Can You Write Something In Which Charles Has A Dream In Which His Father And Jules Are Alive? Perhaps

Can you write something in which Charles has a dream in which his father and Jules are alive? Perhaps Arthur, Carla, Pascale, Herve, Charles, and the reader (and Jules, if you will) gathered for a dinner party to celebrate Charles' world championship. (Charles stated in an interview prior to his father's illness that his greatest wish was for Charles to become a world champion.) As the evening progresses, Charles awakens and believes it will never come true. The reader then consoles him. Thanks❤

What if…?

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader

Warnings: mentions of charles’ dad and of Jules.

a/n: yayy i finally posted something! I don’t feel too comfortable writing about the personal losses that Charles has been through but the anon that requested this sent the request in 12 times🥲 but i don’t think i will write something like this again…

It was gloomy and dark when you and Charles first touched down at the airport and headed to Monte Carlo, back home, both of you eager for a shower and a good night's sleep after the exhausting weekend, and past few months as a whole. The route back to your apartment in Monaco was silent and dull, Charles' hand clasping onto yours in the car while you faced a struggle to try to stay awake.

Fast forward a few hours, you could safely say that the situation hasn't differed much in terms of the aura and mood. Showers have been taken, clothes have been emptied out of suitcases and hung back in the closet. Dinner was eaten and now, there you sat on the couch with Charles right by your side.

The television was on, playing some French talkshow that was being used merely as background noise to kill the silence of the apartment. Charles was sprawled out on the length of the sofa, a cushion tucked behind his head, his phone in his hand, his thumb swiping up the screen every few seconds while tiktok sounds played and changed. You were curled up on the opposite end to him, finishing up a book you'd started a few days ago, on the plane to Abu Dhabi.

You were a few pages away from the end, but from the corner of your eye, you were seeing Charles getting sleepier by the second, yawning repeatedly and dozing off momentarily every once in a while, his phone leaning backwards in his hand every time his eyes drooped shut for a few seconds.

You sighed and closed your book, dropping it onto the couch and redirecting your attention towards your sleepy boyfriend. He was clearly exhausted, yearning to slip between the soft and warm bedsheets and just doze off but just like always, he refused to leave you alone in the evening, even when it was getting pretty late. Time and time again, he would tell you that he'd rather spend more time in your presence, even when each of you was preoccupied with something else.

With a tap onto your phone screen, you realized it wasn't that early in the evening anymore, so you might as well go to bed and get some much needed rest.

"Bébé..." you called for Charles who immediately gave you his attention, turning his head to face you with red, sleepy and tired eyes.

"C'mon, let's go to sleep." You suggested with a soft smile, "T'as l'air si ensommeillé." You seem to be very sleepy.

He nodded, a soft smile showing on his face, but he didn't make any effort to get up. Instead, he gestured for you to come closer, "Viens ici un peu." Come here a little. He asked you.

Like always, you couldn't help the way your heart beat faster and your eyes shone. You scooted closer to him and allowed him to pull you to lay on his chest. While his hands brushed your hair back, you nuzzled your face into his neck and allowed your eyes to shut for a second, the soft and comforting scent of himwrapping you in a bubble of love and safety, the warmth of his arms wrapping around you and resting on your back feeling like home.

"I know i was difficult to deal with during the season, so thank you for always supporting me, even when i was annoying about racing." He said to you, punctuating the heartfelt sentence and sealing it with a kiss on your temples.

At a loss of what to respond, you found yourself softly pecking his neck. Finishing second in the championship's drivers standings was amazing when taking into consideration the way the second half of the season played out but if someone had told you after the first few races that he'd have to battle for P2, you would've been in disbelief. Therefore, all in all, it had been a season of mixed emotions, of focusing mainly on the bright side of things and a lot of gentle whispered, comforting words that at some point started sounding like a replaying tape.

"Don't say that. It was the least I could do, and you weren't annoying or difficult; you were rightfully upset most times." You reassured, lifting your head to give him a haste kiss on the lips as he sighed, letting go of a heavy breath.

"Je t'aime." I love yous were exchanged were quietly exchanged before the two of you pulled yourselves up and headed to the bedroom, quickly slipping under the sheets and cuddling each other until sleep reigned over the room.

Cuddling Charles through the night was nothing new to neither of you. You loved the feeling of his arm around your back as you slept and he loved waking up with your head on his chest, therefore that had become your usual sleeping position, especially since his busy lifestyle often left the night as the only time you could connect with him without any disturbances getting in the way. Most times, it was amazing, getting to feel the other person's movements and breaths as they slept soundly, the simple interaction coming off as grounding and the ultimate human way to connect. You actually had a bit more to notice since Charles was someone who mumbled all sorts on nonsense when he's asleep. He wasn't a full on sleep talker but if you're listening, you would definitely be able to figure out what he was dreaming of at the time.

That night, you fell asleep with Charles brushing his fingers through your hair and woke up only a couple of hours later to soft mumbling leaving his mouth.

Groggily, you rolled onto your back, your hands instinctively rubbing your eyes as you tried to fully wake up and comprehend what had interrupted your sleep but silence had returned to the room and soon enough, it started lulling you back to sleep, the exhaustion from the past few days being a significant factor in how fast your eyes shut again.

However, it took only a few more seconds to wake up fully to the sound of barely coherent french.

"J'ai essayé tout..." I tried everything... That was all you could make out for a few seconds, the sounds quickly going back to quiet groans.

Confused, you sat up and turned the bedside lamp on, allowing the dim light to partially illuminate Charles' features. You could see a frown on his sleeping face as he moved slightly around the bed, as if in discomfort.

"Désolé." Sorry. He whispered again, his hand now rubbing at his face while he turned onto his side.

"Baby..." You softly spoke, cupping his face with a gentle hand, only to find it coated in a sheer layer of sweat.

With no response from Charles, you went for your second best option there. Your arms wrapped tightly around his body and even in his sleep, he hid his face in your neck.

For a second, you thought he was good, that it was just a quick bad dream but it was a moment later when you realized it wasn't just that.

"...la prochaine." ...the next one. He groaned, "Promis." Promise.

By then, you had caught onto the fact that he was dreaming of something related to racing and if the tension in his body and the expression of his face said anything, it was that he wasn't dreaming of something pleasant.

You let go of him and brushed back his hair while calling for him as he seemed to be mumbling his family's names barely coherently.

"Charles..." You called for him, sitting up and pushing away the blanket since he was sweating and breathing heavily. Repeatedly, you tried to wake him up, calling for him not too loudly as not to startle him all while your hands brushed through his hair and caressed his cheek.

"Non..." he was still groaning with an upset tone and at that point, it was sad and painful to have to hear him suffer through whatever he was dreaming of.

"Baby, c'mon wake up." You tried again, kissing his forehead.

Your patience was thinning since all your tries were failing but it wasn't until he let out a faint scream of an incoherent words that his name loudly left your lips and he quickly sat up, panting with his eyes shooting wide open.

"Are you okay?" Those words were the first thing to leave your mouth as you moved to kneel by his side.

For a second there, he still seemed confused, his face blank and his eyes lost, but through all of that obvious distortion, he nodded and fell back against the pillows, his hand covering his face.

"Reste ici," Stay here, you said even though he clearly wasn't going anywhere, "je t'apporte une tasse d'eau et je reviens." I will bring you a cup of water then i'll come back. You let him know and rushed off the bed to the kitchen, quickly filling up a cup with some cold water and joining him back in bed with just as much speed.

As soon as you were back beside him, he took the water and chugged it down quickly, disposed of it onto the bedside commode then pulled you closer to him.

The role were reversed and instead of you sleeping on his chest, you laid back on the bed and hugged him close until his body was partially on top of yours, his arm wrapped around your middle and his face hidden in the crook of your neck while you comforted him with slow rubs on his back and occasionally softly massaging his scalp. Short intervals separated deep sighs that Charles was letting out, showing that he was clearly still disturbed from the dream, rather nightmare.

"Bébé," you started, "ce n'était qu'un cauchemar." It was only a nightmare. You soothed, knowing that this was a safe ground to start from because it he wanted to talk about it, he now could and if he wasn't comfortable with that, shrugging this off was still on the table.

"I hated it." He whispered against the skin of your neck, "Tous le monde étaient là - ma famille et même la tienne - et ils parlaient tous du championnat." Everyone was here - my family and even yours - and they were all talking about the championship. Charles started explaining and you stayed quiet, hoping he would continue.

"Papa et Jules étaient déçus en moi." My dad and Jules were disappointed. He let that last part slip in a low, hesitant voice and went silent after it.

That's when you knew that was the nightmare part of the dream, the reason he was so shook and upset. It became clear that there wasn't anything else he was gonna say because that was the worst part of it all, every other detail becomes mostly irrelevant.

"Charles, baby... Do you actually believe they're disappointed in you? And don't answer this on impulse. Think about it for a second and tell me."

You heard a hesitant breath that he took, his mind clearly in conflict about the question, so you gave him the time to think.

Personally, you were proud of him. Everyone was more than proud of him and if he believed his dad and Jules wouldn't be, you would have to gladly show him all the reasons the truth was far from his personal beliefs about this. You would still hate it that he was disregarding all those reasons himself but you would make sure he saw them and weighed them out in comparison to all the negatives.

It was no secret to anyone how mentally draining this particular season was for him. You had been there for it all, the rage, the disbelief, the silence, the tears as well as the podiums, the celebrations and the wins. Therefore, it wouldn't be realistic to say you expected him to bounce back just like that, with no reminiscence or wondering about what could've been. He was human after all and people's expectations from him shouldn't be beyond that. The problem was that Charles' expectations from himself surpassed all the logical ones, what ultimately set him up with imminent disappointment when he realizes how he was sabotaging his mind.

