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lewisloved · 1 year

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Workplace Crushes and Life Lessons (Lewis Hamilton x reader)

Lewis Hamilton x Engineer!Reader

Summary: You having a crush on Lewis and the development of said crush throughout the years working alongside him at Mercedes.

Word count: 5.9k

Warnings: Pining, alcohol, language, awkward reader, maybe age gap? (I imagine reader being a bit younger than Lewis, but don’t think I mention it)

A/N: A love the idea of this fic as my dream is to work in F1 so I hope you enjoy it. I’m always open to constructive criticism and feedback <3 Also, I don’t know anything about engineering so bear with me haha.

2018

Imposter syndrome would properly best describe the feeling you had. You felt like the biggest con the world had ever seen and was sure that people would see right through you as soon as you stepped foot at your new job. Surely it could only be a mistake, a misunderstanding. You must have oversold yourself at the numerous interviews and soon the truth would be out. You had to do your breathing exercise in the car to calm yourself down. Fuck, you hoped no one could see you.

You discreetly wiped your palms in your pleated trousers as you walked across the parking lot, the cold November air making you shiver. You had opted for a nicer coat which of course was not as warm as you could have wished. But first impressions were important and if you were going to disappoint, you might as well do it with style. As you entered the reception, you approached the desk and introduced yourself.

“Hello sir, I’m meeting with Mr. Thomson. It’s my first day as a simulation and modelling engineer,” you told the receptionist. He politely asked you to take a seat while you waited.

You sat and waited patiently in the reception trying not to fiddle too much with your clothes. Your fingers itched to pull on a small loose thread on your shirt and you had to put all your focus on one of the overhead lights to not give in. The light was too bright, you thought. It couldn’t be healthy for the eyes.

You were so concentrated on the light that you almost missed the person entering the reception and strolling through. He walked with such confidence that you couldn’t stop yourself envying him. You couldn’t help feeling disappointed when he didn’t walk past where you sat. Not that you would have done anything, you would just have liked to see him up-close. Instead you were left wondering if Lewis would be just as pretty from a closer distance. As he walked up the stairs, he turned around and gave you a small smirk. Your cheeks heated from the feeling of getting caught staring and you quickly looked to the other side, making it all the more obvious.

It didn’t take long for you to confirm that yes, he was just as beautiful as you could imagine. He had such a glow over him. At the championship celebrations in December, you almost asked him what his skincare routine was. You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from an embarrassing situation.

It was the first time the two of you talked. The conversation couldn’t have lasted for more than two minutes, but you felt absolutely electrified. It wasn’t anything special, just introductions and him thanking you for your contribution. You laughed and told him that you had barely worked there for two months so there wasn’t much to thank you for. He laughed at your honestly and you were sure you looked like a teenage girl talking to her school crush.

Your co-workers teased you later in the evening. Said they had never seen anyone blush so hard before. Said that you should give it some time, then it would pass, it wasn’t uncommon to be infatuated by Lewis when you first met him. He just had a way of charming people. Yeah, yeah, you said as you brushed them off, playfully rolling your eyes.

Before you went to sleep that evening, you couldn’t help letting your hands wander and imagining they were Lewis’.

2019

As months went by you slowly felt more comfortable in your new role. The misunderstanding was not a misunderstanding after all, and there wasn’t any hints of disappointment in your coworkers eyes. If you still struggled with feeling underqualified, you managed to hide it quite well from your coworkers and managers. Word spread in your department about you being a natural talent and a great asset to the team. Your mum always told you that it was women’s greatest flaw; not being able to believe that the work they do is sufficient enough. It was quite tiring with all the pressure you put on yourself and as your mum had told you many times before, you should go easier on yourself.

In preparation for the 2019 season you had to work closer with Lewis and Valtteri. Setting up the simulator for them and working with their feedback. The first time you and Lewis worked together was in January. He was energetic, hungry for the new season, and you were a little overwhelmed if you were being honest. Being quite nervous working alone with him for the first time while also working just the two of you, you munched too many mini chocolate bars whilst monitoring the simulator. Your mum had stuffed your bag with them after Christmas.

A little lost in your own thoughts, Lewis spooked you as he cleared his throat indicating he was finished. Your cheeks flushed for what felt like the 100th time that day. You kept scowling yourself for appearing so unprofessional, but you honestly couldn’t help yourself. Every time he talked or looked at you, the blood in your cheeks betrayed you and your lips couldn’t connect properly with your brain.

“You have a little something there,” Lewis said while pointing above his own lips, indicating where it was.

Your eyes widened and you quickly tried to brush away what you could only assume was the treacherous chocolate. You fumbled, trying to see your reflection in the computer screen to assure that you had removed it all.

Lewis stood up and closed the space between you. “You keep missing it, let me help,” he said as he rubbed his thumb on the small space above your upper lip. “There you go,” he grinned at you, clearly noticing the effect his actions had on you.

“Thank you sir,” you miraculously found yourself able to answer, while trying to ignore your heart beating at an unnatural speed.

“You don’t have to call me sir, it makes me feel like an old man,” he laughed. “I told you to just call me Lewis.”

“Well, thank you Lewis then,” you nodded, wanting to appear calm and collected. Wanting him to not think of you as a helpless creature.

He smiled at you, eyes crinkling and gap between his teeth showing. Finally, he thanked you for today and walked out. You had never felt anyone having quite this effect on you. You chose to blame it on his celebrity status. You always had a soft spot for famous people, all the way back to your Backstreet Boys obsession in your adolescence. This was no different and you were sure it would pass with time as you would get used to working with him. Admittedly, you found yourself a bit too old for having a celebrity crush, but that was no one’s business but your own.

Months went by and Mercedes were continuing their high. It was great to be a part of and you felt pride from being able to contribute. It became a nice tradition that you and some of the other women from work would go the pub and watch the races together. You felt content, happy to be part of a group. It was nice that the women stuck together.

Over a pub afternoon turned into a pub night, you had a beer too many and confessed how captivated you were with Lewis. They all laughed and then gave you the nickname Mrs. Hamilton. The playful banter continued for the rest of the evening and as you shared a cab home you all moaned about how fucked you were going to be for work the next day. At least you were in it together, you all agreed.

As you woke the next morning your body was filled with regret. You definitely had three beers too many last night and the pounding headache was living proof. An ounce of shame washed over you as you remembered your drunken confession to crushing on Lewis. However, you were quick to brush it away as you told yourself that they were your friends. They wouldn’t judge you. At least that’s what you hoped.

Tuesday, Lewis was back at the factory and ready to work in the simulator. As the two of you sat and went over some notes, Anna and Janet from the IT department spotted you and made their way over. Lewis was sitting so he was neatly hidden and it was clear that they hadn’t seen him, else they wouldn’t have disturbed you.

“Who do we have here, if it isn’t Mrs. Hamilton herself,” Anna snickered as Janet’s eyes widened when she noticed you weren’t sitting alone. She quite noticeable pinched Anna’s arm and your mouth fell open in shock. You didn’t dare look at Lewis and instead tried to signal to Anna and Janet to fix it. Eyes begging them to do something, anything that could save the situation.

“Sorry! Mr. Hamilton, I meant to say, I don’t know where that came from” Anna promptly corrected herself, giggling nervously. You almost wanted to roll your eyes, but honestly, what else could she say. “Well, we just wanted to congratulate you on your win Sunday. Really great job, well done, good for the team!” She continued, trying to sound cheerful, while Janet nodded, wanting to look convincing.

Lewis looked taken aback, clearly not used to people interrupting him for small talk while working. “Thank you very much. That’s very kind of you,” he smiled politely at them. You let go of a breath you hadn’t even noticed you were holding in. Realistically you knew Lewis wasn’t stupid, but you still told yourself that you had gotten away unescaped, your secret still hidden.

As they finally left, scrambling away while quietly giggling, you carefully looked at Lewis who was already looking at you.

“Are they your friends?” He asked. As you hurriedly looked at your computer, you missed the way his lips formed into a small smirk.

“What? Those two? No, I’ve barely talked to them before,” you lied, trying to remember where you left off, wanting to get this meeting over with as soon as possible. He hummed and nodded, not wanting to do further damage.

After Lewis left you almost ran to Anna and Janet’s department to give them a good old scowl, but as you were just getting into it, you all doubled over laughing. Tears streaming down your faces, some from embarrassment and some from the sheer absurdity of the situation. Hopefully Lewis hadn’t given the whole interaction a second thought.

