold metal a stark reminder of the contractual nature of their relationship.

Then came the moment she had been dreading.

"You may now kiss the bride," the officiant intoned.

Lewis turned to her, his eyes searching hers for a moment. Then, he leaned in and kissed her. It was a chaste, professionally executed kiss, designed to elicit cheers from the crowd and likes on Instagram.

But even so, you felt a strange flutter in her stomach, a sensation she quickly dismissed as the product of nerves and exhaustion.

It was all a blur from then on. Walking down the aisle with Lewis in hand, waving at the guests, mostly family and friends, throwing confetti over our heads.

The whirlwind of congratulations, the endless photos, the forced smiles that were starting to ache my cheeks.

Then, suddenly, we were in a room by ourselves, apparently, it's tradition for newly weds to stay in the same room right after the ceremony to soak up the moment.

The honeymoon suite was extravagant, all plush velvet and panoramic views. It felt absurd to be here, pretending, with 24-hour security just outside the door to ensure the “integrity” of our little charade.

My friends, bless their hearts, had noticed my tense demeanor and, with a knowing wink, had slipped two glasses of wine into my hands. "Relax a little, Y/N," Maya had whispered, "You look like you're about to explode."

I took a tentative sip. The wine was crisp and refreshing, a welcome distraction from the buzzing in my head. I was a lightweight, a fact I had conveniently neglected to mention to Lewis. He stood awkwardly by the panoramic window, his perfectly tailored suit looking even more impeccable against the velvet drapes.

He turned, his expression hesitant. "That kiss was... nice," he said, almost as an afterthought.

I raised an eyebrow, taking another sip of my wine. "Well, I'm happy you enjoyed it because that's all you're getting from me today," I said, leaning back against a ridiculously ornate chaise lounge.

He frowned slightly. "We do have to kiss more during the first dance and the reception party."

The wine had officially loosened my inhibitions. A mischievous glint sparked in my eye. I found myself leaning forward, a dangerous smile playing on my lips. "Is that an order, Mr. Hamilton?"

He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. "It's…a suggestion. A highly recommended suggestion."

I burst out laughing, the sound bouncing off the high ceilings. He looked even more uncomfortable. "Alright, alright. A suggestion it is. But tell me, Lewis," I drawled, tilting my head, "how passionate are we talking? A quick peck for the cameras? A lingering lip-lock for the tabloids? Or perhaps a full-blown, movie-style makeout session to send your fans into a frenzy?"

He gaped at me, his usually composed facade cracking. "Y/N, are you…teasing me?"

"Maybe," I said, grinning. "Consider it a rehearsal. For the sake of public perception, of course. We have to be convincing, right? This isn't just about boosting your engagement numbers; it's about protecting your reputation."

He took a deep breath, visibly steeling himself. "Fine. Let's…rehearse." He approached me cautiously, like he was approaching a wild animal, his eyes locked on mine. "Just…remember it's all for show. This is purely professional."

"Of course," I whispered, the wine singing in my veins. "All for show. Completely professional." My heart, however, seemed to have missed the memo. It was thumping against my ribs like a trapped bird.

He placed his hands on my waist, his touch surprisingly gentle. He leaned in, his breath warm against my cheek, and I suddenly found myself struggling to remember my lines. "Ready?"

My voice caught in my throat. I managed a shaky nod, my heart suddenly pounding a rhythm that had nothing to do with wine and pretense. As his lips met mine, a strange sensation washed over me.

He hesitated, giving you a moment to back out, but you didn't. Instead, you raised a hand and rested it on the back of his neck, your fingers threading slightly into his short, dark hair.

It started slowly. A tentative brush of lips, a polite greeting. He tasted of mint and something else, something subtly powerful and undeniably Lewis. He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. "Is this… believable?"

"Believable enough to fool millions?" you countered, your voice a husky whisper. "Probably not. Try again. Think longing, think desperation, think… you're about to lose the most important thing in your life."

Lewis frowned. "That's a bit dramatic, even for this."

"Welcome to acting, darling," you said, your smile widening. "Now, try again."

This time, he didn't hesitate. He leaned in, his lips claiming yours with a possessiveness that sent a shiver down your spine. This wasn't the gentle, chaste kiss from before. This was raw, demanding, and surprisingly… good.

Your eyes fluttered closed, and you found yourself responding without conscious thought. Your fingers tightened their grip on his neck, pulling him closer.

The kiss deepened, tongues dancing, breath mingling. It was a whirlwind of sensation, a delicious chaos that blurred the line between rehearsal and reality.

For a fleeting moment, you forgot this was all a performance, that you were just pawns in a PR game. You were just two people, caught in the heat of a kiss that felt anything but fake.

He finally broke away, his chest heaving, his eyes dark and intense. "Okay," he said, his voice raspy. "That… that was better."

You were still trying to catch your breath. "Better indeed," you managed to say, your voice slightly breathless. "But was it believable? Or just…intense?"

Lewis looked away, running a hand through his braids. "It was…both. Maybe too intense."

"Too intense for a fake marriage?" you challenged, raising an eyebrow.

Before he could answer, I noticed the smear of red on his chin. "Oh, you've got my lipstick all over your mouth," I said, a mischievous glint in my eyes.

Before Lewis could touch his face, I held his hand, preventing him. "Leave it there, at least that will convince people that we were kissing," I said, letting go of him.

He stared at me, a mixture of surprise and something else I couldn't quite decipher flickering in his eyes. "You're… surprisingly good at this," he said, a hint of admiration in his voice.

"That's my job," I replied, a smile playing on my lips. "But you're a quick learner, Lewis. I'll give you that."

The large hall was bedecked in a symphony of white roses and crystal chandeliers that cast a soft glow across the polished floor. The moment you and Lewis stepped in, the buzz of conversation hushed and all eyes turned to you.

The crowd erupted in applause, a wave of congratulations that made you blush despite the artifice of it all.

You took Lewis's offered arm, his grip firm and surprisingly comforting, as you both glided towards your sweetheart table at the center of the room.

The scent of his cologne mingled with the floral bouquets scattered around, creating a heady aroma that was at odds with the butterflies doing somersaults in your stomach.

Your hearts beat in sync with each step, echoing the rhythmic thump of the bass from the live band playing in the corner. The dress you wore was a vision of elegance, a stark contrast to the nervous energy thrumming through your body.

You felt like a moth drawn to a flame as you approached the table, the spotlights seemingly highlighting every imperfection, every lie. Yet, as you sat down, the plush chair enveloping you in a gentle embrace, the weight of the moment lifted slightly. You exhaled and offered him a tentative smile.

"Well, we've made it this far," you murmured under the guise of the applause.

"Barely," he quipped, a playful glint in his eye.

As the applause died down, a server appeared, filling your glasses with champagne. The cool liquid was a welcome relief against the dryness of your mouth.

You took a sip, feeling the bubbles tickle your nose. The room was alive with the sound of laughter and clinking glasses, a cacophony of happiness that seemed almost surreal.

"To us," Lewis said, raising his glass. His smile was perfect, a masterpiece of diplomacy. You mirrored the gesture.

You clinked glasses, the sound resonating in your ears like a toll of fate. "To the most convenient marriage of the year," you toasted, trying to keep your voice steady.

The liquid slid down your throat, a potent symbol of the agreement you'd made. You felt the warmth spread through your body, loosening the tension slightly.

The dress, a creation of satin and lace, whispered against your skin with every movement, a silent reminder of the part you had to play.

As the applause faded into the background, the first course of the meal was served. The table was an opulent display of gourmet delights, each dish more tempting than the last.

Lewis picked up a piece of hors d'oeuvre, a dollop of caviar perched atop a tiny cracker, and held it out to your lips.

"Open for me," he said, his voice low and playful.

You parted your lips and allowed him to feed you, the salty fish roe bursting on your tongue. The sensation was oddly intimate, and you watched his eyes darken as he observed your reaction.

The taste was decadent, a delightful assault on your senses that made you want to moan. You chewed slowly, savoring the richness.

You returned the favor, plucking a strawberry from the fruit platter with your fingers and bringing it to his mouth.

The fruit was ripe, the juice staining your fingertips and leaving a sweet trail across your skin. He took the berry with a smoldering look that sent a bolt of heat through your core.

You picked up a piece of chocolate-covered fruits, the dark chocolate shimmering with edible gold dust. You held it to his mouth, watching as he took it with a bite, the gold leaving a glittering trail on his bottom lip.

Leaning in, your heart racing, you couldn't help yourself. You licked the remnants of sweet chocolate from his lips, the taste a tantalizing mix of the rich confection and the salt of his mouth.

You blamed it on the alcohol, the way it loosened your inhibitions and made everything feel more daring, more alive. His eyes searched yours for a moment, and you realized with a start that he wasn't objecting.

The room spun slightly as you felt his hand come to rest on the small of your back, his thumb tracing lazy circles against the bare skin exposed by your dress.

"You're doing great," he whispered in your ear, his breath hot against your neck.

You leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand spreading like a brand across your skin. The champagne had done its work, the tension giving way to a pleasant buzz that made everything feel a little less forced.

You turned to face him, your eyes locking for a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity.

"Thank you," you murmured, your voice a soft purr that seemed to resonate through the room.

His gaze dropped to your lips, and for a heart-stopping second, you thought he might kiss you.

But instead, he leaned back, his expression unreadable.

The band struck up a tune, the sound of instruments swirling around you like a warm embrace. You felt a sudden pressure to perform, to be the bride everyone expected you to be.

Maya bustled over to your table. "Can you guys cut the cake now, or do you need more time for yourselves?" she teased, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

The question was like a splash of cold water, reminding you of the façade you were maintaining. You laughed, a little too loudly, and nodded.

"We're ready," you said, standing up. Lewis's hand was at your elbow, guiding you through the crowd towards the grand, multi-tiered cake.

The cake was a masterpiece, a cascade of white fondant adorned with intricate lace detailing and delicate sugar roses.

You felt a strange sense of detachment as you both took the knife, your hands shaking slightly.

As you made the first slice, the sound of cameras clicking filled the air. The flashes were like stars in a night sky, blinding you to everything else.

But all you could see was Lewis's profile, the tension in his jaw, the way his hand held the knife with surprising tenderness.

He took a piece of cake and offered it to you, a silent question in his eyes. You took it, feeling the soft cake crumble against your teeth.

The sweetness was overwhelming, a metaphor for the situation you found yourself in.

You took a deep breath, willing yourself to be the poised and elegant wife Ferrari required.

The spotlight was on you, but it was the pressure of his hand against your back that kept you from crumbling like the dessert in your mouth.

"Move closer," you whispered, holding out a dainty slice of the heavenly cake to him. The scent of vanilla and buttercream filled the air as you brought it closer to his lips.

The moment was charged with a current that made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

With a gentle nudge, you coaxed him to open his mouth. His full lips parted slightly, and you placed the cake on his tongue.

His eyes never left yours as you traced the outline of his mouth with your fingertips, catching the crumbs that clung to his perfect smile. The warmth of his breath danced across your fingertips, sending a shiver down your spine.

You watched as he closed his eyes, savoring the flavor. His Adam's apple bobbed with each swallow, and you felt a sudden urge to trace the path the cake took down his throat with your own mouth.

As the music grew louder and the flashes grew more insistent, Lewis leaned in, his breath warm against your ear.

"Dance with me?" His voice was a velvety rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. You nodded, and he took your hand, leading you to the dance floor.

The lights dimmed, casting the room in a romantic glow. A slow song began to play, a classic ballad about love and commitment. Ironic, you thought, given the circumstances.

Lewis placed his hand on your waist, and you reluctantly put yours on his shoulder. The fabric of his bespoke suit felt smooth beneath your fingers.

He pulled you closer, and you could feel the heat radiating from his body. You avoided looking at him, focusing instead on the swirling patterns of the projected lights on the ceiling.

"Relax," he murmured, his breath tickling your ear. "It's just a dance."

But it wasn't just a dance. It was a performance, a charade, a carefully constructed illusion. Every step, every sway, every glance had to be perfect, believable.

You caught the eye of someone, notebook in hand, eagerly observing your every move. You forced a smile, hoping it looked genuine.

As the song continued, you found yourself slowly starting to relax. Lewis was a surprisingly graceful dancer, guiding you effortlessly across the floor.

The rhythm of the music, the warmth of his body, the soft lighting – it was all strangely seductive.

"You look beautiful," he said softly, his voice barely audible above the music.

You finally met his gaze, and you were surprised to see genuine warmth in his eyes. Was it possible? Could there be something more to this arrangement than just business?

"Thank you," you whispered, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks.

He smiled, a genuine, unguarded smile that transformed his face. "You know, this isn't so bad."

"What isn't?" you asked, confused.

"This. Us. Pretending to be in love," he said, his eyes twinkling. "We're pretty good at it, don't you think?"

You laughed. "We are, aren't we?"

As the song ended, he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above yours.

"You know what would make this even more believable?" he whispered.

Your heart skipped a beat. "What?"

"If we kissed," he murmured, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

You looked up at him, your pulse racing. The idea was ludicrous, of course. This was a marriage of convenience, a contractual agreement to help him secure his engagement at Ferrari.

Yet, as his eyes searched yours, you found yourself leaning into the moment, curious about the sensation of his lips on yours.

The music swelled around you as his hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you closer. His other hand cupped your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing lightly across your skin.

You felt the electricity crackle in the air between you, and without another word, he closed the gap, pressing his mouth to yours.

His kiss was gentle at first, exploratory, as if he too was surprised by his own actions.

But the alcohol was really hitting the both of you, and with it, your inhibitions began to melt away like candle wax in the heat of desire.

Your arms slid around his neck, pulling him closer, your body responding instinctively to his touch.

Lewis's hand slipped down from your waist to the curve of your hip, his thumb tracing lazy circles through the fabric of your dress.

You held back, though, coming back to your senses. This wasn't what you had signed up for. You were supposed to be his beard, not his lover.

You stiffened in his arms, and he must have felt the shift in your demeanor because his hand stilled.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice low and thick with a hint of regret. "I didn't mean to cross a line."

You took a deep breath, your chest rising and falling against his firm embrace. "It's okay," you managed, even though your body was screaming for more. "We just need to remember what this is."

He nodded, his eyes searching yours for reassurance. "Right," he murmured, his grip loosening slightly. "A marriage of convenience."

The music had changed to something faster, a pounding bass that seemed to echo the beating of your heart. You stepped back, trying to compose yourself and smiled for the cameras.

"We should focus on the wedding," you said, your voice shakier than you would have liked.

Lewis's hand remained at your waist, his thumb continuing to stroke your skin in a gentle, hypnotic rhythm. "Are you okay?" he asked, concern etched into his features.

You took another deep breath, willing your racing pulse to slow. "I'm fine," you lied, plastering a smile back onto your face. "We're just playing our parts, right?"

He nodded, his eyes lingering on your mouth. "Right."

The music changed again, the tempo quickening. The DJ announced that it was time for everyone to join in, and the floor flooded with guests eager to dance. The pressure of the moment was lifted as the spotlight shifted away from the two of you.

The crowd grew thick around you, a sea of bodies moving in a harmonious wave of color and sound. Lewis's hand remained at the small of your back, his fingers splayed possessively.

You felt a thrill of excitement as you realized that in this chaos, you could be anyone, do anything, and no one would question it.

And then, through the kaleidoscope of faces, you saw her. Your mother, standing at the edge of the dance floor, watching you with a knowing smile.

She had always had a knack for reading your expressions, and even from this distance, you could feel her approval. It was as if she knew the secret desires that had blossomed in the warmth of Lewis's embrace.

Her eyes sparkled with a mischief that told you she wasn't fooled by the pretense of your union.

You felt a sudden rush of heat, remembering the way Lewis's kiss had made your knees weak. You hoped she hadn't seen that.

"I'm going to talk to my mother," you murmured into Lewis's ear, your voice low and urgent.

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before you slipped away from the dance floor and made your way through the throngs of partygoers.

Your mother's smile grew wider as you approached, her eyes twinkling with the same mischief that had always made you feel both cherished and exposed.

She knew you so well, and as you reached her side, you were acutely aware of the rapid beat of your heart, the warmth still lingering on your cheeks from Lewis's kiss.

"Having fun?" she asked, her voice a sweet symphony of teasing and concern.

"Mother, let's talk outside," you suggested, gesturing to the balcony, desperately needing a moment of respite from the pounding rhythms and probing gazes.

Her smile never wavered as she nodded in agreement, placing a hand on your forearm. "Lead the way, dear," she said, the warmth of her touch grounding you amidst the whirlwind of emotions.

The cool night air hit you like a breath of fresh oxygen as you stepped out onto the balcony, the sound of laughter and music muffled by the thick double doors.

The moon cast a silvery glow over the cityscape, painting the buildings in a soft, ethereal light. The distant sounds of traffic were a faint reminder of the world beyond the bubble of the penthouse suite where your lives had suddenly become a performance for the paparazzi.

Your mother looked stunning in a midnight-blue gown that accentuated her figure, her eyes dancing with curiosity. She took a sip of her champagne, her gaze never leaving you.

"What's on your mind, darling?" she asked, her voice a gentle coo that could melt the coldest of hearts.

You leaned against the balcony railing, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat still pulsing through your veins from Lewis's kiss.

"I just needed a break," you replied, hoping she wouldn't push further. The night air kissed your skin, sending goosebumps along your arms.

Your mother's eyes searched yours, a knowing glint shimmering in her gaze. "You seem…flustered," she said, her tone light but her words carrying the weight of a thousand unasked questions.

You took a deep breath, the cool air filling your lungs and calming your racing thoughts. "It's just…Lewis," you began, struggling to find the words.

"What about your fake husband?" your mother said, her voice dripping with playful accusation. She had always been perceptive, and she knew you better than anyone.

You felt a blush creeping up your neck, and you took a sip of the cool, bubbly champagne to buy yourself some time. "What do you mean?" you asked, feigning innocence.

Your mother raised an eyebrow, the gesture so familiar it was as if you were a teenager caught sneaking in past curfew. "I saw the way he was looking at you during the first dance," she said, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "And the way you two were just…dancing."

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the pulsing heat between your legs, the phantom feeling of Lewis's hand on your hip. "It's all for the cameras," you protested, even though the words felt hollow.

Your mother's smile grew knowing, and she leaned closer, her perfume a faint whisper of gardenias in the night air. "Is that all it is?" she murmured, her eyes twinkling with the same mischief that had always made you squirm. "Or is there something more going on between you two?"

You took another deep breath, the coolness of the air doing little to ease the heat pooling in your belly. "Mother," you began, feeling the weight of her gaze on you, "I've only known him for less than a month."

Her smile softened, the playful glint in her eyes fading to a look of understanding. She leaned closer, her voice a warm, comforting whisper. "Sometimes, love doesn't care about time, darling. It just happens."

You stared out into the night, the city lights blurring as you replayed the last few minutes in your mind. The feel of his lips on yours, the gentle caress of his hands, the way your body had responded so instinctively.

Was it possible to develop feelings so quickly, so intensely, when the foundation of your relationship was nothing but a business deal?

The question lingered in the air as you watched Lewis mingle with the other guests, his charisma lighting up the room. His laugh was infectious, his smile captivating, and the way he moved through the space was like watching a panther – sleek, powerful, and utterly in control.

You took another sip of champagne, the bubbles fizzing against your tongue as you contemplated your mother's words. Love? In a marriage of convenience? The very notion seemed absurd, and yet, you couldn't deny the undeniable pull you felt towards him.

The way your body had responded to his touch, the way your heart had skipped a beat when he looked at you – it was all too real, too potent to dismiss as mere infatuation.

"Just remember what you said three weeks ago, that 'it's all just for show. And it's not like you're actually going to be doing the whole marriage thing, that you're just going to pretend.'"

Her voice, usually a soothing balm, was sharp with an undercurrent of something you couldn’t quite place. "Don't break your own promise, but I wouldn't mind it. Lewis will take good care of you."

Her words hit you like a ton of bricks. Was she…encouraging you? But before you could respond, she had already turned away, leaving you alone with the night's whispers and the tumultuous dance of your thoughts.

You took another sip of champagne, the bubbles fizzling down your throat, and tried to convince yourself that it was just the alcohol playing tricks on you.

But deep down, you knew it was more than that.

Sighing, you set the champagne flute down on the railing and smoothed your hair back, trying to regain your composure. The chilly breeze whispered across your skin, sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the temperature.

With one last deep breath, you pushed away from the balcony and turned to face the warm embrace of the party once more.

As you stepped back into the penthouse suite, the heat and the music enveloped you like a lover's arms. The lights danced over the guests' faces, casting a spell of excitement and anticipation.

The DJ announced that it was time for the welcome toasts, and a hush fell over the room. You searched the crowd for Lewis, your heart skipping a beat when your eyes met his across the sea of bodies.

He offered you a smile, his own eyes a storm of emotions that mirrored your own.

Making your way to the makeshift stage, you took your place beside him. The spotlight was hot on your face, and you could feel the eyes of the guests on you, eagerly waiting for you to speak.

Lewis took your hand in his, the warmth of his touch sending a jolt of electricity up your arm.

You cleared your throat, the words of your toast already written but feeling so insignificant now. "Thank you all for joining us tonight," you began, your voice steady despite the tumult in your chest. "This is a very special occasion."

Lewis squeezed your hand, his thumb stroking the back of your palm in a silent message of support.

You glanced at him, his eyes locked onto yours, and felt a jolt of something primal, something that had nothing to do with the contract you'd signed.

"We're here to celebrate the beginning of a new chapter in our lives," you said, your eyes never leaving his. "One filled with adventure, success, and," you paused, feeling the weight of his gaze, "passion."

The room erupted in cheers and applause, and Lewis stepped up to the microphone, his hand still wrapped around yours. "Thank you," he said, his voice a rich baritone that seemed to resonate in the very air around you.

"To my beautiful wife," he turned to you, a smoldering look in his eyes that sent a delicious shiver down your spine, "Thank you for agreeing to this crazy adventure."

You leaned into the microphone, the warmth of his body against yours a potent cocktail of desire and nerves. "And to my dashing husband," you said, your voice a purr, "Thank you for making this marriage of convenience feel like anything but."

The crowd gasped, and a smattering of laughter filled the room, but you didn't care. You knew you were playing with fire, but the heat was too tempting to resist.

As you finished your toast, Lewis leaned down and whispered, "You're going to pay for that later." The words sent a shiver of anticipation through you, and you couldn't help but smile.

You took your cue, your voice steady despite the tumult of emotions raging inside you. "To our friends, our families, and Ferrari," you said, raising your glass, "Thank you for bringing us together."

The room erupted in cheers and applause, and you couldn't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction at the success of your ruse.

But as you watched Lewis, the way his eyes sparkled with mischief, you knew that this marriage of convenience was about to take a very inconvenient turn.

"Now, it's time for the parent dances," the DJ announced, breaking the spell of the moment. You felt a knot in your stomach. You had lost your father years ago, and having your mother dance with Lewis was the closest thing you'd ever get to a traditional wedding dance with a parent.

"Mrs. L/N," Lewis said, extending his hand towards your mother with a charming smile. "May I have the honor of this dance?"

Her eyes sparkled with delight as she took his hand, the same hand that had sent shockwaves through your body just moments before. "Why, Mr. Hamilton, I'd be thrilled," she replied, allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor.

You watched as they swayed to the music, the connection between them palpable. The sight was bittersweet – a reminder of what you had lost and what you never had.

But as you observed them, the tension in your chest began to ease. If Lewis had to dance with someone, you were happy it was your mother.

She deserved this moment of joy and glamour, even if it was all an act.

As the song came to a close, Lewis guided your mother back to her seat and returned to you, his eyes never leaving yours. "Your turn," he murmured, extending his hand.

You nodded, trying to ignore the butterflies that had taken up residence in your stomach. This was your job, to make this marriage look believable, and part of that meant playing the role of a loving wife to a tee.

As the music changed to a slower tempo, Lewis' father, Anthony, made his way over to you, his smile warm and welcoming. He took your hand in his, his grip firm but gentle, and led you onto the dance floor.

"Thank you for being here, my dear," he said, pulling you closer into his embrace. You could feel the strength in his arms, a stark contrast to the softness of his voice.

His cologne, a rich blend of leather and sandalwood, wrapped around you, a comforting scent that reminded you of the safety and protection a father's arms could offer.

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Hamilton," you replied, your voice a soft whisper against his chest. You felt a strange comfort in his arms, a sense of belonging that you hadn't felt since your own father had passed away.

The music washed over you, a gentle symphony that seemed to be composed just for the two of you. You moved in sync with him, his steps guiding yours with a grace that could only come from years of experience.

His hand rested at the small of your back, the heat from his palm seeping through the fabric of your dress and setting your skin alight.

You looked up at him, his eyes crinkling with kindness. "You know, you're quite the catch," he said, his voice a gentle rumble. "My son is a very lucky man."

You blushed, your heart fluttering at the compliment. "Thank you," you murmured, your voice barely audible over the music. "Lewis is… quite the catch himself."

Anthony chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Yes, he is," he agreed. "But I can see the way he looks at you. There's more to this than just a business deal."

You swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond. The truth was, you didn't know what was happening between you and Lewis. It was like you had stumbled into a fairy tale, except the prince was a billionaire race car driver, and the marriage was as fake as the smile you painted on every day.

"You don't have to tell me," he said, as if sensing your discomfort. "But just remember, love has a way of sneaking up on you when you least expect it."

His words hung in the air, and you felt a sudden tightness in your chest. Was that what this was? Love? The very thought was terrifying, and yet, as you watched Lewis across the room, his eyes never leaving yours, you couldn't help but wonder if there was some truth to it.

The dance ended all too soon, and you found yourself back in the swirl of the party, the music and laughter a cacophony around you. You searched the room for Lewis, needing to be near him, to feel the reassurance of his presence.

Then, you heard a mic being tapped, and the volume of the room dropped like a curtain. You looked at the stage to see Maya and Miles with grins on their faces that could only mean one thing – they were about to give their speeches.

Your heart skipped a beat. You knew Maya all too well; she was the kind of friend who had a knack for speaking her mind, especially when it came to juicy secrets.

Miles took the mic first, his voice smooth and charming. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "I'd like to start by saying how honored I am to be standing here today, witnessing the union of two of the most amazing people I know."

"Now," he continued, "I know we're all here to celebrate the love between Lewis and his beautiful bride," he said, pausing for effect. "But what I'd like to remind everyone is that this isn't just a marriage – it's a partnership that's going to be taking the racing world by storm. And speaking of storms, I've got a little something for you two,"

Maya strutted up to the podium, the mic in one hand and a glint in her eye that had you on the edge of your seat. She tapped it, the sound echoing through the room, and announced,

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to share a little story about how our dashing couple met. It's not your average love at first sight tale, oh no."

You felt your face heat up as the room grew quieter, all eyes on Maya. Lewis's hand tightened around yours, his thumb stroking your knuckles in a silent message of reassurance. You could see the curiosity in his eyes, a hint of amusement playing on his lips.

Maya began, "Picture this: Two strangers, thrown together by fate, or should I say, by Ferrari. A billionaire playboy, and a girl with a heart of gold. They say opposites attract, but in this case, it was more like a collision of epic proportions!"

The audience chuckled, and you couldn't help but feel a mix of dread and excitement. You knew Maya had a wild imagination, and she wasn't one to shy away from spicing things up.

"They say love is a wild ride," she continued, her voice taking on a dramatic tone. "But let me tell you, when these two hit the track, it was nothing short of explosive! The chemistry was palpable, the tension could have fueled a race car!"

Your heart raced as she painted a vivid picture of your whirlwind romance, embellishing every detail and adding a steamy twist here and there. You shot her a glare, but she only winked back, reveling in the moment.