"I don't think they're disappointed but i don't think they're that proud. When i become world champion, they will be." Charles broke the silence with those few words.

"Um..." you hummed, not exactly agreeing. "Sit up a little." With that, the two of you were sat in bed, him against the headboard while you sat with crossed legs by his side, facing him while he looked into the distance.

"I've seen you do this self destruction routine too many times these few months and i think it's about time someone told you this, Charles." You took his hand in yours, "You measure yourself as a whole on the racing scale when racing is just a part of you. Charles, you are way more than your career, way more that your racing results. You are a massively supportive brother, a caring and loving son, a lovable and trustworthy friend and an amazing, fairytale-like boyfriend. Wouldn't they be proud of that? Of you being such a good person?"

He turned to look at you, his lower lip tucked between his teeth as he bit onto it roughly, his eyes guarded while his grip on your hand tightened.

"And no, that doesn't mean your results for the season weren't good enough. You did amazing and you and me and most of your fans know that you're not the reason you didn't end up being a world champion this year. Being second in the driver's standings... Charles, that was all you! It was your own, personal effort and everyone knows it. You did your absolute fucking best, baby... and i don't know if it means much right now, but i really am so, so proud of you and, just like i know everyone else is feeling the same, i believe your dad and Jules would also feel proud." You tried to reassure him, and every word you said, you completely believed and hoped he would too.

Your eyes searched his face for any emotions and for a while, it looked like he was resisting them but then, under the dim lights of the room, his eyes glistened with a few tears that you barely caught a glimpse of because Charles pulled you to his chest, something in him urging to have you closer. His lips met yours in a quick kiss because he cuddled you close.

"Ça me signifie le monde que tu sois fière de moi." It means the world that you’re proud of me. He sniffled and said but from the restricted tone of his voice, you could tell that there was something else bugging him.

From your position between his arms, you noticed him gulp just before he leaned his head back against the headboard and heavily sighed.

"Charles," you sighed yourself, "what is it, bébé?" You asked and moved so his head was on your chest instead, your arms wrapped around his shoulders and your hands tracing soothing patterns onto his back. Charles found comfort in the way you were hugging him close, the beat of your heart audible to him as it synced with the beat of his. His legs tangled with yours and he finally found himself partially relaxing, enough to talk comfortably about everything at least.

"It's just small questions - that i have - that are annoying, like what if i never become champion?" He spoke in a low tone, "Tu sais, il n'y a rien qui me garantit que je serra jamais champion." You know, there's nothing that makes it certain that i will ever be champion.

For a minute after that, you thought deeply about his words. There was nothing you wanted to do more than tell him that his dream will inevitably come true one day, but as he said, where is the guaranty? You'd spent the whole past year reassuring him that the championship was his to clinch, that it was only a matter of time before the biggest trophy is his but there was no denying that all of that was just wishful thinking. He definitely has the talent and skills for it but there was several other things that needed to be aligned in order for the dream to manifest itself.

You held him closer then, your lips pursed as you attempted to formulate a decent reply. He deserved the world, not only being it's formula one racing champion and if any of that was ever yours to offer and gift, you would've presented him everything, wrapped in golden ribbons and a few words that it was his to keep.

"I think you will be champion one day but if nothing goes right and that, god forbid, doesn't happen, i want you to remember the person you are outside of racing. You're already a hero - a champion - to so many. You're an inspiration and a motivation to so many of your fans and supporters. They value you as a person as well as a driver, they admire your talent and strength and will support you through anything. Everyone, including me, would love to see you lift the championship trophy and we all know you're capable of doing just that but even without that happening, we will always love you just the same and we will still be sure that you're a brilliant driver, just one with the worst luck. I believe your dad and Jules would be telling you the same thing as well, baby.” You spoke softly, your fingers brushing through his hair carefully as you ended your sentence with a kiss to his forehead.

Charles nodded and tightened his grip on you, “Mais je veux vraiment être un champion…” But i really wanna be a champion… He replied, the words muffled.

“Et je crois bien que tu le sera. Your time to shine will come, honey.” And i believe you will be.

With a heavy sigh and a tight hold, Charles quietly whispered to you that he love you, thanking you for you words as well, “Merci, bébé. Je t’aime fort.”

“Je t’aime même plus, Charles.” You kissed the top of his head lightly before relaxing and feeling Charles relax his body too.

You cuddled him until he fell back asleep, then allowed your eyes to shut.

You hated it so much when he had these doubts but not once will you ever let him go to sleep with his self esteem shaky. You would always be there to pull him back onto his feet and support and reassure him. You promised him that a long time ago and to this day, you were still happy to keep up the promise.

Fuck A Title (Lewis Hamilton x Black!Fem Reader) (1/5)

SYNOPSIS: Lewis and his former FWB try to navigate the murky waters of being official.

PAIRINGS: Lewis Hamilton x black!fem reader

WARNINGS: cursing, sexual content, angst, racing vroom vroom stuff. RATED R (minors DNI/18+)

SONG REFERENCE: "Title" by Kiana Lede

TAGLIST: @queenshikongo3 @cocobutterqwueen @mauvecherie-writes @a-moment-captured @yeea-nah @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @lewisroscoelove @hxneyclouds @questionable-behaviour @lovebittenbyevans @tian-monique @alika-4466 @saintslewis @cherry2stems @planetmimi @woderfulkawaii @d3kstar @liamundi @trinitoldyouso @scorpiobleue @omgsuperstarg @certifiedlesbianbaddie @serpenttines-library @peyiswriting @motheroffae @hrlzy @sinflowersugar @hopefulromantic1 @vile-harlot @xoscar03 @blveeeeee @everywherea11thetime @blckgrl-sunflower @whoreforjjk @blowmymbackout

A/N: Not back fr, but had this in my drafts for a minute, so..... [Please comment & reblog]

You sucked in a sharp breath as Lewis pulled you flush against his rock-hard body, his intoxicating male musk enveloping her. "Damn, Lew..." you husked out as his full lips trailed searing kisses along your neck.

Lewis rumbled a low chuckle against you skin, the gravelly timbre shooting tingles along her spine. "You know you want to stay." His mouth found hers, kissing her with a slow, hungry intensity.

"I can’t," you mutter as you arched shamelessly against the solid wall of muscle, whimpering into the heated kiss. These intimate nights used to be your steamy little secret - just two badass workaholics blowing off steam as commitment-free FWBs whenever you craved each other's bodies.

"I'll have your breakfast waiting in the morning, baby girl," Lewis purred in that panty-melting accent, charming and rugged all at once. "Let me take care of you like you deserve."

Your thoughts went to last season; it was stress-free, almost reminiscent of an endless vacation with you being flown out to see Lewis at some of his races — Monaco, Japan, Las Vegas, and Abu Dhabi, to name a few. There was also that two-week getaway to Turkey during summer break with his close guy friends.

But nothing could ever prepare you for how quickly things changed between you and Lewis. Just a few weeks ago, he wanted to make things official.

You blame that Brazilian girl. Jackie, Josie, Julia-something-or-the-other. Lewis's other sidepiece. The one who didn't know how to be discreet.

She's been kicking it with Lewis and his inner circle since 2019, and their off-and-on cycle can put anyone's head in a tailspin.

But, it wasn't your problem to deal with.

As messed up and unusual as it may sound, you knew what you had with Lewis. The conversations were always on par, the sex was bomb, and his friends were nice.

It wasn't until JuJu leaked his whereabouts to a tabloid journalist during his winter getaway to Brazil that Lewis finally put the nail in the coffin for whatever situation they had, and in return, it was you whom he had invited to join him in Paris, testing in Bahrain, and even a race in Saudi Arabia. It was you who he eventually grew close with, closer than what you envisioned, causing him to have an epiphany or midlife crisis moment, but he wanted you for some reason.

You and only you.

Against your shot-caller instincts, you had agreed to try monogamy with your long-time friends-with-benefits partner, yet could you really live up to the ride-or-die girlfriend role?

In the racing world, Lewis was F1 royalty - the kind of megastar talent that sparked a panty parade from groupies with each arrival. At thirty-nine years old, the British race monster had already stacked up multiple championship wins, the insane looks of a cologne model, and a net worth balling enough to buy a private island.

Cradled against his frame, you almost forgot your doubts about your newly-minted relationship status.

Almost.

Lewis was a whole meal with his tattooed body: wide shoulders, chiseled chest and biceps, and a tempting vee that disappeared beneath his form-fitting Tommy Hilfiger briefs. It almost felt criminal for one man to be so incredibly attractive.

"You're doing it again," that baritone washed over you as Lewis smirked knowingly. "Getting thirsty for me. This is why you need to stay." He flexed his pecs in a ludicrous muscle-man pose, making you throw back your head and laugh.

"Bye, Lewis," you shot back, eyes sparkling with mirth as you ran an admiring hand along his sculpted torso. "My mind was on work."

The lie was smooth, but he knew better.

"You think about work more than I do," Lewis chuckled richly, catching your roaming hand to tug you close once more. His skin glowed temptingly in the dim light, and you felt your resistance swiftly melting as his lips crashed into yours again. He tasted like your ultimate indulgence. But soon, much too soon, Lewis drew back with obvious reluctance. "Best not keep tempting me, baby girl. Let me walk you to your car like a good boyfriend."

And there it was - that word reminding you of your new reality. Boyfriend.

Swallowing hard, you began gathering your scattered clothes. "I should really go," she said, aiming for a breezy tone that fell flat even to your own ears. "But raincheck on the morning cuddles and all that, yeah? I've got an early call time."

