Formula Fanfics 13

James is still working. That's the first problem. His laptop open on the desk, sleeves rolled to his elbows, glasses low on his nose, and his jaw tight in concentration like it's any other evening. The city lights are glowing outside the hotel window, soft amber shining through the mesh window coverings, but he hasn't even looked.

You watch him for a moment from the doorway. "James," you say.

"Just one second," he replies automatically, not looking up.

You walk over, gently but deliberately closing the laptop. He looks up then, surprised. "Hey!"

"It's your birthday," you remind him.

He exhales, leaning back in the chair, rubbing his face. "I know. I just wanted to finish-"

"No," you interrupt, stepping between his knees. "You don't get to finish anything except me tonight."

That gets his attention. His eyes darken slightly behind the glasses. "You're being very bold."

"It's a special occasion." You reach up and take his glasses off, placing them carefully on the desk. He watches you closely now, all focus on you instead of spreadsheets.

"You trust me?" you ask softly.

"Always," he says, voice already lower.

You lean in and kiss him, it's slow, unhurried and soft. He reciprocates instantly, hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer like he's been holding himself back all day. "I've been patient," he murmurs against your mouth. "All day."

"I know."

You guide him up from the chair and toward the bed. He doesn't resist. Doesn't rush. Just follows, controlled and steady, like everything he does. You push him down onto the mattress. He raises an eyebrow. "Is this how we're doing this?"

"For your birthday," you smile, "yes."

You straddle him slowly, letting him take you in. He reaches for you instinctively and you catch his wrists, pinning them above his head.

"Ah," he breathes, amused. "I see."

You lean down, kissing along his jaw, his neck, lingering where you know it drives him mad. "You spend all year in control," you whisper. "Let me take it for one night."

He swallows. "You're testing me."

"Good." You grind against him slowly, feeling how hard he already is beneath you. His restraint snaps just a little, one hand sliding free, gripping your thigh firmly.

"That's enough," he says quietly.

He flips you beneath him with a smoothness that makes your breath catch, pinning you to the bed in one practised motion. "My turn." He kisses you deeply, claiming, hands roaming with intention. He takes his time undressing you, like it's something to savour, not rush.

"You're beautiful," he murmurs. "Do you know how much I think about this? About you?"

You gasp as his mouth moves lower, fingers parting you gently. He watches your face as he touches you, learning every reaction, every sound.

"So responsive," he praises. "You like being taken care of, don't you?"

"Yes," you breathe.

He smiles. "Good."

His mouth is slow, thorough, devastating. He doesn't rush you; instead, he builds you up patiently until your hands are tangled in the sheets and your thighs are shaking.

"James-"

He hums against you. "Let go."

You come with a cry, body arching beneath him. He doesn't stop until you're oversensitive, breathless, completely undone. Then he's above you again, lining himself up, eyes never leaving yours as he pushes in slowly. "You feel incredible," he groans. "Every time."

He moves deep and steady, controlled thrusts that make you gasp with each one. He leans down, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your hip firmly. "Look at me," he says softly.

You do.

"That's it," he murmurs. "Exactly like that."

The pace builds, his control slipping just enough for you to feel it — the way his breathing changes, the way his grip tightens.

"I'm close," you whisper.

"Come for me," he says. "That's an order."

You shatter beneath him, nails digging into his back as you cry out. He follows with a low groan, burying himself deep and staying there, holding you close as he finishes. For a long moment, neither of you move. Then he presses a kiss to your forehead.

"Happy birthday," you murmur.

She wakes before you do. Not in a rushed way, in that Lily way, effortless, calm, already dressed in something elegant and quiet before the city even opens its eyes.

You find her standing by the window, arms folded gently, her hair catching the morning light as it pours through the glass. She doesn't turn. "I didn't want to wake you."

"You didn't," you say, voice still soft with sleep. "You look... like a Vogue editorial."

She laughs gently. "It's my birthday. I have standards."

You get up and kiss her shoulder. "Then we'd better keep the bar high."

The day is smooth, like everything she does. Breakfast is on the terrace, her favourite tea already steeping, fruit cut just how she likes it. She's touched, but not overly expressive. Lily's gratitude shows in little glances, in the way she rests her hand lightly on yours as she eats. "I didn't want a party," she says later, in the car.

"I know."

"Or a big dinner."

"I know."

She looks over at you. "I just wanted... something beautiful."

You reach for her hand and kiss her fingers. "You always have been."

You booked the restaurant weeks ago. It's hidden, understated, perched on a quiet rooftop above the noise of the city. One small table. A view of the skyline. The sun setting slow, golden.

Lily looks around when you arrive, expression unreadable for a second. Then she nods once, like she's filing the moment away. "This is perfect."

You don't need music. Or candles. Or fanfare. You talk. You laugh. You watch her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear the way she always does when she's caught off guard by something sincere.

She orders the dessert she likes and insists on feeding you the first bite. You pretend to hate it. She knows better.

Later, back at the hotel, she changes into something soft and loose, hair pinned up. She sits by the window again, a book in her lap, your head resting against her thigh. Neither of you says much. The quiet is full.