Miles took over, his deep voice a stark contrast to Maya's. "But what you don't know," he said, leaning into the mic, "is that there was a secret deal made, a deal that would change the course of their lives forever. A marriage of convenience, you say? Pish-posh!"

The crowd leaned in, eager to hear the juicy details. You held your breath, waiting for the inevitable revelation of your arrangement with Lewis. But instead, Miles spun a tale of a daring bet between the two friends, one that had led to a year of adventure and discovery.

"They said they'd keep it professional," Miles said with a wink. "But when love enters the race, all bets are off!"

You felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment. It wasn't the truth, but it was close enough to keep the secret intact. The crowd roared with laughter, and you couldn't help but laugh along, the tension in the room dissipating like mist on a warm morning.

As the applause died down, you leaned into Lewis, whispering, "Your friend is something else."

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "He does have a way of keeping things interesting," he murmured, pulling you closer.

The rest of the reception was a blur of laughter, dancing, and whispered secrets. The speeches had been a wild ride, but somehow, you found yourself enjoying the thrill of it all.

The way Lewis looked at you, the way his hand never left your side – it was as if you had stumbled into a love story after all.

As the night went on, you were able to relax, a glass of champagne in hand, chatting with your friends who had flown in for the occasion. They were all buzzing with excitement, eager to hear every detail of your whirlwind romance with the infamous Lewis Hamilton.

You felt a thrill run down your spine every time they talked about your "true love," knowing that it was all just a well-orchestrated facade. But the way he made you feel, the way he looked at you – it was easy to get lost in the fantasy.

You took a sip of the bubbly liquid, the coolness of it spreading through your body like a gentle caress. The alcohol did its work, loosening your inhibitions and making you feel light, like you were floating on air.

The room was warm, a cozy cocoon of friendship and goodwill that enveloped you, making the weight of your deception feel a little less heavy.

Your friend Laura leaned in, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "So, what's it really like being married to a superstar?" she asked, her voice low and conspiratorial. You giggled, feeling a little tipsy and more than a little bit naughty.

"Well, it's not all fast cars and glamour," you said, your voice a purr. "But the perks aren't too shabby." You shared a knowing look with her, and she squealed, her hand flying to her mouth. You had always had a flair for the dramatic, and tonight was no exception.

As you talked, the room grew hazier, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and cologne mingling with the aroma of fine wine and rich food.

The music was a sensual backdrop, the rhythm pulsing through the floorboards, inviting you to move. You felt the warmth of Lewis's hand on the small of your back as he joined your circle of friends, his presence a comforting warmth that seemed to drive the chill of doubt away.

"Let's dance," he whispered in your ear, his breath sending a shiver down your spine. You nodded, placing your hand in his, and allowed him to lead you into the throng of bodies, each swaying to the seductive rhythm.

His hand slid to your waist, his fingers ghosting over the smooth fabric of your dress, and you felt a thrill at the possessive way he held you, his other hand cradling yours.

The music was a slow, sultry number that seemed to resonate within the very core of your being. His thigh brushed against yours, sending a jolt of electricity through you.

His touch was like a brand, leaving a trail of heat wherever it went. You looked into his eyes, and for a moment, you forgot about the cameras, the guests, the lie. It was just the two of you, lost in a dance that felt all too real.

The conversation with your friends was lively, their questions about married life to the legendary Lewis Hamilton met with your playful evasions and coy smiles. The champagne bubbled in your veins, making you feel more daring, more alive.

You caught Laura's eye, and she winked, a knowing smile playing on her lips. The tension between you and Lewis was palpable, a secret only the two of you shared, and it was intoxicating.

Suddenly, the music shifted to something softer, a classic love song that seemed to beckon for a more intimate moment.

You felt Lewis's hand tighten around your waist, pulling you closer, your bodies fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle you never knew you were meant to complete.

His breath was hot against your neck, sending shivers down your spine as he whispered, "Let's take the family picture."

You nodded, allowing him to lead you off the dance floor and towards the small area designated for family photos. Your mother sat watching, her eyes filled with a warmth that seemed to say she knew more than she was letting on.

She patted the seat beside her, and you sat down, feeling a sudden vulnerability that the alcohol hadn't quite prepared you for.

Lewis's father, Anthony, took a seat. The sight was surreal, a makeshift family portrait that was as beautiful as it was unexpected. The photographer, a friend of the Hamiltons, approached with a professional smile. "Ready?" he asked, holding up the camera.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the erratic beating of your heart. Lewis sat beside you, his hand reaching for yours, and you felt a rush of affection that was as surprising as it was overwhelming.

The camera clicked, capturing the four of you in a moment of forced intimacy that somehow felt more genuine than you had anticipated.

The flash illuminated the room, freezing the scene in time – a snapshot of a life that wasn't quite real, but felt more right than anything you had ever known.

The picture was taken, and the moment passed, but the warmth lingered. You couldn't help but look at the image displayed on the camera's screen – the four of you, a small but significant representation of what could have been.

Your mother's smile was wide, her eyes sparkling with happiness, and you realized that maybe this wasn't just about the Ferrari deal. Maybe, just maybe, it was about creating a new kind of family, one born from necessity but blossoming into something more.

The photographer handed the camera to Lewis, who studied the picture with a thoughtful expression. "It's perfect," he murmured, his thumb brushing over the image of your joined hands.

"Yes," your mother agreed, her voice thick with emotion. "It's like looking at a real family."

The words hung in the air, and you felt a sudden tightness in your throat. This was supposed to be just a year of pretending, but the lines between reality and the role you were playing were beginning to blur.

As you looked into the camera lens, you realized that the love in your eyes for Lewis was no longer just an act.

It was a tangible thing, a living, breathing entity that had snuck into your heart without you even noticing. . . .

His eyes scanned the room, finally settling on her. Y/N. Even her name felt foreign on his tongue. She was surrounded by her friends, a vibrant group of women who punctuated her words with laughter. He watched her, a strange curiosity washing over him.

She seemed… lighter, more at ease than he’d ever seen her with him. The corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled, a genuine, unburdened smile that never quite reached him.

He felt a tap on his shoulder. His father, Anthony, stood beside him, a proud smile plastered on his face. "Son, I've gotten you and your wife a present."

Lewis braced himself. He knew his father’s “presents” usually came with strings attached.

Anthony gestured towards a nearby table. On it sat a framed picture. Lewis's breath caught in his throat. It was a photo from the ceremony, taken just as the priest declared them husband and wife.

In the picture, he was kissing Y/N. The angle made it look passionate, intimate. A lie meticulously crafted for public consumption.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Anthony beamed. “A perfect memento of your special day. I’ve already had copies made for all the papers.”

Lewis forced a smile. “Right. Perfect.”

He took the frame, the cold glass a stark contrast to the warmth of his hand. The kiss in the photograph was nothing more than a well-rehearsed move, a performance for the cameras. Yet, looking at it now, with the love in her eyes captured in that split second, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of something akin to regret.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice thick with something he couldn’t quite identify.

Anthony clapped him on the back, his eyes gleaming. "Remember, son, this is just the beginning. You two are going to be the golden couple of the racing world. A powerhouse team that can't be beat."

Lewis nodded, trying to ignore the knot in his stomach. He had agreed to this sham of a marriage for the sake of the Ferrari deal, for the sake of his career, but seeing the hope in his father's eyes made him feel like a fraud.

Anthony leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Now, I know this isn't the way you planned your wedding night," he began, "but I've got a little surprise for the two of you."

Lewis's heart skipped a beat, his mind racing with what his father could possibly mean.

"Dad," he began, his voice tight. "We've talked about this. It's just for show."

Anthony's smile never wavered. "Of course, of course," he said, patting Lewis's back. "But a little bit of authenticity goes a long way, doesn't it?" His eyes twinkled with mischief. "Besides, I've got a feeling that there's more to this arrangement than meets the eye."

Lewis felt a sudden heat rise to his cheeks. His father had always had a knack for reading him like a book, and it was clear he wasn't fooled by the façade. But before he could protest, Y/N's mother called Anthony over, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

"Goodbye son," his father said, his grip firm on Lewis's shoulder. "I hope you can enjoy this new chapter in your life."

The words echoed in Lewis's ears as he watched his father walk away, leaving him standing next to the framed photograph.

He glanced back at Y/N, her laughter filling the air like music. Her eyes caught his, and she offered a soft smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. It was a smile for the cameras, a smile that said, “Everything is fine.”

But Lewis knew better. He could see the shadows that lurked beneath the surface, the doubt that she kept so well hidden.

He made his way over to her, the floor seeming to tilt beneath his feet. He had to admit, the champagne was hitting him harder than he'd expected.

The warmth of her hand in his was like a lifeline, grounding him in a reality that was quickly becoming more tangled than the vines that adorned the walls of the venue.

Their guests began to file out, their laughter and chatter fading like the last notes of a symphony. The grand ballroom grew quiet, the only sound the soft clink of crystal and the rustle of fabric as they moved together.

The first guest approached, an older woman with a cackle that could cut through glass. She leaned in, her breath hot with whiskey, and whispered in his ear, "A little something to keep you both warm on those cold nights, dear."

With a wink, she handed him a velvet box that was surprisingly heavy. He took it, feeling the weight of her assumption pressing down on his shoulders.

The next was a burly man, a sponsor for the racing team, who clapped him on the back hard enough to make him stumble. "Here you go, champ," he said, his meaty hand palming Lewis a bottle of cognac.

"Keep her happy, yeah?" The bottle was cold, the condensation already forming on the glass a stark contrast to the heat of his cheeks.

A procession of well-wishers followed, each with a gift more extravagant than the last. A set of silver cufflinks that weighed down his wrists, a leather-bound book of love sonnets that smelled faintly of cigars, and a sculpture of a Ferrari that was so intricately detailed it looked as if it could drive off the table at any moment.

Each time, the guest would lean in and whisper something about the marriage bed, their eyes glinting with knowing amusement, as if they were all in on a secret that was anything but secret.

The weight of the gifts grew heavier with each addition, until Lewis felt like he was carrying the weight of a thousand expectations. The room spun around him, the lights playing tricks on his vision as he tried to keep his smile in place.

Finally, the last guest had gone, the caterers had cleared away the last of the dishes, and the music had faded to a dull throb.

The only people left were their closest friends, the ones who had known them before the racing world had claimed them, before the Ferrari deal had turned their lives into a performance.

Lewis placed the last gift on the pile, his heart racing. He could feel the eyes of their friends on him, the same friends who had seen them through the ups and downs of their careers, who knew that this marriage was a sham.

He approached Y/N, who was still sipping on her champagne, surrounded by her giggling friends. The way they leaned into her, whispering sweet nothings, made him feel like an outsider in his own wedding. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions that surged within him.

As he drew closer, the scent of her perfume reached him, a delicate blend of jasmine and vanilla that had haunted his dreams for weeks. It was the same scent she'd worn on their first time meeting each other.

He wrapped his hand around her waist, feeling the smooth fabric of her dress give way to the warm, supple flesh beneath. Her breath caught in her throat, the sudden touch sending a tremor through her body that made him tighten his grip, if only to steady her.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes wide and searching, and for a moment, Lewis wondered if she could feel the storm of doubt and desire that raged within him.

He leaned closer, the scent of her perfume wrapping around him like a seductive embrace.

Her breath hitched, the soft fabric of her dress whispering against his fingertips as he pulled her closer. He felt the warmth of her skin through the gossamer material, her body responding to his touch with a delicate shiver.

Their eyes locked, and in the silence of the emptying ballroom, the truth of their arrangement danced unspoken between them. The air grew thick with tension, the only sound the erratic beating of their hearts.

"Are you ready to go?" he muttered, the words barely escaping his lips.

The music had stopped, the laughter had faded, and the only sound left was the erratic thumping of their hearts. The question hung in the air, a silent plea for a connection that went beyond the script they'd been given.

Y/N's eyes searched his, a mix of confusion and something else, something he hadn't anticipated. Her cheeks were flushed, not from the heat of the room but from the potent cocktail of emotions that swirled within her.

The champagne had done its work, loosening her inhibitions and leaving her vulnerable to the storm that brewed in her chest.

"Tired?" she murmured, her breath warm against his neck. The word was a question and an invitation, a gentle challenge to his intentions.

Her pulse quickened, a silent rhythm that matched the tempo of his own heartbeat, echoing through the sensitive skin of his neck.

Lewis nodded, the simple gesture loaded with a world of meaning. His eyes never leaving hers, he felt a strange thrill at the thought of her submission, her willingness to follow him into the unknown.

He wasn't tired in the traditional sense; he was weary of the charade, the endless masquerade that had become their lives.

"Let me say bye to my friends," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. The words seemed to hang in the air, a declaration of intent that sent a shiver down his spine. The room swirled around them, the faces of the remaining guests a blur of pastel colors and forced smiles.

He nodded, his hand still clutching hers, the heat of their connection a stark contrast to the cool air conditioning. The tension between them was palpable, a living thing that seemed to pulse in time with their racing pulses.

Y/N turned to her friends, her smile a practiced mask that didn't quite reach her eyes. She whispered her goodbyes, each word a silent promise that she'd return to them, unchanged by the whims of fate that had brought her to this moment.

The women hugged her tightly, a few whispering words of advice or congratulations that she barely heard over the roar of blood in her ears.

As she moved from one friend to the next, her mind swirled with the gravity of the situation. The warmth of their embraces was a stark contrast to the icy grip of doubt that had taken hold of her heart. Each goodbye felt like a final farewell, a symbolic cutting of ties to the life she knew.

When she finally turned back to him, her eyes searched his for reassurance. The intensity of his gaze made her knees wobble, and she took a deep breath to steady herself.

"I'm ready," she murmured, the words a soft caress against his skin.

Their friends had formed a corridor, cheering and showering them with the remaining confetti as they walked hand in hand towards the exit.

Each step felt like a leap into the abyss, the weight of their decision pressing down on their shoulders. Yet, with every footfall, the tension grew more electric, the anticipation more potent.

The confetti fluttered around them like a blizzard of colorful secrets, whispering sweet nothings of passion and promise.

Each piece that stuck to their skin was a silent testament to the excitement of the night to come. The cheers grew louder, the claps more insistent, as if the very air was urging them onward.

Y/N felt a strange mix of exhilaration and fear. The confetti stuck to her lashes, her hair, the fabric of her dress, a glittering reminder of the happiness they were expected to embody.

His grip on her hand was firm, grounding her in the present, as the cacophony of their friends' celebration grew dimmer with every step.

As they passed the threshold, the confetti cascading down like a glittering waterfall at their backs, the weight of their decision settled over them.

The cool evening air kissed their flushed faces, a stark contrast to the heated passion that awaited them. The world outside the ballroom felt alien, a place where their roles could be shed like the very confetti that clung to their clothes.

Their eyes met, a silent promise exchanged, and the cheers of their friends faded into the distance. The night was theirs, a canvas upon which they would paint their desires without the judgmental eyes of society watching over them.

He led her to the limo, the driver holding the door open with a knowing smile.

The cool leather of the seat was a stark contrast to the heat that emanated from their bodies, their hearts beating in unison like a primal drum.

As the car pulled away from the curb, the city lights danced across their faces, casting shadows that played upon their features like lovers' whispers.

The confetti that clung to them fluttered in the breeze from the open window, a gentle reminder of the world they'd left behind.

Y/N leaned back into the plush seat, her eyes closing for a brief moment as she allowed herself to be enveloped by the sensation of the cool leather against her skin. She was tired, but it wasn't the physical exhaustion of the wedding that weighed her down.

"Wake me up when we get there," she muttered, the words slipping out of her mouth like a soft sigh.

Lewis chuckled lowly, his eyes never leaving the road ahead.

"I don't think that's going to be an issue," he murmured, his voice a velvety rumble that sent shivers down her spine.

The idea of staying at his house had been a fleeting thought, a secret fantasy that had danced at the edge of their consciousness since the moment they'd met.

The car's smooth ride seemed to mimic the rhythm of his breath, deep and steady. The scent of her perfume filled the space around them, an intoxicating blend of jasmine and vanilla that had become as familiar to him as his own heartbeat.

Lewis hummed but discarded that thought immediately. He wasn't going to wake her up.

The gentle vibrations of the car's engine lulled her into a deep, peaceful sleep, her head resting against his shoulder. Her soft, even breaths brushed against his neck, sending waves of warmth through his body.

He felt a primal need to protect her, to shield her from the world outside, even if just for this one night. His eyes remained on the road, but his mind was lost in the sweetness of her presence.

When the limo arrived at his house, he thanked the driver with a nod and a tip that conveyed the depth of his gratitude.

The engine's purr grew quieter as the car came to a stop, and the world outside seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of what was to come. The headlights cast an ethereal glow across the manicured lawn, illuminating a path that led to his front door.

He turned to her, the soft curve of her cheek still pressed against his shoulder, her lashes fluttering with the beginnings of a dream. Gently, he lifted her into his arms, cradling her like a precious treasure that had been entrusted to him.

Her eyes remained closed, but a faint smile played upon her lips as if she knew she was safe, protected in the cocoon of his embrace.

The cool night air kissed her skin as he carried her up the stone steps to the grand entrance of his house. The weight of her was comforting, grounding him in a way that his vast wealth and power never had.

The door swung open, revealing a warm, inviting foyer that was a stark contrast to the cold, impersonal hotel suite they had just left behind.

Inside, the scent of freshly baked cookies wafted from the kitchen, a welcome greeting that seemed to have been orchestrated by some invisible hand.

He kicked off his shoes, the sound echoing through the hallway, and carried her to the living room. The crackling fireplace cast flickering shadows across the floor, dancing over the polished hardwood like a living tapestry.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she took in her surroundings with a sleepy smile. "This isn't the hotel," she murmured, her voice a soft purr that seemed to resonate with the warmth of the room.

He chuckled, his breath stirring the hair at her temple. "No, it's not. This is my home," he said, his voice thick with the promise of what the night would hold.

He lowered her onto his plush bed, her legs draped over his as he sat beside her, one hand never leaving her waist.

Her eyes searched his, the sleepiness replaced by a spark of excitement. She knew this was a pivotal moment, one that would change their dynamic forever. "What are we doing?" she whispered, her heart racing.

With a knowing smile, he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers, the warmth of his breath mingling with hers. "Whatever you want," he replied, his voice a seductive whisper that seemed to coil around her like a lover's embrace.

He kissed her again, more insistent this time, his hand sliding up her side to cradle her neck, his thumb tracing the delicate line of her jaw.

Her breath hitched, and she leaned into him, her body responding instinctively to the heat of his touch. The weight of his hand on her neck sent a shiver down her spine, and she could feel her skin prickling with anticipation.

His thumb traced the outline of her ear, sending a cascade of sensations through her, making her squirm with pleasure.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring the soft recesses of her mouth, tasting the sweetness that was uniquely hers.

Her hands found his shoulders, her fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as if to hold onto him, to never let go. . . .

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scoutsbabygirl · 1 year ago

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literally an audio of the reader/listener being railed by ALL OF THE MERCS

the scout voice actor does the accent PERFECTLY. there's another one too i can link if anyone's interested. shoutout to all the va's in this, was frickin' awesome!

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23victoria · 5 months ago

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Cuntiltons pt.2

pairings: 𝓵𝓮𝔀𝓲𝓼 𝓱𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓽𝓸𝓷 𝔁 𝓯𝓮𝓶!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

synopsis: 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓫𝓸𝓭𝔂 𝓭𝓮𝓬𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓸𝔀 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝓽𝓼 𝓪𝓽 𝔂/𝓷 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓼𝓱𝓮'𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓵𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓲𝓽 𝓼𝓵𝓲𝓭𝓮

authors note: 𝓱𝓸𝓹𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓰𝓾𝔂𝓼 𝓮𝓷𝓳𝓸𝔂!!

𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓪 𝓫𝓮 𝓪𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓶𝔂 𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽?! CLICK HERE!

F1 MASTERLIST The Cuntiltons Pt. 1

f1fashiontrends

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Y/N L/N and Lewis Hamilton are both wearing the color red, although different shades, today ahead of today’s Free Practice 1-2!! A sneak peek into the future as Lewis has signed a multi-year contract for Ferrari making history! Are you guys ready to officially see Lewis is red! Let us know below!!

user1 ohhh they ate!!

user13 red looks so good on them omgg!!! 🤩

user3 they are so hot! 🥵

user45 so cuntyyyy!! 😫

user7 they are such a hot couple!!

The air at the track is buzzing with excitement as you and Lewis arrive together, stepping out of the sleek black Mercedes. Cameras flash, and fans cheer loudly when they spot you both. Dressed in a perfectly tailored outfit that screams elegance and confidence, you’re every bit the superstar they expect to see. As you walk hand-in-hand with Lewis, fans call out for photos.

“Y/N, can we get a picture?” a young fan asks shyly, holding out her phone.

You stop and kneel slightly to her height, flashing her a warm smile. “Of course, sweetheart. What’s your name?”

“Lila,” she says, blushing as you take the selfie with her.

“Beautiful name, Lila. Thanks for saying hi,” you tell her. Then another fan approaches, this time gushing, “I just saw your new movie last week, and I loved it so much! You were incredible.”

You laugh softly, reaching out to lightly touch their arm. “Thank you so much! You’ve just made my day. And I have to say, your outfit is killing it. Love the style!”

The fan grins, and you both exchange a quick selfie before you turn back to Lewis, who’s watching the interaction with an affectionate smile. “You know, if I didn’t have you to myself, I think the fans would keep you here all day,” he teases, wrapping an arm around your waist as the two of you walk toward the paddock.

“Can you blame them?” you joke, giving him a playful nudge. “Besides, it’s nice to feel the love.”

⋆｡°✩₊☾₊✩°｡⋆ ⋆｡°✩₊☾₊✩°｡⋆

Later, you’re lounging in Lewis’s motorhome, flipping through your phone as he stretches out beside you, sipping a smoothie. It’s a rare moment of calm before the chaos of the race weekend. “So, how are you feeling about today?” you ask him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Confident,” he replies, placing his hand over yours. “But having you here makes it ten times better. You’re like my lucky charm.”

You smile, about to respond, when your phone suddenly starts buzzing nonstop. Confused, you glance at the notifications piling in. Moments later, Lewis’s phone starts ringing too. “What the hell is going on?” you mutter, opening Twitter as Lewis answers the call.

Your jaw tightens as you scroll through a clip of Christian Horner’s latest press conference, where a reporter asked about you and Lewis’s presence at the track after a tough qualifying session.

“Well, actually, no,” Horner had said with a smirk. “If anything, it’s distracting. She walks around like she owns the place, and frankly, I don’t think her presence does much for the sport. I mean, she’s supposed to be a model, but I’ve never even seen her on a runway. Maybe if she focused on her job, she’d be less of a distraction for everyone else.”

You stare at the screen in disbelief as Lewis ends his call, already fuming. “That fucking prick,” he growls, pacing the room. “Who the hell does he think he is, talking about you like that?”

You laugh dryly, shrugging it off. “Please, that’s embarrassing for him. I don’t even think about him, let alone mention his name. It’s giving desperate, isn’t it?”

Lewis pauses, his face softening as he looks at you. “Still, love, he had no right to say that. You’re ten times the star he’ll ever be.”

You kiss his cheek, trying to lighten the mood. “Baby, don’t let it ruin your focus. He’s not worth it.”

He nods, but his jaw remains tight. “I’m going to get ready for FP1 and FP2. I’ll deal with this later,” he says, heading off to change into his race gear.

⋆｡°✩₊☾₊✩°｡⋆ ⋆｡°✩₊☾₊✩°｡⋆

During Free Practice 1 and 2, the topic of Christian’s comments dominates the paddock. Reporters approach drivers for their thoughts.

George, ever the diplomat, shakes his head. “I think Christian’s got it all wrong. Y/N is an incredible presence here. She’s a huge inspiration and brings more attention to the sport, not less.”

Lando laughs when asked. “Are you kidding? Y/N’s literally an icon. If anything, she makes the paddock cooler just by being here. Christian’s just jealous he doesn’t have her supporting his team.”

Charles adds his perspective, speaking with quiet conviction. “I don’t agree with Christian at all. I’ve seen Y/N on the runway—she’s a star in every sense of the word. And she and Lewis together? That’s something special. They bring so much positivity.”

Carlos chuckles. “Come on, have you seen Y/N? Everyone loves her. Christian’s comments are just... I don’t know, misplaced. She’s amazing.”

But it’s Yuki who surprises everyone with his bluntness. “Christian said that? That’s ridiculous. Y/N brings more fans to F1 than he does. Maybe he should focus on his own team instead of insulting people.”

Finally, Lewis takes his turn with the press. When asked about Christian’s remarks, his expression hardens. “That’s a ridiculous take,” he says firmly. “Y/N is one of the most successful people in the world. She’s not just a model or an actress—she’s an icon. And maybe the reason Christian hasn’t seen her on a runway is that he can’t afford a seat or doesn’t get invited to those kinds of events.”

The reporters laugh nervously as Lewis finishes, walking off without another word.

As you and Lewis prepare to leave the paddock, reporters swarm you. One steps forward, asking directly, “Y/N, do you have any response to Christian Horner’s comments?”

You pause, glancing at Lewis, who gives you a reassuring nod. Turning back to the cameras, you smile sweetly before delivering your response.

“Well, first of all, I want to thank everyone who defended me today. You’ve all been amazing—especially Lewis.” You squeeze his hand before continuing, your tone sharp now. “As for Christian… let’s be honest, his comments say a lot more about him than they do about me. It’s embarrassing, really. I don’t think about him, I don’t talk about him, and I certainly don’t care about his opinions.”

You pause for dramatic effect, tilting your head. “Maybe instead of worrying about me, Christian should focus on those sexual assault allegations against him. Seems like a better use of his time, don’t you think?”

The crowd goes silent, stunned by your boldness. A few reporters gape openly, while others scramble to jot down your words. Beside you, Lewis mutters, “Oh, shit,” before bursting into laughter.

You smile, turning to walk away but not before adding one final line. “I’ll be waiting for my apology, Christian. Much love, everyone. Have a great day!”

As you stride off, Lewis catches up to you, still laughing. “That was hot of you, love,” he says, pulling you close. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

You smirk, leaning into him. “Don’t worry, baby. You’re my favorite.”

He kisses your temple as the two of you leave the paddock, hand in hand, ready to let the world talk.

yln_l/n

liked by oscarpiastri, badgirlriri, alexandrasaintmleux, dior, chanel, lewishamilton, sza, arianagrande and 16,151,981 more

you’ll never be on my level 💋

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lewishamilton love you baby 😘

user4 h*one* who?!? oh okay!

yukitsunoda BACK TALK?!?! ITS QUIET AINT NO BACK TALK?!?

landonorris levels to this shit!! 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

user6 queen shit!!

badgirlriri boss shit!

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katnissegf · 2 months ago

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thinking about top service dina .ᐟ ( +18 )

✶ it’s been a very long day. you’re exhausted, so all you want to do right now is come home to your girlfriend and rest in her arms. however, she is just unable to stop begging you to let her make you feel better. and it is also impossible for you to say no to her offer.

✶ dina places you on the bed slowly, lifting your blouse until the cold air hits your breasts. she takes a long pause to stare, mesmerized, as if it were the first time she saw them. then she spreads wet kisses all over your chest, slightly sucking your sensible nipples.

✶ she just knows how to follow your instructions so well, how to make you feel good without putting any effort. it never ceases to amaze you. the heat of her body invading yours while she descends on your torso, leaving a trajectory of hickeys and bite marks on her path.

✶ the next thing you know is that her face is buried between your thighs, her tongue deep inside you. “i’m going to take care of you,” she murmures against you, feeling her hot breath in your center as she pronounces the words. “my sweet girl.”