Once again Mercedes won the Constructor’s and Lewis won the Driver’s Championship, and once again everybody’s spirits were high at the celebrations in December. Lewis and Valtteri made their obligatory rounds, thanking people, showing gratitude, making small talk. You were pouring yourself another glass of champagne, quietly lost in your own thoughts, enjoying the buzz from the alcohol. You were wearing a long dark blue satin dress that hugged just the right places on your body, showing off your cleavage, while not being too flashy for a work event.

As you were walking through the crowd, wanting to rejoin the group of people you previously talked to, you felt a small pull on your arm. Turning around, Lewis stood grinning at you, handsome as always.

“I guess I can actually thank you this year. Finally,” he cheekily said to you. You were surprised he even remembered your interaction from the year before, but once again it showed you just what kind of man he was. Always so considerate and thankful to the people he worked with.

“Well you’re welcome Lewis. And once again, congrats on the championship! It’s been a pleasure working with you,” you smiled at him, feeling the champagne giving you a bit more confidence than usual. “Any exciting plans for the break?”

“You know the usual, Christmas with the family and catching up with friends, relaxing. I’m also going skiing, gotta keep myself active,” he laughed, seemingly very excited for his winter plans. “What are your Christmas plans?”

“I’m going to my parents’ for a few days and then after Christmas I’m actually going on a small vacation to Morocco. Hopefully get a little tan,” you smiled while playfully flicking your hair over your shoulder. “Me and England are not vibing in the winter.”

You didn’t miss Lewis’ gaze dropping to your breasts at your movement and just as quickly looking back at your eyes again. “Ah that sound nice, with your boyfriend or?” He asked, hoping to sound casual. You furrowed your brows a little, surely he was just making small talk.

“Actually I’m going alone, just trying to de-stress and refuel for next year. Hopefully I’ll find a boyfriend though,” you laughed again. “Maybe that’ll help me relax a little.” Maybe it was a bit inappropriate talking to Lewis like this, but once again the alcohol made you a little more bold and a little more careless. You decided it was fine as Lewis rolled his head back and laughed at your honesty. You felt a small smirk creeping up on your lips, satisfied with yourself for making him laugh.

“Well I hope you enjoy yourself and good luck on the de-stressing,” he said, giving you a little wink, before continuing his way through the people.

2020

Morocco had been amazing. No potential suitors, but a whole lot of swimming in the pool and meditation. You had also picked up a small hobby, that being an almost obsessive need to check Lewis’ Instagram several times a day. You told yourself it helped the de-stressing process. The shirtless pictures certainty did their job and you thanked god for Lewis being so active on Instagram. It made your life a bit more fun.

When you finally had to go back to work in the beginning of January you felt comfortable and most importantly, confident. You had finally grown to feel more at ease in the job and felt like you were contributing with some valuable input.

A couple of weeks passed and Lewis and you had a day together in the simulator to prepare the car for the 2020 season. For once, you were running a few minutes late and when you entered the room, Lewis was already sat waiting for you. You apologized and Lewis brushed it off, smiling, telling you it was fine.

“Good vacation?” He asked you.

“Yeah amazing, much needed,” you replied while setting up your work.

“Did you find a man?” He asked, wiggling his brows, grinning teasingly at you.

“Nah, unfortunately,” you laughed. “But I did meditate a lot, it was quite amazing actually. I feel very de-stressed. Ah let me show you, I feel like this is something you would enjoy.” You pulled up your phone wanting to show him the Instagram of your meditation instructor. Lewis looked over your shoulder and as you went to search for the username, you wanted to hit your head down on the table. Your previous searches were obviously showing and at the top was Lewis’ account.

You fumbled with your phone and quickly typed to make it disappear but deep down you knew it was too late. He had already seen it. You both chose to pretend it hadn’t happened and Lewis found himself smirking once again, as he had done so many times before in your company. He was quite captivated by your lack of smoothness and found you very charming if he was being honest. He wasn’t blind to your small crush on him, but he chose to just act normal with you, not wanting to initiate anything he couldn’t commit to. Of course he couldn’t stop himself from being flirty every now and again though. He was only human after all and how could he not when talking to a beautiful woman?

You wondered to yourself how it was possible for you to keep having these embarrassing moments in front of him. It felt like a curse.

That day was the last time you saw Lewis in many months. Covid struck, everyone was in quarantine and everyone did as much work from home as they could. When the F1 season finally began in July, you were extra excited for the first race. This time a guy you were seeing named Peter, was going to join you at your place. Peter was a friend of a friend whom you had met a few times throughout the years and when he asked you if you wanted to go on a date, you couldn’t see a reason not to. One date turned to many and suddenly you found yourself in a loving relationship. He made you incredibly happy and finally your crush on Lewis had seemingly passed.

Peter was quite the McLaren fan and you were obviously a fan of Mercedes, more specifically Lewis, so the two of you had many great discussions and playful fights about who was the better team. He was tired of the Mercedes dominance and you jokingly claimed that the other teams should just find an engineer as great as you and then their problems would be solved.

More months passed and in the fall you finally saw Lewis again. Facemasks and distance making everything a bit awkward, but you managed. His spirits were high, everything going his way and it was obvious that he needed a big amount of misfortune for him to not win his seventh title. It was quite clear to both you that you probably wouldn’t see each other again until next year so as you said goodbye, you both wished each other well and gave each other way too early Christmas greetings

The warm, fuzzy feeling he always managed to give you was back. And this time it was even stronger than usual. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you thought to yourself. Again, you felt silly for having these thoughts and feelings about him, but you simply couldn’t help yourself.

2021

Christmas and New Year’s had been great with Peter by your side for both. Everything had been just great until Sunday the 3rd of January. As you were staying at Peter’s for the night, his phone rang while you were in bed waiting for him as he got ready for bed. He called for you to just pick it up and as you did, everything fell apart.

Monday you called in sick for work. You weren’t in a mental state where working was possible and instead you spent the day on the sofa sobbing your eyes out. In the evening your mum came with dinner and tried to make you feel better. Telling you Peter was a fool and that she never even liked him anyway.

On that Monday, Lewis visited the factory to get his seat fitted and while he was at it, he thought he would swing by your workstation to say hi. He hadn’t seen you in three months and he couldn’t help missing talking to you. When he found out you were sick, he got a inexplicable feeling. You were never sick and at the end of the day, he left with furrowed brows, feeling worried about you.

When the next day rolled around, Lewis was back again, this time for a simulator session with you and a meeting with some engineers. He hadn’t stopped thinking about you since yesterday. Truthfully he missed working with you and seeing your flushed cheeks and nervous laughs, but he knew it wasn’t appropriate. He had always been good at separating work and pleasure, but suddenly he felt an urge to blur the lines. He knew he was strong and he was sure he could keep it under wraps and control his feelings. He had to.

Lewis sat by the simulator waiting for you. He briefly checked his phone to make sure he hadn’t gotten the time wrong and as time went by, he got more and more anxious about you. Finally, the door opened and you hurriedly walked over to him, apologizing profusely for your lateness. You were almost 20 minutes late and Lewis couldn’t help noticing your red rimmed eyes and red nose as you prepared your set-up. He slowly took in your appearance with furrowed eyebrows and observed your make-up free face and seemingly quickly thrown on outfit. If there was one thing Lewis had spotted since seeing you the time in the reception on your first day, it was your sense of fashion. You were always dressed incredibly well and clearly had a great sense of what suited you. Today you looked like a mess. Of course Lewis didn’t mind, but it was just so unlike your normal appearance that he couldn’t help himself putting his hand on your shoulder to interrupt your quick motions.

“Are you alright?” he softly asked, hoping he wasn’t overstepping. He felt like the two of you had a great working relationship and hoped you felt comfortable enough with him to open up. It was obvious that you had been crying quite recently, maybe even within the last 30 minutes.

“Yeah. I’m sorry, I’ve just not been feeling so great these days, must’ve caught a stomach bug or something. Just been a little out of myself, you know,” you assured, not wanting to burden Lewis. You already felt bad for making him wait, but the tears would simply not stop as you sat in the parking lot trying to pull yourself together.

“I don’t wanna intrude, but I feel like there’s something going on?” Lewis didn’t believe you. Your coworkers had said you were sick with a migraine and now you were contradicting them. “You know you can talk to me right? I’m always here to listen.”

Tears welled in your eyes once again, the gentleness of Lewis’ voice making you bottom lip wobble. You looked at the ceiling, blinking, trying to stop the tears from escaping. You took a deep breath, looking down, avoiding Lewis’ searching eyes.

