#Lewy was only in a towel

[lewan9rl]

Christensen covering Lewandowski from the camera

[monzabee]

what you do to me – lh44 (+18)

masterlist

Summary: The one where Lewis returns home to you – the one thing he desperately wants, but won't let himself have completely.

Pairing: lewis hamilton x fwb!reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: angst, feelings, friends with benefits relationship, smut!, slight choking, unprotected sex (wrap your willy, don’t be silly!), slight manhandling?, pwp, minors dni!!

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! my boyfriend forced me to watch hellraiser the other day, and there was this one scene that i could just not thinking about so i wanted to write something inspired by it, and who better to write it about than sir lewis hamilton?? also, i reaaaallly wanted to write a friends with benefits thing and it was so much fun, i honestly wasn’t expecting. the title of this fic is actually a john legend song that i love and i think it fits the vibes for this fic, so please feel free to give it a listen if you're interested! i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

It’s a shame Lewis doesn’t spend more time in his Monte Carlo penthouse during the season because it’s a space he enjoys spending time in so much. He doesn’t mind being alone in his home – if anything, it’s refreshing after spending so much time being the focal point of so many cameras during the season. Also, technically, he is not alone he supposes; he has Roscoe to keep him company when he’s home, after all.

Coming home from a successful season is rewarding, he feels as if he’s deserved the rest he looks forward to. On the other hand, coming home from a not-so-successful season? Well he feels like shit – both mentally and physically. That is not to say that he doesn’t appreciate the time off, though, he is more than happy to not drive for weeks and just enjoy the winter break. Coming home is also always kind of bittersweet. He catches up with some of his friends he didn’t have time for during the season, his family who always support him through thick and thin, but most importantly he tries to make time for you and your… well, arrangement.

He knows something is wrong the minute you reply to his text about him being home. A simple okay is not a response he is used to getting from you. Alas, he shakes off the unease and chalks it up to a hectic day on your end. The pitter patter of Roscoe’s paws on the hardwood floors is enough to distract him from the situation, given the fact that the puppy is impatient for his dinner and is looking at the driver with pleading eyes.

“Okay ‘Coe,” he mumbles as he motions the kitchen with his head, “let’s go.”

The way Roscoe wobbles towards the kitchen brings a small smile to Lewis’ face even though he is still hung up on your answer. After he’s done feeding the puppy, he decides to grab a quick shower to ease the tiredness that comes from a long travel day. The hot water cascading down from the rainfall shower does a good job of taking care of his sore muscles, and he is more than happy to stay under the warm water if it means the soreness will go away. That is until he hears banging coming from his front door. He has every intention of just ignoring the person on the other side of the door; however, as the knocks get more and more persistent, he gets out of the shower with a groan. Wrapping a towel around his hips, he marches towards the front door, and looks through the peephole only to end up opening the door quicker than he would’ve liked.

His voice is confused as he mumbles out, “Lovey?” But you just straighten up from your position of leaning against the wall and throw your bag on the floor as you push your way through his apartment and wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him into a hug. He doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches as you attempt to hide yourself in the crook of his neck, and he is not sure what he’s supposed to do with his hands for a moment. “Hey,” he calls out softly, “what’s wrong?”

You pull back slightly to look into his worried eyes, “Just kiss me.” Your voice comes out somewhere between a whisper and a sob, and you can see the hesitation in Lewis’ eyes, but you just pull him towards you as you press a soft kiss on his lips, “Please.”

“What happened?” He tries once again to get an answer from you, but you shut down his attempt as you press your lips against his once more, more assertive this time. And who is he to deny you your wishes? So, like the perfect gentleman he is, he reciprocates your kiss with a one of his own as he wraps his arms around you to signal you to jump. Thankfully, you are so tuned with each other that you end up jumping up anyway, and he picks you up as you wrap your legs around his hips. Closing the door, he starts walking back towards his bedroom as your lips start moving more frantically against his own. “Slow down,” he warns, pulling back to give both of you a chance to breathe, “we have all night.”

Whining at the loss of contact from his lips, and you let your dissatisfaction known by attempting to roll your hips against his bare stomach, “Don’t wanna.” There’s still a lingering sob in your voice, but it is more reflective of the neediness you feel now that you have him between your arms – and legs. Lewis lets his hands roam down towards your ass to give you a warning squeeze – a one, maybe you would’ve been threatened by it if you weren’t so lost in him at the moment. You try your best to ignore the look he gives you, one filled with sternness; so instead, you move your lips downwards towards Lewis’ neck with another roll of your hips. “I missed you.”

He stills the movement of your hips as he simultaneously releases an appreciative groan at the way your lips feel on his skin. “I missed you too, lovey.” He is careful as he approaches his bed and sits down on the plush mattress with you still in his arms. Wrapping a hand around your hair to tilt your head back so he can look into your eyes again, he attempts to keep himself from becoming hard from the mere prospect of you wrapping your body around his. His eyes search yours for answers as to your sour mood, “Tell me what’s wrong, bad day?”

“Try bad month,” you scoff, letting your hands slide over his, somehow, still damp torso. “You weren’t here,” you explain as you free yourself from his hold on your hair and take off your sweatshirt, “don’t wan’ to talk about it.”

“Well, I’m here now.” A sudden realisation that you are not wearing anything under your top comes to Lewis, and he has to mentally restrain himself from doing something rash. “Not wearing a bra?” He asks, one of his eyebrows raised.

You let out a confirming hum, “Not wearing any underwear either.” Giving him an innocent smile at the groan he gets out, you shrug your shoulders nonchalantly, “Thought they’d get in the way.” His hands feel warm on your bare skin as he drags them up on your body to gently cup your exposed breasts, causing you to brace yourself by hanging onto his shoulder for support. Whining as you feel his thumb make contact with your sensitive nipple, you decide to pull him in for another kiss, mumbling a breathy, “Kiss me,” against his lips. 

He obliges your request, of course, but he doesn’t let you control the kiss like you would’ve liked to. Instead, he stops the kiss by gently biting down on your lip before you can deepen it. With a small pat to your hip, he mumbles, “Get up, let me see you.” The look he gives you is just so full of adoration that you have no other choice to get up from his lap with the slowest moves you can muster. His eyes never leave you when you take a step back so that he can see you, all of you, and with the small nod he gives you, you begin taking off your leggings and shoes. That’s the thing about Lewis – for someone who is in the spotlight most of their time, he loves watching. And it is not only limited to the bedroom, you realise, he watches you even when you are doing mundane things together, like grocery shopping or walking Roscoe, domestic things that couples do together. But you can’t think about that, no, because both of you agreed that this was only physical and nothing more. Shaking the thoughts away, you straighten up from your bent position only to find Lewis looking you with a much darker look in his eyes. He’s dangerous, when he looks like that, you realise, he could break you into pieces with just his words, and the worst part is that you’d absolutely let him. “Pretty girl,” he whispers into the distance between you, and you take the hand he extends towards you for him to pull you against himself. The feeling of his lips on your skin almost feel feverish, and you find yourself releasing a gasp. “You’re the prettiest girl ever, lovey.”

“Lewis,” you brokenly whisper, your voice would be bordering on whiny with all the neediness that comes with it, “please, I need you.” The pleading look you give him is vulnerable, if not desperate.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips leaving another open-mouthed kiss, this time closer to your lower belly. His voice does a good job of soothing your erratic mind, his arms envelope you as he promises, “Whatever it is I’m here now, tell me what you want.”

He does a good job of putting you on the spot, you think, but unlike your usual self, you don’t have the patience for teasing tonight. “I want you to fuck me,” your voice comes off stronger than before, but it wavers as you also add, “please.” The last word brings a small smirk to Lewis’ face, and you let out a shriek as he quickly throws you onto the bed. “You almost scared me to death,” you complain, pushing out your lower lip in a pout.

“You’ll be fine,” he lets out a breathy laugh while quickly getting rid of the towel still, miraculously, hanging on his hips. The smirk on his face grows as he watches you shamelessly checking him out, but he never breaks his gaze from yours when your eyes meet as he wraps a hand around his cock to jerk himself for a few times. You spread your legs to accommodate his body as he leans over your lying figure by using his free arm as support. Rubbing the tip of his cock through your slick slit a few times, you can feel his breathy chuckle hit your skin while his lips run over your jaw to leave small kisses. “You’re so wet for me,” he mumbles, and the whimper that leaves your lips when he makes a point to rub his tip over your clit wins another chuckle, “you’re gonna be good for me?”

“Uh-huh,” you mumble as you nod frantically, “yes Lu, I’m gonna be good, I promise. Please, just fuck me.” You try to tempt him by wrapping your legs around his hips and pulling him closer – either you are successful and he gives in, or he is just as desperate to get inside you as you are desperate to feeling him because he complies with your movements as he nudges the tip of his cock into you in a slow push forward. The stretch is burning every single time, and usually he gives you enough time to accommodate his size before proceeding to fuck your brains out. But this time, he doesn’t waste any time as he pushes himself fully into you until he’s buried inside you to the hilt. The gasp you begin to let out turns into a silent scream as the feeling of being full consumes you, “Fuck, Lewis–”

“Shh, it’s okay,” he soothes you through the initial pain, “you’re alright, just breathe th for a bit.” And you do what he tells you to because… well, you know he won’t do anything to hurt you. He brings his free hand towards your face to cup your cheek, which you respond by turning your head towards the warmness. “Tell me when the pain goes away,” he whispers against your skin – he finds he absolutely loves the way your skin flushes every single time he fucks you, and the thought makes him freeze for a second. Love? That is not something he should be thinking about, not especially when he’s buried inside you, because you both agreed–

Deciding to respond wordlessly, you press a soft kiss in the middle of Lewis’ palm, whilst also attempting to roll your hips, but then whining because of the additional pressure, “Please, Lewis, please move.”

That must’ve done the job of breaking Lewis out of whatever trance he was in, because once he hears your whiny voice pleading him to move, he starts thrusting his hip in and out of you in a rhythm that simply leaves you breathless in mere seconds. It’s the stress of the season, you think to yourself, but Lewis’ movements just get faster and deeper until he hits that one spot inside you that makes your whines turn into a scream and has you arching into him. You can’t see his reaction with your eyes fluttered close, but he stills his movements for a few moments as he looks at you as if you’re the most precious thing in his life. He waits until your erratic breathing to get back to normal before he starts rolling his hips against yours again, but this time the tempo he adopts is much slower, sensual, and almost… too intimate for it to only be considered physical between the two of you.

Your eyes flutter open as you look at him with confusion, “Wha– What are you–?” But he only cuts you off by pressing his lips against you to swallow your question in a kiss. The slower tempo is surprisingly more pleasurable then his usual style that you’ve dubbed fast and furious, and every time his hips roll at a certain angle, he brushes your clit in a way that makes your feet curl in pleasure.

He is breathless when he pulls away from the kiss and rests his forehead against yours, but then again, so are you. The way he seems to gaze into your eyes make your breath hitch, and if you thought that was Lewis showing his emotions, he decides to put them into words. “So good for me, lovey,” he moans, yes moans because one thing you’ve learned from the start is that real men moan, “you were made for me, weren’t you?” His accent gets thicker, which is a tell that he’s getting there, but he won’t let himself come before he makes sure you’re taken care of. “Look at how you’re taking me, reckon I can feel myself if I place my hand on your belly?” It makes him laugh when you whine as you attempt to slither your hand towards your stomach to test his theory, but one deep stroke of his hips and your arms envelope them around his shoulders to use him as a support. “Perfect, you’re just perfect for me, hm? My perfect, pretty, little girl.”

“Please,” you whimper out, the tears that form in the corner of your eyes threatening to fall, “I’m so close.” It’s been such an emotional day, and a shitty month that all you wanted was to be consumed by him –  and now that you have him in your arms, acting like you are more than just two friends who use each other for something so trivial and human as urges, you don’t want to let him go. Especially not when he makes you feel like you could love him for the rest of your life. Even if just the thought of it is enough to make your heart race. Needless to say, the sob you let out is unexpected on both of your ends, and you know he’s about to stop when he slows down even more, but you give him a stern look through your tears, “Don’t you dare stop.” You moan, loud enough for his neighbours downstairs to hear, once he picks up the pace again, but it’s still slow enough for it to be considered love making and not fucking by both of your standards.

He knows you’re close when your walls start clenching around him, which makes it much harder for him to compose himself. So, being the perfect gentleman he is, he starts rubbing your clit with one of his hands, his fingers work hard to bring you even more pleasure. He watches in amazement as you trash around under his body and as your whimpers and moans get louder gradually – until you are coming undone around him, starting to sob because of the pressure gets released in your tummy, that is. His hips still continue their languid movements, just like the faster movement of his fingers, as he fucks you through your release, mumbling sweet nothings and encouragements into your ear. Lewis does his best to kiss the tears that escape from your eyes, his breath fanning over your feverish skin.

“So good,” your moans get softer as you get calmer after a while, though your voice is still scratchy, “wanna feel you more, Lu.” Sliding your hand between your bodies to take his hand away from your clit, the loss of his touch makes you whine softly and he watches you in confusion while still continuing his movements slowly, but you see the way his eyes light up with a dark look when you wrap his fingers around your throat, and thankfully he understands the message as he tightens his hold just the way you like it. “Yeah, just like that,” you moan, encouraging him to pick up the pace. This time, it’s your turn to whisper praises riddled with encouragement, and you know it gets to him, because every single stroke his hips deliver end up making him fill you more and more, as if that was possible. The sobs coming from your lips transform into ones of pleasure, bringing Lewis closer and closer to his release.

“Look at me,” his voice is sharp, and it makes you immediately fix your eyes on his. There is an immense sense of wanting to please him, or rather make him proud within you, and he rewards you with a burning kiss that leaves you panting and wanting more as he spills himself into you. As he pulls away to moan out your name, his thumb dragging down your bottom lip. You gently bite down on his thumb while you manage to get out a satisfied moan, eyes closing ever so slightly as you feel him spill into you, and he keeps pulling you even closer to himself when he lets his body fall next to yours.

You have no idea how he manages to still stay inside you, but you can feel his lips pressing gentle kisses across your hairline, and brushing away the sweaty strands. “You feel better now, lovey?” Smiling at the tiredness dripping from his voice, you hum airily, a satisfied smile on your face while you move your neck to look at him.  “Good,” his whisper brushes your lips as he nudges the tip of your nose with his, earning a giggle from you while he wipes away the dry tears on your cheeks.

“Do you have to leave?” There is a whiny undertone to your question, and it makes him give you a gentle smile.

“Not for a while,” he assures you, then he presses his lips softly on yours in a small kiss, “I promise.”

He grabs your hand to weave his fingers through yours, pressing gentle kisses to your knuckles as he keeps silent for a moment – because he knows at that moment, just because you asked, he’ll cancel every single plan he’s made, just to spend more time with you so that he can make you smile like that. “Until you get sick of me, that is.” Your tired laughter fills his ears until it is interrupted by a yawn. He carefully moves you so that he gently takes himself out of you, and rolls you sideways so he can wrap his arms around as he pulls you close to cuddle. “Go to sleep, lovey, we’ll talk in the morning,” he mumbles as he presses soft kisses to your bare shoulder. You close your eyes with a smile on your face, burying yourself into his chest as much as you can, and hear him mumble, “My lovey,” before promptly falling asleep.

You pretend you didn’t hear him in the morning because the arrangement the two of you made was about keeping things causal.

But you respond by squeezing his hand three times in return anyway.

And he responds.

[agendabymooner]

SOMETHING MEMORABLE !!! LEWIS H. X FEM!READER (18+)

summary: it’s easy to celebrate something with someone you love — it’s even better if you’ve got something to remember that day with.

content warning: smut under the cut (minors dni!), pwp, use of explicit language, blurb, we don’t proofread we rawdog our writing for best content, protected sex (FINALLY!!! SOMEONE WHO USED PROTECTION IN MY FIC), spitting, sex tape/consensual recording, aftercare, established relationship

note: didn’t mean to moan that loud my b. enjoy xx

something sinful (smut) masterlist

a - n masterlist

o - z masterlist

💌re:moony’s planner is opened!!!

the squelching of her cunt and her vocal moans, alongside his grunts, were echoing inside this pricey hotel suite — and lewis paid well just so they could get the privacy that they sought and deserved after this gruelling racing season. 

everyone, the staff and their mothers, looked the other direction whenever she and lewis got out of their suite every morning after an endless night of rough and passionate sex. 

no one asked questions— instead they would only nod and greet the couple politely as they walked past before looking at each other in disbelief— not believing that these two just fucked like animals hours before and pretended that nothing happened. 

now here she was. her back arched as she laid flat on her stomach, her legs squirming while his thick cock hammered into her cunt. his hips rutting against hers from behind as he grunted aloud, praising her endlessly before tugging her hair up to point at the direction of the camera in front of the two of them. 

“look at you, baby,” the seven time world champion spoke breathlessly, fucking her as his hand snaked up to her chin and squished her face lightly. “y’look so pretty. ‘specially with my cock inside your pussy— do you see yourself?” 

the red light flashed in front of them, their sweaty faces reflecting in front of them as the camera laid there— recording the lewd sounds of their bodies and fluids squelching against their figures. 

her mewling wasn’t an exception to this— in fact, lewis would be so happy to hear her crying out more than his cock rearranging her insides in the recordings. 

“open your mouth, baby,” lewis demanded quietly, with her obliging as she gasped at his length hitting her sensitive spot. lewis hovered above her and spat in her mouth. she immediately swallowed it and lazily smiled in pleasure, gasping again when he began to pick up his pace and fucked her roughly. 

lewis grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her back closer to his chest, her tits splayed out for the camera as he thrusted his hips up to her spot. 

“lewis, i’m cumming- fuck!” she exclaimed, “yeah! right there— fuuuuck~ i’m cumming.” 

“wanna tell ‘em how fucking good you’re feeling, princess?” he spoke lowly, smirking before his mouth let out a moan— a sign that he was reaching his high. 

“‘m i— fuck— love yo- god, so fuckin’ good~” she mewled, her voice croaking as her legs shook. 

her moans turned into screams, strings of curses escaping both of their mouths as they both reached their high. 

with one last thrust, lewis leaned forward to give her a sweet kiss before pulling out. the recording camera was long abandoned as he discarded his used condom and turned off the camera. 

they felt little to no regret about every single thing they’ve done in this room— feeling like they were the only two people in the world as silence took over and euphoria washed over their system as lewis climbed back up to the bed with a warm damp cloth in hand. 

cleaning her up, he tossed the used towel aside before pulling her close.

“this is such a memorable anniversary,” she murmured, pulling him to a slow kiss as he chuckled. 

“happy tenth anniversary, baby,” lewis replied, his hand trailing down her lower back as he continued, “we sure made this a memorable one huh?”

“mhm,” she replied, her eyes blinking slowly before her breathing began to soften and snores escaped her mouth. 

lewis quietly laughed, cuddling closer to her as he, too, fell asleep.

yeah. those videos would have to wait.

[pickingupmymercedes]

You only need to ask - Lewis Hamilton (NSFW)

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: unprotected sexual activities, (p in v), oral sex

Also, wrap it before you tap it

wordcount: +3K

a/n: As voted by you guys, smut it is. It was an innocent requested prompt, until it wasn't and from the +3k words there's at least half of mature content (🙂). Hope you guys enjoy it.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER, -18 DO NOT INTERACT.

______________________________________________________________

Lewis stretched as he padded into the bedroom, feeling the satisfying burn from his morning run. He pushed open the door, expecting to find the room empty. Instead, his eyes landed on you and Roscoe, both nestled under the covers, looking cozy and content.

He grinned, silently tiptoeing to the ensuite bathroom to freshen up. The warm water cascaded over him, washing away the sweat and fatigue of his run. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he stepped out, catching sight of you awake and smirking mischievously.

"Morning, hot stuff" you teased, your eyes sparkling playfully.

Returning the smirk, Lewis pulled on a pair of boxers, facing away from you to get changed. "Oh, we’re hiding the crown jewels then?" you countered, rising from the bed and finding your way to him. “Didn’t have enough last night? Or the past two days I’ve kept you here?” His eyes glimmered as he turned in your touch, your fingers tracing his compass tattoo until you retrieved them and bat your eyelids to him.

“Never can have enough of you” You danced out of the bedroom, clad only in his oversized t-shirt and black panties that peeked through whenever you raised your arms, a sight that wasn't lost on him.

Intrigued and amused, Lewis followed you to the kitchen, Roscoe trailing behind. As you started preparing breakfast, you’d strategically reached for items on the highest shelves, ensuring each and every time he got a generous view. Lewis, feigning nonchalance, perched on the counter, pretending not to watch.

"Playing with fire there, babe" he warned, his voice dripping with feigned seriousness.

You turned, a cheeky grin on your face. "Well, isn't that what makes things interesting?"

Lewis chuckled, closing the distance between you two. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he pulled you close, his lips finding yours in a gentle kiss. Roscoe, ever the attention seeker, wagged his tail, nudging against your legs for some morning affection.

Lewis aimed your focus back to him, reaching for another kiss, but you playfully swatted his hands away with a sly grin. "Nope, hard to get, remember?"

Chuckling at your antics, he raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "Alright, alright" he said with a mock huff, though his eyes twinkled with amusement.

You grabbed your plate, hopping onto the countertop with a flourish, crossing your legs and picking up a strawberry. Taking your time, you bit into it slowly, savoring the sweet taste. You looked at Lewis through lowered lashes, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

Lewis leaned back, watching you intently from his seat. His gaze never wavered, locked onto yours, a silent exchange of playful challenges passing between you.

With each strawberry you ate, you could see Lewis's resolve slowly crumbling as the tent in his boxers grew. He shifted in his seat, trying to maintain his casual demeanor, but the intensity of his gaze spoke volumes. You were going to pay for the tease, but the feeling of having his full attention solely by moving around felt too good to not take advantage of.

Unable to resist any longer, Lewis pushed off from his seat, closing the distance between you. Standing in front of you, he gently took the plate from your hands, setting it aside. With a confident grin he held your chin, his lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss, full of pent-up desire and playful defiance.

Pulling back slightly, he whispered against your lips, "Hard to get, huh?"

You giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Well, you started" you teased, your lips finding his once more.

With a playful growl, Lewis swept you off your feet, effortlessly lifting you from the countertop. You let out a delighted squeal, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carried you back towards the bedroom.

"Roscoe, buddy, you stay here." he called out over his shoulder as he passed through the kitchen, pointing a playful finger at the bulldog who watched with curious eyes.

Reaching the bedroom, Lewis gently placed you on the rumpled sheets, the scent of the sex from the past night still lingering in the air. Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a golden glow over every surface, a picture of serenity in stark contrast to the fire that danced in his eyes.

He hovered above you, his hands trailing down your arms, sending shivers cascading down your spine. His lips brushed against yours in a tantalizingly slow kiss, a whisper of what was to come. You met his kiss with fervor, your fingers digging into the muscles of his back. The teasing game was momentarily forgotten for you, replaced by raw desire. Lewis chuckled, a low rumble against your lips, before pulling away slightly.

"Seems like someone's forgotten how we got here in the first place" he murmured, his voice husky with desire. You smirked, a playful glint in your eyes. "It got the job done, didn’t it?" you teased, reaching up to brush a braid from his forehead.

Lewis tugged your oversized t-shirt over your head, the fabric catching playfully on your arms as your squirmed and he ignored your remark. Your breathing hitched when his hands found their way to your breasts, the sound sending another tremor through him as he marveled at you under him.

Leaning down his lips trailed a heated path down your neck. His touch was a delicious torment, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. You’d arch your back into his touch, soft moans escaping your lips.

The morning light glinted off the silver pendant you wore, catching Lewis's eye, his gaze flickering between the pendant and your face, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "My lucky charm?" he teased, his fingers brushing against the cool metal. A warmth bloomed on your cheeks. "Brings me good luck" you countered, your voice a breathless whisper.

Lewis's smirk widened. "Seems to be working" he murmured, before replacing the playful teasing with a deeper kiss. The sheets tangled around them as their playful morning antics escalated into a delicious dance of heated explorations for a long while. Each touch, each brush of skin against skin, sent shivers of pleasure rippling through their bodies.