✶ you can tell she gets pussy drunk very easily when it comes to you, but you would never complain. after all, she’s doing a really good job of making you forget about all the stress from earlier. it’s even easier to forget when she adds a couple of fingers at your entrance.

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jedi-luca · 19 days ago

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Head Over Feet Chapter One Hello, I Love You

Summary: You didn’t know Dina before she came back to Jackson. She’s guarded, jaded, and carrying the weight of too many goodbyes. Now you can’t stop thinking about her. It’s a slow burn, and you’re patient… but will she ever let down her walls? Or will someone else reach your heart first?

Pairings: Dina x GN!Reader slowburn

warnings: spoilers if you haven’t played the game or seen the show

A/N: I’ve been obsessed with Dina from the Last of Us season 2 especially after playing the game. Those of you who may be waiting on Avengers Lane don’t worry I’m gonna come back to it I just need to get this out of my system.

Dina turned at the sound of a high pitched squeal, just in time to see a little girl darting toward the jungle gym, giggling as you chased playfully behind her.

The girl scrambled up the bars, laughing. A small boy nearby looked up and smiled shyly, curious.

“Hi! I’m Charlie. What’s your name?” she called brightly.

The boy hesitated a moment before answering. “JJ.”

You stood a few steps back, letting the kids have their moment. Your gaze drifted to a woman sitting on a nearby bench, dark hair tucked behind one ear as she closed a book in her lap. She was stunning, and instinctively, you figured she must be JJ’s mom.

You offered a friendly smile. “Looks like they’re already best friends.”

She gave a small, polite smile in return. “I’m Dina,” she said, shaking your hand but not quite meeting your eyes.

You picked up on the subtle cue maybe she wasn’t the chatty type. Respecting that, you nodded and give her space, making your way to an empty swing nearby.

From there, you watch as Charlie and JJ took turns on the slide, their laughter echoing across the playground.

“Coach Y/N! Coach Y/N!”

You turned at the familiar chorus of voices. A small pack of kids was barreling toward you, grinning from ear to ear.

“Hey, crew!” you waved, standing up.

“I’ve been practicing!” one kid beamed.

“Me too!” another chimed in, bouncing with excitement.

“That’s awesome!” you said, ruffling a few heads. “You wanna run some drills?”

“Can we play a game?” one asked eagerly.

You glanced back toward the jungle gym. Charlie was still climbing, cheeks pink from the sun and play.

“Charlie!” you called. She paused and looked your way. “I’m heading to the court, okay? I’ll be right there.”

She gave you a thumbs-up and went back to sliding.

“Alright, team let’s move out!”

The kids erupted into cheers, scattering toward the nearby court and dividing themselves into teams like seasoned pros.

Back on the bench, Dina looked up from her book again, her attention drawn by the laughter and the thump of sneakers on pavement. She watched as you gently lifted each child to help them dunk the ball, your smile wide and your energy endless.

“Ooooh! Y/N! Y/N!” Charlie’s voice rang out again.

You turned to see her waving excitedly. She ran over to Dina, who raised an eyebrow as the girl tapped her knee.

“Hi,” Dina greeted, more relaxed this time.

“Hi! I’m Charlie! Can JJ come play basketball with me?” she asked, bouncing on her toes.

Dina hesitated, unsure.

“Pleeeeeeaaaaase?” both kids chimed, hands clasped in dramatic pleading.

You walked up just in time to catch the moment.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” you said gently.

Dina looked from you to the kids. Something in her softened. “Okay,” she said, finally smiling.

Charlie and JJ whooped in celebration and took off toward the court, with you jogging behind them.

Dina watched as you joined the game, her smile lingering a little longer this time. She watches as you patiently teach JJ how to dribble the ball, his tiny hands clumsily mimicking yours.

He bursts into giggles when you lift him high into the air, letting him dunk the ball with a triumphant slam.

A familiar ache stirs in Dina’s chest, an ache that twists into something bittersweet. But watching the way you are with her son, she can’t bring herself to look away.

The sun dips low on the horizon, casting a golden hue over the court as Dina rises to her feet and calls out,

“JJ, come on buddy, it’s time to go.”

“No!” the toddler shouts gleefully, darting off to play with the older kids.

Dina closes her eyes and exhales, shoulders heavy with exhaustion.

“I’m guessing that’s his new favorite word?” you ask with a laugh.

“Pretty much the only one he wants to use,” she mutters, shaking her head.

“Hang on a sec.” You jog toward the center of the court and catch the ball mid-bounce.

“Awww, come on coach!” one of the kids groans.

“The sun’s setting, let’s call it here. We’ll get more practice tomorrow.”

The kids groan in protest.

One of them smirks and elbows his friend. “Alright, we’ll stop—but only if you make it from half-court!”

You grin, eyes twinkling. “Deal, Jack.”

With a swift pivot and smooth release, you send the ball soaring.

Dina watches as the court erupts.

“OHHHHHHH!” the kids shout, clapping and jumping.

“Alright, off the court! Head home! I’ll see you all tomorrow!”

JJ giggles as the kids scramble away, racing each other toward the street.

“Nice shot,” Dina says, lifting JJ into her arms.

“Thanks.” You flash her a smile.

“Thanks for watching him,” she adds, her voice softer now.

“Anytime.”

“Let’s go Pony!” Charlie calls, clambering up your back.

You playfully gasp as her little arms swat at your throat. “Ah! She’s trying to take me out!” You cough as she settles on your back. “It was nice meeting you, Dina. You too, little man.” You offer JJ a fist bump, and he giggles as his tiny fist taps yours.

“It was nice meeting you too,” Dina says, her smile warm as JJ hides shyly in the crook of her neck.

“Bye JJ! Bye JJ’s mom!” Charlie waves enthusiastically.

“Bye bye!” JJ giggles.

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄

“Hey, Maria,” you say with a grin as you walk into the office.

“Hi, Y/N.”

You settle at your desk and get to work. A few minutes pass in silence before you speak again.

“Maria?”

“Hm?”

“What’s Dina’s deal?”

Maria glances up, one brow raised. A small smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth.

“Why?”

“I met her and her son yesterday at the park,” you say casually.

“Did you now.” Maria’s smirk widens.

“I’ve never seen her before, but I remember some of the guys saying she used to live here. Left for about a year, then came back?”

Maria sighs and sets her pen down.

“Dina was with my niece, Ellie. About a year and a half ago, Joel, Ellie’….dad was murdered by raiders. Right in front of her.”

You blink, caught off guard.

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. Ellie and Dina wanted revenge. They left one night without saying a word. My ex-husband—”

“Tommy.” You nod, remembering.

“Mmhmm. He went after them with their friend Jesse. But they didn’t realize how big the raider group actually was. They came back empty-handed, PTSD, and Joel’s killer was still out there.”

She pauses, gathering her thoughts.

“Ellie and Dina decided to leave and start fresh somewhere. But Tommy couldn’t let it go. He got obsessed. That… was part of why we split up. According to Dina, Ellie wasn’t doing well mentally. One night, she just left. Went after that last raider. Dina came back to Jackson with JJ.”

“Ellie just left her and JJ?” you ask, your expression tightening.

“Yeah.” Maria sighs, voice softer now.

“What about JJ’s dad?”

“Jesse. He didn’t make it back.”

You sit back, stunned. “Shit.”

“I know. He was a good kid.”

“I’m sorry you went through all that.”

“It’s life,” she says with a shrug, then picks her pen back up.

The room falls quiet again until the door creaks open. Dina steps inside, looking a little frazzled.

“Hey, Maria.” She looks your way. “Hey—”

“Y/N,” you offer with a smile.

“Right. Yeah, of course I knew that.”

Maria tilts her head. “What’s wrong, Dina?”

“Sooo… JJ may or may not have clogged both the toilet and the kitchen sink. With toys. Do you have someone who can help?”

“I got you,” you laugh, standing.

“Oh thank God,” Dina says with a sheepish gulp.

Maria watches the two of you with quiet amusement.

“Lead the way, boss,” you grin.

You walk in step following her lead to her house when she speaks up.

“I didn’t forget your name, by the way.”

“Sure you didn’t,” you tease.

“I swear I didn’t! Just didn’t expect to see you again so soon.” She laughs. “Y/N… and your daughter’s name is Charlie, right?”

“Charlie’s actually my niece.” You flash a quick smile.

“Oh. Do you have family out here?”

You shake your head. “No. It’s just us.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. How long have you been in Jackson?” Dina asks.

“Uh, probably about a year now.”

You were both down the main road when you both ran into one of the mothers Natalie. You coach her son Jack.

“Hey coach.” Natalie smiled sweetly.

“Hi, Natalie, again you can just call me Y/N.” You grin.

“Right sounds good Y/N, what are you two doing?” Natalie eyes Dina.

“Plumbing issue.” You shrugged.

“You know I’ve been having trouble with some of the windows maybe you can come by and help me grease them?”

“Sure.” You nod with an oblivious smile. It took Dina a lot to not just roll her eyes at the blanant innuendo Natalie threw your way.

”I’ll see you around.” Natalie smirks before continuing on her way.

“Bye.” Dina huffs with a roll of her eyes. “Come on I’m just right around the corner.”

Dina lets you in her house. “Thanks Nancy for watching him for a few.”

“Oh of course you know I love that sweet boy!” Nancy waved her off as she watched you begin to lay under the kitchen sink. “They’re cute!” Nancy whispered gesturing to you.

Dina chuckled awkwardly not missing the smirk on your lips.

“So what brought you here?”

You hesitate.

“Sorry,” she adds quickly. “That was probably a loaded question.”

“No, it’s fine.”

You take a breath.

“My dad was a marine. Big-time hunter. Doomsday prepper, too. When the outbreak happened, he picked me up from school, got my brother and his wife, and we headed to a cabin he’d set up years before. My mom thought he was overreacting. Said it was just another pandemic.”

You glance down.

“Later that day, we heard on the radio: they’d bombed the city.”

Dina goes quiet.

“He always had a line to Jackson. Told us how to get here if everything went to hell. Raiders hit hard. We held them off for a while… but not long enough.”

You pause as you work under the sink.

“Try the faucet now.”

Dina turns it on. The water runs smooth.

You hold up a little toy soldier. “Here’s your culprit.”

She sighs, glancing at JJ. “Yup. That tracks.”

JJ giggles from the living room, chewing on a snack.

“Where’s the toilet?”

Dina leads you down the hall.

“I managed to get the water out already.”

“Good thinking,” you say, kneeling to work.

After a moment, Dina speaks quietly.

“Did your family make it out with you?”

You pause.

”…No. My brother and his wife died during the attack. My parents were wounded. We took out the rest of the raiders, but… they didn’t make it far. A bloater showed up. They told me to run. I grabbed Charlie and didn’t look back.”

“God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

You sit back, wiping sweat from your brow. “Don’t be sorry. It’s done. Charlie and I made it. That’s what matters.”

Dina swallows hard. “She’s lucky to have you.”

You glance at her.

“Honestly? Feels like I’m the lucky one.”

Dina gives a soft nod.

“What about you?” you ask gently. “What’s your story?”

“It’s a long one.”

“I’ve got time.”

She looks at you, a little amused.

“I’m sure you’ve heard what happened to Joel.”

“A little. People talk.”

She sighs her chestnut eyes dimming a little more. “I left partly because of that. But also… I just wanted a farm on a hill. And I had it, for a while.”

“But?”

“But… I didn’t wanna be alone out there. Not with JJ. Everything changes when you have a kid.”

You nod, twisting the final bolt into place.

“Alright. Try it now.”

She flushes the toilet. It works.

You hold up another toy. “And there’s our second victim.”

“Let’s just toss that one,” she grimaces.

You both laugh.

After washing your hands, Dina turns to you.

“Thank you. Really.”

“Of course.”

“It’s lunch time. I was gonna make something. Want to join us? Call it a proper thank you.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to. Plus, JJ won’t stop dribbling that bouncy ball you gave him.” She points to her son, now enthusiastically bouncing it into a toy bin.

You chuckle. “Alright. Lunch sounds nice.”

Dina walks into the kitchen and starts pulling ingredients from a cabinet.

“Can I help?” you offer with a grin.

“Yeah, actually…”

The kitchen smelled faintly of herbs and something sweet as Dina set a pot on the stove.

“You can chop those,” she said, nodding toward a bundle of carrots and a knife on the counter.

“Yes, chef,” you joked, rolling up your sleeves.

Dina cracked a small smile but didn’t say anything. You started chopping. The silence was comfortable…kind of. It wasn’t awkward, just full of things neither of you seemed ready to say out loud.

From the living room, JJ babbled to himself, tiny plastic blocks clacking together as he played. Occasionally he’d shout a sound “Yes!” or “No!” like he was giving orders to imaginary soldiers.

You glance over. “He’s got leadership potential.”

“He gets it from his father. He thinks he runs the place.” Dina’s voice was warm, but a little tired around the edges.

“He kind of does.”

That earned you a real laugh. It was soft and sudden, like it caught her off guard. You filed her laugh away in your mind.

Lunch was simple stew and bread, the kind of meal that fills you up just enough. JJ sat in his booster seat, getting more of the food on his cheeks than in his mouth.

“You like it, little man?” you asked.

JJ gave a crooked grin, slamming his spoon on the tray. “No!”

“He likes saying that even when it’s not true,” Dina said, sipping her water. “He just learned the word.”

“Well, it’s an important one.”

He dropped the spoon and flung a piece of carrot. It hit your shoulder.

“And we’re throwing things now,” you muttered with a grin.

Dina groaned. “JJ…”

“It’s fine,” you said, brushing it off. “I’ve seen worse. I’ve been worse.”

“You a handful growing up?”

“Me? No. Charlie though… she was a menace. Charlie’s dad was just as bad growing up.”

Dina’s face shifted slightly at the mention of your family. You could see it in the way her eyes lowered not pity exactly, but something close to it.

After lunch, you helped clear the dishes. Dina stood at the sink, rinsing while you dried. JJ wandered off toward the living room, humming to himself.

“Thanks again,” Dina said, quietly. “For today. The plumbing stuff, and…”

“The stew was worth it,” you said with a small smile.

She smirked, but her eyes didn’t quite match it. After a second, she leaned against the counter.

“You know, I’m not really good with people anymore.”

“It’s the apocalypse. Who is?”

She let out a dry breath of a laugh, and looked down at her hands.

“I mean it,” she added. “I’ve been on my own for a long time. Even when I wasn’t technically alone.”

You didn’t answer right away. You didn’t want to press her. But she kept going.

“I’m not looking for anything serious. Not right now. I can’t—”

“You don’t have to explain.”

She looked up at you. Really looked.

“I’m just… tired. Some days it’s easier not to feel anything at all.”

You nodded. You knew exactly what she meant.

There was a long pause. The sound of JJ babbling in the next room was the only thing anchoring the moment.

Then Dina spoke, voice quiet.

“But I still miss being touched.”

You watched her, unsure what to say. This wasn’t a flirtation. It wasn’t a proposition. It was a confession raw and open.

“I get it,” you said softly.

“I’m not offering anything,” she added quickly, looking away. “I just… I wanted you to know where I’m at. In case this starts feeling like something else to you.”

You stood still for a moment. Then nodded.

“Message received.”

She gave you a grateful kind of smile. Not warm, but honest.

You helped wash JJ’s face after lunch. He squealed and kicked his feet as you gently wiped stew off his cheeks.

“You’re a mess, kid.”

“Bahhh!” he yelled in defiance, then giggled.

You looked at Dina.

“He’s good. Happy.”

“Some days.” She shrugged. “Other days he wakes up crying for someone he won’t even remember.”

You felt a sharp ache in your chest at that.

“Same with Charlie,” you said. “Some nights she asks where her mom is. I tell her the truth. But she keeps asking.”

“Maybe one day she won’t.”

“Maybe.”

There was a beat of silence. JJ climbed down from his chair, crawling into Dina’s lap and curling up there, thumb in his mouth.

“I should let you rest,” you said quietly, grabbing your jacket.

Dina nodded but didn’t get up. “Thank you again,” she said.

“Any time.”

You walked to the door and paused, hand on the knob. Turned back.

“If you ever need help again with JJ, the house, whatever… I’m around.”

She didn’t respond right away, but you saw it in her eyes.

“Okay,” she said. “Good to know.”

You stepped out into the afternoon sun, the door closing softly behind you.

The wind picked up, rustling the leaves. You pulled your jacket tighter around you and started walking.

It wasn’t much.

But it was something.

Next Chapter

#the last of us #dina tlou #dina woodward #isabela merced #Dina Woodward x reader #dina x reader #dina the last of us

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thelastofme-l · 1 month ago

Text

Batmans and Robins

Jesse TLOU x F!READER

Warnings: pregnancy, contractions, active labor, cursing, mentions of blood, baby daddy!jesse, mentions of oral (female receiving)

Summary: Timing is everything...especially when you're pregnant in the apocalypse.

A/n: Ya'll I'm ovulating and needed baby daddy!Jesse like water. I'm just gonna keep writing and pretend that the next week's episode isn't actually happening...haha... :(

Word count: 8,064

Something woke you up.

You let out a huff, feeling extremely frustrated that, for what seemed like the millionth night in a row, you weren't able to stay asleep. You turn your head, glancing at the clock on the nightstand.

2:47am

The cool night air blew through the open window, billowing the curtains. The moonlight provided the only light in the dark room, bathing the empty bassinet just underneath the window in a white glow.

As if on queue, you felt a sharp kick under your rib and winced, moving your hand to the spot and rubbing gently. You were a couple weeks shy of 9 months and completely fed up with being pregnant.

To be fair, you had been fed up since your first trimester when you were vomiting up everything you ate and constantly nauseous.

Jesse waited on you, hand and foot, when he wasn't busy with patrols or the council.

Right after you'd found out you were pregnant, he had become the youngest member of the council and Tommy's right-hand man. It came with a lot of responsibilities and struggles, but he stuck around when you threatened his life and for the rough couple of weeks when the mere sight of him sent you into a rage.

You would scream at him and then cry hysterically when the fog would clear, and you realized just how mean you were being.

Of course, he didn't hold it against you, assuring you it was all normal. The emotional outbursts came with the territory, besides he was far too busy being obsessed with the idea of you carrying his baby to let anything bother him.

He'd been reading the books that Maria had given you, including a book called 'What To Expect When You're Expecting'. Anything he couldn't find in the books, would be answered by Tommy, the man he went to for all of life's questions.

You knew he was talking Tommy's ear off any chance he got. A handful of times you'd find them sat on your porch, Jesse with a list of questions and Tommy with a beer, trying his best to answer. It helped that Ben was only 5 years old, so all the memories of Maria throwing him out for breathing too close or her strange cravings were still fresh in his mind.

By your second trimester, the nausea had subsided, and you felt the glow that everyone talked about. You had your energy back, for the most part, and was able to return to your duties in the community, as much as Jesse would allow.

The guy had spies all over town and the second you attempted something like lifting a box or guiding a horse into a stall, you were stopped. You thought it was cute how much he cared.

At town parties he would dote on you, finding any excuse to touch your ever-growing bump.

At home he would give you massages or rub your feet, which always turned into something more. He opted for pleasuring you whenever he got the chance, having read that orgasms throughout the pregnancy could lessen the pain of childbirth. You weren't sure if it was true, but you weren't going to stop him.

Now nearing the end of your pregnancy, whatever comfort or sex drive you had, was completely gone. Your belly was protruding so far that you could barely see your feet, which were swollen and painful to walk on. Your whole body seemed to ache more and more each day making it damn near impossible to sleep.

The baby was running out of room inside you, and you were running out of patience.

You sighed, shifting slowly in bed, careful to not wake Jesse who was snoring quietly beside you. He'd become quite a light sleeper over the course of the last couple of months, always worried you might need something in the middle of the night.

When you finally managed to sit up against the headboard you pushed the messy hair off your face and reached for the glass of water on the nightstand. It was room temperature now, but still eased your dry throat.

Just as you set the glass back down, there was a gentle touch on your arm, followed by a deep, gravelly voice, "Are you okay baby?"

With the moonlight shining through you could see that he was propped up on his elbow, blinking at you. He'd had a long day of riding with Tommy; with the warm season coming there was more sightings of infected in the area.

"I'm okay," You whispered, moving your hand back to your belly as you felt a strange sensation in place of the baby's kicks, "Go back to sleep"

Intuitive as ever his hand followed, resting just below yours as his thumb rubbed soothingly across the fabric of the shirt that covered the large bump, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," You sighed, watching him yawn and feeling guilty for stirring him awake. "I'm just feeling some of tightness right here"

"Contractions?" He asked, voice cracking as he shifted slightly under the blanket, ready to bolt out of bed. He'd been nervous about the thought of you going into labor since the moment you told him you were pregnant.

"No—Well I don't think so," You replied, as the feeling began to dissipate. It's not like you had experience with it, but judging off what Maria had told you, that wasn't what a contraction would feel like, "It was just weird"

He listened intently, chewing on the inside of his cheek. After a moment he nodded, rubbing at his eyes, "Maybe it was braxton hicks, sort of like practice contractions to prepare you for labor"

"You've been spending way too much time reading those damn books," You teased, feeling his hand run along your thigh under the blanket, leaving a trail of goosebumps. You leaned over carefully, catching his expression before pressing your lips against his in a quick gentle kiss, "It doesn't matter, it's gone now"

Just was you were pulling away, he was leaning back in, chasing your lips. When he caught them again, he moved his slow against yours, savoring the taste of you in his tired state. You kissed him back, enjoying the way his tongue slipped into your mouth as he moved closer to you. You felt his hand slide to your inner thigh just as you pulled back, breaking the kiss again.

He made a sound deep in his throat that made you wish you weren't pregnant and had the energy to go all night with him. But instead you leaned over and whispered, "I'm going to get a snack"

Jesse moved to sit up then, more awake despite the yawn that escaped his lips, "I'll go with you"

"Jesse," You laughed, pressing your hand to his bare chest and pushing him back into the pillows, "You need to sleep, you have patrol in a couple hours"

He sighed, glancing at the clock on the side table, peering at you through heavy eyelids. It wouldn't be the first night that you snuck out of bed and hung out in the kitchen, eating anything you could get your hands on.

"You'll wake me if something happens?"

Your bare feet were already coming in contact with the cold wood floors before you hummed a response to him, softly closing the door behind you as you waddled out of the room.

The trek downstairs was proving to be quite difficult as you felt another tightening sensation, this time on the other side of your belly. By the time you made it to the bottom step it was gone again and all you could think about was how hungry you were.

You turned on the stove light, learning over the months that it provided just enough light for late night snacking.

You settled on a box of cookies that Dina had dropped off a couple days prior. She knew that the pregnancy had given you an extreme sweet tooth and proclaimed herself as your cookie dealer.

You took a bite, closing your eyes dramatically as the sweetness danced over your tastebuds. If Maria were standing in the room with you, she would have laughed at the sight. She'd been telling you about old wives tales over the last few months and claimed you would be having a girl. Craving sweets was one of the big indicators along with the fact that you were carrying high, but you would only roll your eyes at her.

You didn't have a preference. All you really hoped for was a fast delivery and a healthy baby. Jesse felt the same, of course, but you could tell he was partial to a girl.

You leaned against the counter as you took another bite, looking across the room to the window. It was still dark, but the moon was providing just as much light as it was through the upstairs window.

As you reached for another cookie in the dimly lit kitchen, you heard a creak on the old floorboard behind you. Spinning around to find Jesse entering the room as he pulled a dark shirt over his head.

"-Fuck, Jesse, didn't anyone ever tell you not to sneak up on a pregnant woman"

"Sorry," His voice was still thick and scratchy from sleep as he moved across the kitchen pulling the shirt over his toned stomach, "I don't like sleeping alone"

You smiled to yourself remembering all the late nights that Jesse would be on watch when the two of you had just begun dating. You would toss and turn for hours before deciding to climb up on the gates to be with him.

"You got another long day ahead of you," You scolded, through a mouthful of cookie, "You should really go to sleep"

He ignored you, moving to stand behind you and snake his arms around your waist. His hands spread across the bottom of your belly, where he carefully applied pressure upward, lifting it.

You melted against him immediately, leaning back against his chest. The position took some of the weight and strain off of your back and abdomen as he literally held your belly for you. It was something he did often after reading that the simple gesture could alleviate some of the discomfort you were feeling.

"I love when you do this" You mumbled, swallowing the last bite of your cookie.

He hummed against your neck, pressing a soft kiss to the skin there.

"What if you did this all day?" You joked as your eyes fluttered close, feeling your muscles relax.

His chest vibrated against your back when he let out a low laugh, "It's only been a couple minutes, and I can already feel it in my back"

"You better be glad you don't have to carry this thing around 24/7," You giggled, as you felt him press another kiss to the side of your neck, "Everything hurts all the time"

"I'm sorry baby" He cooed in your ear, making your knees go weak. It never failed to surprise how much you craved him, even as pregnant as you were. "You're almost there"

"I'm lookin' forward to not being pregnant anymore," You hummed, leaning your head back to rest on his shoulder as he swayed your bodies slowly, the motion doing wonders for your hips, "Can you lift higher?"

"I'll miss it," He spoke quietly against your ear as he repositioned his hands, doing as you asked, "You look so sexy pregnant"

You had to roll your eyes even as the blush crept over your cheeks. He was never shy about his attraction to you, especially ever since you'd gotten pregnant with his baby.

You felt a sudden movement under his hands, a flutter of what felt like an arm moving, "Did you feel that?"

He nodded, "Baby is really moving tonight huh?"

"That reminds me," You hummed, closing your eyes again enjoying the moment as he pressed kisses under your ear, "We should really figure out a name"

"Jesse Jr." He responds without hesitation, suppressing his laugh against your neck, "JJ for short, works for boy or girl"

You smack at his arm. The conversation of names had come up multiple times throughout your pregnancy and Jesse wasn't much help, "I'm being serious"

"You always are," Jesse mumbled, now burying his face into the crook of your neck, "I'm not good at names"

You giggled, squirming against him as he nibbled at your skin, "How about—fuck"

A sharp pain erupted from the bottom of your stomach where Jesse's big hands were still holding you. It shocked you, causing you to jerk away from him and clutch his hand on the spot.

"What is it?" He rushed, loosening his hold on and moving in front of you in a flash, "Talk to me baby"

"Shit" You groaned again, squeezing your eyes shut as another wave hit you. "I-I don't know, I think something's wrong"

"We need to get you to the doctor," He said quickly, looking around like a lost child before gathering his bearings, "Shoes, we need shoes"

The panic hit you as he left you alone in the room. There's no way this was normal, you were still weeks away from your estimated due date. You moved to support yourself against the counter but stopped short at the sound that made your blood run cold.

In the quiet of the night, you heard the all too familiar ringing of bells. One after the other, echoing through the town.

Ding, Ding, Ding, Ding.

Four bells.

Four bells meant infected.

"Jesse" You shouted, voice shaking as you stumbled your way to the door, fighting the aching pain as best as you could. The house was still dark, but you could see the outline of his back as he froze, hearing the same bells that you had.

When he heard you hiss out in pain behind him, he spun around seeing you leaned against the wall as another wave of tightening came. He snapped out of it, pulling his other boot on before rushing to your side and dropping to his knees.

His hands were moving fast and shaking slightly as he lifted your foot and placed it in the slip-on shoes you'd managed to wear for the duration of your pregnancy, "I swear to god if this is another drill, I'll kill Tommy"

Bang.

A shot sounded over the repeating bells and you both turned towards the window just in time to see a sudden burst of a red light against the dark sky.

Flare gun.

"Definitely not a drill" You said through gritted teeth as he stood. Tommy would never waste flares on a drill, not with all the sightings in the area.

"-Fuck" Jesse suddenly yelled, heading for the hall closet where he kept his gun.