“I- I just. Me and my boyfriend broke up Sunday, so it’s just been some rough days for me. But don’t worry it won’t affect my work,” you told Lewis, wanting to make sure he knew that you wouldn’t waste his time. It took everything in you hold the dam together.

Lewis reached out once again, rubbing your arm, trying to soothe you. He clearly saw your glossy eyes and he felt awful for you, wishing he could take your pain away. He was surprised to hear that you had had a boyfriend, but then again, he had barely talked to you for a year, so it shouldn’t have been a big shock. He did everything he could to brush the nagging feeling in his stomach away.

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear,” Lewis said, giving you a tight lipped smile. His mind was running even faster than his car and he was at a loss of words. He always knew what to say, media training doing wonders, but now he couldn’t think of anything to comfort you. He felt like an asshole, making you confess what was wrong and then not having anything to say.

“Don’t be,” you quickly interrupted his thought process. “He clearly had other priorities. More specifically named Olivia,” you somberly laughed, discreetly brushing away a stray tear. Lewis’ body filled with anger, asking himself how anyone could cheat on a person like you. Suddenly he was able to find the words.

“What an asshole! I guarantee you’re much better off without him. I’m so sorry you had to start the year like this. You know, we don’t have to do this today if it’s too much for you? Maybe you should take another day off?” He suggested, wanting to wrap his arms around you, make you feel better. You smiled kindly at him, touched by his sympathy.

“Thank you, but it’s okay Lewis. I think it’s good for me to keep my mind occupied, keep myself busy,” you told him, looking him in the eyes, being met with his compassionate gaze. You instantly felt more at ease.

“Yeah okay. Just say the word if you need a break or anything. Or if you wanna talk. I’m a great listener, at least my sisters always tells me,” he smiled at you. You returned his smile and thanked him, but hastily continued setting up the computer, not wanting to talk more about your feelings. You already felt like you had acted inappropriately telling Lewis about Peter’s infidelity. Fortunately, Lewis caught on to your intentions, and he quickly switched over to talk about work, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

For the next couple of months, before the first race, you and Lewis saw a lot of each other. It was great working together again and you both really came to appreciate your working relationship even more. Admittedly, his company also helped you get over Peter a lot faster than you thought possible. You began to feel like it was getting a little out of hand how much Lewis consumed your mind.

After a long day of back and forth, trying to find ways to improve the aerodynamics, you and Lewis found yourself sat in comfortable silence. Lewis sat scrolling Instagram when suddenly he felt your eyes drill holes into the side of his head. He glanced at you, wondering what was going through your mind. You didn’t notice you’d gotten caught, completely lost in thoughts about the handsome man sitting in front of you. Suddenly you snapped out of it and before you stop yourself, words left your mouth.

“What skincare do you use?” Your face instantly grimaced for letting your intrusive thoughts take over.

“What?” Lewis laughed nervously, looking at your flushed face.

“Err, I’ve just been wondering what skincare you use? Your face always looks so glowy and I feel like you age backwards,” you tried to explain yourself, internally rolling your eyes at your own words.

Now, Lewis laughed loudly, finding your nervous look extremely endearing. “Why, thank you,” he said while smiling. “Honestly, I think my vegan diet is the reason. My skin really cleared up after I made the switch. I don’t really have a miracle product.”

“Ah that makes sense. That’s a nice bonus effect,” you replied, nodding. You were quick to find something to busy yourself with, not wanting to inflict further damage by letting more words leave your mouth. While you weren’t looking, Lewis shook his head and smirked to himself. He wanted to tell you to not worry about what you said in front of him, but he bit his tongue.

Abu Dhabi was awful. You and the girls had of course been out drinking in a pub while watching the race. Everything looked so promising, people cheering for Lewis, being sure that he would get his 8th title. Then everything turned, it felt like a bad joke, none of you were able to understand what the hell was going on. It was absolutely heartbreaking. Your heart hurt from seeing Lewis hug his dad, you couldn’t begin to imagine what he must be feeling.

This year Lewis was absent from the December celebrations. Truthfully, you hadn’t expected to see him there, but a part of you still hoped he would show up. You wanted to see if he was okay, tell him that he was the rightful champion in your eyes. The celebrations were not as fun as usual. Of course people were happy for the Constructor’s Championship, but it didn’t feel right celebrating when Lewis lost. You felt bad for Valtteri, his goodbyes being overshadowed by the foul play.

2022

You finally saw Lewis again the third week of January. You had religiously checked his Instagram since Abu Dhabi, but he had been completely off the grid. You hadn’t been able to get him out of your head since, almost scared to never see him again. There had been so much talk about him retiring and you wouldn’t have blamed him if he did. For completely selfish reasons, you hoped he wouldn’t, you wanted to keep seeing him, missing the butterflies you felt every time you had the pleasure of enjoying his company.

You almost felt like it was your first time meeting him, nervousness filling your body, scared to say or do something wrong. Scared to upset him. He made his rounds, greeting people, thanking them for their work last year. When Lewis finally got to you, he felt a sense of calmness wash over him. He believed you when you told him how sorry you were for last year and how much you thought he deserved to win. When everyone else uttered the same words, he was thankful, but had also grown tired of them. He realized he could never grow tired of your words, your sincereness touching him deeply.

This year, Lewis spend more hours in the simulator than ever before. Eager to get on top of the god awful car. You thought it was so unfair how shitty the season was going, he didn’t deserve this. You almost wanted to apologize personally for having a part in the engineering process.

On a sunny day in September, you and Anna found yourself partaking in the daily dose of gossip in the bathrooms.

“Have you seen your husband’s latest thirst trap?” Anna asked, wiggling her eyebrows. The girls never let up on the whole Mrs. Hamilton thing, although they were always more careful now.

“Shut up, no! When did he post it?” You asked a little too excitedly, quickly grabbing your phone and finding his Instagram.

“Oh. My. God,” you exclaimed, mouth dropping open for dramatic effect. “It should be illegal being so hot, look at those tattoos!” Anna laughed at your actions.

“I’m surprised you hadn’t already seen it, I know how much of a stalker you are,” she teased you. You playfully rolled your eyes, smiling because you knew she was right.

“Yeah, yeah, some of us have work to do you know?” You answered her, laughing. As you were brushing your fingers through your hair, a toilet flushed in one of the stalls. You and Anna glanced fearfully at each other through the mirror, you swore you were alone, always careful to check if there were other people in the stalls before your gossip sessions.

Out of the stall emerged a content looking Lewis. You on the other hand were at a loss of words, wanting the ground to swallow you up wholly.

“Afternoon, ladies,” he greeted, smiling at the two of you as he stood by the sinks washing his hands. Anna smiled at him, as you stood locked in place, staring at your shoes. When Lewis was finished he walked out, a big smirk on his face, almost wanting to laugh at your words.

“I didn’t know he was even here today? Did you know?” You whisper shouted when you were finally alone again.

“No, I had no idea,” Anna answered, sympathetically rubbing your arm, trying to soothe your clear anxiousness. “Don’t worry, he probably didn’t hear us.”

As you stood there with a face more flushed than ever before, you swore you could cry. There was no coming back from this, you thought.

You didn’t see Lewis for the rest of that day, or for the next two months for that matter. The longer you didn’t see him, the more the anxiousness consumed you. You wanted to clear the air, apologize for being so inappropriate. It was not right to talk about him like you had that day, especially not at work.

In November, just before Brazil, you finally saw him again. You had practiced for months what you wanted to say to him. You had even promised yourself that you would find another job if it didn’t go well, not thinking you were able to handle seeing him again if he was offended.

What you hadn’t expected was Lewis’ thoughts being consumed by you as well for these past months. This difficult year had taught him many things, most importantly it had taught him that there were things in life more important than winning a trophy or a championship. He always told himself that he didn’t want anything serious until his retirement, but as the months had passed, he realized how stupid that idea was. Why shouldn’t he be able do both? Many before him had been able to do both love and racing and just because it hadn’t worked out with Nicole, didn’t mean it couldn’t ever work.

That’s why he had clear intentions when he visited the factory in November. He had a meeting with you later in the day and he had practiced what he wanted to say to you. He felt like a teenager, sweaty hands and everything.