But as the morning sun climbed higher in the sky, painting the room in a warm, golden glow, the playful nips and teasing whispers morphed into a desperate urgency. Lewis's touch, once light and playful, became a firebrand igniting every nerve ending in your body. His hands roamed your skin, leaving a trail of heat wherever they lingered.

"Lew," you breathed, your voice thick with desire and impatience "I need you."

The raw desperation in your voice sent a jolt through him. He paused, his gaze meeting yours, a storm of emotions swirling within them. A playful glint still lingered in his eyes, but it was quickly overtaken by a possessive gleam.

"Sure you don't want to play a little longer, sweetheart?" he murmured, his voice a husky caress.

You shook your head, the movement a mere tremor against the tightening hold of his arms. "Please." you pleaded, your voice barely a whisper. His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. "At your disposal, love" he breathed, his voice a low rumble sending shivers down your spine.

With a swift movement, he shifted, the weight of his body a delicious pressure against yours. The playful morning banter was long forgotten. This was raw, unadulterated desire, and you met his gaze with a burning intensity that mirrored his own. The room seemed to fade away, the only focus the heat radiating from his body, the desperate urgency in your pleas, and the promise of a culmination that had been building since you saw him in only his towel.

His hands found their way to your waist, fingers denting the skin as your fingers tangled in his braids, pulling him closer, throwing your head back on the pillow as Lewis’ mouth sucked on the sensitive spot of your neck.   

Your breath came out in ragged gasps, the sensations overwhelming as he skillfully teased and tantalized you, navigating a very fine line between pleasure and torture as you moaned in his mouth.

His hand then roamed lower, reaching your covered clit, rubbing at the fabric sure of the effect the friction would have on you. His touch was deliberate, almost like a shared secret between you two of where you needed him the most, your nails digging into his back seeking to convey the depth of how much you wanted him.

With a soft sigh of satisfaction Lewis shifted his focus, his lips trailing a path down from your neck, his fingers giving you a break as they reached to tear out your panties, his skilled fingers oddly struggling with the lace until he himself couldn’t wait any longer.

“Hey, I really liked that set” You smiled down at his impatience and he threw the rests of the fabric to the side, his pupils huge as he looked lost in yearning. When his eyes finally found yours, his tongue was millimeters away from reaching your clit “Gonna show you only need to ask when you want me, no need all that sass” the intensity of his stare almost as threat.

You couldn’t help but hold your breath as his lips finally touched you, his mouth tracing around your clit, sucking and blowing as you arched your back, too lost in the feeling to really pay attention to anything but him, his eyes tantalizing you, his arms holding you down to the bed by the waist and one of your legs.

You gasped as he lowly growled in approval, one of his big digits joining his movements, dragging the pleasure from out of you, one curl from his fingers and brush of your g-spot at a time. As his tongue danced tantalizingly close to your throbbing clit, you felt your entire body tense with anticipation, the promise of release hanging just out of reach. But then, just as you were on the brink of ecstasy, Lewis abruptly withdrew, leaving you gasping and aching for more.

Your eyes flew open, confusion and frustration mingling with the remnants of pleasure that still pulsed through your veins. You looked up at him, searching his face for answers, but all you found was an expression that remained impassive, his pupils dilated with desire as he loomed over you, his hunger palpable in the air.

"All you need is to ask" his voice was low, a hint of warning laced with desire. You couldn’t help but hold your breath as his lips finally touched you again, his mouth tracing around your clit with agonizing slowness. His tongue danced skillfully, teasing and tantalizing you with each flick and swirl, while his fingers expertly explored every inch of you.

You arched your back, desperate for more, but his hands kept on holding you firmly in place, his grip unyielding as he controlled the pace of your pleasure. Each stroke, each caress pushed you closer and closer to the edge, until you were teetering on the brink of oblivion.

"God, Lew" you gasped, the words torn from your lips in a desperate plea for release. But he only grinned, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he continued to torment you with his touch. His fingers curled inside you, stroking with precision as he dragged out the pleasure, drawing it out until you were writhing beneath him, lost in a haze of ecstasy.

You whimpered in frustration, your body trembling with the effort to hold back the tide of pleasure that threatened to overwhelm you. "Please" you begged, your voice a ragged whisper as you clung to him desperately, your entire being consumed by the need for release.

Lewis relented, his touch shifting from teasing to urgent as he finally gave you the release you craved. With a primal moan, you shattered into a million pieces, clenching around his finger like as your entire world exploded into a kaleidoscope of sensation as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you.

As you slowly came down from the dizzying heights of your climax, your senses gradually returned to you, the world around you sharpening into focus once more. And as you looked down at Lewis between your legs, the sight of the tent in his boxers reignited the flames of desire within you, hungering for more, craving the release that only he, and his dick, could give you.

You prompted your body up using your grip on his neck as leverage, climbing on his lap, straddling his hips with a hunger that bordered on desperation. Your fingers toyed with the damp patches of his boxer briefs, teasing him mercilessly as you felt him grow harder beneath you. Lewis hissed in response, the sound sending a jolt of electricity through your veins as you reveled in the power you held over him.

You wanted to tease him back, but the scent of him, musky and intoxicating, was driving you wild, filling your senses with an overwhelming hunger that demanded to be satisfied. So, with eager fingers, you peeled the fabric down, revealing his already rock-hard length, straining in anticipation, thick and pulsing with desire, the sight that had originated all of this.

 Each finger at time you wrapped a hand along the length of his shaft, feeling the slickness of his precum glistening on the tip, his balls heavy in the other palm. The sensation sent shivers down your spine, and a primal urge to taste him, to savor the essence of your desire.

Leaning in, you pressed your lips to the tip of his member, tasting the salty sweetness of his precum as it mingled with your tongue. The sound of his sharp intake of breath filled the air, a silent testament to the pleasure he derived from your touch.

The blazing inferno in your stomach threatened to consume you whole as you adjusted him at your entrance, the slight pressure of his tip already sending you into overdrive. And as you lowered yourself onto him, with all his girth stretching you as if you hadn’t been hammered in the past two days, you bulked forward steading yourself with a hand in his abdomen as his murmurs filled the room.

When you finally allowed your waist to start moving Lewis's hands roamed your body with a desperate urgency. You picked up the pace, starting slow and with a few rocks until you were both riding and thrusting with fierce determination, your movements fueled by primal hunger. Every movement sending waves of pleasure crashing over you, drawing you closer and closer to the edge of oblivion as you chased another release.

But just as you felt yourself on the brink of that so-well-known cliff, Lewis whispered in your ear, his voice a husky caress that sent shivers down your spine. "Don't let go just yet, wait for me," he murmured, his words a promise.

With a nod in response to Lewis's whispered command, you agreed, your anticipation growing with each passing moment. As he swiftly threw you onto the bed, your back met the mattress with a soft thud, sending a thrill of excitement coursing through you.

Lewis wasted no time in taking control, he didn’t have to, you were his thoroughly, and his movements were swift and decisive as he pulled you close, his hands gripping your legs with an almost possessive fervor. With a low growl of satisfaction, Lewis hammered you, beginning to move almost instantly, no need to wait this time, his hips rocking against yours with a relentless rhythm.

Each thrust sent waves of ecstasy crashing over you, drawing you deeper into the throes of passion as you surrendered yourself to the blissful oblivion that awaited. But it was the look in his eyes that truly captivated you, a fierce intensity that spoke of his unmistakable desire and of his adoration. His moves might be harsh but his eyes shone all the love he held for you.

The surge of warmth in that loving stare and the sensation of him moving inside you, reaching into every corner of your walls was almost overwhelming, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your veins as you surrendered yourself to the ecstasy of the moment. And as you clung to him desperately, lost in the whirlwind of sensation that engulfed you both he couldn’t help but whisper breathlessly in your ears “I love you darling”.

His words sent you into diving head first into the abyss and letting go of any will power that prevented you from cumming wrapped in his dick, your legs shaking and the involuntary movements milking his release, with the growl he let out a clear indication that he too, had lost himself in his pleasure.

As you reveled in the moment, basking in the afterglow of being filled with him, Lewis pulled himself out of you with a whimper, sitting back on his heels to admire his work as he smirked looking at your pussy “That was a big one” the satisfaction written all over his body language as he effortlessly jumped up from the bed and came back from the bathroom with a wet cloth, his touch light everywhere he touched you.

“I’m pretty sure those love bites are gonna leave a mark” you chuckled as the high and adrenaline started to wear off and a few purple-ish marks started to be seen and felt. “I could say the same for the nail racks” he mused pulling you to his chest as settled on the bed “I don’t mind though, let’em see how wild I make you” his smirk full on display as you smacked his abs playfully.

As you marveled in the moment, enjoying the quiet intimacy of his embrace and the light hearted talk, you were suddenly interrupted by the sound of Roscoe bounding into the room, his tail wagging eagerly as he held his ball in his mouth. It was as if he was saying, "Okay, now it's my turn for attention."

You couldn't help but laugh at his antics, the sound filling the room with joy as you reached out for him, ready to indulge in some well-deserved playtime and leaving Lewis by himself in bed, a protesting “Hey Roscoe, that’s my girl” echoed in the background, his voice carrying a hint of mock jealousy.

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TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld @fearfam69691

[userlando]

my only sunshine — george russell

george russell x fem!reader [1.9k] summary: george feels like the whole world has come crashing down, but he luckily has you to pick him up. warnings: 18+ explicit smut & language, hurt & comfort a/n: i felt so so bad for george last night that i couldn't help but imagine how it'd be like to comfort him afterwards. i wasn't originally planning on writing smut but figured i'd throw it in there. anyway, hope you like this, lmk if you do!! <3

Silence. It’s all you’re in after the day has slid toward its end, the rumbling of the car providing you with the slightest comfort as you sit next to the man who’s given you so much. So much love, hope, inspiration and everything that you can’t seem to reciprocate at the moment because you can see that he’s dissociating, eyes staring off into the distance but it’s like he’s not looking. Just… seeing.

His hand in yours is warm, clammy, but he’s holding it tightly like he can’t seem to bear to let it go in fear of breaking down completely; Like your hold is the only thing tethering him to sanity. It makes your stomach twist and your heart ache with gruelling worry.

He mumbles hello’s and thank you’s as he guides the both of you through the lobby of the hotel, saying nothing as you press the elevator button. You can’t stop looking at him, wondering what he’s thinking but you know it can’t be anything good judging by his glassy eyes, red-rimmed with unshed tears.

George had been so close to podium, so close to getting that win he deserved and fought hard for. It had almost felt like reality slipped from your fingers as you watched his car lose control, taking him out of the race before any of you had time to blink. The garage had been in despair for your boyfriend and so had you, conflicted with Lewis’ win as he raced toward the finish line. Nothing has quite managed to break your heart as hearing your boyfriend’s voice over the radio, holding back tears for the sorrow he must’ve been feeling.

You stare at the tension in his back as he walks into the hotel room, shuffling through your thoughts and wondering whether you should speak or not. You know from experience that he’ll come to you eventually, and he will seek comfort in his own, wordless way but it doesn’t stop you from desperately wanting to reach out to him.

George turns when you drop your bags on the floor, giving you a slight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and you give one back.

“Go have a shower, I’ll order us something to eat.” You grab his hand in yours and watch as his fingers scramble to hold on, head nodding slowly. You press a kiss to his open palm. “Go.”

He goes without any preamble, leaving the door ajar and you walk around the room to redress into something comfier before calling for room service.

It’s a hot and stuffy night, but you welcome the slight breeze when you crack open the balcony doors and walk outside to take a look. It’s a gorgeous city filled with good memories, and you’d hate to think that tonight would taint them.

The sound of the shower running acts as background noise, and you get lost in your thoughts before the creak of the bathroom door pulls you out of them. You turn around and timidly walk inside, trying to tamper the sudden speed of your heart at the sight of your boyfriend walking across the room in his underwear; scrubbing his wet hair with a towel with way more aggression than necessary.

It’s the first sign he’d given you that he’s angry, ever since he first jumped out of his crashed car. He sniffles, the sound too loud in the silent room and you gingerly sit on the bed because you don’t know what to say to make it better.

You know that it’s something that he’ll eventually get over. Not completely, but the feeling of sadness and disappointment will dissipate with time. Right now, he just needs to lick his wounds.

He flings the towel in the direction of the sofa, missing it completely and it falls with a thump on the floor but you don’t focus on it for too long, watching George as he finally meets your eyes.

He’s been crying.

George’s eyes are red, watery and it makes your heart clench fiercely as you stretch your arms out for him to fall into. He doesn’t say a word as he lets you hold him, the shaking of his shoulders a clear indication that he’s finally broken down.

“You’re okay.” You whisper into his wet hair, holding his head so delicately as you fight your own tears off.

He doesn’t say anything as he cries and you don’t even know what you whisper to him, but it seems to work because his sniffling eventually fades off. You stroke his wet hair and kiss his head, pulling him in closer to you, like it’s possible to be any closer than you already are.

“I fucking had it.” He says it so quietly that you almost miss it.

But it’s there, and he sounds angry with himself.

“I know.” It’s all you can say, knowing that there’s nothing else that can help him.

“I just had to go fuck it all up.”

You tighten your grip on him, guiding his head from your chest to look at his face. It’s heartbreaking to see the dried streaks on his cheeks, long eyelashes clumped together from the tears but he looks as beautiful as ever.

“You didn’t fuck anything up.” Your voice is firm, thick with emotion but you power through. “Shit happens, you can never predict the outcome of these races and you know it better than anyone. It was a long race, and you did your best. That’s all you can ask of yourself.”

He shakes his head.

“I should’ve done better.” His eyes fill with tears again, eyebrows scrunching up in anguish. “I could’ve done better.”

“Maybe so.” You brushed a thumb under his eye. “But you did your best at that moment, baby. It’s a tough track.”

He made a noise of dissent and you leaned forward to press a kiss to his warm cheek, keeping your lips there. The way he subconsciously leaned into it made your chest tighten in adoration.

“You’ll always be amazing to me, Georgie.” You whispered against his skin. “I don’t know if that counts for something, but it’s the truth.”

He turned his head so your lips caught the corner of his, making you smile.

“It means the world, and you know it.” He said, squeezing your hip. “I love you.”

“I love you.” You waited until he turned his head fully, accepting the kiss that he was quick to press to your mouth.

It was like a switch had been flipped the moment your lips opened up to each other, George placing both hands on either side of you so he could guide you up the bed until he was looming above you. You sucked in a well needed breath when he trailed his lips down, kissing and sucking your jaw and throat in urgency.

“George…” The sound of his name from your lips made him stop and glance up, eyes trained on you. “Are you sure you wanna do this now?”

His answer came in the form of a kiss that stole the breath from your lungs, your legs caging his hips in and bringing your crotches together. The shudder that he let out was like music to your ears, low and heavy. Almost like some weight had been lifted off his shoulder and just that alone made you want to do more, to distract him from tonights loss and show him how great he was.

“Nothing I want more.” He murmured against your lips, fingers slipping into your joggers and underwear, slicking up his digits.

A shudder left your lips, hands gripping his shoulders and spreading your legs wider for him to properly settle between as he slowly fingered you. It was quick, thumb circling your clit just the way he knew you liked until you were coming apart under him.

He loved on your lower lip as you cried out your orgasm, eyes trained on your face because he just couldn't look away from how pretty you looked. It made him physically hurt how much love he had for you, how grateful he was that you managed to pick him up so easily when all he wanted to do was close in on himself.

No one had ever managed to simultaneously fill him up with so much love and inspiration like you did, and the adoration he felt for you in that moment felt like too much to bear. So, he hurried his movements when he felt you starting to shudder from overstimulation, reaching down to push his underwear far enough to get himself out of the confines.

"George, please." Your pleas made his hands shake as he slid the length of his cock up your pussy, wetting it in the process and hearing you moan. "Please, just hurry up and fuck me."

He didn't need to be told twice, notching himself by your hole and glancing up at you; waiting for your nod of consent before he pushed himself inside. The both of you moaned in unison, George's mouth dropping open at the combined feeling on your tightness and wetness, the warmth enveloping his cock as you reached your hands up to grab at his damp hair.

"Oh, fuck." He bottomed out, arms shaking to keep himself hovering over you. "Fuck, you feel good."

You pushed your chin out and George almost smiled at the gesture, knowing what you wanted without you having to verbally tell him. He got down on his elbows instead, caging your head in before he leaned down and licked into your mouth.

His thrusts were jerky, like he couldn't focus on one thing and you really couldn't blame him. It was clear that he needed the release and you desperately wanted to give it to him, clenching around him and hearing him moan against your ear; voice hoarse and broken.

It wasn't long before he was burying his face in your neck, hips working into you harshly before he grunted and buried himself to the hilt. George came with a bitten moan, shuddering as he shot off inside of you and it made you tighten up weakly, prompting another sound from his mouth.

The both of you laid wrapped up in each other, listening to each other's breathing and the silence dragged out for so long that you'd almost expected George to have fallen asleep. But then he made a noise in his throat and picked his head up from your chest to peer up at you.

He looked more relaxed than before, but there was still a sadness in his eyes that nothing but time could wipe away. You picked up a shaky hand to brush a finger under his eyes, watching his long eyelashes flutter at the touch.

"Japan will be yours." You said in a whisper, like it was a secret and it made George smile sadly.

"Don't hold your breath." He said it so self-depracatingly that you shook your head in a stubborn manner.

"I'll hold my breath, Russell. Better yet, I'll be right there to scream the loudest for you."

That prompted a laugh out of him, pushing into your hand when you swept his bangs out of the way.

"Thank you." He murmured and your face softened at the sincerity in his voice. "I don't know how you manage to do it, but you always make my losses hurt less."

"I'll always be here, you know that."

He nodded because yeah, you always were and you had never proved him wrong. It made something spark in his chest, something that felt a lot like hope and determination for the next weekend.

He'd bring the win home. If not for himself, then for you.

[sometimesanalice]

Make Me Your Masterpiece

Summary: Bob credits you for helping him to find his new hobby. And when he asks if he can you paint you, you find you quite like the idea of being his muse.

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x Female Reader

Length: 4.5K

Warnings: fluff, smut, and basically an ode to Lewis Pullman’s hands (mdni)

(Author’s Note: smutty fics are the new friendship bracelet, spread the word! Happy Birthday, Ames! 🎉 @laracrofted)

You’ve always had a thing for Bob’s hands.

They were one of the first things you noticed about him that day at the coffee shop almost a year ago now.

You’d been reaching for your iced vanilla cinnamon latte when a big hand had wrapped around it just a half of a second before you could grab it. Which you wouldn’t have minded admiring them for a moment under any other circumstances, but after an endless string of meetings you’d been in a dire need of a caffeine fix- and not the weak stuff that people brewed in your office’s communal coffee pot.

“I think that’s-” you’d started.

“Oh, I’m sorry-” the coffee thief backpedaled.

The next thing you knew you were looking into the prettiest pair of ocean blue eyes. 

The two of you were startled out of the moment when the barista called out the next order as they’d set it on the counter.

By some kismet or fate, they had been a matching set. But instead of embroidered towels, it was his and hers coffee cups with your names written on them in a hasty scrawl.

Realization dawned over his features as he gave you a sheepish smile, “Think this one might belong to you, Miss.” He spun the coffee until he found the spot with your name. That little smile becoming a full grin as he’d said it aloud before passing the cup to you.

The hands had been good, the eyes had been great, but Bob’s smile directed at you had left you weak in the knees.

You’d been a goner right then and there.

And while you’d ended up almost ten minutes late to your next meeting, you’d also gone back to the office with his phone number written on a cardboard coffee sleeve that was tucked away safely in your purse and a date lined up later that week.

As it turned out fate had a name and it was Robert Floyd.

Barely twenty minutes into your first official date with Bob, his ears had turned a delightful shade of pink as his anxious fingers straightened the silverware on the white linen tablecloth of the Italian spot he’d taken you to. He’d fessed up and apologized as he came clean, telling you that he’d purposefully ordered the same coffee as you in hopes of getting to start up a conversation with the pretty girl who’d been standing in front of him in line.

“I didn’t want to interrupt you, since you looked busy. But I didn’t want to miss my chance,” he’d confessed over candlelight.

He’d told you how he’d only been at the coffee shop because he’d recently returned from a deployment and was fighting the jetlag that came with adjusting to being back on Pacific Standard Time, and that he normally preferred tea but he needed something with a bit more to it to get him through the day.

Instead of getting up and taking the bottle of wine to-go as a consolation prize, like you would have if it had been anyone else, his genuine earnestness had charmed you instantly. And you’d settled on having a second date with him before the first one had even really started.

You only let him sweat it for about thirty seconds before you took pity on him. With a light fingertip, you traced along one of the veins on the back of his hand and simply asked, “So other than being a meet cute mastermind, what is it that you do for a living, Bob?”

It was the best first date you’d ever had.

For your second date with him, you’d bought tickets to a ‘Paint and Sip’ event at a buzzy new bistro in town your friend had told you about.

You weren’t an artist by any means, but during that dinner date his antsy fingers and expressive hands had clued you into how nervous he’d been. You’d found your eyes drifting to them on more than one occasion. Partly because they were so enticingly disproportionate to the rest of him, but also because you couldn’t look him directly in the eye for too long without feeling your face heating up.

You thought it would be a good way for the both of you to work past the getting-to-know-you jitters, something that would keep your hands and eyes occupied enough to relax a bit more and have fun together.

Although instead of the seascape class you’d thought you’d signed up for, you’d willingly paid $86+ tax to watch Bob’s lithe, long fingers delicately grip a paintbrush in a way you thought was going to make you lose your mind.

You’d spent the whole first hour trying and failing to mix the perfect shade of blue before giving up when you’d realized that the man next to you, in addition to having really great hands, was also very good at painting. 

Bob had seemed surprised by that too because he’d kept flushing that wonderful shade of pink that had quickly become your new favorite color every time you complimented his piece.

He had steady, capable hands. But you were quickly learning that everything about Bob Floyd seemed that way. There was a quiet confidence about him. He didn’t shy away from the way he’d openly observed you, like you were a riddle he was enjoying learning to decode. 

You’d never known a man to be so attentive until him.

Bob’s tongue was peeking out as he’d worked on adding some wispy clouds to the top of his piece. You weren’t even sure what step you’d technically stopped at before you’d given up to watch the visual feast of him painting instead. Only halfheartedly adding random bits to your canvas along the way to make sure it wasn’t totally blank by the end of the session.

You’d been so zoned out watching him create that it was like a slow-motion sequence in a horror movie. You’d reached out for your wine glass, lifting it to your lips to take a sip, it had only taken you a split second to realize it wasn’t the full-bodied red you’d ordered that was coating your tongue, but the murky, gritty paint water instead.

Mortified, you’d looked over just in time to see Bob’s empathetic wince. You’d been hoping to fly under the radar, but it had turned out that you’d had more than one set of eyes on you.

“And we officially have our first casualty of the evening, folks,” the instructor cheerily announced to the group, “The rest of you can breathe easy now!”

You wanted to be able to laugh at your own expense, but you’d groaned as you buried your face in your hands.

It was not the way you saw the night going. You wanted to be dazzling, you wanted that pivotal third date with him. But now you were the girl who drank paint water whose canvas looked like it had all the same efforts as an enthusiastic fourth grader.

Bob’s hands had gently wrapped around your wrists before he’d pulled them from your face. And then he’d leaned in close, taking your chin in his hand and kissed you squarely on the lips, his tongue dipping in and sliding against yours to taste the acrylic pigment from your surprised mouth.

“Huh,” he’d said, contemplatively. He’d pulled away only far enough to look into your eyes and give you a soft smile. “Celadon blue doesn’t taste like a Cabernet, go figure.”

He brushed a light kiss against your cheek as he’d passed you your wine glass so that you could rinse the paint water taste out of your mouth. 

You couldn’t help but to still be a little embarrassed, but then you’d caught the way he’d shoot an unimpressed look at the instructor every time they passed by for the rest of the evening. You didn’t need a knight in shining armor when you had a Bob Floyd with a paintbrush and a cutting side eye.

You took him home with you that night and learned for yourself just how capable those hands of his were.

It was only later that you realized the exact shade of blue that you’d been trying so hard to capture earlier that night was the same color as the eyes that gazed down at you as Bob fucked you for the very first time.

There was no way you could have known that the ‘Paint and Sip’ date would have inspired him to pick up painting as a hobby.