Lewis watched you with that panty-dropping stare, shaking his head in fond exasperation. "Will you call me when you get to work at least?"

"Of course," you replied, sliding into your dress and avoiding his intense gaze. "I'll see you later," you said with a forced smile before turning and making your way out of the bedroom.

Like a dog to a bone, Lewis followed closely behind in nothing but his briefs and that all-too-obvious aroused bulge that he proudly sported. Bending over to put on your heels, you flinched slightly at the unexpected touch from behind.

His hands flattened against your spine, trailing downwards until it reached your hips before settling on your ass.

With a sharp intake of breath, you turned around to face him, eyes wide with shock and arousal as his fingers squeezed the plump flesh of your backside. "You can’t just grab me like that," you protested weakly, even as your body leaned into his touch.

A devilish grin crossed Lewis’ face. "But you like it," he murmured huskily, gazing down at you with hooded eyes. "You sure I can't convince you to stay?"

"Nope."

Lewis pouted playfully, his hands still lingering on your hips as he leaned in for one last kiss. "Fine," he sighed dramatically, before pressing his lips to your forehead and releasing you with a parting slap on your ass. "I'll see you later, then."

You grinned up at him as you straightened your dress and made your way towards the front door. "Bye, Lewis," you called over your shoulder.

As soon as you stepped outside into the cool London air, reality hit hard. Your mind was a cyclone of emotions.

Why were you still craving the easy detachment of your previous arrangement? Surely you were just going through an adjustment period of cold feet. A big part of you felt skittish about going from independent and free to somebody's boo'd up ball-and-chain, especially with someone who equally enjoyed working as you did. Though you weren’t on Lewis' level of fame, you still had clout as a fashion stylist and worked with prominent magazines, such as Vogue and Vanity Fair. You faced plenty of trials and trepidations in your life, yet navigating this new realm of commitment would be your ultimate challenge.

The drive to your hotel was quiet, with your mind filled with thoughts of Lewis and the budding relationship between the two of you. Shaking off those thoughts for now, you focused on reaching the hotel safely and getting some rest before another long day on set tomorrow.

The next morning came far too soon for your liking. Despite having only slept for a few hours due to work calls and texts from Lewis throughout the night (something he did often but never seemed to tire), you dragged yourself out of bed when your alarm blared loudly.

After a quick shower and a strong cup of coffee, you were dressed and ready to head to the set for another long day of styling. As you arrived at the location, you were greeted by familiar faces - the models, photographers, and other crew members whom you had worked with countless times before in the last couple of months. You were currently on a six-month contract for Schön! and even though there was some shoots that required long work days, you appreciated the flexibility of the work.

Everyone was scurrying around, setting up equipment and making last minute adjustments before the shoot began. You made your way over to the fashion rack where designer clothing was carefully organized and ready to be styled on the models.

"Morning, Y/N!" A voice called out from across the room.

You turned to see one of your bosses, Tara, walking towards you with a smile on her face.

"Hey, Tara," you replied. "How's it going?"

"It's going good," she said, glancing around at the busy set. "Looks like another long day ahead of us."

You both chuckled, knowing that long days were just part of the job.

"So, what are we working with today?" Tara asked curiously as she looked over at the fashion rack.

"A mix of high-end brands and some vintage pieces," you replied, pulling out a beautiful Dior dress from its garment bag. "I'm excited to see how this looks on one of our models."

Tara nodded in agreement before getting pulled away by one of the photographers who needed her assistance. You went back to organizing and styling the clothes for each look on your mood board.

As the day went on, you couldn't help but feel a little distracted by the constant buzzing of your phone. Every few minutes, another text from Lewis would come through, each one more persistent than the last.

"Come with me to Australia," one read. "I'll book your flights."

"Wasn't it your fantasy to be bent over the railing of a hotel overlooking Hobsons Bay?" another said.

You sighed as you set your phone down on the table next to you, trying to focus on the task at hand. The shoot was going smoothly but with every text from Lewis, it became harder and harder to concentrate.

One thing was for sure: this nigga was extremely persistent.

You couldn't deny that a trip to Australia sounded tempting - it had been on your bucket list for years now. But at the same time, it wasn't practical for you to just drop everything and go away for an undetermined amount of time.

Or could you? an intrusive thought bubbled in your head. The ho' side of yourself was speaking, coming out from the depths of her hoeness cave. It often appeared whenever Lewis was involved, and let's be honest, it was probably the reason why you found yourself in this weird ass situation in the first place.

Think about that tongue of his, girl! ‘Member how he had you walking funny for three days straight after finishing in eighth place?!

You couldn't forget it, as it would always be ingrained in the fiber of your very being. You enjoyed seeing Lewis angry, especially when there was a mistake during race weekend. Not that you blamed him for losing, as the car wasn't up to par, but he had a unique way of channeling his anger through sexual pleasure.

A familiar shiver ran down your spine as you hit send on a three-letter response to him.

Well, there goes the idea of keeping my distance and any modicum of self-respect.

Bitch, you know you can't resist that dick, quipped your inner ho.

And as usual, she was correct.

The hotel didn't have a direct view of Hobsons Bay, but the Yarra River and Botanical Gardens could still be seen from the balcony. It was nighttime, and as Lewis moved in a steady rhythm, your vision may not have been top-notch, but the sparkling city lights served as a focal point amidst the familiar feeling building up in your pelvic region, signaling an imminent orgasm.

You couldn't help but moan loudly as Lewis hit that spot inside of you that always made you lose control. He had you bent over the railing, one hand gripping your hip while the other played with your aching nodule. Each thrust sent bolts of pleasure shooting through your body.

"Fuck," he grunted in your ear. "You feel so good."

You couldn't respond, too lost in the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. As his pace quickened, your moans grew louder and more desperate. The height from the penthouse's balcony was both terrifying and exhilarating, deafening in its intensity. It was a common choice for him whenever he visited Australia, as if being that high up meant less chance of encountering any spiders.

Just as you were about to reach your climax, Lewis stopped to bend down to bury his face in your core, working that sinful mouth of his. Your legs began to tremble as two of his fingers pushed inside you, matching the movements of his tongue.

He had always been a master at eating pussy, and it didn't take long for you to reach your climax. You cried out his name as waves of ecstasy washed over you, leaving you breathless and satisfied. Lewis stood up, a smug grin on his face as he saw the effect he had on you. He turned you around to kiss you deeply, tasting your own essence on his lips.

"You're still the best I've ever had," he whispered against your lips.

After catching your breath, you put a smirk on your face. "That's because I am the best," you teased.

"You’re right 'bout that," he concurred, leading you to the patio couch.

He sat next to you, his hands running up your sides and causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. You leaned into his touch, enjoying the sensation of his hands on your body.

"You always know how to make me feel good," you murmured.

"I aim to please," he replied with a wicked grin, before leaning in to kiss you again.

Without breaking the kiss, Lewis maneuvered you so you were now straddling his lap. His lips moved down your neck, causing shivers to run down your spine. Your hands roamed his muscular back, feeling every ridge and dip of his body.

His hands traveled to your hips, guiding them as you began to grind against him. The friction between your bodies was building a delicious heat, making it hard for you both to control yourselves.

"God, I need you," he growled against your skin.

You moaned in response, eagerly meeting his lips again. Lewis thrust upwards, filling you to the hilt and causing a soft gasp to escape your lips. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you leaned back slightly and rocked your hips faster against his. The pressure was building between the two of you and it was becoming harder to keep quiet. Your nails raked across his skin and he hissed in pain.

"Mmm...easy there, baby girl," he rumbled out a low warning, giving your earlobe a gentle nip of reproach. "Can't have you mauling me before the big race this weekend. Need to look pretty for my adoring fans."

You scoffed and ground harder against him in sweet retaliation, making him curse roughly. "Please, I'll mark you up anyway I want," you husked.

Lewis chuckled and tightened his grip on your waist, holding you still as he thrust up into you with more force. Your head fell back in pleasure, a loud moan escaping your lips.

"Jesus Christ," he groaned, his movements becoming more frenzied as he chased his own release. He reached between your bodies to stimulate your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, along with your moans and Lewis' low curses.

"That’s my girl takin' this dick so well," he croons softly. "You’re so fuckin' wet, baby. You like this dick, huh? This yours?"

Lewis' words only spurred you on, as you continued to ride him with reckless abandon. The pleasure was building inside of you, threatening to consume you completely.

"You know it's mine," you gasped out, your nails digging into his shoulders. "No one else's."

"Damn right," Lewis growled, his own release approaching fast. He gripped your hips tighter and slammed into you one last time, pushing you both over the edge.

Your walls clenched around him like a vice as you came undone, screaming his name as he followed suit shortly after.

Panting and sweating, the two of you collapsed onto the couch in a tangled heap. Lewis held you close, kissing your forehead gently.

"You're amazing," Lewis murmured, voice rough with satiated desire. His arms tightened around you, pulling your flushed body flush against his sweat-sheened skin.

You hummed out a breathless laugh, nuzzling your face against the solid warmth of his chest. "So are you."

For a long while, the two of you simply held each other close, basking in the post-coital glow. Lewis traced idle patterns across the exposed skin of your back, his touch reverent and tender.

Finally, with obvious reluctance, Lewis stirred beneath you.

"As much as I hate to move right now, we should probably get cleaned up."

The two of you stood up, still tangled in each other's embrace, and made your way to the bathroom. Lewis turned on the shower and adjusted the temperature before pulling you under the warm spray with him.

You leaned back against his chest, feeling content and blissful as he washed your body with slow, gentle movements. His hands lingered on your curves and crevices, eliciting soft moans from you.

"I could get used to this," Lewis murmured against your neck, pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot behind your ear.