The thing about plans is that they rarely go how you have anticipated. As you were walking back from the kitchenette, having fetched yourself some snacks, you suddenly bumped into something hard. That being Lewis’ chest. His hands grabbed you before you stumbled back and fell. You were fumbling with your words, wanting to apologize for walking into him and also wanting to apologize for the day in the bathroom months prior. As you struggled with what to say, your cheeks heated and Lewis took the word, ditching his own practiced speech.

“When are you gonna do something about this crush?” Lewis asked, grinning big, gap between his teeth more visible than ever. You looked like a deer caught in headlights, mouth open and big eyes.

“I-“ you began, trying to think of what to say. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I asked, when are you gonna do something about the crush you have on me?” Lewis continued, looking at you with teasing eyes. “I mean, it has been going on for quite some time now, don’t you think you should do something about it?”

Your eyes narrowed, trying to figure out if this was a joke or what the fuck was going on. As your eyes met Lewis’ your saw nothing but kindness and quickly decided which path you should chose.

“Well, do you want me to something about it Lewis?” You asked, smirking, tilting your head to the side. “Because I can arrange something if that’s what you’d like?”

Lewis smiled at your words, happy you caught on to his idea. “Yeah, I think I’d quite like you to do something about it. I can tell you more about my ideas over dinner if you’d like that?” He asked you, feeling a little scared of being rejected even though he had been quite sure you would accept his invitation.

You beamed at him, eyes shining and teeth showing, nodding your head. “I would love that Lewis,” you smiled, unable to believe this was truly happening. Lewis beamed as well, truly happy about this. He hastily looked around and assured you were alone in the hallway, before he grabbed your hand and pulled you into his chest. Now standing chest to chest, he cupped your cheeks and looked you in the eyes, searching for any signs of discomfort. When he didn’t find any, he closed his eyes and closed the gap between the two of you, your lips fitting his perfectly. Your hands found his hair, gently massaging his scalp as the kiss deepened. Both aware of your surroundings, you pulled back at the same time before things escalated, eyes locking and cheeks warm.

Fuck a championship when he had a beautiful woman looking at him like you did, Lewis thought to himself.

#loved it!!!#absolute sucker for a lost focus and had a consensual workplace relationship fic #lh fic

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lewisloved · 1 year

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9. "I am yours to do as you please." + Lewis 🔥

It's after a race, in his motorhome that you finally get him alone.

Nomex soaked in champagne and that damn smile a permanent fixture on his face since he crossed the finish line ahead of everyone else -- just like he's used to. And when your eyes met, him on top of the podium, the world really, his world and you amidst an admiring crowd you knew it would end up like this. With your skirt hiked up by your thighs and his body between your legs. Away from prying eyes. He never liked sharing anyway.

His muscles are straining against the nomex when your hands slip beneath the protective layer but it's a feeling you're used to. Something you can even imagine now. The easy way strong muscle rolls beneath smooth skin as he tries to press closer and closer still. Never close enough.

His hands are steady as they slide up the insides of your thighs and then his strong, sure fingers find the apex between them and you arch against him. Back a neat bow he loves to admire.

"Gorgeous," he whispers against the side of your face, lips brushing the apple of your cheek. Your jaw. There's a retort at the tip of your tongue, something quick to snap at him when his hands slow down between your legs, but then he finally, finally pushes your underwear to the side and touches you where you need him most. Want him most. Always.

"Yes!" you say, voice breathless. His fingers feel heavenly as he circles your cunt and then he's already slipping two of his fingers in. Slow and steady. Just slow enough to allow you to adjust. He's big and you both know it. Prep is just as important as making you cum over and over. To him at least.

"Open your eyes," he says, orders. Voice stern. It rarely is, but once you're beneath his hands it's like he can't help it. Can't help demanding more. Always more. You do as he asks, weak to his demands and then try not to fall apart beneath the intensity in his eyes. The way he's drinking you in. Fuck, even like this, soaked in champagne and sweat and with his cheeks a little darker than they usually are he's stunning. Otherworldly.

"I'm yours," you find yourself saying. Meaning it as well. You're his and he's yours. Usually. When he feels like it. When he feels like taking you back to his motorhome to take apart and not someone else looking at him with awe and love and admiration so deep it's unbelievable sometimes. It's unbelievable what he makes others feel. How good he makes you feel.

"C'mon, Lewis," you continue, legs widening a little to allow him closer. They wrap around his waist, still clothed all the way up to his neck and you feel a little dirty. A little cheap with the way you're spreading your legs, skirt up high and soft skin spilling over the top of your rumpled top. He made a mess of you. "Do with me what you want."

It's all he needs to hear to draw you into a kiss tasting of champagne.

#ooooh boy #lh fic

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lewisloved · 1 year

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Antarctica (Lewis Hamilton x Reader)

Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Summary: You and Lewis have been dating for some months when suddenly the video of him in Antarctica with a girl on his lap emerges.

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: Angst, stupid Lewis, swearing, mentions of cheating, but not really (no real infidelity), fluff.

A/N: I wrote this because I really wanted to read this type of fic as soon as I saw the hot tub video. If anyone has written anything similar, please tag me because I live for these kind of fics and I would love to read it. Also I obviously don’t know what went down in Antarctica, so this is purely fiction. No hate to the hot tub girl.

Stupid. So stupid.

That was how you felt as you sat at your desk at work staring at your phone. Just almost wanted to roll your eyes at your stupidity. Instead you closed your eyes and tried to hold back the tears you felt prickling behind your eyelids.

You were supposed to leave work early this Friday. Lewis was going to fly you out to LA to celebrate his birthday Saturday and then you were going to stay with him for the coming week. He was going to introduce you to his friends. A few you had already met, but he insisted that it was time for you to meet the rest of them.

You’re gonna love them, I just know it.

No need to be nervous about it baby, I’ve told them loads about you and they already love you.

He would always beam with excitement when talking about them. His smile would hold so much pride.

You felt stupid for assuming. For being naïve. You never talked about being exclusive. Meeting friends, meeting family, you assumed that the two of you were serious about each other. That you were on the path to making your relationship official. Sitting at your desk you came to the realization that this thing wasn’t a relationship. It was clearly just a situationship and honestly that wasn’t what you were looking to find yourself in.

Maybe this is how it is dating someone not normal, you thought. Maybe there are different rules to follow. You hadn’t realized this before, but clearly the two of you were living in two different realities.

For Christmas he brought you on his family’s ski trip. Just for a few days as you had your own commitments for the holidays. But he brought you, introduced you to everyone, held your hand in front of his family, kissed you in front of his family, called you his when you were in bed at night. He never called you his girlfriend and that didn’t bother you until now. You didn’t even spare it a thought until now. When you were younger, you and your friends always joked that if you kissed someone in public in daylight, it meant that you were official. If meeting family wasn’t enough to make a relationship official, to make it exclusive, you really didn’t know what it would take.

24 years old. The woman, if you could even call her that, was 24 years old. That was all everyone talked about. Apparently this was not unusual for Lewis. Apparently she was just his type. Young and beautiful and a model. But still, Twitter was going crazy.

Normally you didn’t indulge in gossip surrounding Lewis and F1 in general. You didn’t even seek out this piece of information yourself. Your younger sister sent you the video on Instagram. You almost missed the ending where Lewis sat in the hot tub having the time of his life with someone sitting on his lap.

You wish you could erase it from your brain. Go back to the fantasy in your head. But you couldn’t. Instead you found yourself dug down in a Twitter hole trying to soak in every single detail possible. What stuck to you the most was how they apparently used to see each other in the past. If that wasn’t proof enough, you don’t know what was. You normally thought it was crazy how people found so much information about celebrities. You and Lewis always joked about it. Joked about how the fans would make great detectives. And then you would laugh about how none of them had any clue about the two of you.

You were a very well kept secret. You both liked it that way. It made everything easier. Made the whole “getting to know each other” stage more simple. Obviously, people close to you knew, but the public didn’t. You couldn’t help but wonder if this was part of Lewis’ grand plan. By keeping his flings secret he could have one in every city he visited. Maybe you were just his London bed warmer.

Silly of you to think that dating in your thirties would bring more maturity to the table. Honestly, the men were just as immature and on top of that, they brought all the baggage from shitty relationships in their twenties. For some reason you thought Lewis was different. Your heart ached for him to be different.

You almost jumped out of your chair when you heard a knock on the door. Fuck. You quickly blinked the tears away and sat up straight before calling for the person to enter. Your boss poked his head in.

“I didn’t expect to see you here still, don’t you have a flight to catch?” He asked.