First, he’d started taking classes at the Rec Center. His once a week classes later turned into him checking out books from the library. And then he’d turned his spare bedroom into a studio, as it has the best afternoon light in the Spanish style house he rents near the Naval base. He’d even bought a comfy chair for you to curl up in as he painted, a little nook of your own in his favorite space in his home. And steadily, the walls of both your apartment and his place fill up with all of his art.

You’d even had your favorite one professionally framed. The pretty landscape done in shades of soft greens that he gave to you for your birthday hangs in a place of honor above your bed. You like having that piece of Bob as one of the last things you see before you fall asleep and one of the first things you see in the morning on the rare occasion the two of you aren’t sharing a bed. You liked to imagine the hours he spent on it with the sunlight streaming through the open window as he lovingly and painstakingly created something just for you with his own two hands.

Although you did have to beg him to sign it for you. He claimed that since he does it for fun that there’s really no reason too, but you were adamant about it and he’d eventually caved and scrawled his name in the lower right-hand corner.

Now it’s become your personal mission to ensure that every Bob Floyd original has his signature on it when he gives his paintings out as gifts.

Everyone assumes that his art would be all straight lines and precise angles, but it’s your favorite moment when people get to see his abstract landscapes. He’d told you he spends so much time in the sky that he likes to paint what’s on the ground, the things he doesn’t get to see when he’s 50,000 feet in the air.

You could tell Bob was a little nervous when he first asked to paint you. 

After almost a year with him, you’d think he’d know by now that you’d do anything for him. Not to mention, you were more than a little in love with the idea of being his muse.

“Are you saying you want to paint me like one of your French girls?” you’d teased with a grin, unable to resist the opportunity. You always did have a thing for men with perfectly floppy hair.

He’d tipped your chin up so that you were looking into his blue eyes- a color you were positive couldn’t be replicated- and stated, “No, I want to paint you like my girl.”

Which is how you’ve ended up naked on the floor of his living room.

You’d been surprised when you came downstairs to see that the furniture had all been pushed to the side to make space for the king-sized top sheet he’d laid out on the floor. You figured it must have been from some mismatched set he had stashed in his linen closet because you’d never seen it before and you spent more than enough time in his bed getting familiar with his sheets.

Bob was shirtless and wearing only a pair of loose-fitting and paint stained jeans that were hanging low on his hips as he worked on getting all of his brushes and paints set up.

You were pretty sure that Michelangelo himself wouldn’t be able to do proper justice to Bob’s body. He wasn’t as built as some of his friends on the Dagger Squad were, but there was an undeniable sturdy steadfastness to him. Those defined shoulders and arms often were the stars of your afternoon daydreams, since you got to admire his handsome face anytime your phone lit up.

He came and met you at the bottom of the stairs, giving you a low whistle, “Well, aren’t you as pretty as a picture in my shirt.”

“Oh,” you’d said, feigning surprise and toying with the hem, “So it is.” And then you’d slowly lifted it up and off of you, revealing more of your body to his artist’s eye.

You never felt as good about yourself as you did when you were naked in front of Bob. The color of his morning skies eyes would always darken to a deep shade of Prussian blue as he took in the curves of you. With him you always felt appreciated, wanted, desired.

His greedy hands came to grip your hips pulling you to him until you were pressed against him.

“Is this how you wanted me?” you asked, running your fingers through his hair.

Bob slipped his hand behind your neck and tugged you in for a heated kiss. “I always want you.”

You never knew true distraction until you’d felt Bob’s lips against yours all those months ago. You’d happily lose minutes, hours, days to them. The thing about Bob is that he never does anything halfway. If he’s kissing you, he’s doing it thoroughly until you’re out of breath.

The sound of the air conditioner kicking on and the light draft that it coasted over you reminded you that there were other plans on the agenda. And that the sooner he starts, then the sooner he finishes, and the sooner you can feel his lips on other parts of you.

“Where do you want me?”

“In my bed,” he murmured against your lips.

His name started as a laugh but turned into a sigh as he dropped a line of kisses down your neck, “I meant, like on the couch or on one of the chairs from the kitchen.”

Bob pulled away and peered deep into your eyes, “Darlin’, I wanted to paint you.” He trailed a teasing finger down your soft stomach. “If that’s alright with you.”

You thought you were just going to be his subject, but as it turns out he wanted you to be his canvas too.

You’re trying not to shiver as he meticulously coats your overheated skin with cool paint. Goosebumps follow in the wake of every delicate stroke he makes along your body.

His hair was curled over his forehead in a way that had your fingers aching to touch him. There was a slight furrow between his eyebrows as he concentrated on the deliberate lines and curves he painted on you. The paint smudge on his cheek only made him all the more attractive to you.

Bob had tucked a pillow beneath your head before he’d started, a gesture that you appreciated now because time had lost all meaning to you. You had no idea how long you’ve been lying there. You were pretty sure every inch of you had to be covered by now.

He’d started along the plane of your stomach and steadily worked his way out from there. Up your arms. Along your clavicle. Over your breasts and tops of your thighs. You didn’t miss the way he’d smirked when you arched into that soft to the touch paintbrush as it glided over your peaked nipple. Or the way he’d hummed pleased when you’d try to subtly rub your thighs together to relieve the need that had been building as you laid there.

Bob loves taking his time with you. In bed, he loved teasing you until you had tears in your eyes and were begging for his cock. And it became clear very quickly that this would be no different.

There was an electric thrum that was pulsing through your body with every dip and swirl and brushstroke. The muscles of your stomach jump involuntarily as the fine hairs of his paintbrush drift over your hypersensitive skin making you whimper.

He tsks, “Gotta stay still for me, pretty girl. I’m almost done, promise.”

You release a shaky sigh and nod, not trusting your voice to betray just how needy you were for him. Although the self-satisfied smile on his face told you everything you needed to know.

You try to control your breathing as he works on finishing, but your shallow breaths sounded loud in his living room. You love getting to watch him work normally, but the intense way he is looking at you- his eyes your favorite shade of Prussian blue now- is too much for your hummingbird heart.

Just as your skin was collecting layers of paint from his brush, the space between your thighs was steadily collecting your wetness. You were so desperate for him to touch you, the need made you want to crawl out of your skin.

You hear the sound of a watery swish and the clink of a brush against glass and your breath catches in your throat in anticipation.  

“God, look at you,” Bob breathes, reverently, “You’re so beautiful. This might be my best work ever.”

Instead of the paintbrush, you can feel the path of his flame blue gaze traveling over you as he takes in the art he’s made out of you.

You open your heavy eyes and see Bob wiping off his hands with a frayed towel.

“There she is,” he says, giving you a smile that makes your toes curl. You didn’t notice it sitting there with all his paints until he was reaching for it, his dad’s old film camera. He holds it loosely in front of him like a question, “Can I take a few just for me?”

The answer is easy, “Yes.”

You trusted Bob more than any other man you’d ever been with. He’s never once given you reason to doubt his words because his actions always spoke for themselves.

The guys you’d been with before had been boys, Bob Floyd was a man.

The tension between the two of you is thicker than the acrylic he’d been using earlier as he snaps photo after photo. You admire the way his muscles shift as he bends and angles himself to get the perfect images.

He stands over you, the lens pointed down at you, “Look at me.”

You can barely breathe. You feel yourself getting even wetter at the thought of seeing yourself through his eyes. No one has ever made you feel the way he does.

“Bob”, you whine.

The camera clicks.

“I know,” he hums, “You’ve been so good for me.”  He sinks to his knees between your legs and hooks a hand behind your knee, pulling it up so it’s propped on the floor. And then he does the other so that you’re sprawled open for him, just the way he likes you to be, “Just one more, darlin’.”

The heat in his eyes has dried up all the words in your mouth.

He trails a finger down the soft skin of your inner thigh and you gasp.

The sound of his camera reverberates in your head.

“You’ve made such a pretty mess,” he drawls, as he gently sets the camera on the floor next to you. “It’s a good thing I put something down. You’re damn near dripping.”

“Bob, please.” You arch towards him like a flower in the sun.

He settles between your thighs and pushes them apart further so that his broad shoulders fit between them. The paint is still drying on your skin, but neither one of you cares about that now.

“You were so perfect for me. I appreciate you staying so still.” He drops a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Don’t worry, I know just how to thank you.”

Your body jolts at the first touch of his tongue on your clit. You can feel his smile against you, he knows exactly what he does to you.

Bob has always eaten you out like it’s what he was put on this earth to do.

Normally, he’s teasing you with gentle licks and tracing nonsensical shapes on your clit with his tongue until you’re a squirming mess for him. He knows your body so well, always building you up to the point where you’re breaths away from tipping over the edge and then pulls himself back before building you right back up again.

But tonight, there’s nothing playful about the way his mouth is working against you. His hot mouth is sealed to your clit. Bob hums in satisfaction with every keen and whine that he pulls out of you. He laves at you until you’re writhing underneath him, your thighs already shaking.

“Wanna paint you just like this,” he murmurs, sucking at the spot where your leg and hip meet. “But I don’t think you’d stay still long enough for me to finish.”

Bob dips down and gives you another long broad stroke of his tongue. He pulls back only long enough to spit on your cunt before diving right back in, chasing after his own taste on you.

Your hands are in his hair. Clutching at his shoulders. It’s taken him no time at all getting you to the point where you’re trembling and taut.

All the air leaves your lungs when he buries two large fingers into you. Your hips cant into his mouth on their own and he moans. Bob wraps an arm around your hips and presses down on your lower stomach to hold you in place.

You feel the paint smear beneath his warm palm. You were dying to see it. You hoped there was a handprint- his handprint- that disrupted all the lines and swirls of color that he’d decorated you with. Something that was distinctly him.

You were wearing his art and now you’re wearing him. The evidence of this moment in time on your skin.

His fingers and tongue weren’t enough.

You needed more.

“You cock, Bob, I need your cock,” you pant, tugging at his hair.

He meanly sucks your clit into his mouth in a way that has you crying out and jerking against him. You love it, you love him.

“God, I love it when you beg for me,” he licks into you again, “Sweetest sound in the world.”

Bob drops a sweet kiss on your clit, it’s a stark difference to the filthy way he’d been using his mouth on you. He rises to sit back on his knees between your parted legs.

He looks so good kneeling above you the way that he is. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is a mess. That knot behind your bellybutton twists tighter because you did that to him.

He unzips his jeans and tugs them down low enough to pull his hard cock out.

It’s pretty enough to be featured in a gallery, you think to yourself, even in your desperate haze. It’s long, thick, perfect and yours.

Bob smirks when he notices you admiring him, pumping himself slowly a few times for your viewing pleasure.

The only time Bob Floyd was ever a show-off was when he was in bed.

He grabs your thighs and pulls them over top of his own, so that yours are draped over his obscenely, and then he thrusts easily into you.

You gasp at the sensation of being so full of him. It always takes you a minute to adjust to his cock, no matter how many times you’ve taken it now. His thumbs make little circles along your hipbones as your body relents and yields to the size of him.

“There you go,” he says, rocking into you, working you open, “Just needed this cock, didn’t you?”

You whimper your agreement. Your hips tilt into the pressure like you’re trying to get as much of him as you can. Wanting to show him how much you can take. You know you’ll never get enough of him.

He fucks into you at a reckless and unrelenting pace. You’re high off the feeling of seeing Bob like this, that you’re the one who gets to see him unreserved and uninhibited. He has your hips gripped so tightly, keeping you closer than close. And when you clench around him, you’re treated to a wrecked groan.

Your skin prickles with desire and the feeling of paint drying on you. His cock is hitting just the right spot inside of you and you know you won’t be able to hold off for much longer, not with the way he’s grinding against your aching clit.

Bob’s eyes glued to the spot where you two come together. You’re on full display for him. He watches the way you stretch and spread around him with every deep thrust with the same appreciative gaze that he admires his favorite artists.

It’s under his river blue gaze that your orgasm swiftly sweeps you away. And with your back arching and thighs quaking around his, you give yourself up to the endless current of it.

You know he’s close when his hips start to stutter.

Bob pulls out of you and wraps his large hand around his slick-shined cock and works himself with rough, purposeful strokes.

This time he paints you with himself, his come covering your stomach.

The only sound in the room is the two of you breathing hard, trying to catch your breath.

“Jesus Christ,” Bob huffs, raggedly, taking in his handiwork, “You’re my masterpiece.”

You’re covered in paint and come, but you’ve never felt more beautiful than you do right now as he looks down at you in awe.

“Did you remember to sign your work this time?” you ask, out of breath but teasingly.

“I think I left my mark, darlin’,” he says, with well-earned smugness in his voice. You can’t help but giggle. He flops down next to you, throwing his arm over his eyes, “Goddamn.”

You prop yourself up onto your elbows to look at yourself.

“Baby, I think you gave Jackson Pollock a run for his money.” You grin widely when he lets out an amused snort. “Wait, where’s your camera?”

He passes it to you, the fondness in his eyes makes your chest feel warm. You scooch in close to him and hold it up above your heads, the camera flashes when you kiss his flushed cheek.

That picture is the first one that gets put up in the new house, the one the two of you chose together when he asked you to marry him six months later. Followed by the soft green landscape that now hangs above your shared bed.

It’s your favorite picture of the two of you, happy and in love. You can just see a hint of the cloud he’d painted on your shoulder.

That night Bob had decorated your body with the place he loved best.

He gave you the sky and he made you his world.

Happy birthday, Ames! Your gift will be mailed eventually, it really was a lesson in chemistry, lol! Enjoy a Bob fic just for you in the meantime!

A big, bigggg thank you to the Bob Babes/Lew Crew girlies! @callsignspark and @attapullman I appreciate you two so much for being such ultimate hypegirls! And thank you to @theharddeck, you helped me out of my writers block and I've been so excited to write this since we talked about it back in January!

You can read my other stories here!

taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken  @callsignspark @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @ofstoriesandstardust @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Ok I know you said time won't make them nicer to each other.

But I need her reaction to Carlos being diagnosed with appendicitis. Maybe she's the one that takes him to the hospital?!

The Uphill Battle {2} || CS55

Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, smut, name calling, angst

WC: 2.9k

Part One

Carlos was grumpier than usual. And that was saying something since he had been in a mood since the news broke about Lewis taking his seat. You could understand that after losing seats to guys all the time before getting a spot in the Academy. Carlos, however, was not used to that feeling and it showed as he pushed himself harder at each training.

“You’re too weak,” he taunted as you wiped the sweat from your brow and started another set of reps with trembling arms. “It’s like you don’t even want to be in F1.”

You let the weight bar fall into the shelf and sat up. “Go project yourself onto someone else, you miserable shit.”

After taking second place at the feature race in Bahrain you had shown you had the drive for F1, but it didn’t seem to change his training approach. He was still firmly on the path of insult until you explode and prove him wrong. To be fair, it had worked so far.

A muscled arm, followed by a bare chest, blocked your way when you stood up, a sneer pulling at his lips. “You’re not funny.”

“I wasn’t joking. Now get out of my way, you have free practice to get ready for.”

He looked at the clock on the wall and sighed. He hadn’t meant to let time get away from him but when he found you in the gym he decided to finish his warm up routine alongside you. It had been a mistake because he couldn’t help but pester and critique you until he completely forgot what he was meant to be doing.

“Fine, but you need to stay and finish your set. That was just embarrassing to watch.”

“I’m done. With you. And with your training. Go fuck yourself, Junior.” You shoved past him, your elbow connecting with his gut, before you made your way to the stack of towels. You felt his presence follow you to the changing rooms and he closed the door to the shower cubicle.

“You’re done when I say you are done,” Carlos growled, turning you to face him before he pressed your back to the cold tile wall.

You tipped your head back and laughed darkly. “Only for the next nine months, then I’m Lewis’ problem. Or, maybe I’ll get the golden boy as my PT. Charles seems sweet and kind, I wouldn’t mind testing his patience.”

“Listen here, you little-” Whatever threat you would have ignored was lost as you flipped the handle of the cold tap and washed it gush out of the showerhead and straight into Carlos’ face.

“You were saying?”

“Brat.” The timber in his voice had the desired effect as his hand enveloped your throat and pulled you under the cold spray. His lips crashed against yours and his thigh nudged your legs apart, your hips riding the thick muscle as you kissed him back just as passionately. “I really hate you.”

You grinned, but it was more a baring of teeth ready to sink into his skin. “I don’t even hate you, that’s how little I feel about you.”

His palm glided over your ribs, touching the flesh bared by the sports bra you trained in, and slipped between the waistband of your shorts. His fingers spread your folds and curled into your core as your head fell back against the tiles.

“You feel something,” Carlos chuckled, dipping his head down to leave his mark on the swell of your breast. “Or you wouldn’t feel so fucking wet.”

“God I hate it when you open your mouth, just fuck me already.”

Carlos pulled the elastic waistband and let it snap back against your skin. The twanging pain was instant but then it was gone as he dragged the material down your legs. Another ache flared as he sunk his teeth into the soft supple skin on your thigh and you cried out at the heat that radiated from the indents he left behind.

“Fucking savage,” you growled, but you both knew how much you liked it that way.

“Sticks and stones, malcriada.”

You were needy, impatient, and well aware someone would come looking for Carlos as the countdown to free practice began. The lure of a verbal repartee would have to wait if you wanted some pleasure to balance out the pain in the arse that was Carlos. You pushed Carlos onto the bench where your dry towel had been abandoned and he lifted his hips for you to drag his shorts off.

“You gonna ride this di-“ You slapped your hand over his mouth to silence him and straddled his hips, sinking down on his cock with a moan that echoed around the changing room.

“Be a good boy and keep the commentary to yourself if you want a happy ending,” you warned as you let your hand fall to his shoulder and started to roll your hips. He heeded your words and bit his bottom lip to keep from saying something that would leave him with blue balls.

His hands gripped your waist and guided you up and down, setting rhythm that had you bouncing on his dick and an orgasm quickly building. The heat flashing across your body was the perfect contrast to the droplets of cold water collecting on your back and shivering down your spine.

“Fuck, harder,” you begged as your head fell back and he grazed his teeth over your throat. Your gasp filled the small cubicle as he nipped sharply at your skin and you raked your nails down his chest, earning a deep groan from his parted lips. The pained sound made your cunt clench and flutter before he suddenly stood up and turned you to face the wall. The emptiness within your body was quickly filled with the snap of his hips and his hand slapped over your mouth to muffle the cry at the sudden fullness.

“Shut up and take it,” he ordered quietly in your ear. “This is what you asked for.”

Carlos’ hands fell to your hips, bruising your skin with their harsh grip as he pounded into you. The slap of your bodies colliding filled the small space and your eyes rolled back into your head as your legs began to tremble. Your breathing deepened and you forgot where you were as your mind emptied and your body exploded.

“Fuck, that feels good,” Carlos moaned, your walls tightening around him with your orgasm. A wordless grunt warmed your ear before he sealed his lips over your racing pulse and left his mark while he filled your cunt.

Your forehead pressed to the cool tile as you regained your breath and Carlos pulled out, chuckling as he watched his cum leak down your still trembling thighs. “God, you’re a whore.”

“That’s more of an insult to you, desperado,” you teased. “Should I send the invoice to you or Sainz Senior?”

You forced yourself upright and stepped under the cold spray to see his smirk fade as you washed his seed away. You both jumped at the loud knock on the bathroom door and a voice called out, “Carlos, are you in there? You’re going to be late.”

“Just a sec,” Carlos shouted back before attempting to step under the now warm spray. You cast your hands out, splaying your fingers across his torso, catching the pained wince that crossed his face.

“Tsk, tsk, Daddy’s calling,” you said with a shake of your head.

He looked down at himself, the evidence of what transpired glistening on his cock. “Seriously?”

It was your turn to smirk and push him back further before waving him off. “Good luck.”

Free practice was already underway by the time you finished showering and changing into fresh Ferrari merch. No one really paid you any mind as you found a good spot on the balcony above the pit lane and watched the final 30 minutes of track time.

Despite there being better performers, your eyes kept being drawn back to your PT and the lowly 7th place he finished. You had catalogued a list of insults for him and went down to the debrief room ready to rule him up when you found him leaning against the corridor wall. Lines from his balaclava creased his cheeks and his eyes screwed shut as he clutched a hand to his stomach.

“Don’t think playing sick will let you off the hook for that performance,” you said as you crossed your arms.

There was no humour in his face, no wry amusement that usually came with your insults. Instead, he silently pushed off from the wall and made his way on towards the briefing room.

You kind of felt bad as you left the track and returned to the hotel. There had been a misstep in the turbulent dance that had been going on for months and you were left unsettled by it. Nothing on the tv could distract you enough that you finally gave up and took the elevator to Carlos’ floor. It was late but you figured he would still be awake as you knocked on his door.

“You look like shit,” you greeted, but your voice was thick with concern. “What’s wrong?”

Sweat beaded on his forehead and the sickly sheen covered his bare chest too. Reaching out, you felt his skin burning like a furnace and he swayed on his feet before leaning on the doorway.

“You don’t care, so just go,” he rasped, his voice pained and weak.

You rolled your eyes and stepped around him to see a sick bowl on the coffee table with some painkillers beside it and a rumpled blanket spread over the couch. He made to follow but he could barely hold himself up and it was only your arms that kept him collapsing. “Fuck sake, Carlos, you need a hospital.”

“Just need sleep,” he argued. His body shivered and his throat worked to swallow but you had been through enough hangovers to know what was coming. You leapt for the sick bowl and barely got it under his face before he hurled up the bright blue electrolyte drink that you spotted on the table.

“Where’s your phone and your keys?” He peeked up from the bowl pitifully and he saw the determined look on your face before pointing to the kitchen. “Can you stand on your own? Don’t look so offended, it’s a reasonable question in your state.”

“I’m fine.”

“And I’m Max Verstappen.” You let go of him for a second to see if he would crumple to the carpet but he seemed to hold himself on pure stubbornness so you dashed to the kitchen to dump the bowl in the sink and grab his belongings.

“Planning on robbing me too?” he asked as he noticed you grabbed his wallet too.

“Since I’m apparently a whore, you owe me a hefty debt,” you muttered sarcastically. “It’s for your ID, asshole.”

Carlos didn’t deign to respond as he curled one arm around your shoulders, leaning heavily into your embrace, and the other clutched his abdomen.

“You’ve been in pain since practice, haven’t you?”

“Maybe…can we just go?”

You pocketed his things and took as much weight as you could off him, using every ounce of your strength training as you guided him to the elevator. It was strange to see him so reserved in the elevator mirror as it headed down to the underground car park and it was even stranger to sit in the driver seat of his car.

“Please don’t crash it,” he murmured as you started it up and headed out into the street.

“I know you don’t believe it, but I am actually a decent driver,” you muttered. The city traffic was busy 24/7 but the satnav came in handy with the directions to the emergency room at the nearest hospital. “Should I call your dad?”

“No. It’s probably nothing but a stomach bug.”

That ‘probably nothing’ turned out to be acute appendicitis. You could have laughed at how spectacularly wrong Carlos was but you were too worried as he was wheeled away to surgery and you were left to make a phone call.

‘Do not call him Daddy Sainz,’ you reminded yourself as you entered the passcode on Carlos’ phone and hoped he wasn’t too delusional to get it right. Thankfully it unlocked and you went to his contacts. “Hello, Mr Sainz?”

“Who is this?” he asked worriedly.

“It’s Y/N, I drive for Ferrari in the Academy, uh, Carlos is my Mentor.”

“Where is my son? Why do you have his phone?”

“He’s at the hospital. They’re just taking him into surgery now to remove his appendix.”

The elder Sainz must had put you on speakerphone as you heard the noises at his end increase. “Which hospital? Why are you only calling me now?”

“King Fahad Armed Forces and you’re welcome, by the way, if it wasn’t for me your son would still be curled up on the couch in his room until it burst.”

“He said you had an attitude,” the old man muttered quietly before he resigned himself to a sigh. “Thank you. I’ll be there soon.”

You sent him the ward number that Carlos would be brought through when he was out of surgery and tried to make yourself comfortable on a vinyl chair. It must have been cozy enough as you dozed off, only waking when a nurse tapped your shoulder and smiled sweetly. “Mr Sainz is on his way up now, the operation went well.”

You rubbed your eyes and thanked her as you sat up to see almost two hours had passed. It was then you noticed a pair of brown eyes were watching curiously from across the room.