You chuckled and turned around in his arms, wrapping yours around his neck. "Me too."

And even though you are apprehensive, there is no denying that Lewis was still the best thing in your world, but it all can't be butterflies and rainbows...

TO BE CONTINUED.....

366 notes View Post

escapismlourve

1 year ago

The Winner Takes It All||Challengers

AN: So, I finally I got to see Challengers yesterday and boy do I have thoughts that may or may not be weaved into the story, things still might be ooc or wrong. Also, I'm warning y'all now, I know absolutely nothing about tennis/college and partook in half ass research on how the sport functions.

Based this fic off the most gut wrenching ABBA song because it fits so well with the story. I hope you all enjoy this mini series, don't know if I did it justice from translating this from my head onto Tumblr, but we move. And hopefully there aren't any spelling or grammar errors, but if there are, we die like men.

A playlist for this series is coming soon!

Word Count: 3.5k

Trigger Warnings: mentions of colorism and racism

Taglist: @seriousaliysa @hopless-y @malscorner @miximora @urfavesim @mmmunson @jackierose902109 @youngestxhearts @blkdivinefeminine @kailkailz @lottiematthewsceo @lonnie2390147 @begoniaespresso @everydayimagineer @pnkstalli @softimgyu @amethystwonders11 @hazbinh0e @ysuftmikey

I tried to tag everyone who commented, but tumblr is being weird so I don't know if you'll get the notification.

Part One: Sugar & Spice

With her arms folded across her chest, Gianna's eyes were glued to the TV screen in front of her as two male sports analysts began to discuss their pick for match of the day.

"Oh man, this right here was my favorite today!" one analyst stated excitedly.

"For sure! It was the match to watch as the tennis world bore witness to the next up-and-coming tennis star," the other commentator agreed.

The camera cut away from the men and to the highlights of the mixed doubles championship match.

"Out the gate Gianna Langdon, ranked number five in girls singles, set the the tone for the day with a powerful ace to start the match,"

A clip of the opening minute of the match is put on the screen with Gianna throwing the ball high in the air for the first, and perfectly executed serve, followed by her pumping her fist in triumph with a grin.

"From there, she and her partner, Max Sullivan, kept their opponents, Roy Christians and Marie Riviera on the back foot for what seemed like the entire match,"

Gianna studied the way she nimbly moved around on the grass court, her swift volleys, sharp serves, and effortless backhands left no room for doubt that she was a force to be reckoned with.

"Play of the match goes to none other than Gianna Langdon, with this volley to put the nail in the coffin of this championship," the analyst reported, as the final moments of the match popped up on the screen.

With a powerful strike, the tennis ball was slammed back over the net by Roy onto Gianna's side of the court. Roy's hit lifted the ball high into the air forcing Gianna to reposition herself and backpedal to the spot to return it. Leaping up, Gianna smashed the ball down with force, out of reach from both Marie and Roy, the game winning hit. The clip replayed, but only this time in slow motion, so viewers at home could properly admire the athleticism on display. ESPN then did a jump cut of Gianna and Max both dropping their rackets simultaneously before rushing towards each other to embrace. Max even lifted up her a bit, twirling them around as they celebrated their victory.

The camera panned back to the two commentators who were wrapping up their coverage of the tournament.

"Honestly, Gianna Langdon just dominates the tennis field for her age group whether it's single or doubles," the commentator complimented, gathering his papers up in his hands and tapping it against the desk.

Gianna's lips lifted at the praise, its rare she gets her flowers as a tennis player.

"She's a force to be reckoned with, no doubt about that. If she keeps playing like she is now, she can easily break into the top three, but she's no Tashi Duncan," the other commentator corrected.

At this, her smile instantly fell off her face. Since freshman year of high school, Gianna has forever lived under the inescapable shadow of the phenomenal, powerhouse that is Tashi Duncan. Because Tashi wasn't just some athlete, she was the athlete. The next Serena Williams, as some people taken to calling her. Gianna might as well been chopped liver.

The girls have been thick as thieves since Gianna moved to the same school as Tashi and was paired up by their coach to be doubles partners. The duo were unstoppable on the court, as Gianna was a tennis prodigy in her own right, but often was relegated to just being known as Tashi Duncan's partner. A repeated slight which didn't go unnoticed by her two strongest supporters, her parents. They made it their mission to drill Gianna with an unshakable sense of self confidence in not only her skills with a tennis racket, but also her appearance.

"Don't you ever let the media or naysayers play in your face about your talents, Gianna," her father's words echoing in her head. "You already know, you have to work twice as hard to get half the recognition compared to others," he went on.

Gianna recalled the exact day, he gave her this speech. She was probably fifteen and won a match against some Eastern European girl, it was an upset, and boy did everyone make it a point to tell her so. It ranged from backhanded compliments to outright slurs lobbed at her.

"Oh, so when Tashi pulverizes her opponent on the court who's ranked higher than her it's admirable, but when I do it's a problem!" she complained.

"Competing against Tashi, you need to be prepared that narratives are going to be formed and pushed from factors beyond your control," her father warned. "She's lighter, you're darker. She's thin, you have curves. You're both confident, but only one of you is going to be labeled as arrogant," he listed.

"It's a shame we didn't get to see Duncan and Langdon compete together in girls doubles this year," the analyst said, snapping Gianna out her thoughts.

"Agreed, the best girl duo in juniors we've seen in years,"

Images of Gianna and Tashi materialized on the screen, some were from the last two Junior US Open Championships; both of the, proudly beaming and holding their trophies high above their heads and kissing each other's cheek. But, the one picture that stood out the most to Gianna was their cover on Tennis. Both of them had their arms folded and their game faces on with the headline emblazoned below them.

“Sugar & Spice”

~~~x~~~

Rounding the corner of the hallway, the doors where Tashi's party was being held outside came into Gianna's view. Music and the low murmur of voices floated out of the room, bouncing off the walls as she drew closer. From the corner of Gianna's eyes, she caught her reflection in the hallway mirror promoting her to stop. A pair of eyes, identical to color of rich, molasses stared back at her. Carefully, Gianna studied herself in the mirror from every angle. The healthy glow of her golden, deep brown skin made the light dusting of freckles decorating her upper cheeks and nose more prominent.

"She's no Tashi Duncan,"

It only took those four, little words to dampen Gianna's cheery demeanor and leave her brooding since the afternoon.

Lips pursed, she shook her head slightly, "No, no, no," she whispered to herself. "You're still a champion, Gianna. Fuck that ESPN analyst," she said lowly, smoothing out the pale yellow halter dress she wore.

Letting a lopsided grin grow on her lips, Gianna moved away from the mirror and entered into the ballroom where the party was in full swing. She weaved her way through the crowd to find Tashi, but found herself stopping repeatedly to smile and shake hands as people crowded round her to congratulate her on her match. Gianna couldn't help but feel smug. For once, people were basking in her presence and enjoying the chance to meet a future tennis star in person. It boosted Gianna's ego—a pure, bone-deep satisfaction that something in the air was beginning to shift.

She was starting to be seen as a standout player, not just an extension to Tashi.

Thanking her last well wisher, Gianna's eyes met Tashi's who was a few feet from where she stood. A flicker of recognition flittered across her face and she smiled a tiny smile. Tashi was not alone though, two boys were standing in front her and seemed to be having a very lively conversation.

"What's this I see?" Gianna wondered aloud, brushing past one of the boys. "I'm gone for a minute and you're already making new friends without me," she joked, dropping into the empty chair next to Tashi.

Across from her, both boys were slack jawed and unable to tear their eyes away Gianna. Pride simmered in her chest, Gianna already knew that she was beautiful, but it was nice to be reminded of that fact every now and then. Especially, when there's two boys ogling at her looks and treating her like a divine being.

"You boys gonna stop staring and introduce yourselves, or what?" Gianna questioned, her words flavored with a lulling Louisiana drawl and the boys snapped from their stupor.

"Let me, these two seem to be malfunctioning," Tashi cut in, with a smirk.

"They keep on drooling any longer, they'll catch flies," Gianna quipped, her nude colored lips curling upwards.

Tashi motioned to the dark haired boy with sharp features, "This is Patrick Zweig," she introduced, as Gianna's eyes met Patrick's gray ones, holding her stare and grinning widely. Confidence that bordered on cockiness practically radiated off him. "And this is Art Donaldson," Tashi continued, gesturing to the boy next to Patrick.

Art only allowed himself a small, shy, smile when her eyes shifted over to him. Unabashedly, Gianna let her eyes roam over Art's features. Those blond curls, those blue eyes.

God, they're both gorgeous.

Tashi placed her hand on Gianna's knee, "Patrick and Art, this is my best friend—" she started.

"Gianna Langdon," Patrick and Art interjected simultaneously, causing a Cheshire grin to form on Gianna's lips.

"Well, well, my fan club only continues to grow this tournament," Gianna joked, playing with the curly ends of her pick and drop braids.

"Deservedly so, you were absolutely amazing this tournament," Art complimented, a breathy chuckle leaving him.

"That play when you landed a split after playing a return," Patrick mentioned, beaming at her. "And you still got the point, fucking incredible!" he praised, shaking his head.

She smiled, "Oh, so you two have been avidly watching my matches then?" Gianna questioned, playfulness in her voice while slightly leaning forward in her seat.

"Ashamedly, not initially," Art admitted, and Gianna quirked brow. "But after your storybook comeback in Round 4, we knew there was no way we couldn’t stop watching you," he added quickly.

"Singles or doubles," Patrick chimed in.

"Did you by chance watch any of our matches, Gianna?" Art asked timidly, staring at her with hopeful eyes.

She smirked, "Singles or doubles?" Gianna asked back, smoothly echoing Patrick's words.

"Either," Patrick responded, his eyes drinking her in.

They both seemed mesmerized. Leaning in closer, as if they were going to learn her with their close proximity. Gianna hummed thoughtfully, leaning back in her chair and raising a finger to her chin to mull over the question. She glanced over to Tashi, who was already watching her with an amused expression. Embarrassingly, Gianna kind of forgot her best friend was literally sitting next to her, she had become too engrossed in her conversation with the newcomers.

"No, can't say that I have," Gianna answered finally, with a shrug.

Art deflated, his face falling as the tips of his ears went fiery red, while Patrick's shoulders sagged a little.

"O-Oh," Art breathed.

There was a silence. Gianna looked off to her side again to see a ghost of a grin threatening to appear on Tashi's face. When the two girls' eyes connected with each other, they burst out laughing at the same time. Both boys looked at each other wordlessly, both speechless by this.

"Gia's just fucking with you two," Tashi explained, in between laughter.

Relief couldn't have been written across their faces more clearly.

"Yeah, I actually watched your championship match while I was in the recovery room," Gianna informed, her giggles subsiding. "Your between the legs shot was very inspired, Patrick," she remarked, with a smile.

At this, Patrick puffed out his chest a bit.

"You know, they're playing against each other tomorrow in the boys singles championship match," Tashi mentioned, her eyes bouncing between the boys.

"Are they now?" Gianna responded, an intrigued smirk gracing her face while crossing one leg over the other.

"We are!" Art blurted out, almost too eagerly.

"You both should come and watch," Patrick suggested.

Gianna cocked her head to the side, "Hmm, maybe," she answered, having a little fun toying with them.

Tashi rose from her chair, reaching her hand out for Gianna's.

"Come on, my dad is waving me over to come take pictures," Tashi informed.

"This is a group activity?" Gianna questioned, her brows furrowing.

"No, but the demand for Gianna Langdon is ever growing," she reminded, her eyes filled with mirth.

"It sure is," Gianna agreed, taking her hand as her friend helped her to her feet. Gianna looked over to Patrick and Art. "Well, ciao. It was nice meeting y'all," Gianna said, waving goodbye as Tashi led her away.

"Goodbye?" Patrick jokingly scoffed. "We'll be here all night!" he called out after her.