“Yeah, but I have quite a lot of work to do so I think I might just stay a bit longer,” you said while trying to smile without it looking forced. You must have looked weird because he looked worriedly at you. “Really. It’s no trouble. I still have time before I have to leave for the airport, and if not I can always take a later flight.”

“Well, do whatever suits you, but remember to relax during your vacation. You deserve it,” he said while smiling. As he left, you slumped back down in your chair. You looked up at the ceiling while massaging your temples. What the fuck am I gonna do? You thought.

It was clear to you that going to LA wasn’t an option. You didn’t want to continue whatever the two of you had going on. You didn’t want a casual thing. You had even told Lewis that. Told him that you were finally content with your career and was ready to pursue a serious relationship. You had shared your thoughts and your dreams for the future. You thought that he wanted the same things even though you hadn’t explicitly talked about in the context of your relationship.

You knew that you were falling for him. You thought that he was falling for you as well. Stupid of you to assume when none of you had said the words.

Your phone buzzed on the table. It was a text from him. You quickly opened it.

Have a safe flight baby. Looking forward to seeing you again x

Your eyes narrowed as you read the text again and again. Surely he must have seen the things being said about him in Antarctica. Or someone must have told him. His lack of explanation annoyed you immensely. It proofed to you that he didn’t even view it as mistake as you had maybe hoped he would. Clearly you were the one on the wrong page.

You wiped a few angry tears that had escaped and typed out a reply.

I have decided against going. Sorry for the late call, but I’ve realized we clearly want different things and I think it would be a mistake going knowing it would just postpone the inevitable. I hope you enjoy your birthday. All the best.

As you hit send you noticed your shaking hands. You hastily turned off your phone and shut down your computer before grabbing your coat and bag. You almost ran out the office and decided to walk home instead of taking the tube. The thought of the tube right now was almost enough to send you into a full blown panic attack. You needed fresh air and to clear your head.

As you shut the door behind you to your flat, you almost stumbled over your packed suitcase. “What a fucking shitty day, for fuck’s sake,” you mumbled to yourself, as you pushed the suitcase away and kicked off your shoes. Finally, you reached your destination, your bed. You told yourself that you would spent the weekend indulging in self-pity and then Monday you would try to find something to do for the rest of your stupid work break.

But of course the tears wouldn’t come now that you were finally in the safety of your own home. You decided that they needed a little push and therefore turned on your phone again and found a playlist on Spotify named “Sad songs”. Perfect, hopefully that would get the job done. The messages popping in on your phone didn’t go unnoticed by you, but you chose to ignore them. Instead you opted to go to Instagram again to speed up the pity party.

After taking a quick scroll through her Instagram you decided to spare yourself for further damages. There was no need to start comparing the two of you, that would only make matters worse. This was about Lewis. It wasn’t her fault that he couldn’t commit. Whilst putting down your phone, you finally felt the tears making their way. As you sobbed your way to sleep that night, you kept wishing that this would all just be a bad dream.

When you woke up the next morning you had an awful headache from clenching your jaw too tight all night. Rolling to your side, you grabbed your phone. 8AM the display read. You’d slept for almost 12 hours. You couldn’t ignore all the notifications anymore. You quickly answered your sister that you were okay and that you had ended things with Lewis. Some of your friends had texted you and wished you a nice trip. You chose to ignore those messages. You would fill them in at a later time. Lastly, you got to Lewis’ texts. He had also called you numerous times.

Please pick up the phone

Has something happened? I’m really worried. Pls call me

I just wanna talk to you to make sure you’re alright. I��m sure we can fix it baby

I just saw the video. I’m so sorry, it isn’t what it looks like. Just let me explain

Nothing happened with her, I promise you. I would never do that. Just pick up the phone so we can talk

You tossed your phone to the bottom of your bed. You were so angry. Both at him and at yourself. You were angry about his excuses. You had heard them all before and in the end it always turned out to be true. Where there’s smoke there’s fire, your past experiences told you. You were angry at yourself for trusting him, for letting him into your life. For hoping that what you had was genuine. It had all been too good to be true.

As the days went by, you got better and better. You were hoping to book a vacation for somewhere sunny, but they were all too expensive because it was so last minute. Instead you found yourself content with living in your bed and catching up on all your favorite tv shows. Lewis kept calling and you kept ignoring his calls. You almost felt bad about it because of his birthday Saturday, but then you decided he could fuck off. If this had affected his birthday it was his own fault. Monday afternoon you were dozing off while watching the newest season of Grey’s Anatomy. Suddenly the doorbell woke you up. You hurriedly wiped some droll from your chin and tried to fix your hair in a ponytail before waddling to the door.

As you opened the door Lewis appeared with the biggest bouquet of flowers you had ever seen in your life. You almost wanted to shut the door on his face and just go back to sleep. As if he could read your mind he stepped forward just enough for you to be unable to close the door.

“Please let me in baby. Let me explain everything,” he quietly pleaded. He looked like a wounded puppy. Dark circles under his big sad eyes. You had never seen him like this before. Always happy and positive Lewis. Sometimes too positive, you had thought before. Seeing him like this made you realize that you’d rather see him disgustedly positive, than this sad ever again.

Deep in your mind you had a feeling he might show up like this. You were now wishing that you had just picked up the phone so you could be spared this interaction with him. Nevertheless, you gestured for him to enter your home. You noticed how he glanced at the forgotten suitcase in the entryway.

“So, explain away,” you told him as you both stood in your living room. You with crossed arms and him with that ridiculously big bouquet in his arms.

“I’m really sorry about that video,” Lewis began slowly, as if he wanted to test the waters. You scoffed and cut him off.

“You’re sorry about the video? What the fuck Lewis? Did you expect me to not find out or what? Or did you think I wouldn’t care?” You angrily said. “Fuck the video, I’m glad I saw it. I probably never would have known if your friend wasn’t stupid enough to share it. I’m glad that guy was so stupid. At least he spared me wasting any more time on you, on us. I can’t believe I thought there was an us.” You felt the tears were about to appear once again and wiped them away with your shaking hands before it got too bad.

“You know what? I kept feeling stupid and angry at myself for thinking we were something real. But I realized I’m in my full right to feel angry at you and not at myself. I don’t know what delusional celebrity world you’re living in, but in the real world, stuff don’t work like that. Bringing someone round for Christmas kinda means that you are not fucking some Instagram model the week after in Antarctica!” You yelled at ham. You had never yelled at him before and Lewis wished for you to never do it ever again. He hadn’t understood the seriousness of the whole situation before now.

“I, I didn’t. I didn’t sleep with her,” Lewis said with eyes so wide it looked like they might pop out. If it wasn’t such and awful situation you might have laughed. He took a few breaths and seemed to collect his thoughts.

“I know what it looks like, but nothing happened. She sat on my lap because there wasn’t other seats. I didn’t think, we were all drinking, and I didn’t think anything about it. I can see now how it looks from the outside, but that was the closest I was to her the whole week. I know that people are saying the she was my guest, but I didn’t invite her for the trip. She was with some other guy. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings by pushing her away. I know you probably know about our history and I didn’t wanna be an asshole to her, but it was wrong of me to have her sitting on my lap like she was my girl.” The tears welled in Lewis’ eyes. He felt absolutely awful for the way he had made you feel.

“I understand if it’s over between us, but it’s very important for me that you know I didn’t cheat on you. I know that’s your worst fear in a relationship and I would never ever do that to you,” Lewis finished and tried to make eye contact with you. Tried to get a sense of what was going on in your head. You looked down at your feet and closed your eyes. Trying to think of what to say. What to believe. You wanted to believe ham, but a part of you wasn’t ready to let go of the doubt.

“You looked very comfortable with her sitting there. Very happy.” You finally looked up and your eyes met. Only for a second though. This time Lewis was the one to look down.

“I wasn’t. I was happy with my friends, but I wasn’t happy with her sitting there. As soon as there was a free seat I pushed her off me and she sat there instead. I am so sorry that I let her sit there in the first place, but I promise you, nothing more happened between us.” Lewis felt his tears well over and run down his cheeks. He tried to wipe them with his shoulder seeing as his hands were full, but it didn’t really work.

“Bringing you to meet my family was so special to me. I haven’t introduced anyone to my family in years. This isn’t something I just do with anybody. Since we met in September you have become such an important part of my life and I haven’t opened my heart to anyone like this before. I’m so sorry for hurting you and making you think you’re stupid. I’m the only one stupid here. This wasn’t how I wanted to tell you, but I’m in love with you. I’m so sorry that these are the circumstances I’m telling you under, but you deserve to know, ” Lewis looked in your eyes and tried to read your feelings. His eyes were filled with hope. You just stared at him while nibbling on your bottom lip and he couldn’t decipher what you were thinking. He decided to break the silence.