“Have you been watching me sleep?” you asked as you stretched and cracked your back.

The old man snorted a laugh and put down the almost empty styrofoam cup of black coffee. “You don’t need to wait, I can look after him from here.”

“And ruin my perfect posture for nothing? I’m fine waiting a bit longer.” You stood up and made your way to the percolator jug of black sludge and poured yourself a cup too before pacing the room. “Have you been talking with the other teams yet?”

His eyes followed you back and forth like he was trying to pick your brain apart. “About what?”

“2025. He’s too good for his F1 career to end now.”

The old man stood up too and refilled his cup. “Would you like milk and sugar?” he asked when he noticed your face scrunch at the first sip.

“Just a tiny dash of milk please, no sugar. I like my coffee like I like my men: a little dark and bitter.”

He chuckled and poured a small amount of milk into your cup before returning to his seat. “I can see why my son likes you.”

You spluttered on your mouthful and hurried to swallow the hot liquid. “You must be thinking about someone else. Carlos and I just about have a mutual understanding, and it wouldn’t be a stretch to say he borderline hates me.”

“Can’t be too many female Ferrari drivers that he mentors from the Academy, because I sincerely remember his comment about her,” the old man teased, crossing one leg over the other and staring over the rim of his cup. His eyebrow arched, daring you to correct him until he took the silence with an air of smugness.

Sounds grew along the quiet ward and soon Carlos was wheeled in on a hospital bed, parking into the empty space that had been between the two chairs. Though he looked a little sleepy, Carlos was awake and he smiled dopily from where he lay looking up at you.

“The doctors said your testicle retrieval went well.”

His smile broke with a deep laugh and he turned to look at his amused dad. “I see you met her.”

“I did.” Carlos Senior stood up and kissed his son’s forehead. “I’m glad you had her to take care of you, son. I’ll give you a few moments alone.”

You frowned as his dad left the room, waiting for the door to close quietly behind him. “What the hell were you thinking! Why didn’t you say anything? You could have died!”

Carlos shrugged and shifted carefully to get comfortable on this pillow behind his head. “We don’t exactly have the sort of relationship where we talk about things.”

You huffed and lifted his head, fluffing the pillow before shoving it back into place. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Back to the insults, finally.” The sick bastard smiled happily and settled into the pillow with a contented sigh. “For a moment I thought I died and went to heaven.”

“Not funny.”

“Was so, you just care about me too much to laugh. Admit it, you would’ve missed me.” He opened his hand and inched it closer to the edge of the bed.

“They must have given you the strong stuff, you’re clearly delusional,” you said with a roll of your eyes but placed your hand into his palm and he closed his fingers around them. “Your dad seems to think you like me.”

Carlos yawned and closed his eyes, but a smile played on his lips. “That’s probably the beginning of dementia. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“Trust me, I wasn’t,” you chuckled. A few moments of silence filled the room before a soft snore broke the quiet. Careful not to wake him, you kissed his cheek and whispered, “I’m glad you’re okay, Junior.”

“Knew it,” he said as he cracked one eye open and grinned.

You let go of his hand and dropped into your chair with an annoyed huff. “Asshole.”

“Brat.”

[red-riding-wood]

I Want You to Want Me

Pairing: Neil Lewis x F!Reader

Fandom: Watching the Detectives

Summary: Neil receives a frantic call and finds you outside of Gumshoe after a date night gone wrong. Secretly habouring feelings for you ever since the two of you met, he finds you oddly irresistable in your tears and torn fishnets.

Warnings: SMUT, mutual pining, dub-con touching, dryhumping, riding, foreplay, teasing, begging (m), masturbation (m), clothed sex (semi), Neil being a wet paper towel, so just Neil being Neil, pervy Neil, switch!Neil, slight dom but mostly sub!Neil because c'mon guys it's NEIL, slight dom!reader, body worship, public sex (technically?), premature ejaculation (sort of?), angst, some fluff? by my standards anyway lol so take that with a grain of salt -- this ended up being more wholesome than I thought it would be

Inspired by this cover of I Want You To Want Me (the reader's song) and Creep (Neil's song) by Radiohead.

Huge thanks to @your-nanas-house for getting me started with a prompt for this and cheering me on!

Totally nicked the "jock boyfriend" inspo from @cillianmesoftlyyy's fic here; go check that out if you want more spicy Neil content, because it was fantastic!

And thank you and also fuck you to @rysko for dramatically beta reading this in my ear WHILE I WAS TRYING TO MAKE THE HEADER

And now that I'm done thanking every fic writer on tumblr, my parents, the Royal Society for the Prevention of Birds, and Saturn and all of its rings, enjoy your filth!

WC: 4239

He found you outside the back door of Gumshoe, huddled against the concrete step, the cool air of the spring night nipping at the wet tears that streaked your cheeks, the slight breeze stirring a shiver from one fretful limb to the next. The whites of your eyes burned red beneath the faint glow of the lanterns atop the neighbour’s picket fence. It wasn’t exactly the most incognito place to cry your eyes out, but you didn’t have a key to Neil’s store, and it was nearly three in the morning. 

“Hey, I got your call. What’s going on?” A familiar voice broke the pitiful sounds of your sobbing, and the tension of your shoulders eased if only slightly at the mere sound. 

You tried to answer past your sobs, but found that your words came only in hiccups, in broken fragments of your splintered heart, and it didn’t take long for him to sweep an arm around your shoulders, lowering himself to sit beside you on the cold step. Instinctively, you found yourself leaning into his touch, trembling against the warmth of his body. 

Neil was never really great at these sorts of things to begin with, but it certainly didn’t help that his attention was drawn to the low-cut top where a tear streaked down the groove of your breasts, to the fishnets that you’d torn on your way out the door of your boyfriend’s, to the short skirt that rode up just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the lace hem of your panties. 

He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, and he tried to keep his eyes on the face you so desperately tried to hide with your trembling fingers, for you were ashamed of your unkempt appearance. You must’ve looked like a cheap whore – a mess of one, no less. You couldn’t tell what was more embarrassing: the way you were dressed, like you were begging for attention, or the way your emotions seized you so cruelly that you could scarcely breathe. 

“Hey.” His warm, careful touch landed on your wrist, and as you pulled your fingers from your lashes, they came away black with smudged mascara. “I’m here,” your friend said. “Tell me what happened.”

You could still only speak in hiccups and broken vowels.

“Shhh,” Neil soothed you, fingers running up and down your spine, sending tiny shivers through each nerve as the fabric of your shirt bunched and his skin brushed yours. “Shhh. I’m here.”

Resting your head on his shoulder, your hair spilled in sticky threads over the jacket that, judging by the slight musty scent that lingered in the weave of the corduroy, had probably missed one too many washes. But you didn’t care. You’d come to appreciate the little imperfections about him, the details of his scent that made Neil Neil. Like the waxy tinge that seemed to always cling to his fingers after a long shift of rolling back tapes. Like the silk cream and smoke of the vanilla candle you’d gifted him last week. Like the artificial scent of cheap shaving cream and the slightest hint of blood where he’d nicked himself with the razor. The musk of his sweat and skin, buried beneath all these little things that you’d come to know almost as intimately as your own.

But there was something else, something you couldn’t quite pinpoint. And its unfamiliarity unnerved you.

His other hand came to rest on your knee, hot as fire in the cold of night. He thumbed at the tear in your fishnets and looked at you with bright, concerned eyes, but he used this as an excuse to touch you.

“Did he hurt you?” Neil asked. His hand stayed on your knee. In a way, it felt comforting; it grounded you enough so that, finally, after lulled by the rise and fall of his shoulder and the unique blend of his scent, you could speak.

“Is that cologne?” You wrinkled your nose and drew back to look him in the eye, your tangled hair peeling reluctantly from his corduroy jacket.

A rose blush came upon Neil’s cheeks, and he smiled nervously. He’d been sure to spritz himself with a good helping of it before he left, despite his hurried state. He needed to impress you; ever since you’d started dating that jock from across the street, he’d been trying to find more ways to steal your attention back.

“Yeah, it’s new,” he said, a little flustered, in a way that made your stomach flutter. “I wanted to ask for your opinion on what I should get, but you – well…” His voice cracked a bit as a hint of sadness crept into his tone. “… you’ve been pretty busy lately.”

“It’s awful,” you told him, laughing slightly, and your words seemed to cheer him up; his lips tugged into that playful grin of his again, and a deep chuckle rumbled from his throat.

And then you both fell into silence, and he looked back to your knee, still thumbing the skin where the fabric had torn.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Neil said.

You swallowed, another lump forming in your throat, and when you looked at him, bottom lip in your teeth, reddened eyes pouting, rimmed by your messed mascara, his heart sped in his chest in both fear and arousal. The thought of James even touching you boiled his blood, made his skin crawl and tightened a noose round his neck, but seeing you like this, baring your soul to him with those tear-brimmed eyes and mournfully upturned brows, it made him want you even more.

If he’d been the one to take you out tonight, he would’ve brought you home to his bed, worshipped each inch of your hallowed skin and made love to you like you were the only woman in the world, splayed his fingers across your thighs and parted them like a sea, dropped to his knees and prayed with the hungered strokes of his tongue and lapped at your holy waters.

He’d started reading poetry lately. It had felt right; it was the only thing that seemed to express just how he felt about you. Echoed the words in private like they were gospel; chanted your name from desperate lips as he palmed himself each night – and morning – to your photographs, to the vanilla of the candle that reminded him so much of you, to the fantasy of your sweat-slicked thighs wrapped around his waist, your walls clenched around him as he bucked his hips against your weight and finally let himself go, spilling himself inside you and hearing you moan so sweetly for him from those heavenly lips, feeling his own cum dampen his stomach as you collapsed over him. He always knew you’d be so tight, that you’d fit so perfect around him.

But sitting here, staring at your shivering, impotent form in your torn fishnets and your skimpy attire, he could barely contain the urge to tear open your knees and fuck you against the concrete. It had been so long since he’d even been this close to you; James took up all of your time nowadays, and gone were the late movie nights and stolen games of basketball on the breaks he took so liberally.

He missed you. So much.

And you knew it. You knew it, deep in your chest where the remnants of your heart twisted, still hearing the words, “You’ve been pretty busy lately.”

You shook your head, choking out another sob as shame crept along your skin, and you shivered at its grotesque touch. “No, he didn’t hurt me… not – not in that way.”

You couldn’t look at him; his pearlescent blue eyes and his sun-kissed freckles and his boyish brown locks all fading into memory as you buried your face in his chest, inhaling once more the faint scent of his laundry detergent and the musk of him beneath the shirt that was flipped inside-out but still outlined the blatant logo of Back to the Future. Whether he hadn’t realised he’d put it on backwards or he’d been shy about it, you couldn’t be sure, but it lightened your heart all the same, your sobs turning to giggles.

Neil pulled you closer, his chin resting along the nape of your neck and his hand running up your thigh; you barely noticed how near his hand was to your panties as you tugged at his shirt, nails sinking past the fabric as if to keep him and never let him go.

You regretted all that time you’d spent with James, when you should have been spending it with him instead. Everything felt so much easier with him; your smiles were broader, your laughter more carefree.

But you wanted more – selfish and lovesick, you wanted more than what he already gave you. You needed more than his attention and his friendship.

You needed him to want you.

“I thought that…” You sniffled. “… I thought that James wanted me. I dressed up all… nice… fucking whorish… and I thought tonight was finally the night and that he would’ve… that he would’ve…”

The words twisted in your throat, and you squeezed your eyes shut. Two hours ago, when you did up your makeup and clothes for your date with James, you’d felt sexy. Powerful, even.

Now, you just felt worthless.

Neil nestled his nose in the crook of your neck, brushed the silk strands of your hair aside, breathed your scent in so deeply that for a moment, the butterflies came back to the pit of your stomach.

“I just want to be wanted,” you admitted, losing it, sobbing uncontrollably into the now-damp shirt that clung to his thin frame. “I just want to be desired. That was the only reason I was with him, Neil. The way he looked at me that day when he came into the store, I…”

With a bitter pang in his chest, Neil remembered that day. The way James had looked at you like you were a piece of meat. The way he’d asked you if had any recommendations on which sports film he should rent and Neil had practically wedged himself between the two of you and started chattering to James about every little piece of trivia he knew about Chariots of Fire and Rocky. How, despite his efforts, James had still gone home with your number as well as the tapes. How you’d come in the next morning with a hickey on your neck and Neil had just known that where James had paused one of the tapes was when your movie night was likely cut short by… things he’d rather not think about ever again.

It should’ve been his couch you’d been curled up on, should’ve been him watching the movie with you. His mark on your neck.

And he would’ve picked something a little more fitting for the mood, too. Something more like Casablanca or Sin City. It was as if James didn’t even have to try to get you drooling over him. What was so special about him, anyway?

I wish I was special, Neil thought.

Neil’s grip on you tightened at the memory, nails digging in to the flesh of your thigh in a way that stirred a little gasp from your lungs, huffing against his collarbone as you tilted your head up to look at him.

“Y/N.”  His breath caught in his throat, and he reluctantly pulled from your neck to look you in the eye, locks of messy hair falling across his forehead and his eyes half-lidded. His fingers ghosted up your thigh, and you blinked past the sharp mint of his mouthwash – it burned your eyes slightly, but you didn’t care. You were so close to him, your breaths became one, a few threads of his hair tickling your cheeks and his nose brushing yours.

“Neil,” you breathed, the slightest of smiles tugging at your lip as your heart thudded between your legs, dangerously close to his fingers. Warmth spread across each fevered limb, taking you somewhere past the cold concrete and bitter chill of the wind, somewhere away from the graffiti-painted alley and the reek of broken booze bottles. Somewhere safe, and warm, and thrilling all at once.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Neil’s voice cracked around the words, a nervous laugh huffing against your fluttering lashes as his freckled cheeks darkened another shade of red. The hand that wasn’t between your legs played with a lock of your hair, twirling it in his finger but still supporting you beneath a quivering arm.

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t believe this was real.

He had to have been playing some sick joke, right?

But the whimper that fell from his lips was very real, as his nails dug into your flesh again and he tugged you closer, his hips arching upward against your outer thigh.

“You look more than nice. You’re so fucking hot in this skirt, in anything you wear. That asshole is fucking blind,” he breathed, fingers grazing your panties and landing over your hipbone, testing the waters more and more as he tried not to rock his growing arousal too obviously against you.

But you noticed. You noticed the way his cock hardened and twitched beneath your weight; you noticed how even despite his body trembling from his attempts to resist his primal urges, his hips still gave little bucks upward, seeking friction. Seeking the heat that flared between your thighs, that ached for him so desperately that it was all you could do not to return the favour.

He couldn’t take it anymore. Staring into those gorgeous, bright eyes. Looking up at him with anything but innocence. So he scooped both hands around your ass, squeezing the flesh and lace and tugging you properly onto his lap with an alluring squeal tearing from your full lips.

“I want you, Y/N.” His hot breath pooled at your collarbone as he trailed wet, sloppy kisses along your jaw, your neck, and your lips parted in another gasp, back arching and thighs clenching around his waist as you ground wet panties against the bulge in his trousers.

“I fucking need you,” he whined, nipping like a needy puppy at the delicate skin of your neck. “Always have.” Another kiss. “Ever since I first saw you. Long before James.” A possessive growl stirred from his throat at that, the flare of dominance sending a jolt through your core.

“Neil, I – oh my God.” A moan broke your words as his fingers moved up your spine and his teeth grazed your collarbone, hovering over your pulse point.

“Fuck, baby. Say that again. Just like that.” His fingers began rolling your shirt up over the lip of your breasts, the sight enough to make him whine again in need. He couldn’t help himself from groping you, squeezing your breasts and rolling one nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Bending his neck to trail more sloppy kisses down your torso, they were his next destination.

“Oh my – Neil. Neil, I – “ You had so much to tell him, so much you needed off your chest, but his hips bucked sharply against you at the sound of his name moaned so beautifully, a low groan in his throat and his cock digging slightly inside your heat, the fabric of your panties scraping almost painfully against your walls.

“Please, Y/N, please don’t make me stop. Please let me keep touching you like this. I wanna worship you.” His hot breath shattered against a pert nipple. “Wanna fucking prove to you how much I want you.”

For a few moments, you were rendered speechless, mind whirring like the wheels on a VHS. Everything was happening so fast, and the warmth of his touch was seeping into you like honey, inundating you in a sort of comforting flame.

He could almost smell the vanilla of the candle wick burning.

You left nail marks down his chest where you clawed at the collar of his shirt, but he didn’t care. He sucked a nipple past his teeth and moaned around the taste of you, the sound so filthy that your eyes nearly rolled back in your skull as your parted lips tipped to the heavens. His name outlined by their perfect shape.

Reality came crashing down around you as you jumped, another squeal leaving your tongue as his teeth bit at your nipple and pain shot along your nerve endings.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, chest heaving, looking up at you with reverent eyes. “I didn’t mean to, I – “

You cupped his chin in your palm and shook your head. “No, Neil. I’m sorry.” A tear streaked down your cheek, beaded on your jawline. “I’m so, so sorry.” You were beginning to sob again, and his brow furrowed in concern, thumb beginning to trace small circles along your spine. “I’m sorry I abandoned you for James, I didn’t… I shouldn’t have. I didn’t know you felt this way, I – I’m so sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he told you, his words sinking into your skin like a warm tide. With one hand, he brushed the tear from your jaw and wove his fingers into your hair, pulling you closer. “Just let me keep touching you. Please.”

When you didn’t respond for a moment, caught up in the way his blue eyes seemed to hollow with a certain hunger, the way his chest rose and fell beneath the bare flesh of your stomach, he uttered that word again:

“Please.”

You smiled, elated and giddy with joy, blood pounding with arousal, and kissed him, threading your own fingers into the fluffy locks of his hair.

Another tear streaked across your lips as they met his, and you tasted like salt and vanilla, slightly waxy from your chap-stick but the sweetest thing he’d tasted nonetheless. At first, he was embarrassed by the noises he made, the way he’d accidentally called you “baby” because he’d always wanted to do so, but he melted beneath you like butter. Nothing mattered anymore except the fact that you were finally his, that you were in his arms and grinding against his cock.

Neil broke the kiss to pull your shirt over your head, tossing it aside somewhere on the concrete – he would buy you a new one. His hands flattened against your back and pulled you flush to his chest, taking any excuse he could to hear that little squeal you made each time.

“Please, baby, please let me be inside you,” he whined, biting his lip as he stared up at you with those powder-blue eyes. Nails dug into your skin. Hips bucked against yours.

Your heart soared with his words, his worship, his want; you’d never been this ecstatic in your whole life. Part of you wanted to keep teasing him, make him beg, while another part of you ached to feel him buried to the hilt inside you.

“Patience, Neil,” you giggled, as you undid his trousers. You worked them down to his knees and your eyes widened as your hand brushed his cock, bare and springing flush against his stomach. You hadn’t expected him to not wear boxers.

Neil smiled sheepishly up at you, eyes still lidded, mouth still panting out a fevered breath. “I was in a rush getting dressed. I…” His cheeks reddened, and there was something so cute about how pathetic he looked in that moment. “You wanna know how much I want you, Y/N? I was touching myself thinking of you when you called.”

Creep, some voice in the back of his head hissed.

You bit your lip to suppress a moan, trying to ward off thoughts of Neil stroking himself to you, finishing to the thought of you. Oh, how you wished you could have witnessed the sight.

“Did you come?” you asked, a devious grin pulling at your lips as you took him in your hand, massaging a bead of pre-cum into his sensitive flesh.

His eyes fluttered, and he shook his head, his words coming out as a breathy whine,

“No, I promise. I didn’t come. Not yet.”

“Will you?” You dipped your head to let your words tickle his neck, your grip on him tightening.

“Yes,” he moaned. “Yes, yes, oh God, I will. Fuck, baby. Fuck, gonna come if you don’t stop that, need to come inside you, please, please…”

His mutterings trailed off into a low hiss of a whine, and your movements stilled, dragging him to his peak and letting him teeter at the edge as you both caught your breaths, chest heaving and a cold chill racing down your sweat-slicked back, thighs trembling around him.

“You sure you can handle this?” you purred against his ear before pulling back once more to witness the shivering mess you’d made him, priding yourself in your accomplishment. Lining his cock up with your entrance, the fabric of your panties scraped his tip teasingly as you slotted them to the side.

Neil looked up at you like you were some kind of goddess, his breathing coming laboured, his throat stripped of words. The dazed, blissful look he gave you was all the answer you needed. But you wanted to reap him of every last praise he had.

“Use your words, Neil,” you giggled, smirking.

“Ah…” His lips parted, near soundless. You watched intently as they formed the word “Please”.

You almost felt bad for him.

But it wasn’t pity that brought your hips down around him, slowly, teasingly, savouring the stretch of him against your walls and the fullness in your belly, but rather, your own need.

Neil’s head rolled back against the brick wall, blood welling at his lip where he bit it to keep himself from toppling over his peak; he nearly did it to himself when he bucked his hips upward, burying himself inside you, making you whimper at the pain that blended so sordidly with the pleasure. Your fingers tugged at his hair, and your nails grazed his scalp, and every little sensation sent him into overdrive. He used these little things to ground himself, as you had his tangled scents; he focused on how smooth your stomach felt against his own, his shirt hiking up so that you were skin to skin; he focused on the noises you made, huffing and whimpering, as you began to ride him; he focused on the softness of the breast that he cupped in his hand. Tried not to think about how you felt better than he’d imagined, how you clenched so tightly around his cock that he was almost pushed out each time you elevated your hips, but were so wet for him that he slid back inside so seamlessly each time.

“Neil,” you moaned as you fucked yourself on his cock, breast bouncing beneath his thumb, skirt fluttering around the bareness of his thighs. “Neil, fuck. Fuck.”

“Baby, I’m s—sorry. I’m gonna…”

You yelped again as pain shot deep inside your core, his hips bucking against yours with a violence you hadn’t known sweet Neil from the VHS store to possess, bottoming out inside you as his nails dug into the now-abused skin of your back and pulling you close, so close you were panting over his shoulder and his breath shattered against your ear. The hand that had been cupping your breast shot up to cradle your head, petting your hair.

He held you to him so tight, you didn’t think he’d ever let go. And you couldn’t have been happier.

Warmth spilled around his cock, sticky against your thighs, painting your insides white. You shuddered around him, balling his hair into a fist and digging your own, sharper nails, against his back.

“I didn’t mean it to be over so fast,” he mumbled into your neck. “I just… you’re so… fuck, I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”

“So have I,” you breathed. You practically hugged each other, shivering in the night air but content in each other’s warmth. “Don’t worry.” Pulling away slightly, you smiled down at him, cheeks flushing bright red. “If anything, it… it’s endearing.”

“Really?” he chuffed out a laugh.

“It…” you looked down, unable to meet that crystalline gaze. “It makes me feel wanted.” You pecked a quick kiss to his jaw, and could’ve sworn you saw love in his eyes when you pulled away.

“God, you’re perfect.” His voice broke again as his lips sought yours, and his breath hitched in his chest when the action caused you to rock your hips forward, a new sensation he’d never felt before buzzing along his skin. His mouth hung open and you laid kisses to his lips, his jaw, the Adam’s apple that bobbed along his throat. He felt his cock stiffen again inside you, already eager for Round Two.

“I should take you home,” he murmured, hands running up and down your sides. “You must be so cold.” As if just realising that he still had his jacket on, Neil shrugged it off in haste and wrapped the heavy material around your shoulders. A chill ran down your spine, as the material was damp with sweat – you smiled at how predictably forgettable he was when he had a woman on his lap, just as you’d imagined –, but his scent soothed you.

Though you were cold, it was a small sacrifice to make to stay here, with him buried so deep inside you that you felt dizzy in the head. Depleted of your energy and sinking into his warmth, you smirked, and rested your chin on his shoulder.

“I was thinking of just staying like this a while,” you admitted.

“Whatever makes you happy,” he breathed, hugging you even tighter. “Whatever you want.”

A.N. Sorry if this was a bit rough, guys. I smashed this one out the other day because I was tired of my writer's block.

I actually laid into some themes that I was planning on using for a Dark!Neil fic based on the song "Creep" which I don't know when I'll get around to writing, but let me know if you guys would like to hear more about the idea for the series or are interested.