You opened the door, watching as your neighbors sprinted towards town. In the distance you could hear yelling over the bells, presumably from the men who were stationed on the walls.

"We have to go," Jesse was next to you in an instant with his gun strap hanging off his shoulder, putting his hand against your back and holding your arm as he helped you down the porch steps and into the street.

The cool night air hit you in the face as you tried to walk as fast as you could, which wasn't fast enough. The plan that Tommy had drilled into each member of the communities heads was playing through your mind:

Young ones and old ones get underground, basements or cellars and shelter in place until told it's safe to come out. Everyone else go up, rooftops and 2nd stories with guns. If there is a breach, stay off the main roads.

"You need to find Tommy" You managed, out of breath and fully halting your steps when another intense pain sliced through your stomach. You would've dropped to the ground if Jesse hadn't been supporting you.

"Not until I get you somewhere safe" He had to shout so you would hear him over the chaos and the bells getting louder as you entered the town center.

"Jesse—" You gripped his bicep, nails digging in as you attempted to manage the pain you were feeling, "You're his 2nd you should—"

"I'm not leaving you out here" He cut you off, suddenly pulling your arm across his back so he could support your weight better and get you moving again.

Your head was spinning by the time you were both standing in the middle of town, the gates were being barricaded, and everyone was rushing around you. Jesse had loosened his hold you, turning in all directions trying to come up with a plan for you. You would need a doctor in whatever shelter you were in.

Just as he moved to hold you up against him again, you were crying out and holding your stomach with both hands. There was a weird sensation between your legs and your thighs suddenly felt wet.

You reached your hand below the long shirt you wore and immediately felt the liquid that was dripping from your underwear.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Uh— my water just broke"

When you raised your wet hand up to show him, he could see how badly you were shaking. "It's okay baby—Listen to me," He caught your face between his big hands forcing you to look at him but you couldn't focus, on the verge of a panic attack, "We need to get you off the street, okay?"

You nodded, even though you could barely hear what he was saying over the heartbeat pounding in your ears. All you saw was the color draining from his face and the way his eyebrows were pinched together. He disappeared from your field vision for a second before you felt yourself being lifted up off the ground.

He took off running once you were secure in his arms, heading away from the gates. The jostling only making what you now knew to be contractions worse. You must've cried out again because Jesse was pressing his cheek to your forehead, holding you high and tight against him muttering, "I know, I know"

You heard Tommy before you saw him. He was yelling and panicked, moving across the street and pointing to the gates.

Jesse ran straight for him. Before he could say anything, Tommy was shouting at him, "Jesse, where the hell you been? I need you with me now!"

"The baby is coming" Jesse pleaded, looking to Tommy who had become somewhat of a father figure to him over the years, "I don't know what to do— where's the doctor?"

Tommy looked at you then, as if being snapped back to reality. Wrapped up in Jesse arms with tears running down your cheeks. He watched as your face twisted and you winced at another contraction, clutching your stomach. Then all at once he locked in, "Follow me, Maria took Ben to the cellar under the restaurant, she can help"

Suddenly, you were being jostled in Jesse arms again as he followed after Tommy. Past his head you could see the twinkling stars scattered all across the dark sky and the full moon that hung, shining down and lighting up the streets.

"How many infected?" Jesse rushed out, keeping up with Tommy as best as he could as they turned the corner.

"Too many"

Tommy's words hung in the air, amidst the chaos and yelling. You felt Jesse's fingers curl against you tighter.

Another contraction came and you balled the front of his shirt up in a fist, as you counted through it, just like Maria had taught you. He was breathing hard as they turned the final corner to the restaurant, "Just breathe through it, okay baby, just like we practiced"

You would've laughed if you hadn't been grinding your teeth together, pretty sure whatever practice you'd done would be useless at this point.

A horde of infected attacking the town was not exactly in your birth plan.

Before Tommy burst through the doors of the restaurant he was already screaming for Maria, who appeared at the doorway of the cellar toward the back of the building. She was ushering in the kids and elderly down to the cellar when her head snapped in the direction of her husband.

"Can you help?" Jesse asked, voice breaking as he approached her with you still gripping onto his shirt.

She didn't ask questions, only moved to the side so Jesse could enter. He moved down the steps carefully, clutching you tight to him. You could hear his heart beating in loud thumps against his chest.

The cellar was cold and damp, filled with people and crying children. Maria guided him as he lowered you to the ground, onto a mat that she had rolled out only seconds prior. You grunted in pain and the moment you left his grasp you were reaching out for his hand, squeezing it tightly as he knelt beside you.

"How far apart are the contractions?" She was talking to you now, coming to her knees at your feet.

"5 minutes" You say at the same time you feel Jesse's lips against the skin of your hand, echoing your words. You weren't sure how he had managed to count the contractions with you as all the chaos ensued around him, but it made you smile despite the pain in your abdomen.

Maria nodded, curtly as she moved your knees apart, "I'm going to take a look"

You were thankful that you'd only been wearing one of Jesse's shirts and underwear on this night, thinking of how much effort it would take to remove pajama pants in your current state. Her hands were freezing as she moved your soaked underwear down your trembling legs.

"This isn't what I had in mind—" You attempted to make a joke but your voice cracked, exposing just how scared you were.

Jesse brought his other hand down over your forehead that was slick with sweat and pushed your hair back.

"I know," He leaned down to press his lips against your skin, "It's gonna be okay, just breathe"

"This baby is coming" Maria spoke quickly, moving to kneel beside Jesse. "It won't be long now"

"What about the doctor?" You asked, eyes pinching shut as another contraction hits you. You cry out, digging your nails into Jesse's hand as he tries to comfort you through it.

"This baby isn't gonna wait for a doctor," Maria sighed, looking to Jesse, "I can deliver it but if there's any complications I don't know—"

"—We trust you" You breathed, opening your eyes and looking at the two of them at your side, "I trust you, Maria, please just help me"

It was all the confirmation she needed as she stood, instructing some of the women behind her on what she needed to assist you with this birth.

But you couldn't hear her, too distracted by the way Tommy was screaming for Jesse at the top of the stairs, "We need to go now, that horde is only a couple clicks out"

"I'm not leaving her" Jesse screamed back, running a hand over his face. The cellar became quiet aside from your heavy breathing and the sound of stairs creaking as more children filed in. Everyone knew Jesse was Tommy's right hand man, he'd earned the position after years of proving himself. To see them now, screaming at each other was shocking.

"Son, listen to me," Tommy must've moved down the stairs because he was louder now, "I know you want to be here but you can't help her"

Jesse had his full attention on you, as if he couldn't hear a thing Tommy was saying. But you could.

"He's right," Maria was back, moving beside Jesse and putting a rolled up blanket under your head as a sort of pillow, "You can do more out there"

He still didn't budge, only staring at you with his hand holding yours tight as his other moved up and down your arm, an attempt at calming you.

"Jesse, if those fuckers get in here we are all as good as dead," Tommy shouted, turning to head back up the stairs, "—including her and the baby"

He flinched at the words. His fingertips halting on your arm. The sounds of yelling and bells floating down the steps and echoing off the walls as Tommy ran out of the restaurant.

"Jesse" You whined, attempting to sit yourself up, only to be ushered back down by Maria.

"I'm staying right here," He moved his hands to your cheeks, wiping at your tears and speaking slow and clear to you, "I want to stay with you"

Maria had disappeared again, muttering about needing water and giving you some sliver of privacy in the over capacitated room.

"I'm scared and I want you to stay with me," You blurted out, feeling fresh tears slide past your red cheeks and collect on his fingers. You placed your hand on top of his as you winced, "—But I need you to go"

He shook his head incessantly, and you felt his thumb moving on your skin.

"Tommy's right—," You croaked, feeling your heart ache, "If you want to protect us, this baby, then you need to fight"

You moved your head slightly to get a grip on yourself, Jesse would never believe you if you kept crying the way that you were. You needed to be strong, to show him that you didn't need him; even if you did.

"There's no point in any of this if we all end up dead, right?" You attempt a light hearted laugh but your nerves have you choking back more tears instead.

He suddenly shifts on his knees moving in to press a kiss to your lips. It's desperate and feverish. As passionate as it could be in the moment, being in active labor. Your hand cards through his hair and you make a sound against his lips when you feel another shooting pain start.

"You've got a lot to fight for" You managed a smile, moving his hand to your stomach when he pulled away. "We'll be okay"

"I love you" He mutters, pressing another kiss to your lips and then again to your forehead.

"Don't die"

Jesse gave you a tight lipped smile as he stood up fully. He adjusted his gun strap on his shoulder, "I'll be back"

"She's in good hands," Maria was back, moving to your side again, nudging Jesse away carefully, "Go now Jesse"

He disappeared in a blink of an eye. You could hear him running up the stairs and the cellar door shutting behind him. The sound of the lock deafening.

"Okay sweetie, are you ready for this?"

•

In a matter of minutes, the town of Jackson was at war. From the cellar you could hear the muffled gun fire and yelling. You tried to focus as Maria checked you again, "It's almost time to start pushing"

The sound of firing was not helping your nerves especially knowing that Jesse was out there in the middle of it. Luckily, you had quite the distraction.

An older woman, Karen, was wiping your forehead with a damp cloth, trying to keep the fever that had developed away. On either side of your legs were two women who had recently given birth, holding your legs as you trembled.

"Maria I don't think I can do this" You cried, already feel exhausted despite not actively pushing.

"You can" She encouraged, gently moving your legs up so your knees were bent getting you in the right position, "You're already doing so good"

You squeezed your eyes shut, becoming ultra aware of the concrete floor and the pain spreading through your lower back. Any effort of grounding yourself ended the second Jesse went out the cellar door.

"Just remember to breathe—" She said, her voice soft, against the sudden sound of an explosion.

"What was what?" You say body lurching at the sound, but the women on either side of you, held you in place.

"Look at me," Maria spoke again, catching your attention, "Let's just focus on you and the baby right now okay?"

You nodded, propping yourself up on your elbows and gritting your teeth hard as another surge hit.

"I want you to listen to your body, it's gonna tell you when to push okay? We are going to let this happen naturally"

"This doesn't feel very natural" You groaned, throwing your head back.

"It's the most natural thing in the world" One of the women near your head cooed, giving you a sip of water.

"I don't know about that" You muttered, feeling like your body might split in two as the burning sensation intensified. "Nothing comes natural to me"

"Motherhood will"

You felt the tears falling again at the words of encouragement.

You'd never thought you'd be here.

Obviously not, currently here: in a cellar giving birth as your town is attacked by a horde of killing machines and your baby daddy is in danger of being ripped apart or infected.

But in general.

You'd never thought you'd make a good mother, the thought of having children never even crossed your mind. When you first showed up in Jackson you were a broken, scared girl. You'd done and experienced things on the outside that haunted you, even to this day. You swore you would never curse another being with living in this fucked up world and you'd never let your guard down again. It was something you held onto even as the cramped trailer pulled into the heart of Jackson.

You had managed to keep to yourself for all of five days before you were introduced to a particularly tall guy who immediately struck you as a good guy.

And not one of those guys who pretends to be a good guy to get what they want or to impress someone, but a genuine good guy. You admired him.

Cut to a couple months and many patrols later, you'd decided that you liked Mr. Good Guy. You liked his dorky jokes and the things he'd taught you about life. He easily jumped over all of the remaining walls you had left standing until there was nothing left to hide.

Life was good.

Mr. Good Guy finally made a move on you after months and months of subtle hints and flirty banter. And the relationship snowballed from there.

The two of you had talked about children and babies in casual manners. Jesse enjoyed volunteering as a coach for the limited amount of sports that Jackson offered, finding fulfillment in creating bonds with the young generation and being a role model. You'd go along and watch him in his element as kids jumped on his back and giggled at his jokes, stomach fluttering at how much of a natural he was with them.

You'd never been that way with kids, even after being settled into Jackson for as long as you had.

Often times he'd bring it up after the two of you had sex, lying sprawled out with you on his chest and heaving heavy breaths. Hypothetical questions and what ifs. It surprised you that he even pondered the idea, but then again Jackson was safe and lot of members were having babies.

You'd been rocking the pull out method for the entirety of your relationship and it worked like a charm, but you'd learned it wasn't always the best method considering you'd fallen pregnant after about eight months of dating.

You didn't bother trying to hide it, you couldn't after you realized you'd been about 2 months late. You had experienced some nausea and vomiting but assumed it was a stomach bug that you couldn't kick and Jesse magically avoided. With the hustle and bustle of Jackson and all the tasks you just simply not noticed when you didn't bleed.

Jesse had came into the house after a long day on patrol and found you curled in a ball on the bed, hysterically crying. He held you, trying as best as he could to calm you down. And eventually you did. Hours later you were curled up against him on the bed while he played with your hair and peppered you with kisses. He validated your fears and listened intently as you articulated your feelings about the situation. He had talked about the future in a way that made you feel hopeful. That night as he drifted off to sleep with his arms wrapped tight around your frame, the realization hit you that you didn't mind having a child as long as he was with you on the journey.

Of course, now, in present day you were alone. And the gunfire had yet to cease. And you didn't know if Jesse was alive or dead.

You screamed out as you pushed, feeling like hours had passed and time was dragging on. You were doing as Maria said, listening to your body but it proved difficult as the pain was nearly too much to bare.

"I want Jesse" You cried for the 15th time as the labor progressed, clutching the arms of the women who had joined to help, "I can't do this without him"

You were exhausted and the dusty air in the cellar was wearing on your lungs.

"I know sweetie," Maria was between your legs, popping her head up to coach you. When she appeared this time she rubbed your shaking knees, "And I know it hurts but you're almost there, give me two more big pushes, okay?"

You screamed again, bearing down and pushing hard, so hard that your head began to spin. If you weren't currently writhing in pain you might've felt bad for all the other people in the cellar having to listen to you.

"Push, push —"

Another scream came as you continued to try before falling back onto the small amount of padding behind your head, "–fuck, I can't"

"You have to" Maria shouted, trying to be calm but failing due to the stress, "I can see the babies head, just two more really big pushes"

You groaned trying to reposition yourself as you caught your breath, feeling a tiny hand slide over your right hand that was clutching tight to the blanket.

When you rolled your head to the side you could see Ben, Maria and Tommy's son, was sitting criss cross apple sauce beside you. His too big superhero pajamas enveloping his little body as he gave you a sweet smile.

You couldn't remember if he had been there the whole time, but he was there now, present in the moment and squeezing the top of your hand twice before picking up your hand and making you hold his little one.

"You can squeeze my hand as hard as you want, I'm strong like the hulk" His little voice calming you in a way you didn't expect. You nodded at him through the heavy breathing and another shooting pain.

He watched, eyes wide as you cry out again, the contractions trying their best to coax you through this last stage. You gave his hand a small squeeze, one that you could control and watched him beam with a smile, "See, it's doesn't hurt me"

You're sure you looked crazy smiling at him, sweat and tears keeping your face red and wet.

"Okay babe, here we go, let's do this" Maria coached again, voice shaking slightly.

You did as she said, actively remembering that your right hand was holding a small child's and using your left hand to dig into the adult woman's hand.

Another scream echoed through the cellar and you were panting like a dog by the time it was over. "Give me one last big, big push girl you got this—"

You sobbed in response, quite literally feeling like you may rip in two if you make one more move. The gunfire still echoed from above and you felt helpless.

What if Jesse is dead? What if the infected get in here and everyone dies? What if there's no point in any of this?

At this point Maria's voice felt miles away. And you felt like you were going to pass out from the exertion.

You moved to look at Ben again who was holding a Batman action figure, old with the paint fading and cape torn, clearly well loved in its years before the infected came. His little hand wavering slightly as he held him out to you.

"Batman can help"

Did you believe the 5 year old? Of course not. Did you take Batman in your sweaty hand and squeeze him anyway? Fuck yes.

"I need you to give it your all"

Your all was given about an hour ago when you started pushing. But still you beared down again, grinding teeth and sharp breaths sending spit flying onto your shirt. You clutched tightly to Batman and squeezed your eyes shut.

You were screaming so loud that you couldn't hear when Maria was talking again, you had thrown your head back again, gasping for air when you heard the glorious sound.

The smallest little cry that erupted made the room go quiet. The chatter of others silencing as a collective sigh was released.

You brought your hand up to your face, crying freely against it as you listened to the sound. A sound that you never thought would bring you so much comfort.

Two of the women helped prop you up against a crate with the blanket behind you as Maria appeared at your side, "She's beautiful"

A girl.

She had her wrapped up in a dark blanket, as she motioned for you to take her. When she transferred the baby to your arms you finally got to look at her.

She was covered in birth, bloody and white pieces stuck in her little black hairs. She was small but she looked healthy with chubby little cheeks. Her little fingers were spread, moving slowly as she became accustomed to being outside of you.

"Hi there pretty girl," You cooed, crying right along with her as you held her up to your chest, rocking ever so slightly, her whimpering continuing, "I know, I know"

You pressed your chapped lips to her small head, humming quietly as the women around you helped Maria and got you more comfortable as you delivered the placenta. But you barely noticed, too wrapped up in your own world.

"What's her name?" Ben asked, still sitting beside you on the floor, leaning over slightly to look at the new baby without getting in your space.

"I dunno" You let out a euphoric sigh as you counted her fingers and toes,"What do you think?"

"Well—" He started without a second thought, moving to his knees and leaning carefully against your shoulder to get a better look, "What about Batman?"

"Ben—" Maria started as she cleaned you up, rolling her eyes at her son, but you cut her off, smiling at the little boy.

"I don't know if her daddy will like that name very much" You adjust slightly so he can get a good look at her face, "Is there another name you can think of?"

Ben giggles, bringing his finger to his chin in a mock thinking position, "What about Robin?"

Your heart jumped at the name, you'd heard it before.

"Who's Robin?"

Ben took a breath, surprised at your little-to-no knowledge of superhero's, "Robin is Batman's side kick, he's brave and strong and has superhuman agility—"

It was also the name of Jesse's late mother. Of course, you had never met her but Jesse had told you countless stories. You couldn't believe you'd never thought about the name before.

"I love that name Ben" You cut him off from his spiel of Batman and Robin lore, reaching out and handing him the Batman toy that you had forgotten after the final push.

"Do you think Jesse will like it?" Ben was leaving your side to jump excitedly near his mom who had just covered you with a blanket after cleaning you up.

"I think he will love it"

•

Hours passed and there had still been no one to come and say that it was safe to come out. The gunfire was spread out now, every couple of minutes a new shot ringing out. No one inside the cellar could figure out what that meant.

You focused on the baby, successfully getting her to latch with some help from Maria. It felt so natural having her there on your chest that you had a hard time remembering any of the pain you'd just gone through.

You smiled to yourself, leaning your head back against the wall as your eyes became heavy, blinking a couple times to awake yourself up.

"You did great momma," Maria praised, pushing the hair back behind you as she crouched down, behind her Ben was playing with Batman next to a kid with a toy car, "You should get some rest"

"No I'm okay," You shook your head as if it would fling the drowsiness away, "I wanna stay awake until Jesse is back"

"I know," Maria couldn't hide the pity in her eyes as she looked over you and the baby. She knew how you felt, not knowing if Tommy was okay or not, "How about you just rest your eyes?"

"Promise to wake me when they're back?" Eyes already closing as you positioned yourself to lean against a crate as you held the baby.

You were drifting off before Maria could even respond.

•

When you woke up again you heard hushed voices and the cellar was much quieter than before you'd fallen asleep. You moved carefully, feeling the baby breathing against your chest.

When you opened your eyes you saw Ben jumping around the now empty cellar, not a care in the world. He was talking louder than the others, telling a story about Batman saving the day.

Your eyes shot open as you realized everyone was gone. When you leaned up you could see Maria, Tommy and Jesse.

Jesse.

He had his arms crossed over his broad chest, fingers drumming nervously on his skin as he listened to Maria talk.

He must've heard you move against the crate because he was leaving the married couple and rushing to your side.

As he came into full view you felt a sense of pure relief wash over you at the sight of him so close again. He set his gun down on the ground before crouching down in front of you.

"Hi" He breathed, eyes locked on you before falling to the blanket in your arms.

"Hey"

"Are you okay?" His hand slid against your cheek, cradling your face. You leaned into it, feeling the warmth in the otherwise cool cellar.

You nodded, pursing your lips as you sat up slightly, still feeling a little rough. You glanced at him as he moved to sit at your side. He watched intently as you pulled the blanket down exposing the face of the tiny human.

"You did so good" He gushed, reaching out to touch her tiny hand, before looking to you and pressing a kiss to your severely chapped lips, "You're amazing"

His doting always made you feel like a love sick teenager. But now, the way he admired you and the baby, it made your heart soar.

"Jesse, do you wanna hold your daughter?"

"Daughter?" He blinked, absorbing what you said, staring at the baby in your arm before looking back to you. You nodded, tears pricking your eyes as you watched him hold his arms out.

When you set her in his arms he nearly melted against the wall, moving carefully to get her cozy against him.

You didn't have to coach him on how to hold her, Jesse was an expert on holding babies, making visits to little newborns whenever Tommy announced a new birth in the town.

For the first time since you'd given birth to her, your hands were free and you were able to sit up fully next to him.

"Hi baby," He whispered, rocking her ever so gently, "My girl, it's nice to finally meet you"

You were able to fully look at him without the distraction of the baby in your arms. He looked like hell and smelt of smoke. The shirt that he'd been wearing when he came downstairs so many hours before, was now torn with a large hole near the bottom. His hair was messy and he had new cuts and bruises across his visible skin.

Tommy and Maria appeared in front of you two, watching fondly as Jesse cooed to her.

"You did good kiddo" Tommy smiled, reaching out to ruffle your already messy hair. He looked just as rough as Jesse, blood stains on his flannel shirt and a slight limp when he walked. "She picked one helluva night to come"

"I couldn't have done it without Maria" You smiled, leaning back against the wall next to Jesse so you could peer over at your baby.

"A girl born under a full moon and an attack of infected," Maria hummed, with Tommy's arm draped over her, "This one will keep you on your toes"

You smiled at that, forgetting that all those hours ago that you saw the full moon up on the night sky.

There was a moment of silence that fell in the cellar and you glanced up the stairs where the sun was peeking through the windows of the restaurant and spilling down into the room.

"How did we do?"

Tommy opened his mouth to respond before Jesse was stopping him, looking up at him and then to you, "I'll tell you all about it later"

It was Jesse's way of not ruining the moment. Your moment. He just wanted to enjoy this.

"What did you name her?" Jesse asked, changing the subject as she began to move her fingers around his thumb.

"Oh—Oh!" Ben suddenly entered the conversation, running at full speed across the cellar floor to Jesse, before Tommy caught him and picked him up off the ground, "Can I tell him?"

"Yes Ben, you tell him" You smiled, bringing your hand to Jesse's bicep and impatiently waiting for the little boy to speak.

"So you know Batman right?" Ben asked, hanging from his father's shoulders as he spoke.

Jesse nodded, looking between you and the kid with a puzzled look. Probably wondering what Batman villain Ben had talked you into.

Penguin? Poison ivy? The joker?

"Well he has a sidekick, his name is Robin and he goes around helping Batman fight al—"

Jesse's head snapped to you, finally piecing it together as Ben continued to talk, now hanging upside down from his father's grasp.

"Really?"

"Really," You smiled, cheeks growing sore at the motion. "After your mom"

"—and Batman's sidekick" Ben hollered as Maria and Tommy moved up the stairs to give you some privacy.

You shook your head, giggling at the little boy before you turned back to Jesse who was staring at you with a look you didn't fully recognize.

"What's wrong?"

"I should've been here," Jesse sniffled, moving his head in the other direction where the bloody blankets lay in the corner, "You were scared and you needed me here—"

"You kept us safe" You insisted calmly, hand rubbing slowly on his arm, noticing a large bruise forming that you would ask about later, "All that matters is that you're here now"

He looked back at you, tears staining his cheeks as he continued to cradle Robin in his arms. You didn't let him speak again, worried he would continue to beat himself up. Instead you moved in to kiss him again, tasting the saltiness of his tears as his lips moved against yours.

The kiss covered everything that needed to be said. The fear, the regret, the happiness.

You giggled against his lips when the sound of Robin fussing echoed around the room.

"She's very talkative" You pressed a kiss to his neck before turning your attention to her as Jesse rocked her, falling perfectly into dad mode.

"She's perfect" He sighed, admiring her features as he run a light finger over her forehead.

"She is," You moved closer to rest your head against his shoulder, both of you staring down adoringly at the little one, "I can't believe she's ours"

He rested his head against yours, a sound of complete relief falling from his lips.

"Oh and by the way, that thing you read about orgasming during the pregnancy is false"

"Huh?" Jesse chuckled, looking up from Robin.

"You know, when you said orgasming would help with labor or whatever," You lifted your head to look at him, "It didn't help, like at all"

"Oh—" Jesse's eyes got big as he realized what you were referring to, "I never read that anywhere"

"What?" You laughed, smacking at his leg as to not disturb your baby.

"I just like eating you out"

#jesse the last of us #jesse tlou #the last of us #tlou hbo #tlou2 #young mazino #hbo max #isabela merced #joel tlou #the last of us hbo #x reader #x y/n

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fandomnerd9602 · 30 days ago

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Dina smiles as she sees Y/N taking off their backpack and boots…

Dina: hey you

Y/N; hey baby. You look beautiful as always

Dina: (blushes) shut up…kiss me like you missed me

Y/N: well c’mere then

Dina jumps into Y/N’s arms, kissing them passionately…

#dina the last of us #the last of us #tlou imagine #tlou incorrect quotes #dina tlou #tlou hbo #tlou #dina woodward x reader #dina x reader #dina woodward #isabela merced

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prettyboypistol · 1 year ago

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How to Seduce the TF2 Mercs

Scout

Pay attention to him. Give him genuine compliments and honest feedback. He wants to feel loved and like he's worth someone's time.

Kisses and physical affection. Mans thinks about the time you put your hand on his shoulder for weeks.

Just say you love him, man. He's been overlooked his whole life.

Soldier

Take him seriously- don't belittle him or make jokes about how he views the world. He knows he's a little crazy but he is genuinely trying his best to make the world a better place.

Defend him!!! If someone shit talks him, punch that motherfucker in the jaw!!

Honest discussions with you asking a lot of questions, take the time to get to know him and you'll have a defender for the rest of your life.

Pyro

Much like with Soldier, defend them and take the time to get to know them.

Gifts, gifts, gifts!!! Give them gifts!

Be a little flirty ;> don't baby them! Treat them like the adult they are!

Demoman

Bro just ask to fuck. He'll probably say yes.

He loves a bold mf that knows how to take what they want. Come on to him, buy him a drink, and ask if he's got any company for the night.

If you're going for something a little more long term, just remove the sleeping aspect. Just say you're interested in getting to know him you'll most likely get a date and see how things go.

Engineer

He's a sucker for practical use gifts (i.e. mechanical oil, a new wrench, etc) or sentimental gifts (photograph of you two, love letters)

Call him handsome! Call him pretty and a gentleman! Appeal to that cowboy energy and treat him all respectful like and you'll definitely catch his interest.

If you're not the type to do all that song and dance, go the opposite route. Stump him with a logistic problem and tease him about it. He'll nonstop think about you for months and bitch about you to his sentries.

Heavy

Mikhail likes hotheads and determined people, someone who's not afraid to fight if the situation comes to it.

Ask him about general things and slowburn that mf about nice conversations until you two can talk about personal things.

Ask him to help you clean your guns! Ask him weaponry questions about what would suit you better in the field!

Medic

GET THIS MAN SOME ORGANS. GET HIM SOME FUNDING!!!! get him a lil lovebirddddd

Take the time to get to know his birds and if the birds like you, Medic automatically likes you more.