“These are for you,” he said while handing you the flowers. “I hope that you can find it in yourself to forgive me, but I’m gonna leave you to it. Once again, I just wanna say how sorry I am.” As you stood there with the bouquet, Lewis slipped out of your living room and out of your flat. Out of your life, just as you had wanted.

You stood and watched the flowers in front of you. Thoughts running wild in your head. Thoughts about how people always brought baggage from previous relationships. You never thought it applied to you. Yes, Lewis had made a mistake, but you didn’t have any reason to not believe his words. He hadn’t given you any reason to believe that he was like your exes. It wasn’t right of you to let past trust issues follow you into this thing with him. You had finally made a decision.

The flowers got thrown on the table and you ran to the suitcase in the entryway. Zipping it open, you threw the clothes on the floor until you finally found what you were looking for. A little box wrapped in green gift wrap with small bulldogs on it, tied up with little gold bow. You slipped on some sandals and ran down the stairs. The cold January air hit you hard as you ran to the street. You were only wearing sweats and a t-shirt. You looked around you, trying to search for Lewis. Hoping he hadn’t already left. You jogged down the street and frantically tried to see if you could spot him.

As you crossed the street, you finally spotted his car. Parked, just a couple of cars in front of you. You let out a breath of relief and slowly walked towards it. As you got closer you could see Lewis sitting in the driver’s seat with his head in his hands. It was obvious that he was crying and you felt a deep sting in your chest. Carefully, you knocked on the window to the passenger seat, trying not to startle him. You didn’t succeed as he jumped slightly in his seat. When he looked at you, you smiled softly and give him a small wave. He leaned over and pulled the handle on the door for you.

As you sat down just rested your hands in your lap and held the small gift on your thigh.

“I’m in love with you too Lewis. These past four months with you have been the most amazing months in my life. I’ve been so happy, but I’m also so scared to get hurt again. Obviously I don’t approve of the hot tub situation, but I know it was wrong of me to shut you out like that. It’s difficult for me to trust people, but I already trust you so much even though we haven’t known each other for that long.” You took a deep breath. “What I wanna say is, I forgive you and I wanna give us a go. Officially.”

Your hands reached out to Lewis’ face. You wanted to wipe his tears away, to wipe away any sadness he might feel in the future. He looked at you with the kindest eyes you had ever seen in your life. You had never seen eyes as beautiful as his before. As your fingers stroked his cheeks you hesitantly leaned in. Noticing what you were trying to achieve, Lewis did the same and met you halfway. When your lips finally touched after being apart for two weeks, you knew that this was the right decision. One of Lewis’ hands found your hair while the other found your thigh. Nothing had ever felt so right in your life.

Remembering the gift, you pulled away from Lewis.

“I have something for you. For your birthday.” You handed him the small box.

“You shouldn’t have.”

“I know. I wanted to.”

Lewis smiled at your choice of wrapping paper. He carefully tore off the paper. Inside was a small jewelry box. Inside the box was a necklace with a small moon pendant.

“Remember the moon on our second date?” You asked and he nodded, smiling so big he thought his face might break in two.

“Of course I remember baby. The moon was so bright that night. You looked so beautiful in the moonlight.”

“You looked so handsome as well and I remember thinking already back then that you were someone special. Someone I wanted in my life. And then you later told me to always look at the moon when I’m missing you. That that was what you did when you missed me and I just thought that was so sweet. Every time I miss you I look at the moon and I instantly feel better. So I wanted to give you something so you always have me with you when we’re not together. Your own little moon,” you told him while smiling.

“Thank you so much sweetheart, this is the best birthday gift I ever could have wished for,” Lewis beamed while pulling you into his chest. You crawled onto his lap and straddled him. He took your face in his hands. “I really love you,” he told you before connecting his lips to yours once again. His tongue swiped across your bottom lip and you instantly gave him access to your mouth. As you started to grind down on him, he interrupted the two of you.

“Come on, let’s go upstairs again baby. I wanna show you how much I’ve missed you,” Lewis said with a smirk as he pulled you off him. You let out a small whine at the loss of contact, but eventually gave in. You held hands with swinging arms and you both laughed as you ran back to your flat.

#love it!!!!#lh fic

1K notes · View notes

lewisloved · 1 year

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this won't pass

summary: you're the first female driver in the history of the sport. you're also lewis' team mate.

contents/warnings: smut, fluff, angst(?), friends-to-lovers-esque (team mates to lovers?), brief mentions of misogyny, m/f s*xual acts, unprotected s*x, if you want anything else mentioned please lmk!

words: 4.5k

You can feel his gaze, hot and heavy on you, during the briefing. Toto’s words go right over your head, even though you know they shouldn’t, that this moment, this weekend, is so much bigger than yourself and to ensure it happens again - for you, for anyone - you really should pay attention.

But Lewis is twiddling his pen between his fingers, moving the biro around deftly. Tip of his tongue peeking out between his lips, big brown eyes staring at you. Ever since he helped you inside the sim, his hands sliding down your body and lingering for a second longer than they needed to, you’ve wondered what those fingers would feel like inside of you, where his tongue could send you. His eyes hot on your body, taking in every inch of you.

You’re a feminist, you remind yourself, staunchly. As you’ve been reminding yourself for weeks, for months, ever since you were announced as his new teammate. This moment is bigger than you, bigger than a crush, bigger than lust. And your hormones are acting up, still getting used to a new birth control to help manage your periods during race weekends.

This will pass.

You catch his eye on the podium after the race. Champagne dripping down your face, racesuit sticking to your body. Just like my first race, you think he says as he pulls you in for a hug, but you’re not sure because you’re so close you can smell the cologne on his neck, feel his hand gripping your elbow and - god - his hands are so big.

“She’s gonna be a star.” He says, in the press conference afterwards, legs splayed on the chair. You swallow water, turn your face away from him, to try and hide the blush that creeps up your face.

Fuck. This might not pass.

P2 to his P3, you beat him in the next race. It’s still not the elusive win you crave but you’ll get there. He tells you as much, an easy smile on his face where you’d prepared yourself for the worst. No one likes getting shown up by a girl, years on the karting track have taught you that. But Lewis, Lewis.

“Told them you’d be good.” He winks, a towel rubbing the sweat from his face.

You wish you could tell him how much that means to you, how much it means to have him here, but there’s cameras everywhere and you’re terrified that if you open your mouth too much then one of these days you might just tell him something you shouldn’t.

He looks at you, in your silence, bemused. Race-suit unzipped to his waist, pecs showing through the under-armour tight to his skin.

It’s all so unfair.

“You alright?”

“Absolutely.” You croak out.

Feminist. You’re a feminist, you tell yourself. And he’s your teammate.

His breath is hot on you when he pulls you in for the photo, his hand at your waist, grazing your bum when he lets you go to spray more champagne in your face. Later, you’ll tell yourself it was an accident, he didn’t mean to touch you there. You’ll have to remind yourself over and over again, because you don’t want to believe it.

The weekends pass by in a blur. Plane rides, physio sessions, qualifying, racing, home. Again, and again, and again. Fans begging for autographs, little girls running up and their fathers telling you just how much this means to them, women winking at you, men holding out their legs, their arms, pulling down their t-shirts for you to sign their abs.

You’re doing it, actually doing it. Not just a token hire, a concession to the fans. Only 15 points behind Lewis in the championship and P2 isn’t where you want to be but - you thought you’d be last. Rock bottom, maybe scraping a point here and there.

Every weekend Lewis shares his data with you and you wonder, briefly, annoyingly, whether he’s going too easy on you, taking pity on you. Being chivalrous. Your annoyance doesn’t last for long, though, as he leans over the back of your chair, his long fingers pointing at ones and zeros and unaware that you’d stopped listening 5 minutes ago.

Then in Monaco he asks if he’s done anything to offend you. You seem…distant, he explains, or tries to. Cold. You swallow, hard. You’ve been trying to keep him at bay, bury your feelings under strategy and upgrades and media duties and turns and straights and pitlane exits but -

Then he stands there, eyes crinkled with worry, and the hard exterior you’ve spent many sleepless nights constructing comes down, so suddenly it shocks you.

“Sorry,” You say. Never apologise, your mum used to say. “I’m, um. It’s hard.”