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[lewlewlemon44]

Honeymoon SMAU | LH44

Pairing- reader! x Lewis Hamilton

Warnings- 18+, suggestive content, swearing.

Summary- you and Lewis get married and share part of your honeymoon with your fans.

yourinstagram

yourinstagram We did it! I finally married the love of my life. There is not better feeling than this! I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you @lewishamilton, you are the most amazing person I have ever met, and I can’t express how proud am to be your wife. ❤️

lewishamilton love you babe, I never imagined that one day I’d marry someone as amazing as you❤️

SusieWolff congratulations you two! The ceremony was so beautiful💜

yourinstagram thank you Susie

fencer best night ever bruvs

->yourInstagram would’ve been better if you didn’t come looking for Lew and I but whatever

->Fencer Carmen was looking for him! It was either me or her so just be happy it was only me that had to witness that

->spinzbeatsinc I tried to warn you not to look for them, they can barely keep their hands to themselves without a giant event celebrating their love for one another

->lewishamilton we get it, thanks guys

->teamLH omfisgsgedjg poor Miles

mercedesf1 Mr and Mrs Hamilton💜

F1 Congratulations Mr and Mrs Hamilton! Can’t wait to see you both in the paddock again!

landonorris does this mean I can call you mum now?

->yourInstagram of course son

->landonorris 😎

mrsnorris4 sidgensjdbeb they’ve adopted Lando!

y/nstan oh so we're just going to ignore the 3rd picture... okay

->pierregasly Lewis will kill us if we do

->likedbypierregassleee BBG LEWIS? NO SHOT

->charlesleclerc might look bbg but he's a trained fighter, just ask Max or Fernando

yourbestfriend love you guys! ps this does mean Lewis can stop being my sugar daddy

->yourinstagram of course not, he knows the rules

yourinstagram story

lewishamiltoninstagram story

yourinstagram

yourinstagram one day into the honeymoon and he's already being a dick but whatever, still love you.❤

yourbestfriend girl what did I tell you? take sex away from him when he's being sassy.

->yourintagram how do you know I didn't?☹

->yourbestfriend did you?

->lewishamilton nope

->lewy/n fudeutyujdehgfyuhtgs

lewishamilton I've been a dream, what you talking about?

->yourinstagram babe I've posted the evidence; you threw me in the water and also flipped me off when I asked if you packed the towels.

->lewishamilton nah not true

->maxverstappen we can see it Lewis

->lewishamilton see what?

luluham NOT LEWIS TRYING TO GASLIGHT EVERYONE

liked by youinstagram, maxverstappen and pierregasly

sebastainvettel looks like a lot of fun, enjoy this time before you start having kids!

liked by lewishamilton and yourinstagram

->rb!seb LMAO SEB

lewishamilton love you too sweetie❤

lewishamiltoninstagram story

yourinstagram story

lewishamilton

lewishamilton so lucky to be your husband, kinda miss our son tho .❤

landonorris awe miss you too, dad

->roscoelovescoco 😑

-> y/nstan LEWIS GHUIFH

yourinstagram I'm the lucky one❤

lewy/nsupremacy OMG THEY WENT GO KARTING

danielriccardo who won tho?

->yourinstagram me, of course

->lewishamilton huh?

roscoelovescoco mums so prettys

->yourinstagram thank you Ros, miss you little buddy

->LHitaly oh my god thats so cute

yourinstagram story

youinstagram

yourinstagram look at my man @lewishamilton 🤤

lewishamilton ❤

danielriccardo i'd be shocked if you don't come back pregnant.

liked by lewishamilton and yourinstagram

->landonorris ewww no

->alexalbon don't worry Lando, it's just the stork.

nicolashamilton no, thank you.

->hamiltonbrothers i dont think I can look at him the same

stansunite THEY LIKED DANIELS COMMENT WE'RE GOING TO GET A LEWY/N BABY IN 9 MONTHS

->deluluforlulu OMG THAT BABY WILL BE SO CUTE

->y/nstan imagine the content we'd get omg

[itaipava]

— mundane little moments of love with f1 boys.

˒ ⌕ LANDO NORRIS

it’s one of those late-night phone calls; one minute you’re laughing about god-knows-what and the next, humour has simmered down, replaced by a moment of silence — and there is warmth and comfort in the quietness, but also an unmistakeable sense of longing. as you just close your eyes and listen to each other’s breathing, you start to wonder if he has fallen asleep, but he breaks the silence with a ’wish you were here’ and you heart clenches a little as you whisper back a ’me too.’

˒ ⌕ DANIEL RICCIARDO

it’s one of those moments when you’re sharing a bathroom space. it’s the playful little ’don’t peek’ as one pees while the other shaves. it’s the lingering hand touches when he’s passing you the towel. it’s him being a little shit and splashing water at you while you wash your face. and it’s the way your eyes meet in the mirror while you’re brushing your teeth together and you both smile — it’s just a small stretch of lips at first until you’re both grinning uncontrollably because right now, everything just feels right.

˒ ⌕ CARLOS SAINZ

it’s when you lay your head in his lap while you guys watch something on tv. you don’t realize it, but the way he looks passionately at you says a lot about how much his heart is racing right now. he gently strokes your hair and you close your eyes, delighting in the sensation. and he can’t help but leave a kiss to your temple, a smile creeping across his lips when he sees you smiling. and then he realizes that, at this moment, you are safe and he is at peace.

˒ ⌕ CHARLES LECLERC

it’s one of those hugs. the kind that starts off almost casual yet goes on longer than it’s supposed to, simply because neither refuses to let go. it feels warm, familiar, and safe in each other’s arms. at one point, he snuggles in closer, burying his face against the crook of your neck, you can feel his breath and his little smile on your skin. he comments on how much he loves your smell and you snicker before asking him to describe it, and he takes a moment before answering, ’just smells like…you. like home.’

˒ ⌕ LEWIS HAMILTON

it’s one of those unexpected deep conversations at unlikely places, like the grocery store. it’s just that almost sacred connection you get when you’re telling someone your thoughts and ideas, and you worry that you sound scattered and might not make sense and you’re ready to brush it off with a nevermind and an awkward little chuckle but you don’t need to because he gets it. and as you continue the conversation while you put the cereal box into the cart, you feel a fresh surge of love for him.

˒ ⌕ OSCAR PIASTRI

it’s when he’s out of town for work and you send him silly selfies of yourself with sweet, encouraging messages attached. his friends notice him staring at his phone screen for too long with a lingering smile on his face and a certain look of fondness in his eyes. they crane their necks to take a glance at what their friend is looking at and see that it’s the selfie you sent. immediately, they tease him about how smitten he is. and oscar tries to hide the flustered blush on his face by looking annoyed. “oh shut up,” he mutters while proceeding to set your photo as his home screen. 

˒ ⌕ MAX VERSTAPPEN

it’s one of those moments on the couch or bed, watching netflix together. it’s endless hours of browsing through the catalogue of movies and shows only to end up playing the same one you’ve watched for the hundreth time. it’s the looks you share when the characters are saying questionable things, and the simultaneous outbursts you have when the people in the screen are being frustrating, and having to pause to have a debate about whatever is going on in the show. it’s just nice. it’s nice to have someone who willingly sits through every disney movie and every boring movie that ends up being good because each other’s presence (and jokes) are all you need.

[lewisyellowhelmet]

pursuit of happiness

lewis hamilton x actress!reader

summary: 18+!!!! general m/f s*x acts. reader is a well known actress with a recent scandal, who escapes to lewis for some peace.

read everything else here!

In Singapore, the heat clings to her. Even in the airport, with her sunglasses on, head down, overly focused on the boots of the security guard in front of her who steps a path through the crowd, she can feel the humidity. The flashes of the cameras makes her ears ring, a threatening headache quickly becoming ominously real. 

She remembers when this onslaught made her giddy, when she would try and meet everyone's eye, smile, shake hands. Always new places, always new people. The shame of walking with her face lowered, crowded in by looming men, makes her want to be sick. Still, the questions screamed at her have long become too prying, the autograph hunters too needy, the photographers too scary. 

The car is waiting for her, sleek and black. She’s hustled from the opening doors of the terminal, into the warm bath of tropical air, and then into the air conditioning, leather seats. The door slams behind her, enclosing her in the cab, and the driver is already pulling away, leaving a throng of people half spilling out into the road after her. She knows what they want. She won’t give it to them. 

The hotel room is empty. But there are leftover parts of him. A used towel in the bathroom. A watch next to the beside table, silver and chunky. There’s a yoga mat on the balcony. Her phone is buzzing, maddeningly. She has a sudden urge to throw it off the building. She puts it in the mini fridge instead, on silent. The king bed is expansive, crisp and white. The air in the room is cool and artificial, whirring reliably in the ceiling. When she crawls into bed, the sheets still smell like him. He sleeps on the left, and she tucks his pillow into her body, imagines the feel of his skin on hers, the rustle of his hair, the press of his hand. She falls asleep, bathed in bright sunlight. 

When she wakes, the room is dark, and there’s someone walking around. She is not unused to strangers in her space, interfering with her things, minders and assistants and stylists. If she snoozes her alarm too many times, someone will always come in, open the blinds, waft a coffee under her nose. But this person is sitting beside her now, covering her hand with their own, warm and solid. She blinks open sticky eyes. Lewis is smiling, reaching to stroke the hair off her face. It’s a new colour, bleached and cut short, for the new part that will start filming next week. 

  “It’s quarter past seven,” Lewis says. He always wakes her with the time. A way to centre herself, to adjust. It’s fifteen minutes past seven here, in Singapore, where she is, with him. Her mouth feels dry, her tongue thick. Her limbs are lazy. 

  “How long have you been here?” She says, slurring her words. 

  “Only a few minutes. I’m about to go to dinner if you want to come.” 

  “I don’t want to go anywhere.” 

Lewis looks disappointed in her, for a moment, but the expression passes off his face like it was never there. Shame curdles in her belly. The headache is still striking against her temples. 

  “It’s a private place, there won’t be any photographers,” Lewis says. 

  “But people will know.” 

Lewis strokes over her head a final time, his hand solid and welcome, “Yes, probably.” 

  She groans, and rolls away from him, so he can’t see how her eyes are getting wet and sore. She wants to crawl deeper into the bed and never come out, never be seen by anyone else. The bed shifts as Lewis stands up. 

  “I don’t know how long I’ll be,” he says. 

  “Wait,” she says, muffled, but doesn’t remove her head from where it’s stuffed into the pillow. The fabric is getting damp around her mouth. She can’t get enough oxygen. She can feel him watching her. 

  When she lifts her head up, she’s breathing hard. Her headache throbs. 

  “Let me get dressed,” she says. 

The restaurant is at the bottom of the hotel, easily accessible to the public, but the host guides them to a private room that has windows into an enclosed garden, a water feature trickling. Lewis is handed a completely vegan menu. She doesn’t feel hungry at all, it’s the middle of the night in L.A., and orders a vodka soda. 

  “He said the marriage was over,” she says, when she can’t hold it in any longer. Lewis is chewing polenta. He looks at her for a long time. He’s ordered an expensive bottle of red wine, which she knows she will drink most of. 

  “Did you believe him?” He asks, eventually. She stares at the three scallops in front of her, picturesque on their clean pink shells. 

  “Yes,” she says. 

  “Why?” 

Her voice is sticking in her throat. She has to eat a scallop so she doesn't start to cry. 

  “I guess he’s a good actor.” 

Lewis laughs, and she has to smile. The ice in her vodka soda rattles as she sucks down the last of it. 

  “How did it start?” Lewis asks. 

She thinks about saying she doesn’t want to talk about it, that it’s too hard, but his expression is earnest and his eyes are dark and liquid and she wants to dive into them, curl up around his pupil and rest there. 

  “We went out in Rome one night. The other actors and crew as well, but everyone started to head back and we went to this bar in the old city. He touched my knee. He was so nice and interested in me and he promised that he didn’t even live with her anyone, they just pretended so the kids would’t have to deal with the media. He even said the kids were fine with it, everyone was happier now. We walked back to the hotel. He invited me to his room for a drink. I wanted to go, you know. I wanted him to ask me.”

  She has been telling most of the story to the garden and it’s fountain. It’s hard to look at Lewis. He listens carefully. 

  “We slept together every night of the shoot after that. We tried not to let it show on set but it was pretty obvious. One weekend we went to Venice, and the photos. I’m sure you saw them. It was fucking everywhere. I was so angry at him for letting it happen but of course he had no control. No one does. His wife called. We couldn’t leave the hotel because there were so many photographers. Somehow people even got in so I couldn’t leave the room. The security from Rome had to come all the way out and get us. Then his wife somehow got my number.”

  She hasn’t been able to delete the texts yet. She’d read them on the flight to Singapore even, scrolling through. The marriage, it seemed, was not over. 

  “Anyway, we finished the shoot. I went back to L.A., he went to London. He called a few times but. It wasn’t the same. I couldn’t stop thinking about his kids. How much they must hate me. Still,” she shrugs, and tries to smile, but imagines it as ugly and painful, “good press for the movie, I guess.” 

  The waiter has come in, discreet, and pours her a glass of wine, clears their entrees. Her throat feels sore and thick. Lewis is quiet, thanks the man. 

  “Why did you come here?” He asks, after the door has shut with a muffled sound, and it is just them, the wine, and the trickling water. 

  She laughs, but it sounds wet. 

  “I have no idea. You offered. I needed to get away from L.A.”

He sips his wine, and she forgets to look away when his tongue darts out to smooth over his bottom lip as he puts the glass down. 

  “I’m sorry that happened to you,” he says, calm and steady. The sympathy makes her stomach turn over. 

  “Don’t say that, it’s my own fault.” 

Lewis shakes his head, and looks so sad she has to pick up her own glass, take two big mouthfuls, let it stain her mouth. 

  “How’s the season going?” She asks, to change the subject. He sighs. The waiter comes back in with their mains. Somehow they begin talking about something else, careful guided away from both her affair and F1. She almost manages to forget whats happened. 

She stands in the elevator facing so she can watch the numbers climb up as they soar into the sky. The food has pushed the headache momentarily away, and the alcohol is making her loose limbed. Lewis touches her waist gently as they leave the elevator and begin the short walk down the corridor to his suite. Only when he unlocks the door and steps aside for her to go in first does she remember to say, “Did you want me to get my own room?”

 “Don’t be stupid,” he says, “Old friends, right?”

  She laughs as she follows him in, “Sure, old friends.” 

They finish the bottle of wine on the balcony, the heat still thick and clinging. The city moves around them, engines revving, lights changing. She throws her bare legs over his lap, and he strokes her shin, the callouses on his palm soothing. They talk aimlessly, small jokes, old gossip. She wonders if her phone has frozen in the minifridge yet. Which agent or manager has boarded a plane to come and collect her. Lewis starts to yawn when the moon is high, and they go back inside to the air-con. 

She showers first, the water and citrus body wash sluicing the days sweat off her, remaking her, clean and new. Lewis’s toiletries are spilled over the counter. She lifts his bottle of cologne to her nose while she brushes her teeth. 

  When he takes his turn in the bathroom, she flips through the channels on the big television, tucked into the crisp sheets, propped up against too many pillows. The TV is the only light in the room, flickering and constantly changing. She feels exhausted, and like sleep has never been further away. She has not retrieved her phone from the fridge. They’ll find her somehow. They always do. 

Lewis wears soft pyjama pants to bed, low on his hips. She's wearing one of his t-shirts. They’re wet hair tangles as she slouches into his shoulder, tucked into the crook of his armpit while they watch Singaporean news. During the entertainment portion, an image of her in her huge sunglasses at the arrival terminal pops up. She looks pale and sickly in the video. Lewis turns the television off. 

  “It’s okay,” she says, interrupting him saying, “I’m tired, anyway.” 

  “What are you doing tomorrow?” She asks, still leaning against him. His arm is around her, heavy and solid. She feel his chin against her skull. 

  “It’s the race. I’ll be out all day.” 

  “Alright.”

  “When do you have to leave?”

  “Whenever they come and fetch me.” 

  “Maybe if you stayed for the race. Came to the grid. We could make sure you get interviewed, it might distract everyone from. What’s just happened.” 

  She turns her face into his chest, wanting to become one of his tattoos, imprinted on his skin. 

  “Or not,” he says, quietly.

  “I can’t think about it right now,” she says. 

  “Okay,” he soothes. He’s touching her hair, the wrong colour, the wrong length. She feels outside of her own body, even as she tries to cram into his. She touches his stomach, just her fingertips, scratching lower to the line of his waist, his hips bones. He says her name against her forehead, his lips brushing over her skin. 

  “We don’t have to,” Lewis says. 

  “Do you want to?”

  “Of course,” he breathes. 

  “I want to,” she says. 

She lets her head fall lower over his chest, down his abdomen so she can drag her mouth over the muscle there, kiss over his navel, the brush of hair under her mouth as she finds the waistband of his pyjamas. Lewis is sighing and twitching, his hand in her hair. The pressure is familiar, no push, just a warmth. She can feel him against her chin as she laves her tongue over his hip, already hard and wanting. His skin is goose bumped, anticipating. She never wants it to end, wants to keep him dangling on the edge, waiting and waiting. 

He lifts his hips for her to wriggle his pants off him, down the muscle of his thighs, the curve of his knees. Lewis grabs at her (his) t-shirt, pulling it over her head and off so he can sweep his hands over her shoulders, cup her breasts in his hands, smiling dopely at her as his thumbs swipe over her nipples, make her gasp. His cock stands red against his belly, leaking wet. She lowers her head to lick up the length of it, suck him into her mouth, salty and hot. He groans, and his hands tangle in her hair, guiding her rhythm. It’s so easy to fall back into it, remembering him, one hand around the base of him, the other against his hip, bracing herself. He keeps her hair out of her face, mumbles nonsense to her, about how good she is, how amazing it feels. She pulls off to drool over him, let him see the mess he’s made, lick kitten like at the swollen tip. Lewis moans, instinctual from his chest. 

  “Baby,” he says, hips knocking up unconsciously, “Baby, please.” 

  “What do you want?” She asks, her hand slicking up and down the length of him, the sounds lewd. 

  “I want you. I just want you. So badly, please.” 

  “Where do you want me?”

  “Anywhere,” he’s grinning, mouth wet, cheeks flushed, “Anywhere.” 

She sits herself up on her knees, and he whines as she lets go of him, takes his face in her hands. He kisses her messy and desperate, his tongue between her teeth. He drags at her hair, and the tingling pain of it makes her groan into him. 

  His hand between her legs, stroking, spreading her wetness. She has to stop kissing him to breathe, their noses knocking together, dropping her head into the crook of his shoulder to pant as he slips a finger into her, another, crooks them just right and fucks her with his hand. 

  “I know,” he croons, as she shudders against his chest, “I know, feels good, huh?” 

  “Yes,” she gasps, meeting his hand with her hips as an orgasm curls in her belly, “It’s s’good.” 

  “Come for me, baby,” he whispers against her ear, his mouth hot. She keens and falls limp against him, sat half in his lap as she comes, his hand trapped between her legs. Her body keeps rocking unconsciously against him as she settles, breathing in the smell of him, feeling the pulse of his jugular against her mouth. 

  Lewis soothes her, kissing the side of her face, the line of her bare shoulder, his fingers still tucked inside her. She can feel the way their skin is sticking together with sweat already. She doesn’t mind it.

  She reaches between them, where he’s resting against the inside of her thigh, hot and stiff, flinching when she rubs her thumb over the tip. 

  “You want me?” She asks, can’t look him in the eye, her head under his chin. 

  “Yes,” Lewis breathes, fucking into her hand, “Always.” 

She shifts, gets her leg over his hip so she’s hovering above him, nudging the head of his cock against herself, teasing. Lewis is breathing hard, his chest shiny, his shoulders big. He’s watching her with big, dark eyes. When she lets him inside, he curses. Fists curling into the bedsheets. 

  It feels otherworldly, having him slip into her, thick and long and good. Fills her up in a way she can never explain. It knocks the breath out of her. Her knees press into his hips, her head drooping down to press her forehead against his. His mouth is open, pink and bitten. 

  “Oh my god,” she rasps, pulling herself up and down again. He slides deeper the second time. Lewis groans, and screws his eyes shut. His big hands find her waist, grabbing at her bum, helps her lift herself and drop down, finding a rhythm. 

  “Oh, fuck,” he pants, “Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck.” 

She loses the strength to speak, lets him fuck up into her, her arms around his shoulders. She cries out when he moves, stays inside her as he lays her out on her back, pulls her legs out and wide so he has the space to drive into her, keep her there, half crying and writhing. It’s so good it blinds her. 

  “Is that what you wanted? Is this what you needed?” Lewis is asking her, he’s slowing down so she feels every thrust, right to the core of her. She struggles to prop herself up on her elbows, watching where their bodies meet, a perfect coupling, his hips knocking into hers. 

  “Yes,” she tells him, grabbing at the muscle of his bicep, yanking him down so she can kiss him, still telling him yes, yes, yes. 

  She comes again, flat on her back, her knees over his shoulders, adrift in the ocean of him, trusting him to fuck her through it, go easy on her when she starts to shake. 

  “It’s okay,” he murmurs, bent low over her, his mouth by her jawline, “You’re okay, you’re so good, you feel so good.” 

  She holds onto him, anchored by him in the swathe of bedsheets, in the mess of her life. 

  “Please,” she asks, wrapping her legs around his waist, urging him in closer, deeper. She does’t know what she’s asking for. To keep going? To save her? To take her far away?

  Lewis’ movements hasten, an urgency to him as he lets go, his thumb holding her mouth open so he can pant the same air. She twists her hand into his braids, holds him there, gazes up at him as he pushes into her, again and again. His face goes euphoric, and she holds him tight against her as he comes, not looking away from her, his eyes dark and endless. 

She doesn’t sleep. Lewis breathes slow and deep, his arm over her stomach. She watches the city, curtains left open, and tries not to think about her phone in the fridge. The effect of the wine is ebbing, and everything feels starkly real and horrible again. Her legs are sore from the weight of Lewis bending her, having her, but it’s a good pain, a reminder that she has used her body. She finds herself touching his hand, his fingers, the metal of his rings. She could stay in the hotel room forever, if she wanted. Pass the time rotting away until he returned for next years race, and the next, and the next. Never take her phone out. Swim in the infinity pool. Order room service. She turns her face from the skyline, away from the daydream. 

  Lewis is angled towards her, young and ethereal in sleep. His lips are parted, jaw relaxed. She wants to kiss the very tip of his nose. It used to be like this all the time. When the television show had summer breaks, and she could just go wherever he was. Follow him around like a dog, panting at his heels. But then the breaks were filled with other projects, and then she was so busy there wasn’t even time for the show. Standing for the applause at Cannes with an empty seat beside her. Not being able to reach him for hours after because the race was delayed. Holding that heavy award in her hand, looking out over a sea of cameras and her peers, trying to call him as soon as she was off stage and it ringing through ten times before she gave up. 

  The man she’d had an affair with had asked her about Lewis. If he had to be half mad to drive the car around and around in circles that fast. Only a quarter mad, she’d said, and changed the subject. It felt wrong to hear Lewis’ name in his mouth. They accessed two different parts of her. Even in the middle of it, she knew the man was only activating something primal and childish in her, a lavishing of attention that made her feel special. Lewis, rather, made her see the worst sides of herself, encouraged her to turn and face them. He would dig under her skin, lift scabs, push her forward even when she wanted to go back. 

It’s difficult to wake in the morning. The sky is grey and low, rain patterning the window. Lewis is naked, digging through his jeans to find his phone that’s ringing an endless alarm. She rolls over onto the side of the bed he’s vacated. When he returns, the phone silenced, he slides into what little space she’s left, arranging her limp body half on top of him. He’s soft and close and warm. She tucks her face into his shoulder, breathes him, thinks about baring her teeth and biting. 

  “I have to be out in fifteen minutes,” he tells her, his voice rumbling through his chest. She whines and clings like a child. 

  “You can’t distract me today,” Lewis says, but his voice is soft and concerned, “I have the race.” 

  “When?” 

  “Tonight.” 

  “I might be gone by then.” 

She feels him sigh, her head rising and falling with his chest. 

   “Well, try not to be,��� he says. 

 Maybe she can get one more day. If she hides, if she doesn’t answer her phone. 

  “Should I come?” She asks, half hidden by his neck. He goes still, but his voice is calm and measured. 