~~~x~~~

True to their word, Patrick and Art were in the same spot where Gianna and Tashi had left them earlier and they were more than willing to continue hanging out with the girls. Which is how the group of four found themselves on the beach, slowly treading along the sand, the dark blue sky and millions of stars above them. Naturally, Tashi had found herself in the middle of the group with Patrick flanking on her left and Art on her right.

Gianna was next to Art and as they walked, their arms would accidentally brush against each other every now and then. Both of them exchanging shy smiles at the fleeting contact that sent butterflies fluttering in Gianna's stomach. She secretly relished the contact from Art, he radiated warmth similar to that of a dryer-warm blanket; a nice contrast to the cool sand between her toes.

"You know earlier, Tashi asked us who was fire and who was ice," Patrick spoke, looking over to Gianna. "I figured I should return the favor, between the two of you, who's sugar and who's spice?" he asked, his eyes bouncing from Tashi to her.

"Tashi, is definitely 'spice'," Gianna answered, and Tashi rolled her eyes with a smile. "She's more fiery than me and has a more aggressive play style than I do," she explained.

"Making you 'sugar', of course," Art reasoned, the two staring at one another. "You are the perfect mix of deadly grace and effortless balance on the court," he described, going in an almost dreamlike trance.

"Why, thank you Art," Gianna said, bumping her arm into his.

"If Tashi is 'spice' and your 'sugar', why does the media switch it around?" Patrick wondered.

"Preconceived notions, methinks," Gianna replied, simply shrugging her shoulders.

They wandered along until they settled on a spot to hang out at. Art and Patrick both sat in deck chairs while Tashi and Gianna perched themselves on a large rock. Conversation flowed between all them on a myriad of topics ranging from college, life in general, and of course tennis.

"So Gianna," Patrick began, a small curious and mischievous glint in his eyes. "Your doubles partner Bryce—"

"It's Max," Gianna corrected flatly, with a laugh.

He smirked, "I was in the ballpark," Patrick argued, throwing his hands up. "Anyways, you and Max, you two a thing?" he asked curiously, before taking a drag of his cigarette.

"Eww, no!" Tashi exclaimed, her nose twisting in disgust. "You think Gia has such low standards?" she asked back, clearly offended on Gianna's behalf.

"Tashi, come on, Max is not that bad of a person," Gianna stated, lifting her hand up to tell her to calm down.

"Honestly, I don't know how she does it," Tashi went on. "It's a miracle she can still walk after carrying Max through this entire tournament," she sneered.

"Look, Max is not someone who I would consider as an ideal mixed doubles partner," Gianna conceded, her gaze meeting everyone's. "He's mediocre actually," she said bluntly, making Patrick and Art both snicker. "However, Max as an individual and not as an athlete, he's a wonderful guy," she said, with a slight shrug. "Us dating has never once crossed my mind," she finished, waving her hand dismissively.

"So it sounds like you'll be in need of a new partner soon," Patrick hinted, a hunger in his stare.

"Hmm, I guess I will," Gianna agreed, letting a coy smile grow on her lips. "You know anybody?" she asked, tilting her head a little.

"I can think of two people off the top of my head," Art responded, taking a drag of his own cigarette and blowing it out slowly.

"Oh, is that so? And who just—" Gianna started.

Suddenly, Gianna's phone began noisily vibrating in her lap, putting an end to the playful between the boys and Gianna. She picked up her phone and flipped it open before exhaling heavily, it was her dad texting her.

"Shit, fun's over guys," Gianna announced, with another sigh. "My dad wants me back in my room," she explained, unfolding her legs.

"Your won a championship today, and you're father won't let you stay up late to celebrate?" Patrick asked in disbelief, leaning forward in his chair.

"Obviously, you don't know my father if you think a single championship win is going to get him to loosen his reins on his regimented schedule for me," Gianna stated, grabbing her sandals and letting them dangle from her fingers.

"You're about to be off to Stanford, it's insane your dad is giving you a curfew," Art chimed in.

"Well, I'm not at Stanford yet," Gianna pointed out. "And also..." she trailed off, turning to Tashi who had a knowing look on her face. "His roof, his rules," they both said in unison, after hearing those words countlessly over the years.

Finally standing up from the rock, the boys followed suit. Both of their gazes traveled the length of Gianna yet again, as if they needed to commit her to memory.

"I can walk you back to the ferry and to your hotel," Art offered kindly.

"We both could," Patrick volunteered.

"As much as I am flattered that both of you want to walk me back, I can manage just fine," Gianna assured. "Plus, we're all going to be playing an unwanted game of 21 questions if my dad sees two, random white boys walking me to my room," she remarked, with a chuckle.

Tashi pushed herself up onto her feet, "I'll come with you, Gia,"

"No, no stay, Tashi," Gianna encouraged. "Don't end the fun on my account," she insisted. "Another time will come about for all of us to hang out again, right?" she questioned.

A toothy grin broke out on Patrick's face, "There's gonna be another time?" he asked

"I don't see why not," she answered, mirroring his expression. "The three of us are going to be at Stanford together, and I'm sure you come visit from time to time. It all works out so well!" Gianna said excitedly.

Art opened his mouth to speak, but the shrill ringing of Gianna's phone silenced him. Looking down at the phone, she grimaced slightly.

"Shit, I really have to go, my dad is calling now," Gianna stressed.

"Then get going," Tashi prompted, playfully swatting her bottom.

A surprised whoop escaped Gianna's lips before morphing into a giggle as she began to half-walk, half-jog away from the group. She spun around to face them, continuing to walk backwards.

"This was really fun y'all, we should do this again, yeah?" she yelled.

"I look forward to it!" Art yelled back.

"Me too!" Patrick shouted.