“I get it.” He smiles, gently. “It’s different for us.”

“But I’m on your side.”

On the podium you force yourself to look him in the eyes again, clinking your bottles against each other’s. Then your eyes wander down, catch the bulge in his race suit, one that wasn’t there before the race started. You scan the crowd, still self-destructive, wondering if she’s out there, the woman who’s made him feel like this.

You find out who she is after your first win in Hungary, hear her moans and her name whispered, grunted, through the paper thin walls of your driver’s rooms. It starts gently, the door clicking behind them, a suit unzipped and shoes slid off. Then it’s the leather - faux leather - sofa in his room, the sound of it squeaking underneath bare skin, a faint rocking as it bumps against the paper thin walls between their rooms, growing into a crescendo.

You can hear him, too. All of him. His moans, his pants, his slaps. It doesn’t seem real, almost. You’ve seen him from afar for years, and now he’s there, on the other side of the wall, and you can only imagine what he looks like.

One of your hands trails downwards as you lie on your own sofa, finds your warmth, already slick. You imagine his hand in your place, his fingers between your folds, sliding inside and out. His face, his neck, strained under pressure, the vein on his bicep as he props himself up above you.

Biting down on your fingers, you cum when he cums. For you it’s silent, shaking. For him it’s a loud release, shuddering gasps and fuck, fuck, fuck whispered into someone’s hair. You should feel guilty, maybe. Dirty, sleazy. But it’s the best orgasm you’ve had for a long time and maybe, for a little bit, you can pretend it was your name escaping his lips.

Looking him in the eye after that is nigh-on impossible, but that doesn’t matter. He can wine and dine whoever he likes, as many as he likes, because you’re focussing on racing.

In Spa, ominous clouds of orange smoke and stories of harassment from the crowd, you edge past him. It’s…sketchy at best, nothing he wouldn’t have done, your engineer tells you. This is a tough place for him, Bono tells you.

It’s the first time you’ve seen cracks in his facade, the first time he hasn’t looked at you in the cool down room. His hugs on the podium aren’t hugs, hands hovering and barely touching you. You’re two points ahead of him now. First in the championship, doing something that’s never been done before. Just like he did.

You try to ignore how awful it feels, how hard it is to swallow in the press conference afterwards. But it eats away at you, becomes the only thing you can think about all the way back to your trailer, as you shove things haphazardly into your suitcase.

No one else would feel like this, you try to tell yourself. It’s because you’re a woman, and it’s been ingrained in you since birth to feel guilty, to apologise for mistakes, or simply just for existing. The look in his eyes still haunts you, though, and you find yourself at the bottom of his trailer, looking up at the door, lip between your teeth in worry.

He answers after one knock, with a blank stare and a couple of blinks that suggests he’s thinking what are you doing here. His hair is wet from the shower, a damp patch on the t-shirt around his neck, and he smells of lavender and camomile. It’s hard not to immediately melt, to profess how deeply, deeply sorry you are and please can we go back to before - but you’re a professional, and this is racing.

When he lets you in it’s hard not to look around, to take in every bit of him and who he is. He’s open, and warm, and generous with his time but there’s always the sense that he’s holding back, never letting you see everything behind his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” The words are tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them. He takes a deep breath, and you can see how measured he’s trying to be, how measured he’s always had to be. It only serves to make you feel worse.

“It’s fine.” He tells you. “It’s nothing anyone else wouldn’t have done.”

“I know, but -”

“We’re competitors.” He interrupts you. Maybe it should annoy you, being spoken over, but you’re not sure what you were going to say. “At least we know where we stand, now.”

It all comes crashing down for you in Monza. You’ve been riding on a high, still a few points ahead of Lewis, a cover shoot for Vogue - one that would make all the girls who bullied you in high school shut up, fans everywhere you look, your name next to Lewis’ on the banners and the photos.

Then a reporter asks a question that sets your teeth on edge, makes your heart thump awkwardly and out of rhythm, as the room falls into silence. Your answer is jumbled, fumbled, pointless. Congratulations on setting feminism back years! A tweet on your timeline reads and it stays with you through practice, sees you qualify 10th, your lowest starting position so far.

“I heard the press conference was rough.” Lewis presses a hot drink into your hands after the debrief, once the room has cleared.

“It’s fine.” You swallow, because people have been through much worse. Hell, they used to throw themselves in front of horses for the right to vote.

“Hmm,” He muses, in a way that says I don’t believe you. “It shouldn’t have to be, though.”

His eyes are so kind, filled with so much warmth and understanding, that when he pulls you in for a hug you can’t help it when your own well up. It’s been weeks or months since you saw your family properly, you’re not exactly sure, but he feels like home.

You realise then that you’re doomed.

The summer break comes at you before you know it, now so used to the relentless pace of the season. The team decides to celebrate their performance with a dinner, which would be fine, should be fine, until Lewis slides into the seat next to you, his elbow bumping into your shoulder.

To make it through the dinner, his attention on you, his kind questions and eyes that seem like they should be able to see every word you’re thinking, you drink. It doesn’t take much to loosen you up these days, a couple of glasses of white wine, an aperol spritz thrown in here and there, and soon you’re laughing freely at his jokes, head tipped back and teeth bared, punching him playfully in the arm.

Under the dim lights of the restaurant he looks incredible, his gaze sultry and lips pouting playfully whenever you make a joke. You’re in your own little world, the two of you, and you don’t even notice until Toto speaks.

“You two be careful, or I might start to believe the rumours.” His voice cuts across the table. His tone is light, playful, but it doesn’t stop you from freezing.

“What rumours?” Both of you ask, in unison. It makes Toto cock an eyebrow.

“The dating rumours.”

You knew it was coming. Maybe not right now, tonight, but at some point it was inevitable. Turns out that knowing something doesn’t help you prepare for it, though, as your heart sinks, lower than you thought was possible. There’s a sour taste in your mouth as you excuse yourself, getting up from the table on shaky legs.

Fuck, you whisper to yourself in the bathroom mirror, water splashed on your face in an attempt to recentre yourself. Your eyeliner has smudged, your mascara’s starting to run and - fuck - you cannot believe you’ve been so stupid, so naive. You should have done better to avoid this. This moment, this season, is so much bigger than yourself, and now all anyone’s going to be thinking of is is she dating Lewis Hamilton?

Outside the air is cold, a welcome relief from how stifling it felt inside. You should go back, really. You hate causing a fuss. But your head is still spinning, thoughts still swimming in anger. You don’t notice you have company until Lewis sits down beside you, a careful and calculated distance left between you.

“Sorry about that,” He clears his throat. “I hate dating rumours - and I know, it’s not the same.”

The space between you feels charged, electric. You wonder if he can feel it too, if his arms have goosebumps like yours, or whether it’s just in your own head, your own thoughts no better than the tabloids.

“I’m sorry, if I’ve been, um,” He continues, stuttering. “If I’ve made it worse, harder, for you. I’ve probably been too friendly - got a bit too used to hugging Valtteri - don’t think Hello! magazine is going to be making up rumours about us.” He chuckles, lightly, and god do you love the sound of his laugh.

“I’ll be more professional.” His last words hang in the air in front of you.

You know what you should say; thanks.

What comes out is something entirely different, though.

“What if I don’t want that?”

Your voice is quiet, so soft you’re not even sure he’ll hear it, not sure you want him to. But he does. You can hear him swallow, loud against the quiet of the night, adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his throat.

He’s looking at you now and you force yourself to meet his gaze, own up to your words and finally to your feelings. Your heart is thumping out of your chest, fight or flight responses kicking in, preparing yourself for the worst.

It feels like forever before he finally speaks, but then he does.

“I don’t either.”

It’s the Americas when you come back. The countries are hot and sunny and full of love for Lewis. He has a permanent smile on his face through the stretch, fans chanting his name everywhere you go and purple smoke in Austin and Sao Paulo.

In Mexico you greet each other with small, tentative smiles, and a hug that feels completely different to all of those that have come before it. After the race he catches you on your way back to your trailer, asks if you’d like to have dinner that night - just you and him, no one else. He’s got a private room booked in a restaurant, a place Checo claims makes the best tacos in all of Mexico, and - well, he stutters, maybe we could call it a date?

There’s candles lit, a band playing softly in the background, flowers on the table. He’s already there but stands up when you enter, moves the chair out for you to sit down and then tucks you back in. It takes a second for you to speak, blinking back the tears that want to come out. You’ve never had a man be so nice before. His knees bump yours under the table.