  “If you want to. I’d like that.” 

  “If people see you and me together. You know what they’ll say.” 

He laughs, and she lifts her head up to see the way his eyes shine and crinkle, “Let them say it.” 

  She kisses the corner of his mouth, and then the other side. He’s smiling. 

  “I have nothing to wear,” she says. Lewis rolls his eyes. 

  “You have all day to find something.”

  “I can’t go out.”

  “Why not?”

She frowns at him, “They’ll see me.”

  “Who? The paparazzi? The crowd? Who cares. It’s done now. The only thing you can do now is keep going.” 

  She sits up, and off him. The sheets fall from her chest and she watches Lewis try not to stare at her tits. 

  “That’s a bit harsh,” she says. 

  “It’s the truth.” 

The alarm starts going again, vibrating across the carpet, forgotten next to his jeans. Lewis throws the covers off, and makes for the shower, snatching the phone off the floor on his way. She sits back against the pillows, turns to watch the rain. The only thing you can do now is keep going. 

She tells only who needs to know that she’s going to the race. The heat is heavy and palpable. Her feet hurt in the heels, but the dress is cool where it swishes around her ankles. Someone knew someone who knew a stylist in the city, and a hair and make up artist was quick to be summoned to the room. 

  “Just make me look good,” she’d told them, and then sat quietly, let them prod and poke at her until when she looked in the mirror again, she saw no-one. A facade. An actress. The Rubik’s cube of herself she could present to the world. She smiles. She retrieves her phone from the mini fridge. 

She likes the beat in time when people realise it’s her, and before they lift their phones to take a photo. A swell in time, like the lip of a wave about to crash. Then there’s screaming, camera flashes, people calling her name. She lifts her chin and keeps moving, guided by a man in a Mercedes shirt. She refuses to think about how much the pictures will sell for to the magazines, or about twitter threads, or even what the pit crew lean to whisper to each other. Lewis is waiting for her in the garage. She has pride of place. There are more cameras on them then the track. His suit is pushed to his hips, and she can see the thrill gleam in his eyes. She smiles. She does not look at the cameras. She lets him take her into his chest. She is the one who looks up at him, and kisses him. 

Let them see. Let them all see. 

[mypoisonedvine]

Neil Lewis is definitely that weird guy in high school that thinks he has a chance with the cheerleader captain. Request is noncon with Neil maybe following her into the locker rooms after practice and while she’s showering-yeah. She stayed behind to shower while everyone else went home.

OMG INCEL NICE GUY NEILLLLL OMFGGGG

warnings: NONCON SMUT (18+ only!! dark!!), misogyny kink, stalking/voyeurism, 'nice guy' rhetoric, degradation, jealousy, slapping, hair pulling, forced creampie

"I just wanted one chance," he reminded you as you tried to cover yourself with your hands.

"How the fuck did you get in here?!" you yelped, quickly turning off the water and trying to reach for your towel-- but he stepped in the way, smiling at you.

"It's just a door, anyone can walk through it," he explained with a condescending chuckle, before furrowing his brow at how you tried to shield your naked body from his gaze. "No real point in doing that, is there? I've already seen everything."

"How long were you watching me shower?" you wondered with a disgusted frown.

"A while, but that's not what I meant-- it's not the first time I've seen you naked, I mean," he clarified. When your eyes widened, he answered your next question pre-emptively. "Stacy Gawthrop's party? The guest bedroom? I saw you and your idiot boyfriend getting it on, got a little show... you guys really should lock the door before doing stuff like that."

"You weren't even invited to that party," you remembered with a scoff.

"That's what you're concerned about? I told you I watched you get railed and you're worried that I wasn't invited?" he laughed coldly. "God, you're so shallow. I can't believe I actually like a girl like you."

"Can you please just leave me alone?" you whimpered, heart racing faster as he stepped closer to you again, cornering you against the tile wall; there was a devious sparkle in his eye, something sharp about his smile as he looked down at you.

"The point is, I watched him fuck you," he went on regardless, "and I knew I could make you scream louder than he could. And now I'm here to prove it."

He shoved you back as you winced, pressing himself against you, soaking his gym clothes with the water on your skin. "Get off me!" you yelped as he tried to force a kiss-- but when you turned your face away, he smacked you hard, which only hurt more with the water on you still.

As you tried to grab your face to soothe the sting, he snatched you by the wrist tightly with one hand-- the other he brought to your chest, groping you as he hummed proudly. "You really shouldn't show these off so much," he scolded. "Guys can't help but think of... well, of doing this."

He knelt down enough to catch one in his mouth, sucking almost too hard on your nipple until you whined. "N-Neil, stop!" you gasped, sobbing a bit when his teeth grazed your delicate skin.

"Sure, baby-- tell yourself you don't want this," he purred, before tilting his head the other way and lapping happily at the other. "I know you fucking wanted me-- you just can't admit it, 'cause a girl like you with a guy like me is 'social suicide' or whatever."

"I told you to j-just leave me alone!" you panted, trying to struggle again only for him to come face to face with you-- his expression tinted with the rage you remembered from the last time you rejected him. He refused to believe that you genuinely found him creepy and irritating, and apparently maintained his delusion that you were just afraid of what would happen if your boyfriend-- or anyone else, for that matter-- found out. Even though that wasn't the primary reason, you had to admit you were very anxious about somebody walking in and seeing this.

"If you don't want me," he challenged darkly as one of his hands slipped down to cup your mound rather aggressively, "then how come you're wet?"

He dragged his fingers through your folds, far too much pressure on such a sensitive place, and your knees quivered. "S-stop, Neil, I'm serious..."

"Shut up, whore," he growled, spinning you around and slamming you against the wall again as you cried. "Just do what you do best and spread your legs, hm?"

You obviously didn't, but he kicked them apart anyway, shoving his shorts down and making you whimper as he rubbed his cock against your ass. And while you were a bit wet, for reasons you couldn't explain, you certainly weren't wet enough... not for how thick he was. But he shoved himself in anyways-- one quick, hard thrust that made you cry out from the sting of the stretch.

"Ah, fuck, that's good-- it's so good," he moaned, dropping his head on your still-damp shoulder and starting to thrust into you quickly. He had no patience at all, jackhammering into you and holding tight to your hips as he groaned deeply. "Guess that stupid boyfriend didn't stretch you out much, huh? You're still so fucking tight, baby..."

You tried to hide your face under your arm, anything to get away from him, but he grabbed your hair by your scalp and yanked it down, exposing your face and making you cry louder. "Neil, please!" you begged through your tears.

"Oh, don't talk like that," he warned, "I don't wanna finish too fast. But fuck, you look so cute trying not to show how good it feels..."

Good isn't really how you would've described it... it wasn't just painful, but it hurt-- he was too big, you weren't used to it yet, and he just seemed to go faster and faster with each passing moment. But there was a sick pleasure to it all, something about the way he reached so deep inside you... he was at least right about one thing: your boyfriend had never made you feel like this before. You weren't sure if you'd ever be able to face him after this, for more than a few reasons.

"Baby," he praised, biting down on his own lip to muffle a moan, "quit squeezing me like that, you're gonna make me come."

"D-don't," you tried to plead, as if it wasn't inevitable. Just the way he kept going, grabbing a tighter hold of your hips, moaning lowly against your ear... it was not only inevitable but imminent.

"I'm close," he warned under his breath, "fuck, look what you do to me--"

"Not inside, Neil, please," you choked, but he ignored it, moving faster and moaning louder until it all slowed down to a stop, his cock flexing with every stripe of come that painted your insides. You hung your head defeatedly, feeling sick to your stomach as the reality of what just happened began to sink in.

"Shit," he hissed, "I didn't think I'd come that fast..."

"Fuck, Neil, I-- I could get--" you started, too scared to even say it.

"Aw, don't worry baby," he cooed, kissing your cheek sweetly just before another tear fell across it, "I'll be able to go again in a second."

[tomhollandisabae]

lonely- simon "ghost" riley x f!reader

masterlist

fandom; call of duty

summary; after simon had left for his next mission, you were faced with the biggest challenge of your life and you had to get through that all by yourself.

warnings; angst, pregnancy, fluff, mentions of death, english is not my first language

words; idk 🤷🏻‍♀️

a/n; this idea was stuck into my brain since last week and once i couldn't find anything similar to it anywhere to read, i decided to write it myself. also you can send me your requests!!

a/n2; f1 fans please don't come after me i know you're expecting the 2nd part of the story with lewis but i have no motivation to write it😭i'll do it some time, but i don't know when. uni has been draining me out so much.

"please take care of yourself " was the last thing you told simon -your husband - before he left for yet another mission.

now it had been 12 months and there was no sign of him. however, a lot had happened in the past year, but most importantly you had given birth to a beautiful baby girl -all by yourself.

when you had found out that you were expecting, simon was long gone and you had no way to communicate with him. the only thing that you could do was to get through this pregnancy all alone. thank god that maternity leave was a thing, otherwise you had no idea how you could manage having a baby all by yourself.

whatsoever, you couldn't be mad at your husband as a matter of fact that you had found out about your pregnancy only one week after he had left, while the guilt was everyday eating you alive.

you had no idea how he would react though. you were aware of his past and how his father had treated him.

simon is a lovely human being... towards you. he's a sweet, loving and caring husband and you are absolutely sure that he will make a great father.

you had went through a lot during your pregnancy and you could admit that it wasn't an easy one; mood swings, cravings, morning sickness, back pain etc.

the worst part of it all was when you went into labour. you had spent hours and hours trying to bring the little bundle of joy, that you and the love of your life had created together, into this world.

and after many hours of pain and screaming you were finally holding your baby girl in your arms. the first thing that you had noticed about her were her eyes -same as her father's- and that made your eyes well up with tears.

now it had been almost 4 months since you had given birth and the constant stress of taking care of a baby by yourself had tore you apart both physically and emotionally. you were barely sleeping, you had lost your appetite and were actually a walking wreck.

some nights you would spend them in your bed crying yourself to sleep, wishing your husband was here to help you out.

currently, you were taking a shower as you heard your daughter crying. sighing deeply, you got out and wrapped a towel around you as you made your way to the nursery.

you took her in your arms and sat down on the rocking chair, lowering your towel and starting feeding her. once she was fed, you put her back to sleep and went into your room, changing quickly and laying on your bed.

you brought both your arms over your eyes in an attempt to block out any kind of light source and bit on your bottom lip trying not to cry, again.

as your mind wander in different places, you didn't hear the front door opening and closing as well as the heavy footsteps on the staircase.

you only raised your head as you saw your bedroom door opening, revealing your husband.

immediately, you were flooded by many different emotions as you jumped up from the bed and attacked him in a -suffocating- hug.

simon chuckled lightly and wrapped his arms protectively around you and kissed the top of your head.

"i can't believe that you're back." you pulled away for a moment "you're actually back." you embraced him again not having noticed the tears that were spilling from your eyes.

"i'm sorry it took me too long my love" he mumbled on top of your head as he squished you in his arms.

"i missed you" you lifted your head up, looking at him.

"i missed you y/n" he leaned down and slowly brought his lips on top of yours kissing you softly and yet so loving.

sooner or later, however, you broke away as you looked up at him with a huge smile.

"i have to show you something" you said excited and grabbed his hand, leading him out of your bedroom and across the hall way.

you glanced at him anxiously as you slowly opened the door of your baby's room. you turned on the lights and guided simon inside.

you were looking carefully at him as his expression changed from a curious one to a shocked.

"love..." he exclaimed as he turned to look at you while his bottom lip was trembling.

"i found out one week after you left. i had no way to tell you, simon, i'm so sorry" the guilt took over you.

"shh it's okay." he wrapped his arms once again around you as you sobbed into his chest.

"i just... it was awful, simon. first the guilt that there was a way to tell you, but i was too stupid to think about it and second all the pain, the emotions, everything... i just feel so... useless." you cried out.

"hey" he grabbed both your cheeks and looked you in the eye "you're the strongest woman i've ever known in my entire life, y/n. not only for going through a pregnancy and labour by yourself, but also for being able to get through that with being aware of a chance of me never coming back again and yet you got enough courage and look where that brought you love."

it was true. every time he would go on a new mission, the curiosity of his well being would kill you. every single day you were checking you mail for a letter that would be proclaiming your husband dead.

"i love you so much simon" you raised on your tiptoes and buried your face into the crook of his neck.

"i love you more sweetheart." he lifted your head once again and kissed you softly.

you were so grateful for the feeling of his warm, soft lips against yours, kissing them with so much love and care. every single time you would be in his radar, this man would worship the ground you were walking on.

finally, you pulled away with a small smile.

"come on" you guided him towards the crib where the newborn baby was sleeping in soundly.

carefully, you picked her up in your arms and turned towards simon that was looking at his daughter as if she was the most precious thing on earth.

"do you want to hold her?" you suggested.

"i... i don't know how" he admitted and you kissed his cheek smiling.

"that's why i'm here for. i'll show you how." you said and just like that you handed the small baby over to your husband that was feeling as if he was holding the most fragile thing in the world.

"she's... so small." he stroked lightly her rosy cheek with his thump.

what took you aback was that her little hand enveloped his pinky finger, holding it firmly. you gasped and his breath hitched in his throat.

"wow she didn't even do that to me. only knowing you for a few minutes and she's already a daddy's girl." you complained jokingly placing your hands on your hips.

"really doubt that. there's no one better than you." he kissed your forehead and your face broke into a huge smile as you wrapped your arms around your husband, admiring the way your daughter was rested in her father's chest, not really believing that you had finally built a family with the man you loved most in the entire world.

at that moment, you couldn't be more happy.

[laneywrld]

things lost and things found | Lewis Hamilton

part two

word count: 10k

warnings: smut, smut, more smut, fluff.

A man not made for commitment also doesn’t know how to communicate

It's safe to say that since that night in Cannes nearly two months ago, the lines have blurred.

Every night Clem spends with Lewis ends with her falling asleep nestled in his arms.

Some nights, they don't even have sex; he just calls her up to see him. 

Their outings are no longer limited to his bedroom or whatever hotel he's shacked up in. They're often found all over tabloids and fan pages, seen out at clubs or dinners or even on simple excursions such as shopping or taking walks.

Clementine tries her hardest to remember that Lewis was noncommittal. He would never ever even think about dating her or taking her seriously. That realization and his vocally telling her to not make things weird every time he can see that he catches her off guard keeps her on track. 

Clem knew what she signed up for; quite literally, the NDA she signed entailed every component of their relationship.

Besides the weird butterflies she got around Lewis, life was only getting better and better.  

Being around someone who understands her fully and allows her to completely unravel herself to them has really been good for Clem socially and career-wise.

She was less awakward around people, less reserved and she felt like hey, this man has accepted me for my every little flaw, why wouldn't other people. 

She was moving up in the world, and people loved her for who she was, and for the first time ever, she did too.

She's won an emmy for her netflix show, her movie was breaking records, and she was finally stepping out of her box and showcasing other skills she had.

Along with this new burst of confidence came new relationships. 

She's been trying to go out on dates to see if now was finally the time for her to try to settle down and find something serious.

That what she was doing currently, at dinner sitting across from some NBA players as he rambles on and on about different shots he couldve taken during the game, that he most definitely lost.

Clem hums, eyes feigning interest as he describes how he actually wasn't open when he tried to go for a three-pointer. Shocker, he missed.

When he excuses himself to run to the bathroom, she whips out her phone, seeing that Lewis texted her. 

Lewis 🏁

How's your date?

She shakes her head, typing out her response.

dense. how's silverstone? 

Lewis 🏁

Nerve-wracking, my car is still shit.

i'm sorry 😞  

Lewis 🏁

I'm going to need you tonight.

Lewis, i'm on a date.

Clem scoffs, but the smile on her face as she presses send is misleading.

Lewis 🏁

Is he getting lucky tonight?

NO!

Lewis 🏁

So why can't I?

Clem feels the familiar tingle in her core and places her phone face down on the table just as her date takes his seat in front of her again. 

She can't help the incredulous eyebrow raise she gives him as she sees a powdery substance painting his nostril.

"Yeah, it was nice meeting you, love." She smiles politely as she stands and motions for him to wipe his nose. He lifts his camera just as Clem drops enough money to cover her bill and tip the waitress generously. 

She hops into the black SUV, thanking her driver for helping her into the back. She unlocks her phone and sees another message from Lewis.

Lewis 🏁

My jet will be waiting for you.

That is precisely how Clementine ended up in Lewis' hotel room, waiting for him on the bed as he took a quick shower. 

When he emerges from the bathroom she can only offer him an uplifting smile, he looks so tired and so stressed. 

It helps, it always does which is why Lewis wanted her here in the first place. She was like sunrise after the darkest of nights.

"Hi," she coos, opening her arms for the muscly man.

He falls into her arms, his torso bare and his bottom half swaddled in a towel. He lays his head in her lap as she sits against the headboard. He looks up at her face as she stares down at his, and she physically pouts as she brings her fingers up to massage the stress lines from his face.

"That bad?" she whispers as his eyes flutter closed. Lewis sighs, grumbling out a faint "Yeah."

"You don't have to go through it much longer, at least." She tries and she knows it does nothing to take the heavy weight of mercedes off of his shoulders.

"You feel like you're carrying the weight of the world." She hums, her hands traveling down to rub the tension out of his neck. Her fist rubs up and down from the sides of his neck to the crook of his shoulders.

Lewis lets out a relaxed sigh, letting her work on him. 

She doesn't know how long she sits there with him snuggled into her lap as she kneads the tension from his body. 

After a while, she connects to his speaker and plays music. She has Lewis turn over onto his stomach as she slips from underneath him.

She hums as she sits on his bottom and begins massaging his back. "Your back is bruised."

"I was bouncing around like crazy in that fucking car." He curses.

Clementine bends down, pressing kisses around his back on the purple and red marks adorning his skin. 

Lewis closes his eyes, relishing in the comfort she gives him.

Lewis has noticed it, too, the turn their dynamic has taken. He is aware that he has given slight leeway to the emotional part of their relationship. 

He finds himself thinking about Clem plenty throughout the days. Buys things he thinks she'll like. He's grown accustomed to placing delicate pecks on her lips and face randomly throughout their time together; he can't help it.

Something about her has him wanting her all of the time, not even in th physical way. He just wants her to be with him.

"Can you come out to the race tomorrow?" He rasps.

She sits up, her legs still encaging his body. "Hmm, I don't think your publicity team will like that, people are already speculating about us."

"I don't care." Lewis argues, "It's about time you come to a race, wanna see you immediately not wait to get to the hotel and then see you."

His words make her heart thump harsher, and suddenly, all of the warnings from her publicist dissipate.

"Okay." 

Lewis didn't initiate sex between them that night. He simply turns over with her still on top of him and places his hands on her thighs.

"Come here," he whispers, reaching up to tug her head down to his face.

Their lips lock and it's not rushed or leading to anything. It's like how he kissed her in France. It's just sweet?

She can feel his heart against her chest as she is pressed against him, beating rampantly. "Thank you for showing up for me." He mutters against her lips. She grins against him as she remembers the words she scribbled onto the note she'd given him with her gift.

"Always." she breathes, diving back in to kiss him. One hand travels to her waist, and the other has a soft grip on the back of her neck. 

She feels his member poke against her thigh, and she sits up as much as she can with his hand on her neck, ready to free him from the towel, but the hand he had on her waist stops her actions with a grip on her wrist.

"I just want to lay with you tonight, if that's okay?"

Just when she thought she was safe from her tom-foolish thoughts, she felt her suppressed feelings for Lewis take light again. Don't make it weird, she thinks to herself. "Okay." 

Lewis sits up, his hand returning to her hip; she is sat in his lap, legs folded, and his body pushes her slightly back as he tugs on the comforter. He falls back taking her with him and pulls the thick comforter over her body which lays against his chest.

"What's one thing that surprised you about me?"

Clem traces her fingers on his chest in deep thought, "that you don't do relationships."

"Why that?"

"You're a lover boy at heart." Clem chortled, "Literally just a sweetheart. Most men who can't see themselves being with someone don't act as affectionate with women."

Lewis lets out a hmm sound, his hand still gliding up and down her back beneath his t-shirt that she wore.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Good, there's nothing wrong with being a sweetheart; bad if someone gets the wrong idea; I have a feeling you're an easy man to fall in love with."

Lewis presses a kiss to her hairline, butterflies doing summersaults in his belly. 

-

They wake up the next morning in the same position, with Clem's face nestled in the crook of his neck. Lewis smiles as he reaches over to turn off his alarm.

"Gotta get up, Clem." He soothes, rubbing up and down her back. 

"Mhmm." She moans in denial, cuddling deeper into him. "No."

"Come on, beautiful."

He sits up, forcing her up with him.

She flutters her eyes open and wraps her arms around his neck. 

He chuckles at her defiance, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and standing. He taps her thigh and she gets the message, wrapping them around his waist.

He walks her into the bathroom and sits her down on the bathroom counter. "Sit here, be careful." He orders, unraveling her from his body. He almost gives up and tucks her back into bed as she whines at him.

He leaves the bathroom and returns with a small bag of hers. She slumps against the mirror as she hears him rustling about. When she hears the faucet turn on and then feels his big hands massage circles into her cheeks, she opens her eyes.

There, she sees Lewis standing there with a cheeky smile, his hands lathered in her face soap as he massages the suds onto her face.

"Going to have to get my girl ready myself, huh?" He questions.

She only smirks at him and closes her eyes, letting him work through her skincare routine step by step, laughing as he inquires about every product.

When he finishes, he washes his own face and then passes her toothbrush to her. He stands between her legs as they both brush their teeth. Both of them stare at each other with googly eyes, laughing as foam bubbles from their mouths. When she leans over to spit into the sink, he follows shortly after and then pours a capful of mouthwash for her and them himself. And again, they stare into each other's eyes, giggly and gleaming, as they swish the liquid between their puffy cheeks.

This is where Clementine struggled with the status of their agreement. These weren't the actions of a man who didn't intend to be in a relationship. But she had heard of Lewis and his many flings and "friends" and she knew that he was a very affectionate person so once again she willed away the thought that there was any chnace of Lewis ever straying away from his bachelor lifestyle. 

She pats his shoulder beckoning him to step away, when he does she hops down and releases the last of the contents from her mouth into the sink and stepping aside so Lewis can do the same. 

"I'm going to grab my clothes." She informs.

As she lays her outfit options across the bed, she hears a vibration beneath her shirt, and she leans over the bed, patting until she finds the culprit. When she feels the device, she pulls it from underneath and sees that it's not her phone but Lewis'.

The screen lights up with notifications. 

One catches her eye from, Natalie.

Lewis did feel comfortable enough to disclose his other flings to her, and she nearly shit herself when he associated them all with cities. She remembers the way he laughed when she asked if she needed to get tested. Then she asked if he had referred to her as Clementine, NYC.

Natalie, Silverstone. She recalls.

It wasn't like she was intentionally snooping, but as the screen lit up in her hand again, she couldn't help but read the message as it appeared.

Still on for tomorrow?

At first, she feels a pang in her chest, but then she remembers her place, and she gently sits his phone on the nightstand, allowing the screen to turn off.

"Hey, you okay?" Lewis questioned, poking his head from the bathroom, realizing that she had stopped responding to him. 

She is stood facing the bed with her hands on her hips, scanning her oufits. "Yeah," she smiles though it doesn't quite meet her eyes. 

He eyes her quizically, but when she chuckles at his facial expression, pulls her outfit from the bed, and saunters into the bathroom with him, he relaxes.

Clem is in her head, and she hopes it's not obvious to Lewis.

But she can't help but wonder why he would fly her out just to make plans to sleep with another woman in the span of two days.

She's hurt, and she's jealous, and she knows she shouldn't be, but a part of her wants to slap the shit out of him. 

Instead, she refrains and plays into whatever sick bullshit he was playing with her heart unintentionally.

-

She arrives to the paddock with Lewis and she tries not to grimace as he tells a journalist that he brings friends with him to races all of the time, as they pass by.

He opens the door to the Mercedes motorhome like the proper gentleman he is and directs her into his room.

"I'm just going to change into my suit, and then we can head to the garage, okay?"

She nods and pulls out her phone. Already, she sees that they are trending. 

Lewis steps out of the room and leaves the door open. A few minutes pass before she hears an audible gasp.