Take an interest in his medical discoveries and his life! He's a prime yapper and wants to t a l k. That's why he never shuts up when doing surgery.

Spy

Romance him traditionally, to be honest. Keep it classy and court him like the romantic he is. Roses placed in his locker, prime dinners delivered to his door, BE A ROMANTIC ABOUT IT.

If you can't dance, ask him to teach you "for a mission" (He will know that you're the one behind all the flirtatious gestures bc he's SPY)

Butter up that man like he's a piece of toast. Handsome young man who captured your heart and holds it hostage. Classy gentleman that could get away with world domination with gorgeous eyes like that.

Sniper

Don't come on too strong, he's a bristly one. Be calm and casual. Hit him with that friends to lovers.

He's more of a tough nut to crack and insecure of if you actually like him, so be sure to flood his mind with ambiguous hints when you think you see signs of him showing interest in you.

To really seal yourself in his heart, spend a lot of quality time with him! Go camping, hunting, fishing, driving, anything that gets the both of you alone and quiet.

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fanfictionismyaddiction · 6 months ago

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Unshaken Loyalty

Word count: 660

Summary: After being betrayed by her best friend and abandoned by others, Y/n finds unwavering support in Lewis.

________________________________________________________

The evening air was thick with tension as you sat on the plush sofa in Lewis Hamilton’s London apartment, your arms wrapped tightly around your knees. The glow of the city lights outside the floor-to-ceiling windows did little to comfort you, and your mind was a storm of emotions.

Your best friend—former best friend—Emilia had betrayed you in a way you hadn’t thought possible. She had not only turned on you but convinced several of your closest friends to do the same, spreading lies that painted you as someone you weren’t. People you’d trusted now gave you cold shoulders and side-eyed glances, and Emilia? She acted like she’d won some sort of twisted game.

You wiped a tear off your cheek, frustrated with yourself for still caring so much. Lewis, who had been sitting quietly beside you, finally shifted closer.

“Talk to me, love,” he said softly, his voice a balm to your frayed nerves.

You sniffled, keeping your gaze on the floor. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid if it’s hurting you.”

You hesitated before the words tumbled out in a rush. “I just don’t understand what I did wrong. Emilia was supposed to be my best friend, and now she’s turned everyone else against me. She made me feel like I was… like I wasn’t enough. Like I was just this awful person who deserved it.”

Lewis’s jaw clenched, the muscle ticking as he listened. “That’s bullshit,” he said firmly.

You blinked at him, startled by the sudden edge in his voice.

He turned to face you fully, his dark eyes burning with intensity. “Listen to me, Y/n. Whatever Emilia said, whatever those so-called ‘friends’ are saying, none of it defines who you are. You are one of the most beautiful, kind, and genuine people I’ve ever met. Anyone who can’t see that doesn’t deserve to be in your life.”

You tried to protest, but he wasn’t having it.

“No,” he said, cutting you off gently but firmly. “You don’t get to argue with me on this. Emilia? Toxic. The people who believed her? Even more toxic. And you? You’re worth a hundred of them. Do you hear me?”

Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time they weren’t from pain. “I just… I don’t know why this hurts so much. I thought she cared about me.”

Lewis reached out, taking your hands in his. His touch was warm, grounding. “Because you care, Y/n. That’s who you are. You see the good in people, even when they don’t deserve it. And yeah, that makes it hurt more when someone like Emilia betrays you. But that doesn’t mean you’re the problem. It means you’ve got a heart that’s too good for people like her.”

You let out a shaky breath, the tightness in your chest easing just a little. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” he said, his voice resolute. “You’re worth fighting for, Y/n. Every single time. If I have to tell Emilia and the rest of them to piss off, I’ll do it. Hell, I’ll fight them myself if that’s what it takes to make you see how incredible you are.”

A surprised laugh bubbled out of you, and Lewis smiled, his expression softening.

“There she is,” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “That’s the smile I love.”

You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder as his arms wrapped around you protectively. “Thank you,” you murmured.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I’ve got your back, always. You’re stuck with me, like it or not.”

The hurt Emilia had caused didn’t disappear entirely, but it felt smaller, more manageable.

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serqphites · 2 months ago

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was gonna write some dina smut but honestly it's a bit boring just writing sex on repeat, so here's a few soft!gf dina hcs instead!! <3

not proofread! no others warnings :)

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feel like i have to start this out with the. thumb. thing!!! it's such a comfort for the both of you, whether it's her thumb gently caressing the back of your hand at one of jackson's many events, or yours on the back of hers to help cool her down when you know she's on the brink of snapping at someone.

"but babe he just pushed you and didn't even turn around to say sorry! i mean what kind of asshole-" you cut off her enraged (and very over the top) rant by ever so carefully tugging at her hand, dina finally taking the time to register the familiar feeling of your tender skin against her own, your thumb gliding side to side on the back of her clenched fist. she takes a breath, choosing to just storm away from the stables as you follow hot on her heels. "still think i should've said something" she remarks, turning back at you to playfully roll her eyes.

this girl lovesss making you lunches, it's her love language and you can't convince me otherwise! always showing up to meet you before patrol, as happy as anything as she hands you a box of whatever the hell she's decided to feed you that day. on the off chance she isn't available to meet you, she'll always make sure jesse stops by her place to pick it up to deliver to you, much to his dismay.

^^^bonus to that but she 100000% always leaves little cards with jokes on inside, and if she knows you're having a rough week she makes sure to leave a sweet message on the back <3

laying in bed with dina has to be so healing sorry. this girl is a CUDDLER. doesn't matter where you are. on patrol? she's nagging you to take a break in a nearby furniture store to 'try out all the beds'. at a council meeting? her head is on your shoulder while her eyes grow teary from the amount of times she has yawned. but her favourite place to cuddle is obviously in bed, her head on your bare chest while her hand traces patterns wherever she can reach. skin to skin is such a huge thing for her.

always teasing you for not having a clue she liked you. like you were so painfully oblivious, she just can't let it go.

"i made it so obvious, i just have no idea how you didn't know," she chuckles to herself as the two of you walk down the quiet streets of jackson just after dark, kicking a rock as she strolls beside you. "it's not exactly like you made it obvious," you mutter, knowing full well she really fucking did make it obvious. it's very telling that everybody knew before you did. hell, even tommy could see it 'clear as day' according to him. "oh i'm sorry you're right, i get how kissing you could've been misinterpreted." she teases, poking at your side before you link arms and continue on your usual nightly stroll.

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#idk if i made a post abt it or not but my nanna is finally out of hospital!!!#:)#i think i’m ready to start writing again because GOD have i missed it #ur reminder to watch the hbo show illegally!!#dina woodward #dina woodward x reader #the last of us hbo #the last of us #isabela merced #wlw #dina #tlou

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gr4cier4cie · 2 months ago

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♡ breaking point (lucky number nine) ♡ 2

or: after suzuka, everything changes. neither of you feels it happen, but it does. and all miami does it prove how much lewis would give for someone he never expected to care for as much as he does. fem!rookie!reader x lewis hamilton pt 1

warnings: angst obvs bc look who you're talking to, age gap (reader is ~23, lewis is 41), mentions of a crash (not career ending don't worry i'm not that evil), pls remember i am a mv1 lover as you read this pls

♡

[ferrari team radio: miami international autodrome]

♡

"what were you thinking?" fred's voice cracked through the air like a whip. like thunder. like the sound of your car hitting the wall, metal screaming sickeningly against metal. "what happened out there?"

lewis wasn't a violent man, no. not violent. not temperamental. he prided himself on calm. on steady hands on a steering meant to fit into the space between his index finger and thumb, on a steely gaze locked on the lights above as they flickered green. ("and that's... oh, god, that's Y/N Y/L/N, off at turn seven! a huge impact, right into the wall side-first... that’s race-ending, if not more—and still no word from the cockpit—")

lewis wasn't a violent man. that did not mean he couldn't become one.

"max pushed her out." the words were battery acid. bitter. "i'm telling you, he knew what he was doing. he cut her off and she—"

"that gave you permission to break his nose?"

lewis stared at his hands, silent. his knuckles sang with remembered violence, skin tinged red from blood that was not his own. (you would've laughed. would've traced the splits in his skin with gentle fingers, would have appreciated the irony of an eye for an eye.)

"you didn't see it." lewis' voice cracked. splintered. "you didn't see the way he—"

"i saw. everything." fred's quiet anger scattered across the room like debris across tarmac. "i saw max defending his position—"

"defending?" the laugh that tore from lewis' throat was not his. couldn't be. it was feral, and broken, and scared. "is that we're calling it now? he fucking knew she wouldn't yield, and the whole fucking world should know it."

fred dragged a hand down his face, frustration morphing into disbelief. "do you have any idea what this looks like? the headlines practically form themselves." he took a slow step forward. careful, as if approaching a wounded animal. "the FIA wants blood for this. disqualification, at the least. i can appeal anything more, but i can't promise anything."

silence stretched like caution tape. like police lines. like the space between the beats of lewis' heart when they'd pulled you from the wreckage. (you'd had a broken ankle. fractured collarbone and wrist. whiplash.) "he knew what he was doing," lewis repeated. "he knew she'd rather crash than yield, and he—"

"lewis." fred's voice had gone soft. "this isn't about max."

truth cut deeper than bone. because this wasn't about max. wasn't about the FIA or points or politics. this was about you. about the way you'd looked in that hospital bed, ferrari-red replaced by clinical, god-awful white. about how brilliant you were. about how much potential lived in every one of your breaths. (potential he swore on himself you would never lose.)

"she trusted me." the confession tasted like guilt. "to have her back."

"and breaking verstappen's nose helps her how?"

lewis' chuckle held no humor. "you didn't see his fucking face. after. he looked like... like he'd won something." he had tried to remember who he was supposed to be. seven-time world champion. mentor. a pinnacle of professionalism. it hadn't been of much help.

fred's sigh filled the room like smoke. "the press is having a field day. 'hamilton loses control.' 'hamilton finally snaps.' 'rivalry between teammates takes a violent turn.'"

lewis' expression dropped. "rivalry?" (no one could understand it, what you two had.)

"what would you call it?"

lewis thought of your smile. your laugh. the way your car looked in his mirrors, wanting for a fight. for more, more, more. he thought of how still you'd been, of the silence over the radio and the paralyzing fear in his chest that still hadn't ceased. that would never cease. "i don't know." that in itself seemed to be answer enough.

fred's knowing look followed him to the door. "they'll want a statement."

lewis paused, hand on the doorknob. "tell them—" his voice steadied. strengthened. "tell them i'd do it again."

♡

[TWO DAYS POST-RACE]

lewis had memorized the path to your room. twenty-seven steps from the elevator. sharp right. twelve more steps. (he'd counted them that first night, carved the route into muscle memory during those four terrible hours when the doctors had said words like "lucky" and "could have been worse" and all he could think was young, young, young.)

"took you long enough," you said when he walked in, brandishing your second can of soda from the vending machine down the hall.

your voice was raspy. weak. but you were smiling, propped up against the stark white of the hospital pillows. he'd helped you change into your own clothes last night, had promised he hadn't been looking. but he always was when it came to you.

"heard you got yourself a fine to deal with."

"got myself disqualified, actually."

"what?" your soda can froze halfway to your mouth, a choked inhale catching in your throat. "but you—you were on the podium. i saw—"

"saw that, did you?" lewis settled into the chair beside your bed. his chair, now. "thought you were supposed to be resting."

"lewis." your voice cracked, eyes widening. "what did you do?"

lewis shrugged, but his eyes gave him away. "nothing."

"bullshit." you tried to sit up straighter, wincing as the movement pulled at your collarbone. lewis tried not to let his eyes linger at the purple watercolor that painted the curve. "they can't—you earned that podium. they can't just—"

"they can when i break someone's nose in the cool-down room."

the silence was unlike you, heavy and thick. understanding dawning in your eyes like sunrise. "you didn't."

"i did."

"lewis—"

"he deserved worse."

"your championship points," you whispered. the horror in your voice made something in his chest ache. "lewis, they'll take your—"

"worth it."

"what?" you stared at him. seconds went by. minutes. you stared as though you were seeing him for the first time, as though you, with eyes red-rimmed and determination of stone, were trying to understand something that lived in the secret space between his ribcage and his heart. "what—why? why would you do that?"

(lewis wondered how you could even ask such a question when he would sacrifice everything for you. he wondered when that had even happened. when you had gone from teammate to... something else.) "you know why."

your eyes met his. held. burned. yeah, maybe you did know.

"i owe you one," you finally said, raw and quiet. "i don't like debts."

"not a debt," lewis responded, reaching over to pluck the soda can out of your hands and take a sip of his own. "a favor. for a friend."

(liar, liar, pants on fire.)

♡

note: WOAH somehow this is like slowly becoming a fav piece of mine idk what it is i just love this dynamic!! sorry about the time skips, part one ended in suzuka and part two starts in miami!! XOXO ALWAYS FROM GRACIE LOVE YOU ALL!!

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mrsfancyferrari · 19 days ago

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Marriage of Convenience PT2

Summary: Lewis has to get married to you for a year for his engagement in Ferrari. Who knew how much he would get sucked into your life…. pt 2

Song: Heartless · The Weeknd

Taglist: @barcelonaloverf1life, @totallynotluluu, @rageshots, @greedyjudge2

Part 1 - Part 3

Word count: 22.1k

MASTERLIST - F1

@lewishamilton

liked by yourusername, scuderiaferrari, georgerussell63 and 2,026,295 others

lewishamilton

Finding the right words feels impossible, but here goes. Today, I married the woman of my dreams. Five years ago, I met someone who challenged me, inspired me, and loved me in a way I never thought possible. Today, that whirlwind turned into forever with Y/N.

Looking back, those five years feel like a blink, a beautiful blur of laughter, late-night talks, and building a life together. Looking forward, I see a future even brighter, filled with adventures, shared dreams, and a whole lot of love.

We're so excited to start this new chapter. We also ask for a little privacy as we enjoy our honeymoon. We'll be back soon, ready to share all our fashion with the world. For now, just know my heart is overflowing with happiness. ❤️ #JustMarried #HusbandAndWife

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21st January 2025

You stirred beneath the heavy veil of consciousness, the weight of the world—or perhaps just last night's drinks—pressing down on your eyelids. The room spun in a lazy waltz, the kind that only a hangover could compose.

The scent of champagne and roses lingered in the air, a bouquet that seemed both hauntingly familiar and eerily out of place. Your mouth was a desert, parched and sticky with the residue of a night that seemed to have occurred in a distant realm, a realm where you didn't belong.

You tried to swallow, but it was as if your throat had been coated in the same sticky sweetness that clung to the insides of the champagne flutes that danced before your eyes.

As your vision slowly cleared, you took in the opulent surroundings. The four-poster bed you lay in was draped in velvety fabrics, the color of a moonless night. Your head pounded in rhythm with the unanswered questions that filled your mind.

You were still dressed in the wedding gown from the night before, the silk and lace a stark contrast to the tangled mess of the bed sheets. The dress clung to you like a second skin, a reminder of the vows you had exchanged with a man whose name you couldn't quite place.

Sitting up, the world swam around you as you took in the grandeur of the room. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn back to reveal floor-to-ceiling windows that allowed the early morning light to stream in, painting the polished hardwood floors and antique furniture in a soft, golden glow.

Your gaze fell upon the bedside table, and there it was: a framed picture of you and Lewis kissing at the altar. The sight sent a jolt of recognition through your body.

You were married. Married to Lewis, the man you had known for a few weeks, and married for the most unromantic of reasons—his engagement in Ferrari. The cold reality of the situation was starker than the champagne-induced haze that still clung to your mind.

Looking over to the couch, you found Lewis sleeping peacefully, his baggy clothes hugging his form in a way that suggested he had bothered to change after the reception.

The soft light played with the shadows on his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the gentle slope of his nose.

His eyes were closed, and his breaths were deep and even, the picture of exhaustion. The couch, though plush and inviting, seemed too small to contain his long frame, his legs stretched out and hanging over the edge.

You felt a strange sense of protectiveness as you studied him, a feeling that was as unexpected as the wedding ring that adorned his finger.

The fabric of his shirt pulled taut against the muscles of his chest as he inhaled, and you couldn't help but admire the way his body moved with each breath, the way the shadows played across the contours of his abs and the broad expanse of his shoulders.

His hair was a wild mess, the usual coiffed perfection of a man groomed for the spotlight now a tumble of dark braids that fell onto his forehead.

The silence was a cocoon around you, a gentle hum of the air conditioner the only sound that pierced the quiet. You could almost feel the weight of his weariness, the toll of the past few weeks written in the lines etched into his face.

Yet, there was something about his vulnerability in sleep that was incredibly endearing, a stark contrast to the cool, calculated persona he donned in the public eye.

Moving closer, you whispered his name again, "Lewis," the syllables slipping off your tongue like a secret.

You watched as the muscles in his neck tightened, his head tilting towards the sound, seeking you without fully waking.

He replied, "Y/N," his voice thick with sleep, the use of your name a gentle caress in the early morning air. The pause that followed was like a heartbeat, a brief, tender silence that seemed to hold the weight of his concern.

"Did you sleep well?" he finally asked, his eyes fluttering open to reveal a gaze that searched yours with a warm sincerity. The question hung in the air, a soft inquiry into your well-being, one that seemed to hold more than just curiosity.

You nodded, your voice a croak that you hoped conveyed the truth of your restless slumber.

"I… I did," you murmured, your eyes flickering down to the ring on your finger, the cold metal a stark contrast to the heat that began to build in your cheeks.

He sat up, the movement fluid and graceful despite his apparent fatigue. His eyes searched your face, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly in a knowing smile.

"I don't believe you," he said softly, a hint of amusement in his tone.

"But that's alright. I'm sure it'll take some time to get used to this." He gestured to the room, the grandiose space that was now, apparently, your shared domain.

You felt the heat in your cheeks intensify as he stood and stretched, the fabric of his shirt pulling tight across his broad chest. The way his muscles moved beneath the fabric made your own body respond in a way that was both thrilling and unsettling.

He paused, his gaze lingering on the couch, before speaking again. "I didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable," he said, his eyes meeting yours with a gentle warmth. "So, I slept out here."

There was a hint of vulnerability in his voice, a softness that seemed to echo the quiet of the room. "You've never been to my house right?"

You nodded, the haze of last night's events slowly lifting as the reality of your new life began to seep in.

The prospect of living with him, sharing a home, was as overwhelming as the grandeur of the suite. "No," you replied, your voice still a whisper. "I… I haven't."

He studied you for a moment, his gaze lingering on the wedding gown that clung to your body like a second skin. "Well, you have a lot of time to check it out," he said with a knowing smile. "Do you wanna get out of that dress?"

The question was innocent enough, but the way his eyes raked over you sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

You nodded, the movement feeling almost foreign in the face of the new intimacy that had been thrust upon you.

He pointed to a set of double doors across the room. "The bathroom is over there," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through your very core. "You can take a shower, and I'll find you something to wear. I'm sure my clothes will be a bit… oversized, but it'll be more comfortable than that gown."

The sound of scratching at the door made him stop mid-sentence, his eyes widening slightly as he looked towards the noise. "One moment," he said, his voice a hushed whisper. "I'll be right back."

He padded across the floor, the soft thud of his bare feet echoing through the vastness of the room. The scratching grew more insistent, and you watched as he opened the door to reveal a large, fluffy dog, tail wagging furiously.

"Roscoe," he sighed, bending down to greet the animal with a gentle pat. "I guess it's time for breakfast."

The sight of Lewis interacting with his pet was oddly comforting. It was a glimpse into a side of him you hadn't seen yet, a side that was more domestic and less… Ferrari-driven.

Once he was out of the room, you took a deep breath and approached the double doors he had indicated. The bathroom was as grand as the rest of the suite, with marble floors and a bathtub that looked like it could comfortably fit four people.

You stepped into the shower, allowing the warm water to cascade over your body, the heat of it soothing your tense muscles and washing away the last vestiges of the wedding night.

The sensation of the water was like a gentle caress, waking your skin to life. You felt your body begin to relax, the tension from the past few weeks draining away.

Your thoughts wandered to Lewis, to the way his eyes had searched yours, the way his voice had been so tender when he offered to help you out of your dress.

Stepping out of the shower, you found a plush robe hanging on the back of the door, the fabric as soft as a whisper.

Wrapping it around yourself, you felt a sense of comfort that was as unexpected as the wedding itself. The mirror revealed your reflection, the glow of your skin standing out against the stark white fabric.

You padded back into the bedroom, the sound of Lewis's voice faint in the distance as he talked to someone—presumably about Roscoe's breakfast. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity about the conversation, about the life that you were now a part of.

As you approached the bed, the plush rug beneath your bare feet felt like a luxurious embrace. The mattress dipped slightly as you sat down, the memory foam molding to your form as if it had been waiting for you.

You reached for the phone on the nightstand, noticing the time. It was later than you usually woke up, but the events of the last twenty-four hours had thrown any semblance of routine out the window.

You picked up the device, the screen lighting up with a flurry of notifications. Congratulatory messages from friends and colleagues filled the screen, each one a reminder of the surreal turn your life had taken.

Your thumb hovered over the messages, the urge to scroll through them warring with the fear of what you might find. Instead, you set the phone back down, the digital world feeling suddenly intrusive.

Turning your gaze to the wardrobe, you took in the towering mahogany structure that dominated the space. The doors were open slightly, revealing a sea of clothes that were as unfamiliar to you as the man you had married.

You felt a sudden urge to explore, to understand this new life that had been thrust upon you.

With the softness of the robe brushing against your legs, you walked over to the wardrobe, the floor cool against your bare feet. The scent of leather and cologne filled the air, a masculine bouquet that was distinctly Lewis'.

You reached out, your fingers trailing over the fabric of his suits, feeling the luxurious textures beneath your touch. Each garment whispered a story of races won, deals closed, and a life lived in the fast lane.

Your finger stopped at a piece of clothing line +44, hanging neatly amidst the rows of designer labels.

You decided to wear that, the scent of his cologne still lingering on the fabric, a silent invitation to embrace the reality of your union. The shirt was a size too large, the fabric whispering against your skin as you pulled it over your head.

The matching trouser, however, was a different story. They hung low on your hips, the material snug in a way that accentuated the curves of your body.

You stepped into them, feeling the softness of the fabric against your bare legs. As you pulled them up, you had to tug at the waist, the tightness making you aware of every inch of your body.

Looking into the mirror, you saw a reflection that was both strange and fascinating. The oversized shirt swamped you, the sleeves rolled up to your elbows, but the trousers hugged your form in a way that made you feel… powerful.

Before you had a chance to ponder further, you heard a knock at the door. "Come in," you called out, your voice a mix of anticipation and nerves.

The handle turned, and Lewis stepped back into the room, his eyes immediately finding yours in the mirror.

He paused, his gaze lingering on your reflection, his eyes tracing the lines of your body, outlined by his clothes. His expression was inscrutable, but you could feel the heat of his stare, the way it seemed to sear into your very soul.

"You look… surprisingly good," he said finally, his voice thick with something you couldn't quite place—desire, perhaps?

You turned to face him, the oversized shirt brushing against your legs with every step. His eyes followed the movement, the corners of his lips quirking up into a smoldering smile.

"Thank you," you replied, feeling both self-conscious and oddly alluring in his attire.

Lewis walked closer, the intensity of his gaze sending a shiver down your spine. He reached out, his hand sliding along the fabric of the shirt, ghosting over your bare skin.

His touch was light, yet it seemed to leave a trail of fire in its wake, setting your body alight with need. He stopped at the hem, his fingers lingering just above the waistband of the trousers.

"I didn't expect to see you wearing my clothes," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "It's quite a look for you."

You felt the warmth of his palm as it rested on the small of your back, his thumb making small, lazy circles on the bare skin above your waistband.

Your breath hitched in your throat, the air thick with an unspoken tension. You turned to face him fully, the heat of his body mere inches away from yours, the scent of his cologne enveloping you like a warm embrace.

"Thank you," you murmured, the words barely audible as you tried to process the sudden intimacy of the moment.

You didn't speak more as Lewis looked over at you before looked at your hand and it didn't match his. "Where's your ring?" Lewis asked, his voice a velvet caress that seemed to resonate through your very core.

The question hung in the air, thick with the scent of his cologne, and you felt your heart skip a beat as your hand reflexively curled into a fist around the empty space where your wedding band should have been.

The reality of your situation crashed down upon you—his clothes on your body, his scent surrounding you, his hand on your skin—and you realized with a start that you had left your ring on the nightstand.

Lewis' gaze followed yours to the bedside table, where the ring sat, a gleaming symbol of your marriage, of the life you had built together, and of the boundaries you were so precariously close to crossing.

He strode over with purpose, the fabric of his shirt stretching taut over the muscles of his broad back as he moved. Your eyes remained fixed on the ring as he picked it up, the gold band winking in the soft lamplight.

He turned back to you, holding it out between his thumb and forefinger, a silent question in his eyes.

You felt your heart pound in your chest as he approached, the ring glinting in the soft light. With a tremor in your hand, you reached out to take it, but Lewis was quicker. He held your hand before slowly placing it back on your finger, his touch gentle yet firm.

The warmth of his skin against yours sent an electric current up your arm, and you felt the metal of the ring cool against your finger.

For a moment, you both just stood there, the silence stretching out like a tightrope between you. Then, Lewis' thumb brushed over the back of your hand, sending a shiver down your spine, and he leaned in closer, his eyes searching yours.

"I think we both know what we're feeling," he whispered, the warmth of his breath dancing across your skin. "But we don't have to act on it."

Just as he said this, Roscoe, his bulldog, trotted into the room, tail wagging with unbridled enthusiasm. He came over to you, jumping up to place his paws on your thighs, his wet nose nuzzling into the fabric of the shirt, seeking the familiar scent of his owner.

Lewis chuckled, the tension between you momentarily easing. He took a step back, allowing you to bend down and give the dog a gentle pat on the head. "Looks like someone's happy to see you," he said, his eyes never leaving yours.

As you ruffled Roscoe's ears, the dog's enthusiasm washed over you, bringing with it a sense of comfort and familiarity that seemed to ground you in the whirlwind of emotions swirling around the room. The softness of the dog's fur contrasted with the hardness of the ring on your finger, a stark reminder of the line you had drawn.

Lewis watched the interaction with a knowing smile, his eyes warm with affection for his pet, yet tinged with something more. It was as if he could feel the magnetic pull between you, the same pull that had brought you to this point of temptation.

You knelt down to be at eye level with Roscoe, his droopy jowls framing a mouth that looked perpetually ready to give a sloppy kiss. "Hey buddy," you cooed, your voice soft and gentle. The dog's tail wagged harder, his eyes sparkling with happiness.

As you spoke to Roscoe, you felt the tension in your body begin to dissipate, his unconditional love a balm to your frazzled nerves. "You're such a good boy," you murmured, stroking his wrinkled forehead.

Roscoe's eyes closed in contentment, his tail thumping against the floorboards in a steady rhythm. The sound was comforting, a reminder of the simple joys in life that had nothing to do with the complex dance of desire and duty that you and Lewis were performing.

You spoke to Roscoe, your voice filled with genuine affection as you told him what a good boy he was, his panting breaths punctuating your words with a sweet, dog-like laughter.

Lewis watched the interaction with a soft smile, his hand coming to rest on the small of your back as he bent down beside you, his touch a silent declaration of his intentions.

"Are you ready to breakfast?" he asked, his voice a warm caress that seemed to resonate through the room, pulling you back to the present. The question was innocent enough, but the way he looked at you, his eyes dark with desire, told a different story.

You nodded, feeling the heat of his gaze on your skin as you stood, the shirt and trousers swimming around your form.

Roscoe's tail thumped a farewell as you followed Lewis out of the room, his touch lingering on your waist as he guided you through the hallway.