Laughing, Gianna spun around and jogged away, all too aware of the three pair of eyes boring into her back.

~~~x~~~

Propped up against the hotel bed headboard, Gianna was tucked underneath the blankets with a well-worn copy of Baking with Julia in her hands. If tennis was her first love, then baking was her second. There was nothing more relaxing than to Gianna than being able to slow down and just allowing herself to focus on precision, without any of the heightened stakes that came with tennis. Not to mention, beating eggs or whisking a cake were great ways to rid herself of any frustration she may be feeling.

A series of rhythmic knocks on her door pulled Gianna from her musings. She didn't even have to ask who it was, she could tell by the pattern of the familiar knock.

"Just use the card I gave you, Tashi," Gianna called, her voice just loud enough for her to hear.

There's a quiet click of the door unlocking before the door opened a crack and Tashi's head popped into her room, a shit eating grin on her face.

"Hurry up and get in here, before my dad sees!" Gianna ordered, with a laugh.

Closing the door behind her, Tashi pranced over to Gianna and sat beside her on the floor on the edge of her bed.

"Tell me everything! What happened after I left?" Gianna asked, a smile of her own on her face.

"They invited me to come up to their room,"

"And you went?"

"I did," Tashi answered, a smirk on her lips.

Gianna landed a playful hit on Tashi's arm, "No fucking way!" she whispered, her eyes wide. "You hooked up with both of them?"

"I didn't sleep with them," Tashi corrected. "We only made out, and then they made out," she added, smirking proudly.

Gianna raised an eyebrow, "They made out? Patrick and Art?" she questioned.

"Yep," Tashi grinned.

"On their own or did they have some help?" Gianna asked, arching a brow.

Wordlessly, Tashi plucked Gianna's book from her hands and she straddled her, resting each leg on either side of Gianna.

"They did most of the heavy lifting, I just gave them the push they needed," Tashi explained, looping her arms around her friend's neck.

"Now, I'm a little jealous. I missed out on all the fun," Gianna complained, sticking out her lower lip in a mock pout.

"Gia babe, don't worry, I did not forget about you," Tashi reassured, as Gianna hands came to rest on Tashi's thighs. "Remember their match tomorrow?" she reminded.

"Yeah,"

"Winner gets my number…." Tashi trailed off, removing her right arm from around Gianna's neck. "And yours," she finished, lightly tapping the tip of her nose.

A slow smile spread across Gianna's lips as Tashi's words sunk in. She knew exactly what her friend was up to, especially if it meant Tashi could watch some "real fuckin' tennis".

"Tashi Duncan, the girl that you are," Gianna praised, letting out a chuckle.

Leaning forward, Gianna planted a soft kiss on Tashi's lips. It was only meant to be a quick peck, but as Gianna went to pull away, Tashi held her face, keeping their lips connected.

Tashi withdrew herself from Gianna, "Tomorrow is gonna be so fucking good," she grinned, her eyes twinkling at the thought. "And guess what is the best part about all of this, Gia?" she questioned, their forehead resting against each others.

"What?'

"We already have them wrapped our fingers, without even trying," Tashi answered, sending the girls into a fit of giggles.

397 notes View Post

escapismlourve

2 months ago

lando norris, pierre gasly (love triangle)

all parts - completed

1K notes View Post

escapismlourve

11 months ago

The Winner Takes It All Masterlist

Pairings: Art Donaldson x black!reader, Patrick Zweig x black!reader, Tashi Duncan x black!reader

Summary: For Gianna Langdon, being overlooked came as naturally as swinging a tennis racket. It’s only to be expected living in the shadow of Tashi Duncan, Gianna’s best friend. That is until the 2006 US Open Juniors where her world collides with Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson and suddenly Gianna found herself in a position she never thought possible, sharing the spotlight with Tashi. What follows next, no one could’ve predicted. Four lives upturned and forever intertwined in a viscous cycle of betrayal, jealousy, hatred, and tragedy spanning a decade.

Part I: Sugar & Spice

Part II: Maneaters

34 notes View Post

escapismlourve

1 year ago

Earn It Index

You're all I care about. What do I need to do to keep you?

Heaven Whitlock Aesthetic

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

Ch. 4

419 notes View Post

escapismlourve

2 years ago

Hello!! May I request a charles leclerc fluff drable where he's like always staring at y/n (in a non-creepy way hehe) and like just has a big crush on her even when they're dating already type of thing? or something? tysm!

something – cl16

Looking can be so similar to loving—just ask Charles.

auds here... title from this. also i feel it is the one of the best ‘so enamored ur moving in slow mo’ songs...

A blue dress. Deep blue, satin, wrapped around your figure like you’re a dream that’s his.

There are moments where Charles’ world slows when he sees you, and this is one of them, a year into dating. Suddenly he feels like he’s a teen seeing his first racing car, or a kid seeing Star Wars all over again. Nothing else matters but this—but you, in this deep blue dress, your arms swinging around as you dance to the upbeat music that plays at this dinner party.

Someone’s clutched your hand and twirled you around, so quick your hair falls over your face. He wants to pick you up, let his hands wring around your waist and hug you close, close, closer. He wants to wipe the hair from your face, press a kiss to your cheek, then your nose, then your lips, taste the martini there, smell the sea and the two spritzes of perfume on your jaw.

You move in slow motion, every ripple of your dress, every tendril of hair over your eyelashes. You’re laughing, tipsy, when your friend hugs you close, moving the both of you into a shitty waltz. Jesus, you’re so pretty.

“Charles!” You’re saying. He blinks, and your eyes are meeting his, smiling with the rest of your face. The French summer has tinged your cheeks with the heat, your left shoulder peeling with a sunburn. Even now in the evening, when it hides, it’s managed to follow you still, blinding and beautiful. An arm stretches out, a hand, then a finger. Come on, you’re saying, dance with me!

It’s your favorite song that’s playing, some disco tune that has you hopping excitedly, hips swaying in the kind of way he can’t ever get his eyes off of. He knows this because it’s one of the ones at the top of his Spotify statistics, what with how often you’re using his phone to launch impromptu dance parties while cooking or cleaning or driving.

So he does, gets up from where he’s been sitting while everyone else dances. He’d been undoing his tie, then two buttons on his polo, nursing Scotch (between you both, you like to say, he’s the boring drinker and you’re the fun one.) You shimmy your shoulders when his hand locks with yours, a smile stretching onto your face when he pulls you close and wraps the same arm around your waist. The song hasn’t yet reached its crescendo, so you sway softly, smiling like idiots.

“Hi, beautiful,” he says, eyes lidded from the alcohol and the feeling of being this near you.

“Hey there, handsome. Here often?”

“Just passing by, actually.” He pauses. “I saw a beautiful girl from the entrance and couldn’t help myself.”

You laugh, letting him twirl you as the chorus begins, both of you moving to the ever-familiar beat of this song and using the same moves you use at home, when it’s just the two of you. That’s exactly how it feels, though: like it’s just you both, dancing and laughing. When he finally moves your hair aside and presses a kiss to your lips, the world slows all over again.

—

His world whirs into slow motion when Pascale is laughing at one of your jokes.

“I’m funnier than your son,” you say when she’s wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. Across the brunch table, finger tapping against the white linen tablecloth, Charles’ eyes are stuck on you. Nobody notices his stare of adoration, because it’s so usual, so ordinary, for him to be looking at you so intently, and with so much love.

You’re wearing a white dress that you’d been wiping your palms over nervously in the car, asking him to repeat a crash course of his family over and over until it was the only thing your mind was capable of retaining. Yet for all your nerves, you’d blended in exceptionally well with everyone at the table, over salmon and pasta and tea and biscuits.

Pascale had ushered you in with the urgency of every mother, a hand around your shoulder, pointing out members of the family, fixtures on the wall. There’s a story behind everything. Behind stains, scratches, pictures, peeled-off labels. You’d let her tell you everything.

A smile makes its way onto your face when you see Pascale fail to stop laughing over your joke, her hand clenching yours. Your eyes meet his, and he can see the excitement in them—the joy of having this happen. He hopes you can read him equally well, hopes you can see how excited he is, too, for this to be happening, for you to be so loved by the people that matter most to him.

A hand comes up to tuck hair behind your ear, lips pursing to prevent your smile from widening. No, he wants to say, I want to see you smile. Everything. Show me everything. You’re beautiful.

“You really are,” says Pascale, and the two of you turn to smile softly at him. This is love, he thinks, and he wishes time never quickens ever again.

—

The book this week is Love in the time of Cholera. You try to read one book every two weeks, but lately you’ve been forgetting—last night you’d firmly resolved to start again, and you’re hooked on the words already.

The thin blanket of your bed is the only thing shielding you from the cold, your bare back turned to him as you continue to read the chapter. Charles sees you and wishes he was half as good as you. You’re stupid, you’d said with genuine concern when he told you this once. Have you even seen yourself? And you praised him, listed every last amazing thing about him.

Still, he wasn’t convinced. There may have been awards and videos and celebrations for him, but he wishes he was good enough for you sometimes. Your intelligence, your wit, your beauty. Your ability to get up and read a book in the morning. Your capacity to love. He can’t believe you’re his, all his, this beautiful girl is truly all his.

His world slows again, time ticking into slow motion as he watches you passively. Every few moments there’s the sound of the page turning, and your slow breathing makes up the rest. He wants to paint a picture on your back, make you his canvas, so he can think of another way to convey his immense, all-encompassing love for you.

Genuinely, he thinks he’d be incomplete without you. He conveys this in the way he stares, the way he admires, like you’re a sculpture in the Louvre and he’s at the front of the line. But he’s the only one in line, and he’ll be damned if somebody shows up behind him.

You pause; the noise of the blanket rustling and your book shutting snaps Charles back to reality. Without turning, your voice penetrates the silence. “What are you doing?” With sleep and unuse, your voice is raspy.

“Looking at you.” He answers slowly.

Your eyes meet his, eyebrow raising as you turn slightly. “Why?”

“Just…” he pauses. It’s impossible to articulate why. So he says instead, “Just looking.”

—

When a race is won, reaches its climax and its end all at once, it’s a noisy affair.

Tonight, there are fireworks, music, the pulse of excitement in the crowd that celebrates Leclerc’s P1. Everything moves fast, fast, fast—interviews, cheers, arms wrapped around him, worshipping him, fans screaming. Then it’s the media pen, questions over and over, then he’s packing up, tallying points, having debriefs.

He tugs off his helmet. Everything is fast, even in his moment of winning. Fast and quick and heavy. But he seeks something, something to make time slow—