Miami sees you both doing promo on a beach, the hot sun beating down on you, SPF covering your faces.

“Shame we’ve got all these clothes on,” He says quietly, too quiet for the camera’s to hear, just for you. The grin on his face is playful, cheeky. You wish you could rip his clothes off right there and then, delve into the water with him and leave everyone else behind.

You kiss in a bar that weekend, another private room he’s booked for the two of you, a couple of cocktails to celebrate another 1-2. It’s deep and long, his tongue slowly edging into your mouth, the taste of his negroni in his. One of his hands rests on your thigh, his big palm stretched across your skin.

“Is this ok?” He whispers, as if he’s afraid he might scare you off. You don’t know how to tell him that it’s not, that you want more, so much more, so you don’t use your words, rely on your body to do the talking. Move to sit on his lap, move his hands up to your breasts. He’s hard beneath you, straining against his jeans.

“We’re not doing this in public.” He laughs into you, breath hot in your ear.

He takes the flag up onto the podium in Brazil again, wraps it around you with a smile bigger than you think you’ve ever seen on him before. He takes a piece of confetti out of your hair delicately, blows it out to the crowd like a kiss.

You want to tell him you love him. Not in the way everyone else does, this is different. This is something you’ve never felt before, something you’re not sure anyone has ever felt before. It’s entirely ridiculous, you’re ridiculous, but you can’t help the way your feelings bubble up in your chest every time he looks your way.

Your hotel rooms are next to each other, and when you get to his door you both stall.

“Do you wanna…” He trails off, almost scuffs his foot on the floor. He’s so different to the man you thought he was, the one you’ve seen in front of flashing cameras and magazine covers.

Heart in your throat you nod, speechless. He slides his key card in the door and lets you in, wordlessly.

Lewis licks his lips, fiddles with the hairband in his hands. The bedsheets are messy, unmade, crumpled from the night before, and the sight of it makes you swallow. He’s so close to you now, his hands on your waist as he leans in and kisses you, presses you against the wall until your head bumps against it.

He’s strong, you’ve always known that, watched his workout videos an embarrassing amount of time, but it still takes your breath away when he hikes your hips apart, hoists you up so your feet lift off the floor. His kisses travel south, down your neck and towards your breasts, hidden underneath the team shirt.

You wish, briefly, that you’d had time to change out of a sports bra and into something nicer, but then he’s lifting off your top, hair falling over your face, and looking at you like you’re the last woman on earth.

“You have no idea –“ He stops, breath catching in his throat. “I think about you all the time.”

You want to cry.

Instead you kiss him, take your bra off for him, let him see every inch of you, touch every inch of you. He’s ripping off his own top two, both of you a frantic mess to get undressed, to feel each other, to be with each other. At some point you land on the bed, bouncing slightly on the mattress, and he stands over your body, naked in all of his glory.

You’ve seen pictures before. All the ones he shares on instagram, some of them looked at three, four, five times before the story runs out. Thumbs in waistbands, the v on his abdomen leaving little to the imagination.

This is entirely different, though. He’s a work of art, sculpted by the gods, it’s almost enough to make you religious. His eyes are heavy as they gaze over you, drinking you in, splayed out on the bed. Somewhere, in the back of your head, you want to feel insecure, vulnerable, unsure if you can match up to him - if anyone can match up to him.

But he swallows, puts his knees between your spread legs.

“Fuck,” He says, leaning down to the meeting of your thighs, already wet for him. “You are so much hotter than I even imagined.”

There’s no room for insecurities, anymore.

“You imagine me?” You’re blushing, now. He slides a long, slender finger over your slit and you clench immediately.

“Always.” He says, into you.

Two fingers slip inside you. You haven’t had sex for a while, not since a regrettable night in France, and the feeling of him inside you makes your back arch. Lewis smiles, enjoying what he’s doing to you, and thumbs your clit before pressing his mouth to it.

From there it’s pure bliss. His head between your thighs, licking, sucking, drinking from you. You’re not good at this, at letting go of control, letting someone else take charge, but with him down there there’s no other options. Your breath comes in shuddering gasps, your fingers hold his head in place, pushing him into you, his hands grip your thighs, nails digging into your skin.

“I’m gonna come,” You gasp, like it shocks you. It almost does; not many men can make you orgasm. But the way he’s licking around your clit, wet tongue against your juices, means there’s no stopping what’s about to happen.

At that he only goes harder and then your eyes are rolling back, back arched and thighs clenching as you shudder. He holds you through it, keeps his tongue at you, sending you over the edge again and again and again.

You’re just about aware of him crawling back up to your head, strong arms propping him up above you as he kisses you, lips wet from your own juices.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” He traces a finger down your abdomen, goosebumps on your flesh. You can feel his cock, hard and leaking, against your leg. “Can I…”

He trails off, but you know what he’s asking. You nod frantically, desperately, biting your lip when you feel him shift.

“Do I need a condom?”

“I’m on the pill.” You shake your head. You want him inside you, laid out bare.

His body fits in between your legs like you were made with him in mind, purpose built for him. He hoists one of your legs over his shoulder and you’re floppy and pliant, thankful for all the yoga lessons, as he positions himself. The tip of his cock rubs against you and it sends a wave through your body, still sensitive and swollen down there.

He’s teasing you, dipping in and out of your hole, rubbing him in your juices, until you whine. He slides in, slowly, a hand gripping your ankle and the other stroking the skin on your hip, holding you in place.

“Fuck.” He whispers when up to his hilt. You barely hear him, completely lost in the feeling of him inside you. He’s so big you forget how to breathe for a few seconds, forget how to move, how to think, how to do anything but be here, filled by him.

“You ok?” You hear him ask.

All you can do is nod, and then he’s dragging out, now thumbing your clit again, and plunging back in. He’s slow, at first. Letting you get used to him, stretch for him. But then he picks up the pace, rams his hips into your body, his breath coming in quick pants.

“You feel so fucking good.” He opens your legs up wider, hits even deeper inside you. Your eyes want to screw shut, take in the pleasure you’re feeling, but you force yourself to watch him, drink him in as he hangs over you. His body is glistening, muscles rippling.

He lets your leg fall, leans into you until your foreheads meet. From here you can smell the champagne on his breath, feel his beard against your skin. Instinctively, your arms wrap around his neck, your legs around his, pulling you closer, pulling him deeper into you. You both look down to where you meet, watching him slide in and out of you, covered in your slick.

You can’t help the noises you’re making, now. Any semblance of staying quiet lest a team member hear you gone out of the window, Lewis driving you to the brink.

“You’re being so good,” He moves a hand down, starts circling your clit again. “Such a good girl.”

Fuck - those words alone are almost enough to make you come, but with him hitting everywhere inside you, his fingers on you, his eyes looking into you -

“Are you close?” You just about manage to ask, voice shaking.

“Hold on,” He continues thrusting into you, the headboard thumping into the wall. “Just a bit longer for me baby.”

It’s hard, so hard, but you want to do it for him. Eyes shut tight, he wipes away an errant tear with his thumb, kisses you hard. You want nothing more than to give in but he keeps you on the edge, fingers on your clit, legs spread wide, one hiked up over his shoulder again.

And then you can’t help it, him finally sending you over the edge again, clenching around him.

“God -” You hear him croak out as he spills over, fingernails digging into your skin as he pumps into you, hips jutting and breath hitched in his throat.

He does a few more shuddering, erratic thrusts, as you feel him hot and wet inside you. He lets out a large groan, head thrown back and neck exposed. You fall back onto the pillows, entirely spent.

The final stretch of the season sees you DNF once, and then twice. The first is a mechanical failure, but on the second there’s only yourself to blame. He holds you through both of them, lets you sob into his shoulder as your season slips away from you and the sun beats down relentlessly and sand gets in your eyes.

All he has to do in the last race is score in the points. Which he does, because of course he does. And he does it in style, a masterful drive from 14th to 2nd, tenths of a second behind you as you pass the finish line first. You can hear the garage celebrating over the radio, another record broken for him, another moment of history they get to be a part of.

Logic dictates that you should be devastated. You had a chance to win it, to do something no one - no woman - had ever done before. But he’s made you go soft, and when you see the fireworks in the sky you’re glad they’re up there for both of you.

“I think next year’s her year.” He winks in the press conference, voice so full of certainty you think he must have actually seen the future. You bite your lip, trying to stop the smile that wants to spread across your face.

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