The kitchen was bathed in the soft glow of early morning light, the aroma of cooked breakfast wafting through the air. You felt your stomach growl, the sight of the perfectly plated meal on the counter stealing your attention.

Greek yogurt with a vibrant array of berries and a drizzle of honey sat alongside a steaming plate of scrambled eggs, the vivid green of the spinach peeking through the creamy folds, all atop a bed of nutty brown rice.

Lewis's knowing smile grew as he watched you take in the spread. "I know your taste," he said, a hint of pride in his voice as he gestured to the stool beside the breakfast bar. "It's what you always have."

You couldn't help but be impressed, and a little thrilled, that he had not only remembered but had gone to the trouble of preparing your favorite meal.

It had been your go-to breakfast since college, a balanced blend of sweetness and sustenance that had seen you through countless early mornings. "How did you know?" you asked, your voice a little breathless.

Lewis's smile grew a bit wider as he leaned against the counter. "In your folder," he said, his voice low and seductive, "it tells me everything about you."

You raised an eyebrow, taking a seat and looking up at him through your lashes. "A bit creepy, don't you think?" you teased, your voice a silky purr that belied the racing of your heart.

Lewis chuckled, the sound deep and rich, as he pulled out a chair and sat down beside you. "It's all part of the service," he said, his hand brushing against your thigh, sending a thrill up your spine. "When you marry a man like me, you get the full experience."

He took a sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving yours, as he continued to speak. "Everything you like, everything you hate, all neatly cataloged and ready for me to cater to."

You couldn't help but feel a thrill at the idea of being so thoroughly known, even as a part of you rebelled at the thought of being reduced to a collection of preferences and habits.

But as he sat down in front of you, his legs spread wide, the fabric of his own pants straining against his powerful thighs, you realized that the line between knowing and owning had become increasingly blurred.

"Did you not receive a folder from me as well?" Lewis asked, settling into the chair across from you.

You felt a sudden warmth spread through you at the thought of him researching your preferences, but you couldn't help the playful smirk that curved your lips.

"Maybe I did," you replied coyly, taking a spoonful of the sweet, tart berries. "But I'm not one to read the manual."

Lewis's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Is that so?" he said, leaning forward and taking a piece of toast from the rack. "Well, I suppose I'll just have to show you, then."

He took a bite, the crunch echoing in the quiet room. You watched, transfixed, as he chewed slowly, savoring the flavors. Your gaze drifted from his full lips to the muscles of his throat as he swallowed, and you felt an unexpected jolt of want.

You took a bite of your eggs, the warmth of the food spreading through your body, mingling with the heat that seemed to radiate from Lewis.

As you ate, you couldn't help but let your gaze wander around the room, eventually landing on the oversized calendar hanging on the living room wall.

It was a stark reminder of the passing days, the months laid out in a grid, filled with various appointments and reminders.

"What's that for?" you asked after finishing the eggs, pointing to a mysterious circle drawn in red ink on one of the dates.

Lewis looked up from his plate, his gaze following your finger to the calendar. "It's a calendar that has all of our planned dates," he said, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down your spine.

You took another sip of coffee, the warmth of the liquid doing little to quench the growing fire within you. "And how do you know when I'm free?" you repeated, the question hanging in the air like a challenge.

Lewis leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving yours. "Your agency works with mine since we're married," he said simply, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in your very bones. "They coordinate our schedules to ensure we spend quality time together."

You nodded, understanding the implications of his words. Your heart raced at the thought of the intimate moments that would be shared, the private dinners and the stolen glances in the boardroom.

Your eyes drifted back to the calendar, and you looked at the closest date with the red circle. "A shooting date? Really?" you asked, shocked but excited.

"Yeah," Lewis said with a grin that was as devilish as it was charming. "You said you're quite the sharpshooter, so I figured it was time I saw it for myself."

You felt your cheeks heat up at his teasing, but you couldn't help the smug smile that played on your lips. Growing up with two older brothers had made you a master at holding your own in any kind of competition, especially one that involved firearms.

"Is that so?" you replied, your voice filled with mock challenge.

Lewis's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Oh, you'll see," he said, his voice a dark promise. "But for now, let's focus on the task at hand."

The task at hand was indeed tantalizing. You watched as he took another bite of toast, his strong jaw working as he chewed.

"What are we focusing on?" you asked, your voice a silken thread that seemed to tie the two of you closer together.

Lewis's smile was predatory as he set down his cup. "Our marriage," he said, his eyes darkening with intent. "On our lives for this whole year."

The touch of the cold metal ring on your finger was a constant reminder of the deal you'd made, a symbol of the year of your life that was now irrevocably intertwined with his.

Lewis's eyes followed the movement of your hand as you reached for your coffee, the steam swirling around your fingers like a seductive dance.

"A year," he murmured, his voice a soft echo in the quiet of the kitchen. "It's a long time to pretend."

You took a sip, the liquid warming your throat as you met his gaze. "We're not pretending," you said, setting the cup down with a gentle click. "We're just…exploring."

Lewis leaned in closer, his eyes searching yours. "Is that what you call it?" His voice was a low murmur, the timbre of it sending shivers down your spine.

You swallowed, feeling the heat of his proximity, the way your skin seemed to sing under his gaze. "What would you call it?" you asked, your voice a barely-there whisper.

Lewis's eyes searched yours, a smoldering intensity that made you feel like you were the only woman in the world. "I'd call it…the most exciting year of our lives."

"I'll see you about that," you said, your voice a seductive purr that seemed to wrap itself around him.

The air between you crackled with an unspoken challenge, and Lewis's smile grew wicked. "Oh, I have no doubt," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in the very marrow of your bones.

After breakfast, it was time to take Roscoe for a walk, and you decided to accompany Lewis. You were already dressed, the shirt and trousers clinging to your curves in a way that had him watching you like a hawk.

The cool air outside was a stark contrast to the heat that had been building in the kitchen, and you both took a moment to appreciate the serene beauty of the morning. The sun had barely crested the horizon, casting long shadows across the dew-kissed lawn as you stepped out onto the porch.

Roscoe bounced around at your feet, his tail wagging in excitement as he recognized the signs of his favorite activity. You laughed, the sound like a melody to Lewis's ears, as you clipped on his leash and stepped off the porch.

The leather of the leash felt cool and smooth in your hand as you led Roscoe down the cobblestone path that wound through the meticulously manicured garden. The sun was still low in the sky, casting long shadows that danced around the two of you as you moved.

Lewis walked alongside you, his long strides easily matching your shorter ones. He was dressed in a pair of gym shorts that hugged his muscular thighs and a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms, tanned and lightly dusted with fine hairs.

Roscoe led the way, his nose to the ground as he snuffled and explored, tail wagging with the joy of the familiar routine. The gentle tug of the leash was a comforting reminder of the simple joys in life, the kind that didn't come with the complications of marriage contracts and hidden agendas.

Your eyes strayed to Lewis's arms as they moved rhythmically with his stride, the play of muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt an entrancing sight. The cool morning air nipped at your skin, but you felt anything but cold as the heat of his presence seemed to envelop you.

"So, what are your plans for the day?" he asked, breaking the silence that had stretched between you since the moment you stepped outside.

You took a deep breath, filling your lungs with the fresh morning air. "I have a meeting with my design team," you replied, your eyes drifting to the horizon, where the sun was just beginning to paint the sky with streaks of gold and pink. "We're finalizing the collection for Milan Fashion Week."

Lewis nodded, his gaze never leaving your face. "Ah, the glamorous life of a model," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm sure you'll wow them all."

You shot him a sideways glance, the corner of your mouth quirking up in a smile. "It's more work than you think," you replied, your voice filled with a hint of challenge. "But maybe I'll save some of that wow factor for you."

Lewis's eyes lit up with interest. "Is that so?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave. "I'd love a private fashion show."

You felt a thrill at his words, a shiver of excitement that seemed to coil in your belly. "We'll see about that," you replied, the smile playing on your lips growing more pronounced.

The walk with Roscoe was a chance to breathe, to feel the earth beneath your feet and the wind in your hair. Yet, even amidst the tranquility of nature, the tension between you and Lewis was palpable, a living, pulsing entity that seemed to hum in the air.

As you approached the end of the garden path, the sun was fully risen, casting a warm glow over the landscape. The dew on the grass sparkled like a million diamonds scattered by a careless goddess.

"What about you?" you asked, turning to him, the question a soft invitation to delve into the depths of his thoughts.

Lewis's gaze was unreadable for a moment, the shadows playing across his face as the sun climbed higher. "I have a meeting with the board," he said finally. "They want to discuss the future of the Ferrari partnership."

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of Ferrari, the very reason for the arrangement that had brought you both together. You felt a strange sense of pride at the thought of him fighting for your future together, even if it was based on a lie.

"And what about us?" you asked, your voice a soft caress that seemed to hang in the air between you. "What does the future hold for us?"

Lewis stopped, his hand coming to rest on the small of your back as he turned to face you fully. "Us?" he echoed, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the early morning silence.

You nodded, unable to tear your gaze from his, the question hanging in the air like a delicate web of unspoken desires. "Our marriage," you clarified, your voice a soft whisper that seemed to carry on the gentle breeze.

Lewis's eyes searched yours, his hand on your back a brand that seemed to burn through the fabric of the shirt. "The future of our marriage," he began, his voice a velvet promise that seemed to wrap itself around your very soul, "is…complicated."

You felt the warmth of his palm through the thin cotton, the heat of his touch a stark contrast to the cool morning air. His thumb traced a lazy pattern against your skin, sending shivers of anticipation through your body.

"Complicated?" you echoed, your voice a soft, questioning murmur.

Lewis nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "We're both ambitious, driven people," he said, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to resonate through the early morning air. "But we're also married now, and that comes with expectations and responsibilities."

You felt the weight of his words, the gravity of the situation settling like a warm blanket over your shoulders. "I know," you murmured, your voice barely a breath. "But we can make it work."

Lewis's hand slid up to your waist, his grip firm yet gentle. "Can we?" he asked, his eyes searching yours, a challenge and a question all rolled into one.

You stepped closer, the warmth of his body pressing against yours, the scent of him enveloping you. "We have to," you murmured, the words a declaration of intent that seemed to hang in the air like a promise.

Lewis's hand tightened around your waist, his gaze dropping to your mouth as if he were considering kissing you. "Do we?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that seemed to shake the very ground beneath you.

You stepped closer still, the heat of his body enveloping you like a warm embrace. "We can," you said, your voice a firm declaration that seemed to resonate in the air. "We'll make it work."

Lewis's eyes searched yours for a long moment, the tension between you tightening like a bowstring pulled to the breaking point.

But just as you thought you could lean in and capture his lips, Roscoe decided he had had enough of the seriousness. With a sudden burst of energy, the bulldog jumped up between you, knocking the air from your lungs as his paws thudded against your chest. You stumbled back with a surprised laugh, the spell of the moment broken.

Roscoe's tongue lolled out as he looked up at you both with innocent, expectant eyes. His tail wagged so hard it was a wonder it didn't come off.

"I guess he doesn't like us getting too serious," you said, your voice a little shaky with repressed desire.

Lewis chuckled, the sound a warm rumble that seemed to wrap around you like a blanket. He ruffled the dog's ears, his touch gentle despite the passion that had just been simmering between the two of you.

"Looks like he's not ready to share his humans just yet," he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement.

The sudden interruption was a welcome one, a reminder of the life you shared beyond the confines of your agreement. You couldn't help but laugh as you regained your balance, the feel of the cool air on your flushed cheeks a refreshing contrast to the heat that had been building in the kitchen.

Lewis chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked at the dog. "I guess we'll have to save our serious discussions for another time," he said, his voice a velvet rumble that seemed to echo the frustration of your thwarted kiss.

Roscoe's interruption had brought with it a burst of laughter, the tension of the moment dissipating like mist in the sun. You couldn't help but lean down to give the dog a grateful pat, his fur a soft cushion under your hand. "You always know how to lighten the mood," you said, your voice filled with affection.

Lewis's smile was a thing of beauty, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched you with the dog. "He's got good timing," he said, his voice still thick with desire despite the sudden shift in dynamics.

You nodded, unable to disagree as you ruffled Roscoe's ears. "Maybe he's smarter than we give him credit for," you said with a chuckle, the sound doing little to hide the longing that still hummed in the air between you.

Lewis's eyes searched yours for a moment longer, the promise of what almost happened still lingering in the air. "Maybe," he conceded, his hand dropping to give Roscoe a firm pat on the back. "But for now, let's get you ready for your big day."

The walk back to the house was a little more subdued than the one out, the weight of your conversation a palpable presence between you. The sun had fully risen now, casting its golden fingers through the leaves of the trees that lined the path, painting the world in a warm glow.

As you reached the back door, Lewis leaned down to unclip the leash from Roscoe's collar, the dog bounding inside with a happy grumble. You stepped in after him, the coolness of the marble floor a stark contrast to the heat outside.

The scent of your combined cologne and the lingering aroma of breakfast filled the air, a heady mix that seemed to cling to your skin. . . .

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

26th January 2025

The crack of the gunshot echoed through the cavernous shooting range, a symphony of power and precision that seemed to resonate with every beat of your heart.

Lewis, his eyes wide with a mix of surprise and admiration, watched as the bullet you had just fired tore through the center of the target, leaving nothing but a gaping, flawless hole.

The smell of gunpowder and the metallic tang of fear filled the air, an intoxicating blend that made your blood pulse with excitement. It was your first date and it was a shooting range. America had gone through a strange way of bringing out the primal instincts in a girl, and you were eager to show Lewis just how wild you could be.

"You're a natural," he murmured, his British accent thick and alluring. His hand was tentatively placed on your lower back, guiding you to the next target.

His touch was a gentle whisper against your skin, a stark contrast to the deafening roar of the firearm in your hand. You smirked, taking a moment to appreciate the irony before turning to face him.

"It's all about control," you said, the words rolling off your tongue as smoothly as the trigger beneath your finger. "You have to know exactly when to let go, when to give in to the power."

Your eyes flickered down to his hand, and for a brief moment, the air between you was charged with something more than just the static of spent bullets.

You stepped away, loading another round. "My past, it's complicated. But shooting, it was something I picked up when I was in the military."

You took aim again, the gun feeling like an extension of your body. "I was in the special forces. We had to be ready for anything, anywhere." You spoke calmly, but the words were like bombs, dropping between you and shaking the foundation of what Lewis thought he knew about you.

The clang of the metal as the target flipped back to reveal the perfect shot was like a cymbal crash in the silence. You turned to him, the smoky haze of the range framing your face like a portrait of a warrior queen. "There's something about the concentration it takes, the way your entire being focuses on that one moment of truth. It's… liberating."

Lewis swallowed hard, the heat of desire burning a trail from his throat to his groin. He had never met anyone quite like you before, a blend of steel and silk that left him utterly captivated.

"It's like a dance," he murmured, stepping closer, his hand reaching for yours. "A dangerous one, but a dance nonetheless."

You grinned, the challenge in your eyes sparkling like the diamond ring on your finger, a stark reminder of the unorthodox arrangement that had brought you two together. "Why don't you try?"

You handed him the gun, your fingers lingering on his for a moment longer than necessary, watching as he took a deep breath and wrapped his hand around the grip. His palms were sweaty, his heart racing, and the smell of his cologne was a heady mix of sandalwood and something that was uniquely him.

Lewis took a step forward, his shoulders squared and his eyes focused on the target. He had never been one for violence, but there was something about the way you handled the weapon that made him want to try, to feel that same sense of power and control that you so clearly wielded.

He raised the gun, his arms steady as you whispered instructions into his ear, your breath tickling the sensitive skin at the base of his neck. The heat of your body against his back was a stark contrast to the cold steel of the firearm.

"Breathe," you coached, your voice low and soothing. "Find your center."

He missed. The bullet thudded into the wall beside the target, sending a shiver through the concrete. You stepped closer, your hand finding his as you corrected his grip.

Your body pressed against his, your curves fitting against his lines as if you were two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that had finally found their place.

"It's okay," you whispered, your breath a gentle caress against his cheek. "Let me show you."

You guided his arms, placing your hands over his so that the gun was steady. Your fingers intertwined with his, and you felt the tremble of his pulse against your palm.

His chest was a wall of warmth against your back, and his breathing grew deeper, more erratic.

You leaned into him, your eyes locked onto the target. "Now," you instructed, your voice a siren's call, "just let it happen."

As you guided his hands, the world around you seemed to fall away. There were only the two of you, the gun, and the target that represented the obstacles in your lives.

Lewis took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of your body envelop him, the scent of your perfume an intoxicating cocktail of jasmine and danger.

He squeezed the trigger, and this time the shot rang true, the bullet tearing through the target's edge with a precision that left him dizzy. He turned to you, his eyes alight with a newfound excitement.

"Better?" you teased, your smile a knowing curve that made his stomach flip.

Lewis nodded, unable to find his voice. The feel of you against him was a heady rush, the heat of your body searing through the fabric of his shirt, making him acutely aware of every inch of skin that wasn't touching yours.

"Much," he managed to murmur, his voice a gravelly echo of its usual self-assured tone.

You stepped away, giving him a playful shove. "You're a quick learner," you said, the smoky allure of your voice making his knees feel weak.

Lewis stumbled slightly, his grip on the gun tightening, his eyes never leaving yours. He had never felt this alive, this… primal before. "It's all thanks to you," he replied, his voice a rumble that seemed to resonate in the very core of your being.

You took the gun from him, placing it back into the holster with a practiced ease that made his stomach clench. "Let's go," you said, your tone a soft command that sent a thrill down his spine. "We've got other things to shoot."

The next range was a clay pigeon shoot, the discs flying through the air like doomed birds. The sun had dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the field.

You handed Lewis a shotgun, the weight of it surprising him. "It's all about timing and instinct," you explained, your eyes gleaming with a predatory light that made his pulse race.

He watched as you stepped up to the firing line, the grace in your movements belying the deadly weapon in your hands. The clay disc shot upwards, a blur against the deepening blue, and with a swift, fluid motion, you brought the gun up to your shoulder and fired.

The explosion of the disc into a million pieces was a silent symphony, and Lewis couldn't tear his eyes away from the fiery passion in your eyes as you did it again and again.

Finally, it was his turn. The adrenaline was pumping through his veins, a wild, untamed beast demanding to be unleashed. You stood beside him, your hand on his shoulder as you whispered sweet nothings of guidance into his ear.

He took aim, the weight of the shotgun heavy but reassuring in his hands. The disc took flight, and he focused on the moment, the way you had taught him. The world around them slowed down to a crawl, and he pulled the trigger.

The disc shattered, and a roar of victory tore from his throat. You turned to him, your smile wide and genuine, and he could see the fire in your eyes.

The third range was a tactical simulation, a maze of walls and barriers with pop-up targets. The air was thick with anticipation, the scent of adrenaline mixing with the metallic tang of the gunpowder.

You were in your element, moving through the maze with the grace of a panther stalking its prey.

Lewis followed you, his heart hammering in his chest. You were a force of nature, a tempest that he was desperate to be swept up in.

As you rounded a corner, you paused, your hand signaling for him to wait. Your eyes locked on a target, you took a deep breath, and the gun in your hand spat fire.

The target fell, and you turned to him, your eyes gleaming with excitement. "Your turn," you whispered, a hint of challenge in your voice.

Lewis stepped into the maze, his eyes scanning the horizon for his prey. His heart was racing, but he felt a strange calm settle over him.

The target popped up, and he reacted on instinct, his body moving with a precision that surprised him. The gun roared, and the target fell. You were there, at his side, your hand on his arm, your eyes alight with something that was more than just pride.

You led him through the maze, your bodies moving in a silent dance of power and passion. Each shot he took brought him closer to you, until the last target fell and the world around them was still, save for the pounding of their hearts.

You turned to him, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "You did it," you murmured, your voice a seductive caress. "You're a natural."

Lewis couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment at the praise, his chest puffing out slightly.

"Thank you," he breathed, his eyes never leaving yours. "But it's all thanks to you, really." His hand reached out, tentatively brushing a strand of hair from your face. "You're the one who's been guiding me through this… wild ride."

The small restaurant by the shooting range was a cozy little retreat, the perfect place to let the adrenaline of the day melt away into something more intimate.

The dim lights and the soft murmur of the other diners created an ambiance that was both intimate and electrifying. As you sat down at a corner booth, Lewis's hand found its way to your waist, his fingers ghosting over the soft fabric of your trousers.

You didn't mind his touch; in fact, it was surprisingly comforting. The thrill of the day had left you both on edge, and the gentle pressure of his hand was a reminder that despite the chaos of your new lives, you had found something real in the midst of the façade.

You leaned into him, a small smile playing on your lips as you picked up the menu.

The paparazzi outside the restaurant didn't bother you. They had caught you both leaving the range, Lewis's arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders, the gun in your hand still smoking.

It was a picture that would be on every tabloid cover the next day, but for now, you were just two people enjoying a meal together.

As you peruse the menu, his thumb traced lazy circles on your waist, sending shivers down your spine.

The waiter approached, a knowing smile playing on his lips as he took your orders. He was used to serving high-profile clients, and the sight of Lewis's hand casually resting on your waist was not lost on him.

He nodded discreetly and retreated, leaving the two of you in the warm embrace of the dimly lit booth.

You reached for your wine glass, the coolness of the crystal a stark contrast to the heat of your skin. Lewis's eyes never left you. You took a sip, the rich notes of the Merlot dancing on your tongue as you watched him over the rim.

His fingers tightened slightly, pulling you closer, and you felt the warmth of his breath on your neck. "You're amazing," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent a thrill down your spine. "I had no idea you could shoot like that."

You set the glass down, your hand brushing against his as you did so. "It's all about control," you repeated, your voice a soft purr that sent his pulse racing.

Lewis didn't care anymore. He had a woman beside him, an angel at most. The restaurant's dim lighting cast a warm glow on your faces as you leaned in closer, the whispers of your conversation lost in the gentle clinking of silverware and the soft murmur of other diners.

His hand, which had been tentatively placed on your waist, grew bolder, sliding around to the small of your back, pulling you in until your thighs brushed against his.

You were the only one holding back.

"I didn't know you were such a good actor," you whispered into his ear, your breath hot and sweet with the scent of wine.

"I have my moments," he whispered back, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he leaned closer, the scent of his cologne swirling around you like a seductive mist.

As you sipped at your wine, your mind wandered to the Ferrari team. It was a topic that had been a constant in your conversations since the wedding happened.

Lewis's excitement was palpable, a tangible force that seemed to vibrate in the air between you. He talked about the future races, the cars, the camaraderie of the team with such passion that you couldn't help but be drawn into his world.

You nodded along, your eyes never leaving his face as he spoke of the thrill of speed, the roar of the engines, and the adrenaline rush that came with pushing the limits.

Your nods grew more enthusiastic as he described the sleek lines of the Ferraris, the way the sun kissed the red paint, making it gleam like the most tempting of fruits.

You could see the yearning in his eyes, the desperation to be a part of that elite group of drivers who ruled the asphalt with a fiery passion that consumed them.

"It's like nothing else," he said, his voice filled with a reverence that was almost religious. "The wind in your hair, the engine roaring beneath you… it's pure freedom."

You leaned closer, the warmth of his words wrapping around you like a blanket. "I can see it in your eyes," you murmured, your voice thick with a desire that had nothing to do with the speed of the cars and everything to do with the passion that fueled his every word.

Lewis took a deep breath, his hand sliding up your back to cradle the nape of your neck. "I'd hope so," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper that seemed to resonate through your very soul.

You set your fork down, the clink of silver against porcelain seeming to echo through the restaurant. The rest of the world faded away, leaving only the two of you in the warm embrace of the candlelit booth.

You felt his breath on your skin, his scent mingling with the aroma of the food and wine, creating a heady cocktail that made you lightheaded with desire.

"Should we go home now?" you asked, your voice a soft, sultry purr that seemed to caress his very soul.

"Yes," he murmured, the word thick with need. "Let's go home."

The drive back to your shared secluded house was silent, punctuated only by the roar of Lewis’s Ferrari. He navigated the winding roads with practiced ease, the headlights cutting through the darkness, mirroring the way he had skillfully navigated your defenses.

You glanced at him, his profile sharp against the passing streetlights. He looked every inch the Formula 1 superstar, but you knew there was more to him than the public persona.

The drive back to your secluded hilltop villa was silent, punctuated only by the roar of Lewis’s Ferrari. He navigated the winding roads with practiced ease, the headlights cutting through the darkness, mirroring the way he had skillfully navigated your defenses.

You glanced at him, his profile sharp against the passing streetlights. He looked every inch the Formula 1 superstar, but you knew there was more to him than the public persona.

As you pulled into the driveway, you felt the familiar knot of anxiety tighten in your chest. The charade was one thing in the public eye, but back within these walls, the line between reality and performance blurred.

He turned to you, his eyes searching. "You okay?"

You offered a small, tight smile. "Just tired."

Inside, the villa was cool and quiet. You both moved with a practiced dance, the choreography of shared space and unspoken rules. You went to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water, the clinking of the glass echoing in the stillness. Lewis leaned against the doorway, watching you.

"They really went crazy with the photos tonight," he said, his voice low. "Think it'll be a problem?"

You shrugged, taking a sip. "Doubt it. It's good publicity for Ferrari. Keeps the sponsors happy."

He pushed off the doorframe and walked towards you, his movements fluid and graceful. "Is that all this is to you, then? Publicity?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions. You set down your glass, turning to face him. "What else would it be, Lewis? It's a contract. An agreement."

He stepped closer, invading your personal space. "Is it?" His voice was a soft challenge, his eyes locked on yours.

You swallowed, your heart hammering against your ribs. "Yes. It has to be."

But the look in his eyes, the way he stepped closer, the heat of his body against yours, made you question everything. You had promised yourself that you would keep this arrangement strictly professional, but the way he made you feel was anything but.

"If that's what you want," Lewis said softly, his gaze dropping to your mouth.

You felt your resolve wavering like a candle flame in the wind. Roscoe, his bulldog, lay sprawled on the floor.

The glass of water in your hand trembled slightly, the condensation slipping down the side and onto your fingertips.

The coolness of the glass was a stark contrast to the heat of your palm, a reminder of the passion that had been building between you and Lewis all evening.

You didn't answer. You couldn't. The words were trapped in your throat. You took another sip, the water a refreshing balm to your dry mouth, and you tried to ignore the way his eyes had darkened, the way his breathing had changed.

Lewis reached out, brushing a droplet of water from your chin with the pad of his thumb. "We don't have to pretend here," he whispered.

Your eyes searched his, looking for any hint of the playboy persona you had been warned about, but all you saw was sincerity and something that looked suspiciously like affection.

It had only been a few days since the wedding, a whirlwind of flashing cameras and forced smiles, but somehow, in this quiet kitchen, it felt like a lifetime.

You knew this year was going to be hard. A year of playing the part of the loving wife, of smiling for the cameras, of sharing a house with a man you had only just met.

You had to stand your ground, keep the emotions at bay. This was a marriage of convenience, nothing more. . . .

1st February 2025

The roar of your hairdryer fills the opulent bathroom of your Monaco apartment, a stark contrast to the nervous flutter in your stomach.

"Are you sure I have to come?" you ask, your voice slightly muffled by the roaring appliance. You stare at your reflection, meticulously smoothing a stray strand of burgundy hair.

The life of a top model is often glamorous, filled with photoshoots in exotic locations and VIP parties.

But this… this is different. This is Ferrari and this is with Lewis.

A familiar face pops around the doorframe, a mischievous glint in his brown eyes. "Yes, you have to," Lewis replies, leaning against the doorjamb.