When she looks up, she sees a bright-eyed George Russell.

"Hello, Hi! I'm George, I'm a big fan." He enters the compact room, his hand outstretched before him. She stands from Lewis' bed and accepts his hand.

"Hi, George, I'm Clem."

"I know who you are. What are you doing here?" He wonders.

"I'm a friend of Lewis'. I wanted to see you guys race today."

George stutters out a wow, beginning to ramble on before he is interrupted by a throat clearing at the door. There stands Lewis, with a burning look on his face that makes George immediately drop her hand.

"Lewis." He gasps, "How do you literally know everyone, man?"

She smiles, raising her eyebrows behind Lewis as George rambles about her.

Lewis claps his hands against George's shoulder before speaking, "I love you, kid. But we've got to get going."

And then he reached his arm around George and latched onto Clem and pulled her from behind him.

George stammers out a quick bye, and Clem waves sweetly at him as Lewis pulls her from the motorhome and towards the garage.

"He's so sweet," Clem coos, and Lewis only grunts out a "yeah."

"He looks like a literal prince charming." She extends.

Lewis doesn't want to hear her call his teammate any more kinds of cute, so he opts not to respond.

When they finally reach the garage, he is sitting her down beside Toto, who introduces himself with a warm and welcoming smile.

She accepts his hand, gently shaking it, and in return, Lewis gets whisked away.

She enjoys her time in the garage, whilst Lewis talk to his strategist she is sat beside Toto and a few engineers and she feels like she is on a field trip as they explain the many different parts of their setup. Finally Lewis appears at her side again, beckoning her to follow him. She accepts his hand, lifting from her seat and walking hand in hand with him to his car.

"Wow." she gasps as she studies the racing car.

"You want to get in?" Lewis questions. She turns to him with wide eyes, and Lewis can see the excitement in her dark orbs.

"You don't like people in your car." She reminds, peering back down at it.

"I said I don't let just anyone in my car, are you just anyone?" He is staring at her so intensely it has her body on fire.

She felt shy underneath his gaze as he stepped closer to her.

She stands tall, looking up at him through her lashes. He's nearly bumping chests with her as he looms over her.

"There's an entire team in here, Lewis, and cameras." She whispers only loud enough for the two of them to hear.

He doesn't care. He leans down, his mouth near her ear, "Are you just anyone to me, Clementine?"

She swallows nervously as he takes a step back, "No."

"Then get in the fucking car."

Toto watches on from his seat in amazement as Lewis lifts her frame into the car. He then turns and looks into the camera with his eyebrows raised as to show his impressment. 

He put two and two together that she was a personal guest for Lewis. It was obvious since Mercedes had already planned for Tom Cruise and Damson Idris' arrival for the race today.

Lewis leans into the car as he motions to different parts on the inside of the automobile. 

Clem honestly couldn't give two fucks about the car, but she was relishing in how passionate Lewis looked and sounded as he spoke about every aspect of it. She hadn't moved her eyes from his face not once, and Lewis froze as he turned to face her and saw the wanting look adorning her features.

It has him hard instantly.

"Behave." He warns, turning his head to survey their surroundings.

"You're fine as fuck when you're talking cars."

Lewis chuckles, and a blush comes up to cover his cheeks. He lifts his hand, his knuckles skimming along her jaw.

"I want to kiss you, but people will see."

She drops her face against his hand, puckering her bottom lip out at him.

"Aw, too bad." She whispers seductively, and Lewis whispers out a quiet "fuck." as she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. His thumb reaches up and drags it back out.

"Gotta be nice to me right now, Clem. Hmm?" He hums, not bothering to remove his thumb from her lip. He smears his finger across, watching as it pops back into place. 

"Help me out of this car." She smirks, lifting her arms, "Before you do something you'll regret, there are cameras around."

"I don't give a fuck about the cameras." He rasps and breaks out into a grin when she bursts into a fit of laughter. He smacks his teeth, standing up straight, preparing to get her out.

"You like fucking with me." He declares.

Lewis helps her from the car, his hands probably lingering on her lower back for far too long once she's back on the ground.

"Lewis." He hears, and when he turns around, he sees Tom and Damson.

He pulls Clem with him, introducing her to the pair. He instantly regrets it when he sees the way Damson eyes her down like she's a refreshing tall glass of water.

 Tom starts up a conversation with Lew about the business they need to handle for his upcoming movie, but his eyes can't leave Clem's frame, and how Damson brings her hand up to his lips. 

He feels like a suicidal maniac when he watches her laugh and smile at whatever he is saying.

He'd met him before, and trust, whatever he was saying couldn't possibly be that funny.

Lewis wants to rip Toto's head off as he directs the two of them into a set of empty seats. He was less than present during the conversation with Tom, and he hoped he hadn't noticed. His arms are folded over his chest, and his foot is tapping the ground anxiously. He tries not to make it obvious when he directs Tom to his spot and takes his in order to keep an eye on Clem.

When the time for the start of the race gets closer he is thankful to see Tom take his place beside Toto. 

He saunters over to the still chatty pair and stands in front of Clem. He waits for her to notice him, and when she doesn't, he clears his throat rather dramatically. 

She stands when she notices him, shooting Damson an apologetic smile that has him ready to drag her off. Which he does.

He pulls her to a corner of the garage and up the stairs into a random office and locks the door. 

"You okay." Clem questions, stepping towards him and placing her hands on his waist. "Lewis." she tries again when he doesn't answer.

He looks stressed and zoned out.

"I- uh yeah." he coughs and suddenly he feels better having her away from Damson. "i'm fine, pre-race jitters." He lies.

Her hands slide up his chest until they settle on the sides of his head.

She tilts his head so that he's staring into her eyes. 

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

"I'm regretting this." He admits and her eyes squint, "bringing you here, I mean."

That does nothing to alleviate her hurt expression, so he continues, "My car is still shit, I don't want you to watch me lose."

She scoffs, gently slapping her hand against his shoulder before returning it to its place caressing his beard. "Would’ve watched you lose at home too, what's the difference. I'm going to support you all the same."

Lewis leans down and presses a short, soft kiss to her plump lips.

Her eyes flutter closed as he stares down at her, and finally, his hands raised to her hips, pulling her into him. "I don't think that I tell you thank you enough for all of the ways you help me, Clem."

"You don't have to," she whispers, dropping her forehead against his chest. He rests his chin on top of her head, putting his arms over her shoulders as hers wraps around his torso.

Lewis likes this. He thinks he can start every race for the rest of his career like this. When he hears a knock on the door, he groans but shoots Clem a warning look as she chuckles at him.

"Big baby." she teases, moving around him to unlock the door. He maneuvers behind her, reaching to open it, and when he does, he sees Toto there with a knowing smirk.

"Time to race, Lewis."

She allows Lewis to pull her from the office hand in hand, and she knows her publicist is probably in New York and stressed running through cigarettes. She always joked that this Lewis rendezvous would result in her smoking her stress away.

Lewis knows something is wrong with him for sure when he realizes that he doesn't care about the camera or who's watching him show Clem his affection. He knows they're going to be the main topic of every tabloid tomorrow, and he just doesn't care.

She stands in front of him beside his car as the crew bustles around them.

When it's time for Lewis to finish his preparation, he motions his head towards Clem, and suddenly, her hands are stuffed with a balaclava and a pair of gloves. 

She turns to the man who handed them to her and he offers her a small smile. 

She turns to Lewis, and he can tell she's trying to fight off the grin that desperately wants to appear.

She reaches for his right hand, tugging the glove onto his hand gently, she checks each finger and pulls to make sure the fit is snug. She repeats her actions on his left hand and then Lewis firmly places his hands on her waist. He's looking at her with those sparkly eyes and a loving smile.

She turns the balaclava in her hands, trying to figure out which way to pull it over his head. When she sees the opening, she lets out an "Aahh" that has Lewis chuckling at her.

She stands on her tiptoes, freeing his braids from the ponytail and pushing them back. She hums to herself as she pulls the balaclava over his head. 

She settles back on her feet, and she can only see his eyes, but it does something to her. 

She reaches between them pulling the upper half of his suit up his body, giggling when he grunts realizing he's got to let go of her to push his arms through the sleeves.

His hands are back on her in an instant, like by not physically touching her he'd fly away.

Clem reaches between them again; this time, her fingers latch onto the zipper, and she tugs it up from his pelvis all the way up his chest until it's set in place. 

"I don't know, Lew. I think we've at least got a podium." She whispers, accepting the helmet.

She steps back, allowing his hands to fall, and then hands him the helmet.

"I can feel it in my bones." 

"Oh," Lewis laughs, "Can feel it in your bones?" He sticks out his free hand, tickling at her.

Clementine laughs, stepping back and gripping his arm, "Stop!" 

He listens, pulling on his helmet and looking back at his car.

"Well, that's me."

Clem feels like a lovesick puppy as she watches his eyelashes flutter with every blink of his eyes.

"Podium." She reminds him, lifting her pinky.

"Podium." He declares, wrapping his own against hers. He lifts their conjoined hands and places them against his helmet where his mouth would be, and she swoons.

"Get in the car, Hamilton."

She's a giddy mess as she steps away from him and finds herself accepting a seat from one of the crew members.

She sighed while watching the screen as Lewis started in P5. He is quickly into P4. She feels her adrenaline kick in as the crew cheers excitedly watching him overtake into third. When he overtakes two other drives all in the same lap the garage erupts in shouts of excitement, just for that to be taken away just as fast when they see a car barrel through off od the track and into the fence.

Clem gasps, her hand coming up to cup her mouth.

She knew Formula One was a dangerous sport, but watching a wreck like that happen in real-time has her mind reeling on just how much danger Lewis puts himself in.

"Is he okay?" She hears as the crew all talk amongst themselves.

"George is out of the race. The other driver is okay." Toto announces, "We're restarting."

Lewis is back in the garage, and he is irritated.

Clem stays back and out of his way as she watches him angrily rant. "That is not right, Toto." He snaps, "back in fifth?"

She watches as Toto nods at him, and Lewis turns to his assistant, rolling his eyes. He looks so frustrated as he throws his hand out, "fucking fifth."

Clem knew that when she was angry that she didn't like to be bothered, so she stayed in her seat. She feels a body plop down beside her, and she turns to see Damson.

"Intense, yeah?" He questions.

"Most definitely." She sighs, "My adrenaline is off the charts right now."

"First time coming to a race?"

She nods, returning the question, "Nah, this is like the NFL to Brits."

She laughs, "Right."

The two chat whilst the rest of the garage is in shambles, and Lewis watches the two with slits in his eyes. 

He knows he shouldn't be jealous. Clem was nothing to him but a friend who he enjoys fucking. It's what he tells himself as Damson passes his phone to her. She was just his friend. He'd even encouraged her to get out there and find her person.

But that was before he realized how differently she made his heartbeat.

Lewis doesn't bother going over to her before the race restarts, he can feel her lingering eyes as he manuevers around the garage, avoiding her.

Lewis feels a bit enraged. Initially, it was just the FIA and their stupid fucking rules, then it was the car, and now it was Clementine and the stupid British actor drooling over each other in his face.

It was all piling on top of him, and he hadn't felt so unsettled ever before a race. 

He hops back into his car, not sparing Clem a glance, and rolls out into P5.

This time the only thing on his mind is how fucking mad he is. 

That anger got him P3. 

He doesn't know why he doesn't approach Clem as she waits for him patiently in her seat. He goes around and thanks the crew and the engineers and has a brief talk with Toto and Tom. And then he leaves to go to the podium, all without even glancing at her.

Clem, always aware, remains silent and tries to keep the pout from taking place on her face.

She tries not to take Lewis' actions personal, it's obvious he's wound up. She doesn't know if it's something she did or if he's still frustrated by the race restart. Logically it's the second, she's learned that not everyone's behaviors have to do with her. It's taken years of her enternalizing other people's moods to realize that 9/10 people are just feeling things. She hasn't done anything, she's sure of it.

She is directed into the motorhome whilst Lewis handles other business and she sits in his room on his bed waiting patiently.

When Lewis had brought up the idea of bringing her to the race yesterday, he raved on and on about how she'd be able to walk the track, wait with his team whilst he's on the podium (if he got one), and get the classic guest experience. She hadn't gotten that, which was a letdown since she really wanted to experience Lewis' world, but she understood why that wasn't possible today after seeing Lewis' mood.

But still, it would have been nice not to sit in his motorhome and then the garage all day, just to end up back in his motorhome alone for hours. 

When Lewis emerges into the tiny room he is clean and dressed in comfortable clothes. He had been on the phone in the office preparing a few arrangements for the past hour. He sighs as he sees her frame sprawled across the tiny bed. 

There are soft puffs of air escaping her, and her phone is clutched loosely in her hand.

He can tell she fell asleep scrolling through her phone.

He sits on the foot of the bed at her feet and drops his head into his hands.

He doesn't know what he's doing. But he does know he can't keep going on like this. Lewis didn't like relationships, he didn't like being tied down, it wasn't fair of him to only want Clem to himself when she would never get all of him. 

"C'mon Clem, let's get you back."

Like the sleepy girl she is, she whines as Lewis pulls her body from the bed, placing her on her feet. 

"Can you walk?" 

She only nods, reaching over to grab her bag and her phone. She doesn't speak to Lewis quite yet, still unsure of his mood. She lets him direct her from the motorhome, his hand tight in hers as he leads her through the paddock. It is so late at night that there are rarely any people hanging around. When they exit and get to his car, the flashes from the cameras wake her up even more, and she uses the back of her hand to block the lights. 

Lewis walks her to the passenger side, waiting for her to slip in before he closes the door gently and goes around to his seat.

He pulls out cautiously and begins their trek to the hotel.

Clem forces herself to stay awake, knowing that it's only a short drive.

Still, she is waiting for Lewis to speak, but he doesn't. 

"I had fun," she announces.

"I'm glad."

"You got podium." She cheers lowly.

Lewis only offers her a small smile, and uncertainty settles in her gut. Something's not right.

She gives up trying to talk to him after that. 

The car is filled with tension and awkward silence. It's so unlike them.

When they pull into the hotel, Clem doesn't wait for the valet to open her door. She clambers out and thanks god as the night breeze fills her lungs. She's never felt so suffocated around Lewis.

As Lewis exchanges formalities with the man she rushes into the hotel and onto the elevator, when she reaches the room she unlocks it with the secondary key taking a moment to gulp down a glass of water.

Lewis follows in behind her shortly after, paying her no mind as he goes to the bathroom and emerges with his shirt and jewelry off.

"You got an attitude?" Lewis questions, standing in the doorframe.

"No, I don't." 

"I know you, Clementine." Lewis rasps, coming to stand over her as she sits on the bed.

"You're the one with the nasty ass attitude." She huffs, reaching up to nudge him away from her. He doesn't budge.

"Lose the attitude, Clem." He orders, and she rolls her eyes. 

"Or what, Lewis?" She pushes.

Lewis' hand is at her neck in a second. His grip is not tight at all, just holding her in place as he ravishes her mouth. Just as frustrated as he is, she returns the kiss.

"Got something for that attitude," Lewis grunts, pushing her onto her back.

She gasps as he roughly pulls at her pants.

He has them off before she knows it, and his hand lets go of her neck and travels down to pull at her panties. He rips them off of her with a hunger in his eyes like no other. 

"Gotta fuck it out of you, Clem?" He asks. 

He doesn't give her time to answer as he sinks down to his knees at the end of the bed and pulls her down with him. He lifts her legs over him and wraps his arms around her thighs. His hands settle on her thighs, keeping them apart, and he stares up at her one last time before connecting his mouth to her clit.

She jumps, but his hands hold her in place.

He removes his lips from her bundle of nerves, his tongue traveling down to swipe through her crease. She moans lightly as she fists at the sheets. His fingers travel up to replace his mouth, and he digs them deep into her core, his tongue flicking against her clit before he presses it flat and moves up and down.

Clem gasps as he curls his fingers inside her and suckles extra hard on her. Her hand shoots down to push him away, but he catches her wrist in his free hand, holding it against the mattress. 

He stares up at Clem, the whole scene naughty and erotic. He lets her other hand come down to rest in his hair. 

Lewis moans into her, his mouth sending a wave of vibrations through her body. Lewis never took his eyes off of her, watching as she writhed above him. He was showing her no mercy as the gushy sounds filled the room. 

She tasted so good.

Lewis worked his tongue around her clit, teasing her only for a minute before he smushed his mouth over it again and suckled just the right amount, his fingers still thrust in and out of her, driving her absolutely insane. He moans into her pussy and trails his mouth down to swallow where she is oozing. 

Lewis lets her captivating moans egg him on as he devours her like a starved man. He can feel it when she comes when her tight, spongy pussy constricts around his fingers. He happily licks up the juices she releases as she comes undone. 

He pulls his fingers from her core and stands, quickly turning her body over. She lands on her stomach with a slight "oomph" noise and turns to look back at Lewis.

He wastes no time hammering into her from behind. He grabs her arms pulling them behind her back and crossing her wrists; with one hand, he holds them against her back, and with the other, he swats at her ass. Groaning as he watches it ripple.

"Fuck."

Clem can do nothing but pant underneath him and let out pathetic mewls as his hand repeatedly strikes her ass. It hurts so good.

Lewis keeps pounding into her hard, his heart racing as he chases his own orgasm. He sees her phone light up beside him, and a message from Damson appears. 

When he sees this, he speeds up his thrusts, gliding his thick member in and out of her suffocating walls. 

She can only blubber out useless moans as he plummets in and out of her.

He lets go of her wrist, pulling her up onto all fours. 

"You get a thrill out of pissing me off?" He grunts, his hand going up to grip her hair.

"No!" she whines, gripping the covers.

"I think you do." 

His other hand is gripping her waist, pulling her back to him every time she falls forward.

"Nuh-unh." He orders from behind her, letting go of her hair and holding on to her waist tightly with both hands now.

"Don't run from it, baby. You wanted this, huh? This what you want?"

Clem rasps out a choked yes, her head falling at the intense pleasure running through her veins.

Lewis sounds like a beast behind her, all strangled up and growling out praises at her. 

He feels so possessive as his hand lifts and smacks at her ass again. "Fucking, mine." He growls, and Clem falls forward. He doesn't stop as her legs give in, and she drops to the bed again. He climbs behind her, still keeping his pace, and throws his head back as she quivers around him like a candle on fire. 

He can feel the heat building in his core, and it eggs him on as he places his hands on her ass, holding her in place.

Clementine spasms beneath him, never experiencing an orgasm like this before. Her heart feels like it's beating outside of her chest as her ears ring and her eyes roll to the back of her head. She can only curse over and over as she feels Lewis drag out of her and return again with much more force. 

This was the best sex she'd ever gotten in her life.

Her walls clenched around him, her breath hitching as he moved aimlessly in and out of her.

Lewis shuddered at the feeling, sucking in a sharp breath at the sensation. She is face down, panting into the mattress as he pants above her.

She can't count how many times she has come undone underneath him, but as she feels another orgasm approaching, she can't help the way her thighs tremble underneath Lewis. 

Lewis is an incoherent, mumbling and moaning mess above her as he allows himself to succumb to her squeezing cunt, clamping over him. Lewis falls into the abyss, pleasure washing over both of them as he spills into her.

He pulls out with a hiss, shuddering at his sensitivity, and falls over beside Clementine, who rolls onto her back.

"Woah." she pants.

Lewis feels her phone vibrate and he watches as she scambled down the bed to get it, he feels green as he watches her smile at the screen.

Just as she moves to lie beside him again, he speaks up with words that make her feel dismayed.

"I booked you a room."

He turns away from her, staring at the ceiling.

"I- What?" She stutters, turning to face him.  

"It's just a floor below, suite 909."

Clem is distraught, and it shows on her face as she jumps away from the bed as if Lewis has burned her. "Lewis, what-"

Her words are cut off as her phone vibrates in her hand. Lewis chuckles dryly, finally tilting his head to face her. Suddenly Clem feels like a little girl again, wondering why her parents never made an effort in her life, wondering why it was so easy for them to push her aside like they didn't care that she existed.

"What's the matter? Are we okay?" She rambles.

Stop talking, Lewis. He thinks to himself as he watches Clem's eyes flash with wetness. Even sad, she has doe eyes, still shining, but this time, there are tears in her eyes and an intense sadness. 

"Yeah," he should’ve stopped there, but he kept going. "I'll probably see you tomorrow. If not, it'll be the next time I need you." He motions to the bed.

Clem frowns, letting out an exhale as she bends down to tug on her pants. As she maneuvers around the room collecting her suitcase, Lewis calls out to her. "I put the room key beside your toiletry bag."

She slips into the bathroom, picking up her small bag, and sure enough, the keycard is there. She grasps it in her hand and walks out. She wants to scream at him, tell him how big of a dick he's being, but she's not that kind of person.

She is graceful. But it's taking everything in her to channel the lessons her grandpa has taught her when she is this mad, this hurt. 

Clem avoids looking at Lewis as she latches onto her suitcase. 

 "Maybe you should start considering finding someone who's serious, Clementine."

Is this what this is about? She knew the blurred lines would come back to bite her in the ass eventually.

She freezes, her back turned to him as her hand pauses on the door handle. And her body shakes slightly as a her frown deepens, she feels a stream of tears flow down her cheeks.

And just when Lewis thinks that Clem is going to turn around and argue with him, probably throw something at him and shout at him, she doesn't.

She lifts one hand, swiping at her face, and then softly opens the door and leaves without so much as looking back at him. The door clicks shut behind her, and she walks on down the hallway towards the elevator. 

The words don't react, echoing over and over in her head, but as she hears the wheel rolling on her suitcase, she can't help but feel the trembling in her body. She presses her lips together, stepping onto the elevator, and as the doors close, she lets out a gutwrenching sob. 

She sniffles as she steps into the suite. Rushing to the bathroom to shed her clothes, she showers wiping all traces of Lewis Hamilton from her body the way she wishes she can erase him from her mind. She scrubs harshly, eyes still full with tears, between the scorchingly hot water, steam and the tears she can barely see anything as she scrubs severely.

For the first time since agreeing to this arrangement, she feels used by Lewis. She's never felt so dirty in her life. As she sank down to her knees, feeling the wails rip through her body with force, she realized why exactly his words and actions hurt her so much. 

It didn't matter how much she showed up for him or how much she allows herself to be his shrink and him hers, it'd always be a bad religion, loving someone who'd never love you back.

Lewis is in the same position he has been in since she left, flat on his back with his hands covering his face. His body is quivering as sobs rack through his body.

It was a tough decision, but it was one that had to be made. He could never give Clem what she deserved; he wasn't a committed person. Seven years on and off with the same person is proof of that. He could never be okay with putting her through that.

-

Lewis wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache and lingering loneliness. 

He always felt like this when he woke up without Clem in his arms. As he sits up and swipes his hands over his face, his heart aches when he notices her ripped panties thrown on the floor.

He regrets his actions. 

He wishes he would've sat her down nicely and explained how things were getting too deep for him. It's Clem, she would've understood. 

He realizes just how bad he fucked up when her giddiness to lay beside him last night flickers through his mind like a clip from a movie.

"What if we lay in bed after every meetup and we just talk?"

He feels like he's been shot when her hurt face replays over and over. He treated her like shit last night, all because he was scared of what she made him feel. 

He was a mess during yesterday's race; all he could think about down every straight and around every curve was how much he liked Clem, how good she made him feel, and bad she could make him feel just as easily.

He realized that the woman had too much control over his heart yesterday, and he couldn't take that. This was supposed to be fun, casual fun. He never inteded to catch feeling for Clementine Russell, but she was the kind of girl who made you drop to her feet.

He never stood a chance against her charm.

He scrambled from the king-sized bed, rushing to his phone.

-

When he hears a knock on his door, he opens it in a rush; he sees the butler there and offers him a finger to signal to hold on. He rushes to his table, picking up the bouquet of flowers, an array of red, yellow, and orange orchids, dahlias, and marigolds. 

"Can you take these down to suite 909?" Lewis pants pushing the boquet towards the man, there is a note nestled between the pedals.

The man tilts his head, pushing the flowers back towards Lewis.

"I am sorry, Sir Hamilton, Ms Russell has checked out already in the early hours of Midnight."

Lewis feels his heart crumble as he steps away from the man, the giant bouquet firm in his hold.

Lewis says nothing as he closes the door and walks away. 