And finds her, wearing a too-big Ferrari shirt (courtesy of Joris getting the sizing all wrong) in the crowd by the pit lane, beautiful as ever. You’re waving, your enthusiasm in your whoops of encouragement. You blow a kiss, and time is slow again. He watches you grip the front of the shirt and present it proudly, the big 1-6 embedded on it. He’s yours, yes, he is.

I love you, you mouth slowly. He nods back—it’s more than enough. Then you’re making a shoo motion with your hand, decorated with bracelets that match his. Go, you’re saying, go and be the winner, be the best driver. Later, you’ll be mine, just mine, just Charles.

He’s whisked away to do an interview, but his eyes are stuck on yours, excited and proud. You never usually like watching races, out of fear, but Charles insists you do, presses a kiss to your forehead and promises everything will be okay. You end up digressing almost every time.

“I’d imagine this win is the highlight of the week,” says the journalist smugly, then extends the mic to Charles’ lips.

He shakes his head a little. “Just one of them,” he responds, smiling.

—

A necklace with an initial on it, a thin silver ring across your middle finger, a matching bracelet on your wrist.

“Who is that?” Charles asks dazedly, shoulder bumping Carlos’. An explanation is fed into his ear, someone who knows someone knows her and invited her to attend this dinner. It’s getting late in London, and he’d been prepared to get to his car and go to his hotel, but suddenly he’s distracted, stopped in his tracks.

It almost feels weird to have time slow so much like this.

Even when he’s in a racing car, or winning, or when a car careens off track and time seems to hang in the balance—nothing has made him feel this way before. He watches you laugh, play with the neckline of your black top and listens to your ring clink against your glass of champagne.

Your hair is tied into a loose bun, framing your face, your lips making animated conversation with someobody else. He wants to hear your voice, make you smile, see how you react to his own jokes. Time crawls when he thinks of you, moves like a turtle walking through honey.

So later, when he’s almost abandoned the idea of introducing himself, he finds you clicking your car keys on the sidewalk. He clicks his, watches the lights of his Ferrari blink open, and you turn to him, smiling coyly.

You open your mouth, and say: “So you’re the cute dickhead who can’t park?”

Again, time moves in slow motion, your bun coming undone as you turn, hair falling over your back, arms crossing over your torso. Your high heels click softly against the pavement as you listen to him stutter out an introduction, an apology for the shit parking. This is it, he thinks, the start of something absolutely beautiful.

If he’s looked at you now, he thinks, he can’t ever look away. He hopes he doesn’t ever have to.

923 notes View Post

escapismlourve

2 years ago

karma | lh44

"karma is the guy on the screen coming straight home to me"

summary: seeing her toxic ex was never fun, but maybe it was less fun for him when he realized she was currently dating the GP winner on the screen, who happened to be his favourite driver

warning: overall fluff between the main characters, platonic!reader x valtteri bottas, mentions of a toxic ex-boyfriend, mentions of ex-boyfriend cheating, slut-shaming, swearing, alcohol consumption, reader is a little toxic to her ex (but he deserves it lol)

pairing: lewis hamilton x reader

word count: 3.6k

note: everything in bold are song references and in italic are thoughts, which includes memories from the past.

it has been a really hard week for me with work, but I really hope you enjoy this surprise either way!

masterlist

You're talking shit for the hell of it

Addicted to betrayal, but you're relevant

You're terrified to look down

'Cause if you dare, you'll see the glare

Of everyone you burned just to get there

It's coming back around

Paddock life was equally as exciting and terrifying for Y/N.

Even after becoming a usual guest during race weekends during the last few months, the young woman couldn’t help but feel a little nervousness in her stomach every time she walked on the circuit, still not used to all the attention and eyes on her.

Since the first time Lewis decided to enter the paddock holding hands with a mystery woman, everything in her life had turned chaotic to say the least. Every single person in there was shaken to the core, especially because he wasn’t exactly known to be so public with his dating life through the last years of his career. So naturally, curiosity spread through the air like a disease.

Not that it mattered to Y/N, all of that amounted to nothing when she remembered the real reason for her presence there: supporting her amazingly talented boyfriend. Lewis had been her best friend, her lover, and her biggest supporter since the day they met. She tried as much as she could to be the same for him, knowing how much her being there meant to him.

And to be completely honest, she had a hunch on how much it pushed him to do better. Even if subconsciously, the driver always had his best performances in his car when he knew he had his girlfriend to impress, no matter how many times she told him he was the best regardless of his race results.

Despite all of that, of course developing a handful of friendships with some of the drivers, as well as their partners, gave her a significant sense of comfort there, knowing she had someone who she could rely on if needed. And the perfect example of that was the quick and playful bond she formed with her favourite Finnish driver, while he was still her boyfriend’s teammate at Mercedes.

“Well, well, well. Look at that. Miss Y/N L/N herself, in the flesh!” Valtteri said as he approached her, with his typical sweet grin on his face. The woman felt her body instantly relax at the sight of her good friend, the stress now forgotten on the back of her head.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my second favourite driver on the grid.” She laughed, giving him a swift side hug, as they proceeded their walks.

“Only second?” The blonde driver asked, hand on his chest. “Lewis is not even here, Y/N. You don’t have to lie, you know.”

Their conversation continued for a few minutes, as they now walked side by side, arms linked in a friendly manner. Him asking her how her Sunday was going, and her asking him about his unlucky DNF during the race that ended just minutes before.

As they reached the Alfa Romeo’s motorhome, in true big brother and little sister fashion, Valtteri kissed her on her cheek and messed her hair up a little, winning a shove from the girl as she tried to fix herself.

“Wow. You’re a groupie now? Never knew you could stoop so low.”

And I keep my side of the street clean

You wouldn't know what I mean

Ugh, not that irritating voice.

Not him. Not in here. Not now.

She could feel her eyes betray her, as they couldn’t hide her shock and disgust when they landed on the big figure behind her. Of all people she could come across on the paddock, her lying cheating ex-boyfriend would be the one. Just my luck, she thought to herself.

“Oh fuck off, Jason.” She spat out, angry. After all, why would she even give that piece of trash the time of day? She tried to turn around and make her way back to the podium that was about to start any minute now but was stopped by a hand that tugged at her arm.

Unable to flee, Y/N was forced again to look into the face of the man she hoped never to see again. But you know what, she kept her calm. She had learned a lot from all those years and all those tears.

Especially that what goes around always comes around.

"So you're whoring around now for paddock passes?" He laughed in her face, for the thousandth time in his life. Jason had always made a point of trying to bring down the girl's self-esteem, so Y/N wasn't expecting anything different from him this time around.

As she prepared to answer him back, already tired and furious by the whole situation, the hairs on her neck stood up as she heard a recognizable click. Y/N's head followed the sound until she spotted the (unfortunately) familiar figure of a photographer, automatically panicking. She knew this man was known for having no boundaries and no respect for people's privacy. She could already imagine the descriptions given to these photographs out of context.

"AFFAIR? Lewis Hamilton's girlfriend seen in an altercation with a mystery man"

"Y/N L/N caught reuniting with ex while missing the 7-time World Champion's podium"

Can this get any worse, she thought.

"He must be confusing you with someone actually relevant. Why the hell would anyone want pictures of you?" Jason burst into laughter, shaking his head. "Damn Y/N, you must have been working well around here if you've reached that level of fame. How many drivers did you sleep with?"

It definitely can, she shook her head to herself.

'Cause karma is my boyfriend

Karma is a god

Karma is the breeze in my hair on the weekend

Karma's a relaxing thought

Aren't you envious that for you it's not?

Sweet like honey, karma is a cat

Purring in my lap 'cause it loves me

Flexing like a goddamn acrobat

Me and karma vibe like that

Karma's gonna track you down, karma's gonna track you down, karma's gonna track you down, the young woman repeated in her head like a prayer, trying to maintain her posture.

Although all she wanted was to ruin that clown's face right then and there, she knew that not only her image but her boyfriend's reputation were dependent on how she was going to handle this confrontation.

"This was a lot of fun and all, and I'm glad you enjoyed yourself with all the shit that comes out of your mouth, but I really have to go." She said so that only he could hear, not caring if she was being rude, and with her eyes studying what the photographer was doing from time to time. "My boyfriend is waiting for me and I have nothing to tell you. Goodbye, have a nice trip to hell."

"Boyfriend? Sure. Where is he then?" He continued to mock her, pretending to look around in search of someone. "I've heard better lies. But tell me then, where is that "boyfriend" of yours." He spoke, quoting on air when the word "boyfriend" was mentioned.

Oh.

You're going to wish you never asked that.

Spiderboy, king of thieves

Weave your little webs of opacity

My pennies made your crown

Trick me once, trick me twice

Don't you know that cash ain't the only price?

It's coming back around

"Y/N, I know we came on this vacation to unwind a bit, but you have to take it easy on alcohol." Her best friend said, trying to take the glass from her hand.

"Oh don't be a jerk, I deserve at least a good drink after all." She pulled the glass back to her mouth, spilling part of her expensive mojito on the floor.

"Yes, one, maybe even two. Not four in the space of two hours." Emma criticized. "I know you're having a hard time, I really do. But you can't go on like this. It's not healthy."

The young woman knew it was not healthy behaviour. But after discovering her boyfriend of 2 years, fooling around in their bed, in their apartment, with his co-worker, she felt she deserved a good time.

Apparently, it wasn't enough to endure that awful relationship in silence: the dishonesty, the jealousy, the lack of support, the control over her life, and the constant disrespect. Having to come face to face with the man she shared her life with all that time with another woman? Karma tricked her once or twice, but not at this level.

"We're in fucking Monaco, babe." She walked around the middle of the casino, eventually losing her friend, arms stretched. "Let's have some fucking fun-"

Before she could finish her sentence, her back hit someone behind her. Drinks flew and her dress was now all soaked, as was the man's blue suit. Y/N heard some curse words coming out of the guy's mouth, along with an irresistible British accent.

Although the situation was not the most appropriate, she couldn't help but feel heat spread through her body at the sound of that attractive voice.