He watches you with an amused expression, clearly enjoying your apprehension. "Think of it as a field trip. Besides," he adds with a wink, "they're dying to meet the infamous 'you'."

You roll your eyes, switching off the hairdryer. "Infamous how, exactly?" you retort, turning to face him.

He chuckles, pushing himself off the doorframe and walking towards you. "Infamously beautiful. Infamously talented. And, let's be honest, infamously… married to me."

"Don't remind me," you murmur, but there's a playful smile on your lips.

"Come on," he says, pulling away slightly. "We need to leave. The Prancing Horse awaits."

You take one last look in the mirror, adjusting the straps of your scarlet red dress. It's a bold choice, a deliberate nod to Ferrari's iconic color.

Lewis is wearing a red top and black trousers, a coordinated effort that makes you feel almost… like a real couple.

The drive to Maranello is a blur of rolling hills and picturesque Italian villages. As you approach the Ferrari factory, the air crackles with anticipation. This is hallowed ground for racing enthusiasts, a place where legends are born.

As you step out of the car, you are immediately engulfed by a wave of excitement. The air hums with the sounds of engines revving and the scent of gasoline and burning rubber.

You walk alongside Lewis, your heels clicking on the pristine asphalt. He holds your hand, his touch a reassuring anchor in the sea of unfamiliar faces.

The staff greet Lewis with enthusiasm, their faces lighting up as he shakes their hands and exchanges words of appreciation.

You try your best to smile and nod, feeling a bit like an imposter in this world of high-octane adrenaline and finely tuned machinery.

"And this is my wife, Y/N," Lewis announces with a pride that makes your heart flutter. "She's a model, and a very talented one at that."

The staff members turn their attention to you, their eyes widening with curiosity. You offer a polite smile, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries. You can feel their scrutiny, their silent assessment.

You are an outsider in their world, a glamorous anomaly in a culture obsessed with speed and precision.

The highlight of the tour is undoubtedly the unveiling of Lewis's new F1 car. It's a magnificent machine, a symphony of carbon fiber and aerodynamic curves. The vibrant red paint gleams under the bright lights, and the Ferrari logo stands proudly on its nose.

"Wow," you breathe, genuinely impressed. "It's… incredible."

"Want to see what it feels like?" Lewis asks with a grin.

Before you can answer, he's already gesturing for one of the mechanics to help you get in. You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you're really cut out for this. But the excitement in Lewis's eyes is infectious, and you find yourself climbing into the cockpit.

It's surprisingly cramped, the seat molded perfectly to the driver's body. You adjust the steering wheel, marveling at the array of buttons and switches. For a moment, you feel like you're about to launch into orbit.

"Careful now," Lewis says, chuckling as he watches you. "Don't press any of the wrong buttons."

You laugh, trying to imagine yourself racing around a track at 200 miles per hour. It's a far cry from your usual world of fashion shows and photo shoots.

But then, disaster strikes. You try to get out of the car, but your leg gets stuck. You wiggle and squirm, but to no avail. You're completely wedged in, unable to move.

"Having a little trouble?" Lewis teases, but you can see the concern in his eyes.

He steps closer, reaching into the cockpit to help you. His hands brush against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. He pulls gently, and with a final tug, you're free.

"Thanks," you murmur, trying to ignore the heat that has flooded your cheeks.

"Well, that was certainly… interesting," you say, trying to laugh it off.

"Don't worry," Lewis says, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. "It happens to the best of us. Besides," he whispers in your ear, "it was quite entertaining to watch."

You elbow him playfully, and he laughs, the sound rich and warm. You can feel his chest vibrate against your arm, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

The rest of the evening is a whirlwind of handshakes and photo ops, but through it all, Lewis keeps you close. His hand is a constant presence on the small of your back, guiding you through the throngs of people, his thumb tracing small, comforting circles.

You manage to sneak away during a lull in the festivities, slipping into the team's merchandise store. The walls are adorned with the Ferrari emblem, red and yellow, the color of passion and fire. You scan the racks, looking for something that will truly surprise him.

Your eyes fall on a sleek Ferrari shirt, tailored to perfection, and a matching hat with the iconic prancing horse logo. The fabric feels like a second skin, and you can't resist the urge to try it on. The shirt hugs your curves in all the right places.

You make your purchase, the thrill of the secret hiding behind your innocent smile. As you slip the shirt over your dress, the fabric clings to your curves. The hat sits atop your head, the perfect finishing touch to your impromptu disguise.

"Lewis," you call out, your voice a siren's call through the bustling crowd. "I found something."

He turns, his eyes scanning the room before landing on you. The sight of you in the Ferrari shirt and hat makes his heart stumble. You look like a forbidden fruit, a temptress in the heart of his empire.

"What do you think?" you ask, spinning in a playful circle, the fabric of the shirt gliding against your skin like a lover's caress.

Lewis's eyes darken, his smile growing more predatory. "I think," he muttered, stepping closer, "that you look absolutely stunning."

His hand slides down your arm, his fingers brushing the bare skin above the shirt's sleeve. The sensation sends a jolt of electricity through you, a current that lights up your entire body.

"Let's take a picture," a staff member says, a camera already in hand.

Lewis's gaze lingers on you, his eyes tracing the contours of your body in the tight Ferrari shirt.

He knows the picture will be for the press, but the idea of capturing this moment, this intimacy, feels more personal. He nods, his hand sliding down to yours, our fingers entwining.

The flash from the camera pierces the dim light of the merchandise store, freezing the moment in time. You lean into him, his arm snaking around your waist as you pose for the shot, the fabric of your dress riding up slightly. His hand feels like a brand, leaving a trail of heat on your skin.

"Perfect," the staff member says, lowering the camera with a knowing smile. You both look at each other, the energy between you palpable.

You look at the picture that the staff member has just taken. In the frame, Lewis' hand is resting against the side of your butt, a gesture that seems innocent to anyone else but is loaded with a tension that makes your stomach flip.

The way his fingers curve slightly, as if he's holding onto something precious, sends a wave of heat through your body.

You force a laugh, hoping to diffuse the situation, but the way his thumb is ghosting small circles over your hip bone tells you that he's as aware of the intimacy as you are. The fabric of your dress clings to your skin, the heat of his hand branding you from the inside out.

"Well, that's definitely going to make the front page," you murmur, trying to keep your voice light. But your heart is racing, the anticipation of what's to come a delicious cocktail of excitement and nerves.

Lewis leans in, his breath warm against your ear. "Let's make sure it's not the only thing they're talking about tomorrow," he whispers, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine.

The evening wears on, the air growing thick with the scent of ambition and desire. You find yourself drawn into conversations about engine specs and racing strategies, your interest piqued by the passion in the voices of those around you.

But it's Lewis's passion that truly captivates you. As he talks shop with the Ferrari engineers, you can't help but stare at his animated expressions, the way his eyes light up when he discusses his love for the sport. His enthusiasm is contagious, and you feel your own excitement building.

Later, you find yourself in a more private setting, meeting with Fred Vasseur, Ferrari's team principal. You've met him before, at various racing events to discuss the marriage, but this feels different. This is Ferrari territory, and you're here as Lewis's wife.

Fred greets you with a warm smile, shaking your hand and offering a compliment on your dress. "It's good to see you both," he says, his eyes twinkling. "You make a lovely couple."

You exchange glances with Lewis, a silent understanding passing between you. It's a game, a performance that Fred had set the two of you to do.

But sometimes, it's hard to tell where the performance ends and reality begins.

Fred leads you to his office, a spacious room filled with racing memorabilia and photographs of Ferrari legends. He offers you a glass of champagne, and you all sit down to chat.

The conversation revolves around racing, of course. Fred is clearly passionate about the sport, and he talks with enthusiasm about Lewis's potential with Ferrari. You listen politely, interjecting with the occasional question or comment.

But as the conversation progresses, you notice Fred's gaze lingering on you. He seems genuinely interested in you, not just as the woman he picked to be Lewis's wife, but as an individual.

"So, Y/N," he says, leaning forward slightly. "What do you think of all this? Are you enjoying the world of Formula 1 so far?"

You pause, considering your answer. "It's certainly… different," you say with a smile. "It's a lot more intense than I expected."

"It is," Fred agrees. "But it's also incredibly rewarding. It's a world of passion, dedication, and teamwork. And of course," he adds with a wink, "a little bit of glamour."

You laugh, feeling a sense of connection with Fred. He seems to understand the unique position you're in, the challenges and opportunities that come with being married to a Formula 1 superstar.

As the meeting draws to a close, Fred stands up and shakes your hand again. "It was a pleasure seeing you, Y/N," he says sincerely. "I hope you enjoy your time with us here at Ferrari."

"Thank you," you reply, returning his smile. "I'm sure I will."

As you leave the office, Lewis's hand finds yours, threading through your fingers. The connection feels natural, the warmth of his skin sending a comforting thrum through your body.

"You handled that well," he says, his voice a low murmur that sends a shiver down your spine. "Fred can be a bit intense."

You nod, sipping your champagne. "I'm getting used to it."

Lewis squeezes your hand, and the warmth of his touch sends a jolt through you, making you acutely aware of the delicate balance of power between you. "Good," he says, his voice a gentle rumble. "Because there's a lot more to come."

You say goodbye to the crew with a mix of relief and apprehension. The evening had been a whirlwind of new experiences, and you can't help but feel a little overwhelmed.

The crew, a tight-knit group of mechanics and engineers, had treated you with respect, but you know that their loyalty was first and foremost to Lewis.

As you walk away from the bustling garage, the roar of engines fading into the background, you turn to him, your heart racing.

"Thank you for bringing me here," you say, your voice low and earnest. "It's not every day I get to be a part of something so… exhilarating."

Lewis's smile widens, his eyes gleaming with something that looks suspiciously like pride. "It's nothing," he says, playing it cool. "Just a little taste of the world I live in."

Lewis flashed a cheeky wink while opening the door of his stunning Ferrari for you, saying, "I look forward to seeing you shine on the runway."

You slid into the car, the leather seats hugging your body as he settled in beside you. The engine purred to life, the vibration resonating through you, a silent promise of the speed and power waiting to be unleashed.

As he drove, you felt his eyes on you, his gaze lingering on your legs, exposed by the slit in your dress.

"You know," he began, his voice a velvet caress, "you look absolutely stunning in that Ferrari gear."

The car's engine hummed beneath you, a symphony of power and precision, mirroring the way your heart was racing at his words. The leather seats seemed to mold to your body, holding you in a seductive embrace.

Lewis's hand was steady on the steering wheel, his knuckles white with the effort of not reaching out to touch you again. The tension in the air was palpable, a living, breathing entity that seemed to pulse with every beat of your heart.

You leaned back into the luxurious leather seat, the hum of the engine a constant reminder of the power beneath you. The fabric of the Ferrari shirt was a second skin, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of liberation, as if you had shed the layers of your old life and were being reborn into something new, something thrilling.

Lewis's gaze was a constant presence, his eyes devouring the way the shirt hugged your curves. You felt his desire like a physical force, a magnetic pull that was impossible to ignore. The car was a cocoon of heat and passion, the very essence of your arrangement distilled into this single moment.

Eleven more months. The thought sent a shiver down your spine. It was a prison sentence and a promise of freedom all rolled into one. You had signed up for this, for the glamour and the thrills, but what you hadn't counted on was the man beneath the racing suit. . . .

3rd Februrary 2025

The sun had barely kissed the horizon as you stirred from your slumber, the insistent buzz of your alarm clock piercing the quietude of your Italian house.

You groaned, rolling over to silence it, your hand brushing against the cool, empty space beside you.

Throwing off the silk sheets, you slid out of bed and padded over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the Mediterranean.

The early morning light painted the waves in shades of pink and gold, casting a warm glow over the city that never sleeps. But for you, the day had started hours ago, your internal clock set to the rigorous schedule of a top model.

You walked through the sprawling apartment, the marble floors cool under your bare feet, heading towards the sound of gentle snoring. Roscoe, Lewis's bulldog, was sprawled out on a plush doggy bed in the corner of the room, his broad chest rising and falling in time with his deep, contented breaths.

You couldn't help but smile as you leaned down to pet his velvety ears. His eyes flickered open, and he greeted you with a sleepy yawn before nuzzling into your hand.

Leaving the dog to his slumber, you tiptoed into the master suite, the sanctum where the man you were married to, for all intents and purposes, lay in peaceful repose.

You felt a strange thrill at the sight of him, his features relaxed and boyish in sleep. The reality of your arrangement had not diminished the allure of this elusive, enigmatic figure who had stumbled into your life.

Lewis lay on his back, one arm thrown above his head, showcasing the tapestry of tattoos that adorned his bicep. The sheets had slipped down, revealing the contours of his chiseled chest, a sculpture of muscle and sinew that spoke of his dedication to his sport.

You felt a sudden urge to crawl back into bed with him but this was his space, his sanctuary, and you were merely an interloper in his world.

Instead, you retreated to the en suite bathroom where you began your meticulous skincare routine, the soft murmur of the faucet as you washed your face a comforting lullaby.

The feel of the cool water was a gentle caress against your skin, waking you up fully. You applied your serums and creams with the precision of a Swiss watchmaker, each movement calculated to maintain the flawless complexion that had made you a household name.

The gym called next, the allure of the treadmill and the weights beckoning with the promise of endurance and strength. You pushed your body, the burn in your muscles a reminder of the discipline required to stay at the top of your game.

As you worked out, you couldn't help but think of Lewis, his own rigorous routine that would start in a few hours.

The day stretched before you, a canvas of potential and uncertainty. You were here, in the heart of Ferrari's world, a world that was as foreign to you as a catwalk was to him.

Yet, there was an undeniable thrill in the challenge of navigating the uncharted waters of Formula 1.

After your workout, you slipped into your robe, the soft terry cloth a gentle embrace against your damp skin. You paused in front of the mirror, taking stock of your reflection.

The hairdryer's roar filled the bathroom as you aimed it at your curly hair, the hot air a comforting warmth that danced through the damp strands.

You applied a generous amount of volumizing mousse, working it into the roots with your fingertips, feeling the cool gel sizzle against your scalp.

Each twirl of the dryer's nozzle brought your curls to life, a wild halo of fiery passion that framed your face.

You heard a knock, the sound echoing through the tiles. "Y/N? Are you in there?" Lewis' voice was muffled by the barrier of the door, but the anticipation in his tone was unmistakable.

You turned off the hairdryer, the sudden silence deafening. "Just a minute," you called out, your heart skipping a beat.

You took a deep breath, letting the warmth of the robe envelop you as you tied the belt securely around your waist. Your hair cascaded over your shoulders in a fiery waterfall, each curl perfectly in place.

You felt a flutter of nervousness in your stomach as you prepared to face the day ahead, to face Lewis in his element, his world of speed and power.

With a final spritz of hairspray to hold the masterpiece in place, you stepped out of the bathroom, the plush rug underfoot a stark contrast to the cold marble.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon wafted through the air, a domestic bliss that seemed almost incongruous with the adrenaline-fueled life you knew he led.

Lewis looked up from the stove, a spatula in hand, and your breath hitched at the sight of him. He was shirtless, his abs rippling with each movement, a testament to the countless hours he spent in the gym.

His eyes traveled up and down your body, a smoldering look that seemed to strip away the layers of the robe, leaving you feeling exposed and wanton.

"I'm making breakfast," he said, his voice a low purr that seemed to resonate through your very bones. "Did you want the same, or anything different?"

You felt a flush creep up your neck as his eyes roved over you, taking in the way the robe clung to your body. The question hung in the air, heavy with innuendo.

"Surprise me," you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady. The air in the kitchen seemed to crackle with tension as he set the spatula down and approached you.

Lewis stepped closer, the scent of him mixing with the tantalizing smells of breakfast. His hand reached for your chin, tilting it up to meet his gaze.

The touch was featherlight, a stark contrast to the power you knew he wielded on the racetrack. His thumb traced your bottom lip, sending a shiver through your core.

"You're going to love it," he promised, the corners of his mouth tipping up in a wicked smile.

You nodded, taking a step backward. "I'll get changed," you said, walking past Roscoe who was half-asleep on the plush carpet, his snores a gentle reminder of the quiet moments you two shared amidst the chaos of Lewis' world.

In the bedroom, you slipped off the robe, the cool air kissing your flushed skin. You reached into the closet, the hangers whispering as you searched for the perfect outfit to face the day.

Your clothes arrived the day after your wedding. You fingered the garments, each one a carefully chosen piece of the puzzle that would shape your new identity as a Ferrari wife.

The dresses were bold and elegant, the fabrics whispering of wealth and prestige, and the lingerie, a tantalizing promise of the intimate moments you'd share with Lewis.

But today, there was no need for the grandeur of haute couture. You chose a simple white tank top and a pair of distressed jeans, the fabric kissing your skin.

A pair of black sneakers completed the ensemble, their laces untied and loose, inviting the casual ease that the day demanded.

As you descended the stairs, the aroma of fresh coffee grew stronger, the rich scent wrapping around you like a warm embrace. You found Lewis in the kitchen, his muscular back to you as he moved with an easy grace that seemed almost unreal for someone who pushed the limits of physics for a living.

He wore a pair of black sweatpants that clung to his thighs, leaving little to the imagination.

The breakfast spread on the table was a feast fit for a king, or perhaps a Formula 1 champion. The sun streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm glow on the plates of crispy bacon, fluffy eggs, and golden toast.

There was a bowl of fresh berries, their vibrant colors popping against the pristine white of the porcelain, and a small mountain of whipped cream that looked like it had been piped there by an angel.

The sight of the food made your stomach rumble with hunger, and you couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for the calories you were about to indulge in.

But then again, you'd earned it, with the grueling workout and the emotional tightrope you'd been walking since you woke up.

Lewis turned to you, a plate of food in hand, the muscles in his arms flexing as he offered it with a flourish. "Here you go, gorgeous," he said, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Fuel for the day ahead."

You took the plate, the warmth of his hand lingering on yours. You took a seat at the breakfast nook, watching as he served himself and joined you. The way he moved, the confidence in every gesture, was intoxicating. You felt a sudden urge to reach out, to trace the taut muscles of his forearm, but you resisted.

The first bite of eggs was heavenly, the yolk running like liquid gold over the toast. You chewed thoughtfully, watching Lewis as he devoured his breakfast with a focus that was almost feral.

He looked up, catching you staring. "What?" he asked, a smear of ketchup on his bottom lip.

You leaned over, wiping it away with your thumb, your gaze lingering on his mouth. "Nothing," you said, your voice a soft purr.

"For someone who wants to keep it professional, you're very seductive," Lewis murmured, his eyes darkening.

You felt a blush creep up your neck as you sat across from him, the intimate setting of the breakfast nook suddenly feeling much smaller.

You took a sip of coffee, the heat of the liquid doing little to quell the fire that his words had ignited. "I'm just being me," you said with a shrug, trying to keep your voice light.

Lewis leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving yours. "And that's the problem," he said, a wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You make it very difficult for me to focus on anything else."

The room grew warm, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife. You took a bite of toast, the crunch echoing in the silence. The butter melted on your tongue, a rich and decadent treat that seemed to mirror the situation unfolding before you.

Lewis' eyes remained locked on yours, the playful smirk on his face hinting at the thrill of the chase.

"You're only supposed to focus on me, you cheater," you teased, slapping his bare shoulder playfully.

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that made your stomach flip. "And here I thought we were just having breakfast," he said, raising an eyebrow.

You felt your cheeks flush, the heat spreading down to your chest.

The way he said it, with that hint of challenge, made you want to prove him wrong. To show him that you were more than just a pretty face, that you could handle this world of fast cars and faster men.

"Is that so?" You replied, taking another sip of your coffee, feeling the liquid warmth slide down your throat. "Well, I suppose I'll have to be on my best behavior, then."

Lewis's smile grew wider, a playful spark in his eyes. "Best behavior doesn't suit you," he murmured, reaching across the table to take your hand.

You felt a sudden urge to lean in, to kiss the smugness from his lips, but you held back. This was a dance, a delicate ballet of power and passion, and you were determined not to trip over your own feet.

Roscoe's snores grew louder, the bass line to the symphony of your racing hearts. You watched as Lewis' thumb traced lazy circles on the back of your hand, the movement sending a cascade of sensations up your arm.

With a sudden jolt, Roscoe's eyes shot open, his sleepy gaze locking onto the two of you. He stretched, his stubby legs pushing against the plush rug, and let out a low, questioning whine.

The sound was like a pinprick to the balloon of intimacy that had filled the room, and you both laughed, the moment broken.

Lewis leaned down to rub Roscoe's belly, his muscles rippling with the movement. "Looks like someone's ready for breakfast," he said, his eyes never leaving yours.

You couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment as the spell was broken. But as you watched the dog wag his tail with excitement, you realized that maybe, just maybe, the interruption was for the best.

You had a day of pretending ahead of you, a day of smiles and nods and playing the part of the adoring wife. The last thing you needed was to get lost in the seductive pull of Lewis' gaze and forget where you stood.

Breakfast turned into a lesson in the art of flirting without crossing lines. You exchanged barbs and stories, each one a little more personal than the last.

The banter was easy, natural, and you found yourself laughing more than you had in weeks. It was a dance you hadn't practiced, but one that you were surprisingly good at.

As you watched Lewis feed Roscoe a piece of bacon, you couldn't help but feel a strange kinship with the dog. He took the food from your hand with a gentle nip, his eyes never leaving yours, as if to say, 'You're part of this now.'

You leaned back in your chair, your eyes on the dog as he gobbled up the treat. "I think he likes you more than me," you said with a laugh.

Lewis grinned, his eyes never leaving yours. "Well, I am the one feeding him the good stuff," he replied, popping a piece of toast into his mouth.

The conversation turned to the day ahead, the upcoming event of you going to the USA while Lewis was doing intense training. You felt your stomach tighten with nerves.

But Lewis seemed unfazed. He talked about the new car, the team, the strategy for the season, his words a symphony of passion and knowledge.

As you finished your coffee, you took a deep breath, the caffeine jolting you into action. "I should go call Sarah," you said, standing up. "Make sure she's not too upset I couldn't be at her event today."

Lewis nodded, his eyes darkening with understanding. "I'll take Roscoe for a walk," he said, scooping the dog into his arms. "We'll be back before you know it."

You watched them leave, the sight of Lewis' strong arms cradling the pup bringing a smile to your lips. The door closed, leaving you in the quiet embrace of the apartment.

You picked up your phone, scrolling through to find Sarah's number. The call connected, and her voice, so familiar and soothing, filled your ear.

"Hey," you said, trying to keep the wobble out of your voice. "I'm so sorry I couldn't be there."

"Don't worry about it," she replied, her tone understanding. "We've got it all under control. How's life with the speed demon?"

You sighed, leaning against the marble countertop. "It's… intense," you admitted. "But he's not all bad."

Sarah's laughter filled the line. "Intense? That's an understatement if I've ever heard one. Of course, I wouldn't be complaining if I had a hubby like him," she joked, her voice teasing.

You couldn't help but smile, thinking of the way Lewis's muscles had flexed as he held Roscoe. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"So, do you like him?" Sarah's question was as direct as a bullet, piercing through the veil of your thoughts.

You paused, the phone pressed to your ear, your gaze drifting over the opulent kitchen, the aroma of Lewis's cologne still lingering. "It's complicated," you said finally, the words sticky on your tongue.

Sarah's laugh was understanding. "Well, when isn't it? But seriously, Y/N, I can tell he's different from the others."

You swallowed, the lump in your throat suddenly large. "It's just… we have to keep it professional," you said, hearing the waver in your voice.

"Professional," she echoed, the word sounding almost foreign in the context of the undeniable chemistry you shared. "But do you like him?"

You stared at the phone, the question hanging in the air like a challenge.

You liked Lewis, of course you did. You liked the way his eyes crinkled at the edges when he laughed, the way his hands felt on your skin, the sound of his voice in the quiet moments when the world fell away.

But it was more than that, deeper than the superficial attraction that had drawn you to your previous flings. You liked the way he talked about his work, the passion that consumed him, the way his entire being seemed to come alive when he was behind the wheel.

You took a deep breath, the scent of Lewis' cologne still lingering in the air. "I do," you admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "But it's complicated."

Sarah was silent for a moment, and you could almost hear her mind racing on the other end of the line. "Okay," she said finally. "But remember, you're there for the experience. Don't let anyone tell you how to feel."

Her words echoed in your mind as you hung up the phone. You had agreed to this marriage for a year, a year of playing the role of the devoted wife, a year of navigating the treacherous waters of the Formula 1 world.

But what if the lines between reality and the role became blurred? What if the attraction you felt was more than just a spark, but a flame that threatened to consume you both?

You pushed the thoughts aside as Lewis and Roscoe returned from their walk. The dog was panting, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, and Lewis had a smudge of mud on his cheek.

You couldn't help but laugh, the sight of them a welcome reprieve from the tumult of your thoughts.

"Looks like you two had fun," you said, gesturing to the mud on Lewis's face.

He grinned, a boyish charm lighting up his features. "Roscoe found a puddle," he explained, wiping the smudge away.

But you couldn't resist. You stepped closer, taking the napkin from his hand. "Let me," you murmured, your voice a soft caress.

As you reached up to wipe the remaining smudge of mud, your hand brushed against his cheek, the stubble grazing your skin like sandpaper. His eyes searched yours, the heat in them unmistakable.

You felt your breath hitch in your throat as you gently dabbed at the mud, your heart racing like an engine at full throttle.

When you had finished, you stepped back, the napkin still clutched in your hand. The silence between you was charged, a live wire humming with unspoken desire.

Lewis' gaze dropped to your mouth, his pupils dilating with want. For a moment, you thought he would lean in, claim your lips in a fiery kiss that would set the world ablaze. But he held back, the line between professional and personal blurring like the horizon on a race track.

You took a step away, needing the space to breathe. "I should… get ready," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lewis nodded, the heat in his eyes not dissipating. "I'll be waiting for you," he said, his voice low and thick.

You retreated to the bedroom, your heart pounding in your chest.

The walls of the luxurious suite seemed to close in around you, the weight of the unspoken moment heavy on your shoulders.

You took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Lewis that lingered in the air, a tantalizing mix of sweat and cologne that seemed to cling to every surface.

The meeting for Milan Fashion Week 2025 was in a few hours, and you had to be prepared. You rummaged through your wardrobe, the fabric of your clothes whispering against your fingertips as you pulled out the outfits you had meticulously chosen.

Each piece was a deliberate statement, a declaration of your intent to conquer the fashion world. You slipped into a sleek black jumpsuit that hugged your body like a second skin, the material whispering sweet nothings of power and seduction as you zipped it up.

The low neckline was a silent challenge, the plunging back a promise of what lay beneath.

Lewis knocked on the door, his voice a gentle reminder of the world outside your cocoon of fabric and ambition. "Ready to go?" he called out, the anticipation in his tone palpable.

You took a deep breath, stepping into a pair of stiletto heels that made you feel like you could walk on air. "As ready as I'll ever be," you replied, your voice steady despite the storm of nerves raging in your chest.

He was waiting in the hallway, looking like a vision in his own right. His black Ferrari-emblazoned jacket and pants were a stark contrast to your all-black ensemble, the vibrant red of the logo standing out like a beacon of passion.

The sight of him made your heart stutter, a reminder of the electricity that sizzled between you.

"You look… wow," he breathed, his eyes drinking you in.

You couldn't help but blush under his scrutiny. "Thank you," you murmured, trying to keep the tremor of desire from your voice. "So do you."

He offered his arm, and you took it, feeling the warmth of his skin against your own. As you descended the stairs, the click of your heels echoed through the hallway, a seductive rhythm that seemed to sync with the pounding of your heart.

The drive to the meeting was a silent one, the tension in the car thick enough to slice through.