-

Clem had left that night, not long after leaving Lewis' room. After her shower, she was on the first flight home, and she hadn't spoken to Lewis since. 

Lewis misses Clementine. It's a realization that he came to rather quickly but refused to admit.

Lewis pulls himself out of the leggy woman he picked up at the end of his race. She drops down beside him in heavy pants. 

"That was fun." She exhales.

He doesn't know why when he turns his head, he expects to see Clem staring back at him with her dark eyes and cute smile. 

This woman is no Clementine, and that's for sure. 

He doesn't know why he tries it, but he does. "You can go anywhere in the world under one condition. You'd have to stay there forever; everything is unchanged, and nothing new will ever come. Where do you choose?"

He watches as her eyes scrunch momentarily in confusion.

"I don't know. It's probably Paris. I'm obsessed with their lifestyle, honestly."

Lewis turns his head back to the ceiling.

He wants her to leave. And he wants Clementine to be in her place.

It's quiet and awkward, and she doesn't even try to ask him. 

He already knows his answer. He'd be with Clem in his bed, hands connected as they lie naked underneath his covers, heads turned to each other as they talk. He'd watch on as the moonlight supersedes the darkness and the moonbeams are replaced with sun rays. And he'd listen to her feel things like she made him. And he'd be happy and content with spending eternity like that.

Everything unchanged, nothing new.

Lewis begins to think that maybe casual sex isn't for him anymore. Perhaps he's taking Clem's absence extra hard because he yearned for the other form of intimacy, the emotional aspect of being with a woman.

So he tries dating. 

And he comes to the same conclusion, date after date.

Their eyes don't gleam like hers.

They don't understand his humor.

They don't care about why losing his favorite toy as a kid was an integral part of the man he became.

They can't carry on discussions like Clem or even talk like Clem.

They don't have her precious smile and her deep dimples. They're not gracious and benevolent.

They aren't Clem, no one ever will be.

Lewis craves Clem; he misses her with every fiber of his being.

And he regrets letting her up from his bed. He regrets telling her to pursue another man. 

When Lewis returns to New York, his thumb lingers over the send button.

clemmy 🪂

I need to see you, where are you?

He doesn't send the message; he drops his phone with a sigh, knuckling at his eyes. Why was it so fucking hard? He'd never felt this troubled in his life, especially over a woman he'd never even dated.

He sighs in distress, picks up his phone, stares at the message begging to be sent, and clicks off of the app. Instead, he opens his Instagram. As he goes to search for Clem's name, he sees that she is still his top search, and he feels like a loser as he enters her profile.

He'd take any sight of her he could get.

-

Clementine wouldn't say she was necessarily religious. Her grandpa would probably drop dead of a heart attack if he heard that. But it was the truth. She thought it was fairytale-like sometimes. Yes, she had faith, but she wasn't as devout as many people. 

If she was being honest, she thought religion began as something beautiful, putting your complete trust and faith into another person, with the idea that they were quite literally the holy grail. Over time, it's been skewed and manipulated, some for great purposes and others for very wrong reasons. 

She thought most religious people were hypocrites. Lewis was a hypocrite for sure, giving her an inch and then taking a mile. Now that she has had time to ponder over it, Lewis Hamilton is actually a sick man. Pouring affection into her and poisoning her heart. 

How did he expect her not to fall for him when he treated her the way he did? She feels like a fool herself, too, thinking back to the conversation she had with him the night before it all went to shit. 

"You're a lover boy at heart." Clem chortled, "Literally just a sweetheart. Most men who can't see themselves being with someone don't act as affectionate with women."

Lewis lets out a hmm sound, his hand still gliding up and down her back beneath his t-shirt that she wore.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Good, there's nothing wrong with being a sweetheart; bad if someone gets the wrong idea; I have a feeling you're an easy man to fall in love with."

Lewis was a hypocrite, and she was too. 

But the truth is religion gave people purpose. She'd never felt it firmly in a spiritual sense, but she had experienced that strong urge to follow someone's every command. She's believed every word that tumbles from his mouth. Given the opportunity, she would surely drop to her knees at his feet. She's only ever felt the need to praise and put her limited faith and her secured trust into one person. Sure, she had faith, just in a bad religion. She admired one man, Lewis Hamilton, but there was one problem, she could never make him love her the way she loved him.

Clem took his advice. She branched off, presented herself in new ways, made new friends, developed herself, and found someone who would take her seriously, though that didn't last long at all. 

clementine

liked by feliciathegoat, pharrell, and 12,898,465 others

clementine so, they've helped me make an album? Clementine, NYC out now on all streaming platforms !! 

view all comments

feliciathegoat Cool kids doing cool shit 🏌🏿

clementine the coolest 😎

lilyachty ALBUM OF THE FUCKING YEAR

clementine 🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️

user no bc who did my girl like that

clementine no really, it's okay though builds character 😃

user builds character my ass, go beat his ass

user A MOVIE AND MUSIC IN THE SAME YEAR ASVJHKHK WHEN DO WE GET SEASON 2???

clementine yk im filming girl 🙄

clementine

liked by danielricciardo, justinbieber, and 10,898,465 others

clementine two post in one day bc why not, what's everyone's favorite song from Clementine, NYC?!?

danielricciardo In your hands slaps

clementine you sir, have great taste 😘

user daniel what are you doing here 😭

user No really, weird ass crossover episode

user the blue hair to match the album cover the movie * chefs kiss*, your creativity is unmatched queen

clementine you noticing the small details >>>

justinbieber posting us arguing over the order is killing me

clementine no bc we both look so over it 😂

user I love her and Tyler's friendship sm

feliciathegoat i love my bestie

clementine and I love u T 🥹

-

Lewis instantly throws in his airpods and starts the album, one by one he listens to each song. Sure enough every song has small anecdotes about their time together that only he'd know.

He was aware that he was blurring the lines between just benefits and true feelings, but he didn't know that he wasn't the only one feeling strongly about it. He never took her feelings into account.

Just when he thought he couldn't feel any worse about the situation, that realization dawned on him. Clementine Russell loved him and he threw her to the curb like a bag of trash. 

He's throwing on whatever clothes he sees first as he rushes from his door. 

He doesn't bother calling his driver as he treks block after block; he has one destination in mind, Clem's townhome. 

He's there before he knows it, his fist urgently banging against her door. 

He sees a light flicker on through the window, and then her door swings open.

She's in her nightshirt with her hair wrapped in a scarf, and her eyes are puffy from sleep. When she sees Lewis, she begins to swing the door back closed, but his hand pushes against it.

"No, Lewis." She snarls, swinging the door open again. She is looking at him like he's the devil himself. "I don't want to see you, I don't want to talk to you, I don't even want to think of you."

"Clem, please." He begs, "Please, I can't take it."

She pauses at the door, taking her time to study the man in front of her. He looks bad, simply put.

His eyes are bloodshot and droopy with bags, his braids are disheveled and clearly in need of a touch-up, and he just looks all around miserable.

She almost gives in until she thinks back to the last eight months where she had been miserable herself. She smacks her teeth swinging the door closed until she hears Lewis shout out three words that take her back to when the roads got foggy, Cannes. When she realized the difference in how she actually felt for Lewis.

"I love you."

She peels the door back open and stares at him intensely. "What did you say?"

He looks like he's watched his whole world get taken away from him as he repeats himself, "I love you. Don't shut the door, please."

"It's not fair, Lewis." She fumes.

"I know." He whispers, and his voice cracks.

"You don't get to do this to me." Clem snapped. "You can't just make me feel things for you and then push me away. You can't make me love you and then hurt me and tell me you love me when it's too late."

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry, isn't enough." She hissed angrily, approaching him and poking his chest. 

He reaches up and grabs her hand, holding it close to his chest. She feels him shudder underneath her touch, and his body begins to shake.

"Clem, I'm sorry." his voice is hoarse and thick as he peers down at her, and she cracks when she feels a teardrop against their connected hands. "I'm sorry."

Her forehead drops against his chest, and he wraps his arms around her. "You didn't deserve that; I should have just told you; I was scared; you broke all of my walls, Clem; I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to hurt you in the end."

"But you did, " she cries.

"I know, I did; I was scared of commitment, was scared I would ruin us further down the line." He presses a kiss to the top of her head, "I'm not scared of commitment, Clem, not anymore. I just don't want to be committed if it's not to you."

"You don't mean that." Clem breathes. 

"I promise I do, Clem."

She steps back from him, letting his arms fall to his side. "You made me feel dirty."

He opens his mouth, and she puts up her hand, "Let me talk. I let you disrespect me, Lewis. I should be done with you. I should be over you. I don't care how much I feel for you; if you ever, and I mean ever, speak to me that way or treat me like I'm nothing ever again, all gracefulness is out of the fucking window."

"I understand." He breathes, "I will never, Clem, and I mean never treat you like that again."

It's ironic, the two of them standing infront of each other as the sky illuminates in yellow and orange hues. 

"It's six in the morning." Clem sighs.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"I wasn't supposed to be here today; you almost missed me," Clem informs.

"I would've found you. Lost you once already. I didn't know how much I cherished what we had until I no longer had it. Until I lost it. I don't want to lose you forever, too."

"It's almost spring," Clem announces. 

"Gonna take you to that mountain, Clem." He promises, pulling her into his arms again.

"I've missed you so much. There were so many things I wanted to talk to you about. I missed talking to you." She admits and Lewis holds her tighter.

"I missed listening to you. Swear I did." 

"Are we still friends?"

"No, we're more than that. We should’ve never been friends. Always meant to be more." 

"I wrote an album about you." She sighs.

She feels Lewis hum against her. "It's beautiful."

"I talked so much shit about you, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry for feeling Clem, I was a shit person to you." 

"My hair is blue." She announces, and he chuckles; there she was, his Clem talking his head off.

"Starting over, right?"

"Yeah, starting over."

Although they weren't laying in bed on their backs hands connected and staring through the ceiling like it was their sky. Things felt familiar to the two as the sun rose and light beamed around them.

Lewis was her sunset, the beauty that comes after a hard and blaring day. To him, she was the sunrise. After the darkness, it will always be light again. She was his light source, and he knew that now. He could never lose something that's always shining. 

"Thank you for showing up for me."

Not proofread

the album:

bad religion - frank ocean

in your hands - halle

i think- tyler, the creator

saturn- sza

broken is the man- jorja smith

everything is gonna be alright- infinity song

everything- kehlani

mine- beyonce ft drake

poison- beyonce

are we still friends- tyler, the creator

eternal sunshine- jhene aiko

<3

[saturnville]

Voting for more hamilton content!!!

wash day, l. hamilton

pairing: he (lewis hamilton) x she (black fem oc) content: non-physical intimacy is just as important as physical intimacy. warnings: none. an: the girlies want lh content, so here we are! likes are cool, but we love reblogs and comments! let me know what you think <3

The soft pallets of her fingertips danced along his scalp. Her manicured nails brushed the sides of his temples, swiping away any beads of stress and insecurity that might have lingered longer than needed. Her gentle actions pulled a moan from his throat. She smiled softly.

A soft hum from the fan in the bathroom was the only sound that could be heard. That and the sloshing of the water in the tub when they moved ever so slightly. 

She combed through the beautiful coils upon his head with her fingers carefully. With ease, the knots and tangles broke away. Strands of his hair fell upon her wrist as she raked through his locks. 

Wash day was her favorite as much as it was his. It was a time for intimacy between them that did not require any sexual activity. Non-sexual intimacy was important. She stood by the sentiment and was willing to die on the hill most desired to climb upward in competition. There were important things, she noted, that deserved cultivation and just as much attention as learning her partner’s body. If she was honest, she felt closer to him in moments like these compared to when his body was pressed against hers.

She easily remembered the first time she participated in wash day with him. She came over one Sunday afternoon and found him in the bathroom scrubbing away at his scalp with his shirt drenched in water. She vividly remembered giggling at his state and offering to lend a hand, which he desperately needed. Sure, some people did his hair for him, but he figured he’d try it out himself. He did learn, however, he enjoyed it when she did it. There was something about being trapped between her legs as she wrapped his ringlets around her fingers, that he couldn’t get enough of.

“My hands are starting to prune,” she admitted as she dropped her hands into the water. She swished her hands to remove the remnants of deep conditioner trapped between her fingers. “You let this sit for a few minutes. I’m gonna rinse off in the other shower.”

She pressed her hands against the floor of the tub to push her body up, but his hands against her thighs halted her movements. “Mhm, stay.” His fingers danced along her calves. 

“By the time you get out, I’ll be waiting for you. I don’t want to shrivel up,” she replied, tapping his shoulder. With a dissatisfied groan, he released her body from the trap he had her in. She pecked his neck as she stood to her feet. 

His eyes were on her as she walked towards the rack that held her black towel. His eyes followed the droplets of water that slivered down her chest, to her hips, and down her brown legs. His tongue grazed over his lip. She sent him a wink before exiting the bathroom and starting towards the other one. 

He joined her hardly ten minutes later. She jumped when she felt his hands on her hips. She turned in his arms, gently shoving his shoulder as a repercussion for scaring her. The playful scowl on her lips did nothing but only egg on his desire for her. 

“Sorry, baby,” he mumbled, drawing her wet body close to his. She hummed in response, allowing her lips to brush against his. Her teeth gently nipped along his bottom lip before capturing his mouth completely in a steam-filled kiss. She swallowed his quiet noises and broke away before his wandering hands spurred her on. 

The warm water beating against them only intensified the heat burning between them. By the time the fire was extinguished, the water was as cold as a winter day, probing them to exit the shower.

“You don’t make yourself discreet at all,” she said while looking over her shoulder at her lover who smiled innocently. He was perched against the doorframe, a gray towel tied tightly around his waist. His damp hair leaked small droplets of water that slid down his bare chest. He smiled at her. 

She shook her head and continued to moisturize. She slid on a clean shirt and underwear. She sat on their shared bed and ushered for him to get dressed so she could finish his hair.

“You want two pieces left out or not?” she trailed off once he sat on the floor between her legs. Beside her was the “hair bin” filled with the creams, serums, gels, and oils they used on their thick locks. 

“No,” he replied, lifting his arms to place them on her thighs. His fingers drew imaginary doodles on her skin. Mumbling a quiet, “Okay,” she retrieved what she needed from the hair bin and began combing his hair softly.

Small conversations and little comments were made, but, a comfortable, silence dawned over them. She was focused on parting, moisturizing, and braiding his ringlets,  and he was basking in the relaxation he felt. He nodded off a few times, only to be awoken by her giggles.

“I’m almost done, baby,” she assured. She took a nice amount of oil in her palms and rubbed them together, taking the time to massage his scalp softly. She ran her hands over his hair, watching as the curls jumped under her fingertips. She wiped her glistening hands on an old towel and then patted his shoulder. 

“You’re good to go. Tie it up.” She tossed a black durag at him, which he caught with easily. 

“Thank you, baby.” He kissed her gently. She smiled and pushed the hair bin to the side, making a mental note to put it away in the morning.

Tiredly, she pushed her body up the bed and swiped her scarf from underneath her pillow. It was silk and smelled like a variety of oils. She tied the fabric around her twisted hair and laid against the pillow. Just moments later he climbed in bed next to her. He was quick to engulf her in his arms and press a gentle kiss against her forehead.

“You know I love you right?”

“Mhm,” she hummed. “I love you too. That’s the only reason I’ll spend four hours doing your hair every month.” 

“I’m lucky to have you,” he said in response. His words were muffled as his lips moved against her neck. She sighed softly at the feeling of the open-mouthed kisses against her neck and his hands against the flesh of her thighs. 

“I’m lucky to have you,” she replied quietly. “and also lucky that wash day is over. I’m going to bed; cuddle me.”

Lewis hummed and slid his hand beneath her shirt, palming the heavy flesh of her chest. “Yes ma’am.”

[lostinlewis]

Rating: M

Words: 2178

You typed the six digits into the keypad of his door like it was just another Sunday visit, you knew it was significant that he had kept the code the same for the past few months, significant or slack, but you knew him better than to believe he would be slack about anything, least of all his security. 

Lewis had practically invited you over, first the thirst trap he posted to Instagram, the one in which he made sure to show the Cream cushion you had bought him last year, the one in which told you he was back in London for the first time in months, and then with the caption that was quite clearly a response to you. He was ready, he was telling you he was ready. 

The house was empty but for the soft music that played through every speaker in the house, something Lewis had insisted on installing the moment he bought the house, just so he could spend nights with you dancing from room to room as you drank wine and made plans for the future. 

‘I thought you were over me?’ His voice came from the stairway as you passed it, his tone completely unreadable. ‘I thought you said that you never wanted to see me again?’

You turned to face him, he hadn’t bothered to get dressed post work-out, instead he was standing on the stairs with nothing but a White towel wrapped around his waist, the tie working overtime to keep it from falling to the floor. A part of you wished it would, you needed him disarmed, you needed him to not question your presence nor your reasoning, but you also knew the luck always laid with him.

‘We both said a lot of things.’ 

You tried so hard to project confidence in your voice but he could hear the way in which you trembled with fear. You had worked so hard to convince yourself that he was not the man for you, countless nights spent reading romance novels in which the male love interest displayed obvious and cliched signs of affection just to try and trick your brain into wanting that over a man who always struggled with his emotions. Yet here you were again, six months after you swore you would never speak to him again, you stood at the bottom of his stairs watching him descend towards you looking like some kind of god from the heavens. 

‘You kept the code the same, that’s not like you?’ 

Lewis smiled as he met you at your level, both of you the same height had meant that as you gazed into each other's eyes it was virtually impossible to break away. It also meant that when he moved but a breath away from you, it forced you to feel the warmth of his lips almost against yours, teasing you with the possibility of feeling them once more, daring you to be strong enough to resist. 

‘I told you as you walked out the door six months ago, I was never going to stop you from coming back to me and I meant it. If I changed the code you would have made it as far as the gate and turned away, wouldn’t you? I couldn’t risk losing the chance to see you because of one little code now, could I?’ 

He was so close to you now it felt like he was touching you, your skin yearned for the feel of his, your waist ached to be held, and yet he was polite, he was cautious with you, he resisted the urge to do anything but look into your eyes. 

‘Why Lewis? Why now?’ 

His eyes traced down your nose until they fixated on your lips, forcing you to part them, your body reacting to his on instinct as if time was irrelevant and it was only yesterday that it belonged to him. 

‘Because…’ Somehow he moved even closer to you, this time his hands found their place on your hips like they had nowhere else to rest. ‘I really needed to do this.’

The very moment his lips met yours you felt your whole body relax, it was then that you realised that for the past six months you had been tense, your muscles in knots constantly, every fibre of your being felt off without his touch. 

He was so greedy with his lips, devouring your own as one hand lay on your waist, the other moving down your ass to hold it, pulling you so close to him now you could feel his excitement pressed against you. 

Lewis took control so naturally that you never had to think of a thing when he was around, and that included during intimate moments like this. With one swift movement he had your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you up the stairs to his bedroom like you were as light as a feather, placing you down on his bed to really get a look at you. 

It didn’t matter to him that you were fully dressed. Of course he knew every inch of your body, he had studied it enough, but as he stood to the end of the bed just looking at you, it wasn’t your naked body he was admiring, it was the whole of you. That was the part of romance novels that he always had them beat, whilst he was never one for flowers on a random Tuesday, nor was he one to make public declarations of love, the look in his eyes as he stared at you was so filled with love that even Jane Austen would struggle to find the words to describe it. 

‘Come here…’ 

Your plea a whisper, barely audible over the music that continued to play, but he knew what you wanted from the way your body arched towards him, begging him to join you on the bed.

He let the towel fall to the floor with no shame, every inch of the man you remembered, he climbed in between your still clothed legs and seemed to take delight in getting to undress you. As his fingers undid your clothing to reveal another piece of you, his lips warmed the newly bare skin, the perfect excuse to taste every part of you. 

The very moment he had you stripped bare he could do nothing for a moment but look at you once again, Lewis saw all of you, the stretchmarks you hated, the scars from childhood too, yet what you viewed as a flaw, he viewed as perfection. He had told you so many times before how you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and as he knelt between your legs, his eyes unable to take in enough of you at one time by the way they darted from skin to skin, you could see it was the truth. 

When desire became too overwhelming for him to fight any longer, he wrapped a hand around your ankle pulling it up to meet your lips. Lewis loved the taste of you, sure he would spend hours between your legs if he could, but he loved the taste of your skin, as he kissed from your foot, up your leg, you heard his breathing get deeper, the odd soft growl leave his lips. Nothing satisfied him more than having the taste of you on his tongue. 

He wasn’t shy about eating pussy, nor did he ever start off slow. Being granted permission to live between your thighs for that period of time made him show you just how much he appreciated it. His lips wrapped around the hood of your clit as he kissed it first, before he sucked your clit into his mouth just to hear the gasp leave your lips, and feel your whole body rise off the bed. 

‘Fuck…Lewis…oh my god.’

The words fell off your lips as if pleading for mercy would do anything but spur him on. Every moan made him tease your clit with his tongue harder, every time your hands gripped at the sheets he drove his tongue deeper inside of you. Lewis could make you feel things that even you couldn’t do to yourself, and no one else on earth could make you cum just as quickly as he did. 

Your moans now were continuous, the waves of pleasure that ran through your body unstoppable. You could feel it building quickly, you knew he could too. Lewis ground into the mattress to satisfy himself just a little as he flicked at your clit with a pulsation that bettered any Rose vibrator. 

Your breath held still in your chest as you peaked, feeling the explosion in every nerve ending in your body you shook violently on the bed as he held your waist down, ensuring that he could eat you through every wave and then into a state of sensitive ecstasy. It was only when he felt you jerk with every lick that he came up for air. His beard proudly carrying remnants of your pleasure, he licked his lips with a satisfied smile on his face.

If it wasn’t for how incredibly hard he was, his dick practically pulsating in desperation for your help, you would have thought he got himself off too but he hadn’t, he was saving that for you. 

Your hands reached for his dick, you always needed them both to really hold him, before he grabbed your wrists and placed them above your head as he laid his full weight on top of you, nibbling at your throat. 

‘I need to be inside of you.’ 

His words growled into your ear as he sucked on your earlobe, you could feel the tip of his dick threatening to enter you as he tried so hard to hold back. You knew that it meant he wouldn’t last long, he never could when you had been away from each other for so long, not that you cared a bit. It could have been three strokes and he was done and you still would have loved every single one. 

‘Let me…’

In his weakened state you knew just what to do to make him feel good. Lewis fell to the bed as you climbed on top of him, hovering over his dick so close that you began to drip over it, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. He was painfully erect now, his desire for you almost torturous. 

‘Please baby…’

He begged you for it with a look in his eyes that was so incredibly vulnerable you could do nothing but take pity on him. Sitting down on him slowly you felt him stretch you with every inch that he filled you with. Lewis hissed as he bottomed out inside of you, his fingers digging into your hips so brutally you knew he would leave a mark for days. 

You could feel him pulsate with desperation inside of you as you kept still, it felt cruel almost to tease him, yet you never wanted this moment to end. Lewis had had enough now, his hands on your hips began rocking you, encouraging you, pleading with you to show mercy and fuck him just how he needed to be fucked in that moment; you obliged. 

One of your hands on the compass that decorated his torso, the other held his to your breast, you began to ride him fast, your ass bouncing up and down on him so quickly the room filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin. 

Lewis had never been ashamed to be loud, he always made sure to let you know how good you were making him feel, and so his grunts, his groans, the deep moans he sang into the air only encouraged you more. 

The burn in your thighs was so intense now yet not a single part of you could stop. His body began to jolt, his hands grabbed desperately at your hips to try and take back a semblance of control, but you wouldn’t give it to him, you wouldn’t let up. Your rhythm unmatched now as you rode him, you heard his breathing labour now as his orgasm teetered on the edge. 

‘Give it to me, Lewis. I need it.’

Your sentence had barely rolled off your tongue before he did just that. His hips thrusting up to meet you as he groaned out his orgasm, reams of cum decorating your walls, so much so it was as if he wanted to make sure you would never be empty of him again. 

You fell forward onto his chest, your head finding the crook of his next as if it belonged there, his dick softening inside of you but not wanting to leave your warmth. For the first time in six months it felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be, wrapped in the big arms of the only man you had ever loved.

‘I’m not letting you go this time. I’m ready…’