She turned, prepared to flirt with the stranger until she recognized him as soon as she saw his face directly.

"You of all people." She said, tipsy enough to no longer have a filter.

"Me?"

And I keep my side of the street clean

You wouldn't know what I mean

"Yeah, you!" She pointed to him, touching his chest.

The man couldn't be more confused. Had they met before? Was she a fan of a rival team to Mercedes? Did he win a championship against the girl's favourite driver?

His life was Formula 1. He devoted all his time, all his energy, all his life to the sport. Therefore, the only justifications that came to mind at that moment were those.

"Do I know you?" His nose and forehead scrunched up in a puzzled expression.

"You don't know me." Y/N declared, crossing her arms in front of her figure. "But I know damn well who you are, Lewis Hamilton."

The way she said his name with disdain made the brit uncomfortable. So she knew who he is after all. Leaving Lewis speechless was something people rarely managed to do and at that moment he didn't know if it was motivated by the young woman's boldness or her beauty.

God, she was amazing. Okay, maybe she wasn't necessarily the biggest fan of him. Or at all really. But he couldn't help but admire her from head to toe.

Her eyes revealed her state, showing that the girl was definitely a bit tipsy, but the way they sparkled, their intense colour, was the detail that impressed him the most. How her long, curly hair perfectly adorned the front of her short black dress. The way her crossed arms highlighted her cleavage-

"Hey!" She caught his attention, waving a hand in front of her own face. "Eyes are up here, buddy! Don't think that because you're a winner or a champion or whatever your fans call you that you can look wherever you want and no one will tell you anything!"

Not a Formula 1 fan but she knew who he was. Out of the ordinary but noted.

"Ugh, you men are all the same!" She complained aloud. "No wonder that loser Jason is your biggest supporter."

"Sorry miss, but now you've lost me." He confessed, even more lost than before. "Who the fuck is Jason?" He chuckled.

"An absolute cheating, lying and disgusting clown, that's what he is." She replied as she sat down on a red sofa that was in the middle of the golden hall of the casino.

Interested in the matter (and above all, in the woman), Lewis took the seat beside her. Although he was used to the attention, the crowd of people that filled the room allowed them some privacy. No one was paying attention to him, everyone was focused on their own activities and groups, but his mind was totally on her.

"That sounds like a shitty ex-boyfriend. Especially the part where he's my biggest fan, not the cheating." Lewis told her, trying to cheer her up.

And for the first time in a long time, Y/n genuinely laughed. Not from the alcohol, not forcefully, but genuinely from the way his words warmed her broken heart.

They were silent for a few moments until the driver interrupted. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" She questioned, looking at him.

"I don't know. For your break up. For reminding you of him when he clearly hurt you." Hamilton admitted, almost ashamed.

"Nah, don't worry about it. It has nothing to do with you. I'm sorry for being a bitch to you when you are just an innocent person in the story." The woman, now beginning to sober up, spoke sincerely. "You know what, for an all-important celebrity, you're kind of a cool guy."

He laughed softly. "Thanks, I guess?"

Almost as if reading each other's thoughts, the two looked at each other and, although they didn't say it out loud, they both felt something they hadn't felt in a long time. Maybe even never.

"We should go out one of these days." He proposed.

"What?!" Y/N couldn't believe the words that were coming out of his mouth.

"You know, because of your ex. Karma has a way of serving sweet justice." He shrugged, teasing her. "Not because of me, it has nothing to do with my personal interest at all."

She immediately sensed the joking tone in his speech and couldn't help but blush a little. After all, Lewis fucking Hamilton was asking her out on a date.

"Maybe we should, champ." The two smiled.

'Cause karma is my boyfriend

Karma is a god

Karma is the breeze in my hair on the weekend

Karma's a relaxing thought

Aren't you envious that for you it's not?

Sweet like honey, karma is a cat

Purring in my lap 'cause it loves me

Flexing like a goddamn acrobat

Me and karma vibe like that

The very next day they had a dinner date set at a restaurant of his choice.

Emma had laughed in her face when Y/N told her what had happened at the casino bar during the time they'd lost each other.

The truth is it felt like a fabrication, a total lie. Y/N couldn't judge her best friend for not believing, because even she still found herself pinching her hand, expecting to wake up in her bed from a dream at any moment.

Emma helped her prepare for their date, glad to see her happy again. She didn't care who the suitor was, as long as the smile on her friend's face remained from ear to ear.

It's safe to say that her jaw dropped to the floor when she opened the door to their shared hotel room and effectively saw Lewis Hamilton.

"Is Y/N here?" He asked as he stood there, in all his magnificence, in a simple white shirt, open enough to show his dark skin and the tattoos that decorated it.

"Emma, close your mouth." Y/N joked, holding the other girl's jaw. "Hey, champ."

God, here they were again. The butterflies in their stomachs.

The date was everything the young woman expected and desired. From the way Lewis opened the door to his black Mercedes for him, to the way he went out of his way to book an entire restaurant to allow them to have more privacy.

The conversation flowed naturally, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. What started as a misunderstanding over her attempt to forget a heartbreak ended up resulting in one of the best nights of her life.

As the night began to draw to a close, the girl couldn't help but think that this would be it. She would never see the man again. He would probably forget about her in a matter of days. And she found herself disappointed with that idea.

"Hey, what's wrong?" He questioned, as his hand intertwined gently with hers. He pulled her a little to stop her on her way back to the car, bringing the two of them closer together.

"I just don't want this night to end." The words were out of her mouth before she thought about what she was saying.

"This doesn't have to stop here, baby." She released a shaky breath when she first heard the affectionate nickname, but a slow smile appeared on her face.

Ask me what I learned from all those years

Ask me what I earned from all those tears

Ask me why so many fade, but I'm still here

After that magical night, he took her back to her hotel room and said goodbye with a loving kiss on her cheek and a caress along her cheek, keeping eye contact between them whenever possible as they said "see you soon".

Not goodbye but see you soon.

And it was said and done.

Not even two weeks had gone by before the driver was on a plane on his way to her, ready to spend his race-free week with his girl.

It became usual for them: him travelling to her, her travelling to him. They knew how quickly they were evolving, especially given the conditions in which they met, but when things feel right, why hold back? Out of fear of the consequences? Because of his fame?

He felt that he had finally found the balance he so desperately needed, without even knowing it. He found himself with his head on her and not his career all the time. She gave him peace, she gave him stability, she gave him everything he wanted and more.

On the other hand, she found in him the adrenaline, the enthusiasm, the thrill. Now she woke up smiling and went to sleep smiling. Something in her was reborn, perhaps her childlike spirit: the desire to know more, and the ambition to have and be more.

Together they were just that: more.

"So?" Jason interrupted his ex's thoughts. "I'm still waiting to hear from that little boyfriend of yours."

'Cause karma is the thunder

Rattling your ground

Karma's on your scent like a bounty hunter

Karma's gonna track you down

Step by step, from town to town

Sweet like justice, karma is a queen

Karma takes all my friends to the summit

Would it be toxic of her to rub her new relationship in her ex-boyfriend's face? Perhaps.

But, I mean, sometimes you and karma just vibe like that.

"Well... You see, this is a super funny story!" The girl smiled a little Machiavellian. "Actually, I have to thank you, for everything."

"To me?" He replied, totally confused by her change in tone.

"Yes, you!" She faked a grateful smile. "If you hadn't ruined everything between us, I'd probably still be stuck in that apartment I've always hated, and worst of all, with you!"

"What the f-"

"But no, since you don't have the ability to keep your dick in your pants, I ended up in a casino in the middle of Monaco and I met the best person in the world. Someone who treats me like I deserve, supports me like I deserve, LOVES me like I deserve!"

"You're just lying in an attempt to deflect the subject." Jason argued back. "So much bullshit talk and still no sign of your new boy toy after all."

"You can watch him on the big screen if you want!" She pointed to the giant television behind her, where Lewis was getting out of his silver car, ready to collect his prize. "However, I would prefer to see my man up close if you let me. Or rather, I don't owe you anything so I don't care about what you have to say. So enjoy the show."

Jason just stood there, motionless and disbelieving. Is she fucking kidding me? Lewis Hamilton?!

Karma is the guy on the screen

Coming straight home to me

Y/N ran across the paddock towards the podium as if her life depended on it. But when she arrived at the celebration, the trophies were already handed out and the champagne was already open.

Lewis smiled even more as soon as he set his eyes on his girl, a gesture that didn't go unnoticed by her or everyone around them.

His speed in the race had nothing on the speed with which he descended the stairs from the top of the winner's spot to the audience, his path perfectly aimed at her.

"Hey, where were you?" He asked, wrapping her around the waist in his arms, kissing her immediately, without giving her time to respond.

Reminded of how bad her past had been and, above all, how happy she was by his side now, she returned the kiss with an intensity that was unusual for her. The cameras, the people, they were nothing next to him.

"Wow, baby." He expressed, giggling shocked by her public display of affection. "I missed your face when I got out of the car."

"Believe me, I wanted nothing more than to be here but you'll never guess who I saw." She shook her head, laughing as they started to make their way back to the Mercedes' motorhome.

'Cause karma is my boyfriend

Karma is a god

Karma is the breeze in my hair on the weekend

Karma's a relaxing thought

Aren't you envious that for you it's not?

Sweet like honey, karma is a cat

Purring in my lap 'cause it loves me

Flexing like a goddamn acrobat

Me and karma vibe like that

They approached their destination, still wrapped around each other, eyes on each other, lips on each other.

Lewis, still completely in the dark about the altercation that had taken place minutes before, saw a mysterious figure standing there staring intensely at the two of them.

"Hey, man." He initiated a conversation, as he usually did with all the more timid fans. "Do you want an autograph?" He asked sincerely.

Y/N couldn't help but laugh, eyes still not straying away from her champion.

Karma really is a relaxing thought.

Karma is my boyfriend

Karma is a god

Uh-huh, mm

Karma's a relaxing thought

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thank you to everyone that asked to be tagged! please let me know if you want to be added to the next stories! 💌

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