You glanced at Lewis, his eyes focused on the road, his jaw set in determination. You wondered if he was thinking about the race or about the way you looked in that jumpsuit.

When you arrived at the sleek Milanese building, a cacophony of flashbulbs and eager whispers greeted you. The paparazzi had caught wind of your presence, and they were like sharks in a feeding frenzy. You took a deep breath, ready to face the storm.

As you stepped out of the car, the cool Italian air kissed your skin, the fabric of your jumpsuit whispering sweet nothings of seduction and power.

You could feel Lewis's eyes on you, his gaze a warm embrace that made you feel invincible. You turned to him, a smile playing on your lips, ready to face the world together.

But as you leaned in to whisper a quick goodbye, his hand shot out, capturing your chin and tilting your face up to meet his. His eyes searched yours, a silent question hanging between you. And for a moment, you considered it.

But reality crashed in like a wave, and you stepped back, smoothing your hair with trembling hands. "I'll see you later," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lewis's hand fell away, his eyes lingering on your mouth before he nodded. "Good luck," he murmured, his voice husky with unspoken promise.

You turned away, the click of your heels echoing through the marble lobby as you made your way to the elevator. The doors slid open, and you stepped inside, the scent of his cologne still clinging to you.

As the elevator ascended, you couldn't help but think of the heat in his eyes, the way his hand had felt on your skin. You were married to him, but it was a marriage of convenience, a business deal with a very handsome and very tempting bonus.

The doors opened with a ding, and you stepped into the bustling office space, a stark contrast to the quiet tension of the car. The room was a flurry of activity, models and designers rushing to and fro, their voices a symphony of Italian and English.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the day ahead. You had a role to play, a performance to give. But as you walked into the conference room, the reality of the situation hit you like a sledgehammer.

You weren't just playing the part of the devoted wife; you were falling for the man who had bought you.

The meeting was a blur of fabric swatches and runway talk, but you couldn't focus. Your mind was a tumult of thoughts, racing like the engines of Lewis's beloved cars.

You nodded and smiled in all the right places, but your heart was elsewhere, tangled in the web of desire that had been spun between the two of you.

As the hours ticked by, you found yourself checking your phone, hoping for a message from him. Each time it buzzed, your pulse quickened, only to be dashed by another email about the upcoming fashion week.

"Y/N? Y/N!" A voice pierced through the din of the bustling office, and you looked up to find one of the staff members standing in front of you, his eyes wide and his hands slightly trembling. "Your husband is Sir Lewis Hamilton, am I correct?"

You nodded, still in a daze from the morning's events. The words seemed to echo in your head, a strange mantra that you hadn't quite come to terms with. "Yes, that's right," you finally managed to say.

The staff member's face lit up with excitement. "Oh, wow, I'm so sorry!" He exclaimed. "I didn't realize! I'm a huge fan!" He extended a hand for you to shake, and you couldn't help but feel a little thrill at the recognition.

It was strange, being married to someone so revered, so adored.

"Is it possible that Mr. Hamilton can attend Milan Fashion Week 2025?" He asked, his voice hopeful. "It would be such an honor for us to have him here."

You looked at the man, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "I'll have to check with his schedule," you said, your mind racing. The thought of Lewis in Milan, surrounded by the glitz and glamour of the fashion world, was an intriguing one. "But I'm sure he'd love to support me."

The room grew quieter as the implications of your words sank in. A whisper of excitement rippled through the air, and suddenly, the fashion week meeting had taken on a whole new dimension.

The idea of Lewis attending, not as a tag-along, but as a legitimate guest, a man of style and substance in his own right, was tantalizing.

The rest of the afternoon was a whirlwind of fittings and discussions about the upcoming show. The designers were eager to dress you, their eyes lighting up at the prospect of having a Ferrari-affiliated superstar in their lineup.

But it was the thought of Lewis by your side that truly electrified the atmosphere.

The whispers grew louder as the rumors spread. The models, usually so self-absorbed, couldn't help but throw glances your way, their curiosity piqued by the potential presence of the Formula 1 legend.

You felt a strange thrill at being the center of attention, a thrill that was only magnified by the knowledge that it was all because of him.

"Are you almost done darling?" The message from Lewis appeared on your phone, jolting you out of your reverie. You looked down at the screen, his words a gentle caress amidst the chaos.

The endearment was simple, but it sent a warm shiver down your spine, a stark reminder of the intimate moment you had shared earlier.

You typed back a quick response, your thumbs hovering over the keys as you debated how much of your tumultuous emotions to reveal.

"Almost," you replied, your voice in your mind echoing with the same heat that had been in his gaze.

After what felt like an eternity, the last fitting was done, and the final fabric swatches were tucked away. The room cleared out, leaving you standing in the empty space, the echo of stilettos on marble a distant memory.

You took a deep breath, the scent of fresh coffee wafting in from the adjoining lounge area, and made your way to the balcony. The city of Milan spread out before you, a tapestry of rooftops and cobblestone streets.

As you leaned against the railing, the cool metal pressing into your skin, your thoughts drifted back to Lewis. You had told him you were finished from work, the words slipping from your lips with a casualness that belied the racing of your heart.

But when his car appeared, a sleek Ferrari, the sun glinting off its metallic paint, your resolve crumbled like a cookie under the pressure of a vise.

You watched as the engine purr grew louder, the sound resonating through your very soul, and then there he was, emerging from the driver's seat with the grace of a panther.

His eyes scanned the area, searching for you, and when they finally found you, the intensity of his gaze was like a physical touch.

Your stomach did a little flip as he approached, his strides long and confident. He was dressed in a tailored suit, the fabric hugging his athletic frame in a way that made your mouth go dry.

As he drew closer, you felt a breeze that seemed to carry his scent with it, the intoxicating blend of his cologne and the faint hint of engine oil that clung to him like a second skin.

It was a scent that had grown surprisingly familiar, a scent that was becoming increasingly hard to ignore.

When he was a few feet away, he looked up, meeting your eyes with a smile that was both welcoming and challenging. The sight of him made you feel both vulnerable and powerful, like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to jump.

You stepped forward, your heels clacking against the marble, each step bringing you closer to the man who had turned your world upside down.

His eyes raked over you, his gaze lingering on the neckline of your jumpsuit, the fabric clinging to your curves like a second skin. You felt his eyes like a physical caress, a silent promise of what was to come.

The moment between you was charged, the air thick with unspoken words and unanswered questions. You wanted to lean into him, to let the heat of his body envelop you, to kiss him until the world fell away. But you held back, the professional facade still clinging to you like a second skin.

"Ready to go?" he asked, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to vibrate through your very bones.

You nodded, trying to ignore the way your heart stuttered in your chest. "Yes," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

He offered his hand, and you took it, the warmth of his skin sending a shiver down your spine. As he led you to the car, you couldn't help but feel like you were being swept away by a tornado of passion and power.

Lewis opened the door for you with a flourish, his eyes never leaving yours as you slid into the low-slung seat. The smell of leather and luxury enveloped you, and you felt a strange sense of belonging.

You watched as he walked around the car, his movements fluid and precise, like a dance.

As he slid into the driver's seat, you noticed the way his fingers caressed the leather-wrapped steering wheel, a silent testament to his love for speed and power. The engine roared to life, the sound vibrating through you like a bass note from a symphony of desire.

"How was the meeting?" he asked, his voice a gentle rumble in the quiet cabin.

You took a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. "It was… interesting," you finally managed. "They're all eager to have you at Milan Fashion Week."

He shot you a look, one eyebrow quirking. "Me?"

"Yes, you," you said with a small smile. "They want the full package."

The corner of his mouth turned up in a knowing smile, and you felt your stomach flip. The car pulled away from the curb, the engine purring like a contented cat as it ate up the asphalt.

As you sat there, the leather seats molding to your body, you felt the tension from earlier slowly dissipate. The city flew by in a blur of lights and sounds, but all you could focus on was the warmth of his hand resting on the gear stick, so close to yours.

You couldn't help but glance over at him, his focus on the road unwavering as he navigated the twisting streets of Milan with ease. The setting sun cast a golden halo around him, his profile sharp and defined. The muscles in his forearm flexed with each gear change, a silent symphony of power and control.

Your hand itched to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin again, but you resisted, unsure of the game you were playing.

When you both got home, you two went inside to see Roscoe still awake, his bulldog's eyes blinking lazily as he watched you enter. He thumped his tail on the floor, his plush bed a testament to the comforts of your Italian house.

Lewis chuckled, reaching down to ruffle the dog's fur. "Someone's been waiting up for us," he said, his voice a gentle caress.

You couldn't help the smile that bloomed on your lips at the sight of your husband interacting with the animal. It was moments like these that made you question the nature of your arrangement. The domesticity of it all was a stark contrast to the glitz and glamour of your respective careers.

Roscoe stretched, his joints popping as he climbed to his feet and ambled over to you, his nails clicking against the marble floor. You bent down to pet him, his warm breath and soft fur a balm to your frazzled nerves.

"Looks like he's happy to see you," Lewis said, his hand resting on the small of your back.

You straightened up, your eyes meeting his, and in that moment, the air between you crackled with tension.

The apartment was quiet, the only sounds the distant hum of the city and the occasional rumble of Roscoe's contented sighs.

Lewis stepped closer, his hand sliding around your waist. "You know," he murmured, "I've never done this before."

Your heart raced, his words a confession that took you by surprise. "What do you mean?" you asked, your voice a mere whisper.

"Married life," he said, his eyes searching yours. "The whole pretending to be in love."

You swallowed hard, his honesty a knife that sliced through the armor you had so carefully constructed around your heart. "Neither have I," you admitted, your voice barely audible.

Lewis's grin grew wider, a proud glint in his eye that sent your heart racing. "Well, I think we're doing a pretty good job of it, don't you?"

You couldn't argue with that. The way he looked at you, the way he touched you, the way he made you feel—it all seemed so genuine. Was it possible that the lines between pretend and reality had blurred?

"Maybe we're just really good actors," you said, trying to keep your voice light, but the tremor in your words gave you away.

Lewis's grin grew, the proud tilt of his head making your heart flutter. "Or maybe," he said, his voice dropping an octave, "we're just really good at being in love."

With a boldness that surprised even yourself, you reached up and cupped his bearded cheek, feeling the coarse hair against your palm. "Or maybe," you murmured, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw, "you're just a good flirt."

Lewis's grin grew even wider, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Only for you," he whispered, and before you could respond, he leaned in and kissed you.

The kiss was gentle at first, a soft brush of his lips against yours, as if testing the waters. But when you didn't pull away, his grip on your waist tightened, and the kiss deepened.

His tongue slipped into your mouth, the taste of him a heady mix of coffee and something uniquely Lewis—a flavor that was becoming as addictive as the adrenaline rush of a race. . . .

6th February 2025

"Have a good flight, okay? Text me when you land," Lewis murmured into your hair, his arms tightening around you in a fierce embrace.

The airport was a cacophony of sounds—announcements, the hum of engines, the clatter of luggage wheels—but all you heard was the steady beat of his heart against your chest.

You nodded, unable to find the words to express the tumult of emotions swirling within you. "Yeah, I will. Make sure to train hard," you replied, trying to keep your voice light.

Lewis leaned back, his eyes searching yours, a hint of something unreadable flickering in their depths. "You know I always do," he said, his voice low and serious. "But I'll miss you."

The words hung in the air, a silent confession that seemed to resonate through every fiber of your being. You felt a sudden warmth in your chest, a strange mix of comfort and excitement.

"I'll miss Roscoe," you replied, the mention of his bulldog a gentle reminder of the domestic bliss that had become your reality.

"But you too as well," you grinned, the words slipping from your lips with surprising ease. The smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, a silent admission that the lines between friendship and something more were blurring.

The kiss you shared was swift and fiery, a silent promise of the passion that awaited you both when you'd reunite. The taste of him lingered on your lips as you made your way to the gate, the memory of his touch a warm brand against your skin. It was a kiss that had started as a playful gesture, a simple goodbye before the cameras could capture the intimate moment.

As you pulled away, you felt the chilly air of the terminal replace the warmth of his embrace, leaving you with an unexpected sense of loss. But there was no time for melancholy—you had a plane to catch.

Your heart raced as you handed your boarding pass to the attendant, the butterflies in your stomach doing somersaults. The kiss had been unexpected, a spark that had ignited a flame you hadn't known was there.

You found your seat on the first-class flight, the plush leather a stark contrast to the turmoil in your thoughts.

As the aircraft taxied down the runway, you couldn't help but steal glances out the window, watching as the world grew smaller and smaller, until it was just the two of you, a fleeting memory against the vastness of the sky.

The flight to New York was a blur of movies and overpriced champagne, your thoughts never straying far from the man you had left behind.

You played the kiss over and over in your mind, the feel of his lips against yours, the way his hand had cradled your cheek, the warmth of his breath on your skin.

As the plane touched down, the reality of your old life began to sink in. The bustling streets of Milan had been replaced by the towering skyscrapers and honking taxis of the Big Apple.

You felt a pang of longing for the quiet elegance of Italy, but also an excitement at the prospect of reconquering an old city.

You had hoped that your auntie was still alive and still living in the place as 20 years ago. It had been that long since you'd last seen her, a time when you were just a wide-eyed girl with dreams of modeling stardom.

The apartment was a tiny oasis in the concrete jungle, a place where you could escape to when the world felt too big and too scary. Now, as you hailed a taxi, you couldn't help but wonder if it had changed as much as you had.

The cab wove through the traffic, the neon lights of Times Square flashing by in a blur of color and sound. You watched the city pass by with a mix of nostalgia and detachment, the memories of your past like a distant echo.

When the taxi pulled up in front of the familiar brownstone, you felt a lump form in your throat. The building looked exactly the same—the ivy-covered bricks, the wrought-iron balconies, the scent of fresh baked bread from the bakery below.

You climbed out of the taxi, your legs feeling like jelly as you made your way to the front door. You hadn't told her you were coming, hadn't wanted to spoil the surprise.

The stairs creaked under your heels, each step taking you closer to a part of your life that had been buried under the glamour of Milan.

The door swung open at your knock, revealing the warm embrace of your auntie's living room, exactly as you remembered it. The floral wallpaper was a little more faded, the couch a bit more worn, but the love that filled the space remained unchanged.

A gasp escaped your auntie's lips as she took in your presence, her hand flying to her chest as she stumbled backward.

"Y/N, is that really you?" she exclaimed, her eyes wide with shock. Time had etched lines around her eyes and mouth, but the warmth in her gaze was as potent as ever.

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound echoing through the apartment like a song from your childhood. "It's me, Auntie," you said, stepping into the room and wrapping your arms around her. Her scent of lavender and vanilla was as familiar as your own heartbeat.

The embrace was tight, a silent acknowledgment of the years that had passed, the moments shared and lost.

Her body felt fragile against yours, a stark contrast to the robust figure who had once held you when you cried and cheered you on as you strutted down the runway of life.

You stepped back, holding her at arm's length, taking in the woman who had been your rock, your confidante, your escape.

Her hair had turned from a vibrant auburn to a soft silver, but her eyes remained a fiery amber, the same color as your own. "You're so beautiful," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion.

The words brought a warmth to your cheeks as you looked around the room, the memories flooding back like a tidal wave.

The piano where you had played your first notes, the bookshelves lined with the stories that had shaped your imagination, the dining table where you had shared countless meals and confessions.

You followed her into the kitchen, the walls lined with photographs of your modeling career, each frame a testament to the life you had built.

You felt a strange sense of pride and guilt as you studied the images, a stark reminder of the world you had left behind when you agreed to marry Lewis.

A pot of tea appeared on the table, the china cups clinking gently as she filled them. "So tell me, how's married life?" she asked, her voice light, but the question held a weight that made your stomach flutter.

You took a sip, letting the warmth of the tea chase away the chill of the city outside. "It's… different," you said, choosing your words carefully. "But good. Lewis is…" You paused, searching for the right word. "Interesting."

Your auntie's eyes twinkled with mischief as she leaned in closer. "And the bedroom, dear? Is that interesting too?"

You felt the heat creep up your neck as you set your cup down with a clatter. "Auntie," you chastised, but the smile on her face was infectious, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"I'm an old woman, not dead," she said with a wink. "Now, tell me about this kiss."

The memory of Lewis's lips against yours, the feel of his hands on your body, washed over you in a wave of desire. You felt your cheeks flush as you recounted the story, the words spilling out in a rush.

Her eyes lit up with excitement. "Oh, my sweet girl," she said, patting your hand. "I knew you had it in you. You just needed the right person to bring it out."

"Your brother, though," she said solemnly, the mood in the room shifting like a cloud passing over the sun.

You stiffened, not wanting to hear about him today. The thought of your brother was a sour note in an otherwise sweet symphony. "What about him?" you asked, trying to keep the irritation out of your voice.

"Well, he's been asking about you," she said, her voice filled with an unspoken concern. "He's worried about you, with everything that's been happening."

"Everything that's been happening?" you repeated, feeling the tension coil in your stomach. "What does he know?"

Your auntie squeezed your hand, her eyes filled with a sadness that mirrored your own.

"Your brother's been in some trouble," she began, her voice heavy with the weight of unspoken words. "He's gotten himself into debt with some unsavory characters. They're not the kind of people who accept 'no' for an answer."

You felt your chest tighten, the tea in your cup suddenly tasting bitter. "How bad is it?"

She sighed, her shoulders slumping. "Very. They've been to the house, asking for him. It's not safe for him here anymore."

You felt a coldness seep into your bones, the reality of the situation settling like a lead weight. "What do they want?"

Her eyes searched yours, a silent plea for understanding. "They want their money, and they're willing to do anything to get it."

You nodded, the gravity of the situation sinking in. Your brother had always been the reckless one, living life on the edge without a care for the consequences. And now, it seemed, those consequences had come calling.

You kept quiet, the words sticking in your throat like a mouthful of sand. You hated him for it, for being the reason your father and older brother weren't here to share in your success, weren't here to see the woman you'd become.

Their deaths had been a tragic accident, one that had been laid at your brother's feet. His need for speed, his arrogance behind the wheel, had cost them their lives. The guilt had driven him to the bottle, leaving you to pick up the pieces.

The anger you had held onto for so long bubbled to the surface, a molten river of rage that threatened to consume you. You had worked so hard to escape the shadow of your past, to build a life that was yours alone. And now he was threatening to bring it all crashing down.

You took a deep breath, the scent of your auntie's kitchen—floral and comforting—helping to center you. "I'll talk to him," you said finally, the words leaving a metallic taste in your mouth.

The look of relief on her face was worth the lie. You had no intention of getting involved with him again. You had moved on, had built a new life, and you weren't going to let him drag you back into his mess.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of forced smiles and small talk, the weight of the conversation hanging over you like a storm cloud.

As you lay in the guest room that night, the creaks of the old house echoing through the darkness, you couldn't help but think of Lewis.

His touch, his kiss, the way he had looked at you as if you were the only woman in the world—it was a stark contrast to the cold, empty bed you found yourself in now. You hated that you missed him, that you craved the warmth of his arms.

But you knew you couldn't let your guard down. Your brother had a way of worming his way into people's hearts, of making them believe in the best of him, even when the evidence pointed to the worst. You had been down that path before, had seen firsthand the destruction he could cause.

And so, as you drifted off to sleep, you made a promise to yourself. You would keep your distance, would protect the life you had built with Lewis, even if it meant keeping your true feelings hidden behind a mask of indifference.

The next morning, you woke to the sound of rain tapping against the window, the scent of the city mingling with the sweetness of your auntie's perfume.

You stretched, the silk sheets a decadent luxury after the roughness of the last few days.

The shower washed away the last traces of sleep, the hot water a balm against the tension that had taken up residence in your muscles. As you dressed, you felt the weight of the ring on your finger, a reminder of the world you had left behind.

You took a deep breath, pushing the thoughts away. You had a job to do, a performance to give. And you were a pro at pretending. You had been doing it your whole life.

As you descended the stairs, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeted you, along with the sight of your auntie bustling around the kitchen. She looked up, her eyes filled with hope. "How about some breakfast before you go?"

You nodded, unable to find the words to tell her the truth. You were going to have to keep your distance from your brother, no matter how much she hoped for reconciliation.

You sat at the table, the chill of the marble countertop sending shivers up your spine as you sipped your coffee. The rain outside painted a picture of your emotions, a tumultuous dance of joy and fear, hope and regret.

You felt a strange sense of peace in the chaos, a reminder that no matter how much you tried to escape your past, it was always there, ready to pounce when you least expected it.

With a heavy heart, you said your goodbyes to your auntie, the weight of her words and the unspoken fear in her eyes following you like a shadow as you stepped out into the rain-soaked street.

The cemetery was a short cab ride away, the journey a silent pilgrimage through the city that had borne witness to so much of your pain. The rain had eased to a gentle mist by the time you arrived, the cobblestones of the pathway glistening under the soft light of the street lamps.

You found their graves easily, the twin headstones standing sentinel in the quiet of the night. Your father's name was etched in strong, proud letters, while your brother's was a stark reminder of a life cut too short.

The flowers you had brought with you, a bouquet of your father's favorite roses and your brother's beloved lilies, seemed almost vulgar in the face of the cold, unforgiving stone.

You knelt beside their graves, the damp earth seeping into the knees of your pants as you arranged the bouquet with trembling hands. The rain had stopped, leaving behind a soft mist that clung to your skin and hair like a whispered secret.

"I've done it," you murmured, the words carrying on the wind. "I've made it in Milan. I've become someone." You felt the coolness of the stone against your forehead as you leaned in, the scent of the damp earth a stark contrast to the sweetness of the roses.

The silence was absolute, the only sound the distant hum of the city and the rustle of leaves. It was a cocoon of solitude, a place where you could be honest without fear of judgment.

"I'm married, but it's not what you'd think," you whispered, the confession a release of the pent-up tension that had coiled in your chest since the moment you'd stepped off the plane.

As you talked, the words flowed from you like a river breaking through a dam, the story of your whirlwind romance and the arrangement that had brought you to this point. The way Lewis's eyes had sparkled when he'd seen you, the thrill of the racetrack, the kiss that had set your world on fire.

You felt the warmth of a hand on your shoulder, and you jerked upright, spinning around to find your younger brother standing behind you. His hair was wet with rain, his clothes rumpled, and his eyes were filled with a sadness that mirrored your own.

For a moment, you just stared at each other, the years of anger and hurt hanging in the air like a thick fog. "What are you doing here?" you finally managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He looked down at his feet, his gaze shifting from the headstones to the flowers you had brought. "I heard you were back," he said softly. "I had to see for myself."

The sight of him, the reality of his presence, was like a slap in the face. You had hoped that the distance of time and the grandeur of Milan would have made you immune to his charms, but the pull was still there, a magnetic force that you hadn't anticipated.

"How did you find me?" you demanded, your voice shaking with a mix of anger and fear.

He shrugged, the movement of his shoulders sending a shiver down your spine. "It's not hard when you're a Ferrari wife," he said, the bitterness in his tone cutting deeper than any knife.

You stood, the earth sticking to your skin as you turned to face him fully. "What do you want from me?" you asked, your voice steady despite the tumult of emotions raging inside.

He looked up, his eyes meeting yours with a plea that you hadn't seen since you were children. "I need your help," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "They're after me, and they won't stop until they get what they want."

The gravity of his words hit you like a ton of bricks. You had come to the cemetery seeking peace, hoping to find closure in the one place where you had always felt safe. But instead, you were faced with the chaos of your past, the demons you had thought you had buried with your father and brother.

You felt the ring on your finger, the coldness of the metal a stark contrast to the warmth of your brother's hand. "What have you done?" you breathed, the question heavy with accusation.

He swallowed, the muscles in his throat bobbing with the effort. "I borrowed money," he admitted, his eyes never leaving yours. "A lot of money. And I can't pay it back."

The world around you grew still, the sound of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. You knew the kind of people he was talking about, had heard the whispers and the threats that had haunted the edges of your childhood.

"How much?" you asked, your voice cold, the warmth of the kitchen and your auntie's words forgotten in the face of this new reality.

"Enough to get us both killed," he said, his eyes haunted.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You had worked so hard to leave this world behind, to build a life that didn't involve the danger and the darkness that had claimed your family.

And now, here you were, knee-deep in it again.

You took a step back, the headstones at your back offering no comfort as the chilly mist of the night seeped into your bones. "Why are you telling me this now?" you demanded, your voice trembling.

Your brother's eyes searched yours, a desperate plea swimming in their depths. "Because I heard you married Lewis Hamilton for money," he said, the words hitting you like a sucker punch. "And I thought, maybe, just maybe, you could help me."

You felt the blood drain from your face, the coldness of the stone seeping through your clothes, through your skin, into your very soul.

The whispers of the cemetery seemed to amplify, a cacophony of judgment and accusation. "You don't get to visit Father and Gabriel," you screamed, your voice echoing through the quiet night, "without paying respect to them after what you did to them!"

The words hung in the air, a shrill rebuke that seemed to shake the very foundations of the earth.

Your chest heaved with the effort of keeping the tears at bay, the anger a living, breathing entity that threatened to consume you whole.

Elijah took a step back, the reality of his transgressions etched into the lines of his face. "I know," he said, his voice hoarse. "But I'm desperate, sis. They're going to kill me if I don't come up with the cash."

"Don't you dare drag Lewis into this," you spat, the words bitter on your tongue. "He has nothing to do with your mess."

Your brother's eyes widened, the desperation in them replaced with something akin to fear. "I just thought," he began, his voice trailing off as you advanced on him, the damp earth sticking to your shoes with each step.

"Thought what?" you demanded, your fists clenched at your sides. "That I would just hand over the life I've built for you to throw away?"

Elijah's eyes fell to the ground, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "I didn't mean it like that," he mumbled, the sound of his voice barely audible over the dampness of the night.

You stepped closer, the anger in your voice unwavering. "What part of 'you don't get to visit them' don't you understand?" you seethed, the words a hot knife slicing through the tension between you. "You think you can just waltz back into our lives and expect everything to be okay?"

He looked up, the rain mixing with the tears in his eyes. "I know I fucked up," he choked out, the weight of his confession hanging in the air like the mist that clung to the cemetery stones. "But I'm trying to make it right."

You felt the rage in your chest, a fiery beast that demanded to be heard. "By bringing that kind of shit into my marriage?" you shouted, your voice echoing through the quiet night. "Lewis is not a part of this, and you will not involve him."

The wind picked up, sending a shiver down your spine as the mist turned to a light rain. The droplets clung to your lashes, blurring your vision as the emotions of the past and present collided.

You took a deep breath, the scent of the rain and the fresh blooming lilies from your brother's grave grounding you in the moment. "I won't have you endangering Lewis," you said, your voice firm despite the tremble in your chest. "But I can't let you die."

With those words, you made a decision that would change the trajectory of your life once more. You reached into your bag, pulling out the envelope of cash that had been weighing heavily on your mind since your auntie had handed it to you.

You thrust it into his trembling hand. "Take it," you said, the finality in your tone leaving no room for argument. "But you promise me, on our father's and Gabriel's graves, that you will not go near Lewis."

Elijah's eyes widened, the desperation in them momentarily replaced with gratitude. He took the envelope, his hand clutching it as if it were a lifeline. "I promise," he murmured, the words a solemn oath that hung in the air.

The rain grew heavier, the drops now stinging your skin as you watched your brother turn and walk away, the envelope clutched to his chest.

You felt a strange sense of relief, the burden of his debt transferred from him to you, but the fear of what might happen if he broke his promise never leaving you.

As you turned to leave, the coldness of the night seeping into your bones, you couldn't help but feel the weight of your actions. You had made a deal with the devil, one that could cost you everything.

But you had also bought time, time to figure out how to keep Lewis safe from the storm that was your brother's life. . . .

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