After a while, she sets the book aside and brushes your hair back gently with her fingers. "Thank you," she says. Just that.

♡ how the weekend feels without you: surprisingly quiet. lance doesn't make a big deal out of it, doesn't say much, but he notices the absence immediately. the paddock feels a little emptier when there's no familiar presence grounding him.

♡ what he does differently: • keeps his routine exactly the same. • spends more time alone between sessions. • avoids lingering conversations. • checks his phone when no one's paying attention.

♡ how he keeps you close: • keeps the jacket you left in his bag without thinking about it. • keeps your last message open on his phone. • stays in his room longer at night instead of heading out.

♡ how he texts you: short, casual, steady. "all good here." "track's fine." "how are you?" then, quietly slipped in later: "miss you."

♡ the paddock noticing your absence: • someone asks where you are. • lance shrugs. "not here." • end of conversation.

♡ race day without you: • calm from start to finish. • no outward nerves, no big reactions. • after the race, the first thing he wants is to hear your voice.

♡ the call after the chequered flag: he answers quickly, voice low. if it went well, there's a hint of pride. if it didn't, he listens more than he talks.

♡ the thing he never really explains: that you steady him. that without you there, the weekend feels flatter even if nothing goes wrong.

hey...

i'm a little nervous writing this. you probably guessed that already, you always seem to know what i'm feeling before i even figure it out myself. i don't really write things like this, and i'm worried it's going to sound too simple, or too much, or not enough. but i want you to have these words anyway.

because they're true. all of them.

i'm still getting used to the way my life is changing. everything feels fast, like i'm always one step behind what's happening. but when i'm with you, it slows down. not in a dramatic way. just enough that i can finally breathe. enough that i remember i'm still human underneath all the expectations.

you make me feel steady. you make me feel understood. and that doesn't happen often for me.

i didn't know love could feel like this. i didn't expect to fall for you the way i did. i didn't expect it to be... this easy. this natural. like my heart recognised you before my head caught up.

i love the way you talk to me, never rushing, never pushing. i love the way you smile when you realise i'm overthinking. i love the way you look at me like i'm not someone who needs to prove anything. like just being myself is enough.

with you, it is.

and i want you to know that i think about you constantly: on flights, in the garage, lying awake at night when the world feels too big. you're the thing that brings me back down to earth. the thing that reminds me of who i want to be, not just who i'm trying to become.

i don't know if i'm saying this right. i'm trying. i hope you can feel what i mean even if the words aren't perfect.

i love you. in this quiet, growing way that feels like it's becoming a part of me. in the way that makes everything less frightening. in the way that makes me excited about things far in the future.

and i hope more than anything that you know how much you mean to me.

Hey. It's a long day. Very long. I think I've aged five years listening to people argue about setup changes that will do absolutely nothing.

I'm heading back to the hotel and I realised I haven't heard your voice once today. Which is rude, by the way. Extremely rude. I expect compensation.

Maybe dinner. Maybe you sitting on the bed listening to me complain for ten minutes. Both work.

Hey love... it's me.

I just got back to the hotel. Long day. Good, but long. You know how it is, too many people, too many cameras, not enough quiet.

(gentle breath out)

I was thinking about you on the drive back. The way you always tell me to slow down, breathe, take a second. I tried it. It helped. Don't let that go to your head.

Listen... if you're still up, I was hoping we could FaceTime. I'd like to see your face before I try to sleep. It always settles me more than meditation ever could.

If not, it's okay. Just call me when you wake up.

The hotel room smells like her. Soft florals, something expensive, something warm. The curtains are half drawn, the city glowing faintly beyond the glass. She's standing in front of the mirror when you come out of the bathroom, hair still damp, wearing nothing but a silk robe she clearly planned to take off later.

"You're staring," she says without turning around.

"You're stunning," you reply, honest.

She smiles at her reflection. "It is my birthday." She turns then, slow and deliberate, eyes dragging over you in the same way. You feel it immediately; that quiet pull between you, the kind that doesn't need noise.

You step closer. One hand slides to her waist, fingers grazing bare skin beneath the robe. "Did you have a good day?" you murmur.

She hums. "Perfect. But unfinished."

You dip your head, kissing along her jaw, down her neck. She tilts her head back automatically, breath catching. "You always get like this on your birthday," you tease.

"And you always take advantage."

You smile against her skin. "You like it."

She exhales sharply when your hand slips inside the robe, palm warm against her stomach. Her fingers curl into your shoulder, nails pressing just enough to ground herself. "Touch me," she says softly. Not a request. An expectation.

You push the robe open and let it fall to the floor, watching her skin catch the low light. You take your time, hands exploring, mouth following. Every kiss feels intentional.

She sinks onto the edge of the bed, pulling you with her, legs spreading instinctively. You kneel between them, looking up at her like this is where you belong.

"Birthday girl," you murmur.

She laughs breathlessly. "Stop talking."

You don't stop touching. Your mouth is slow, teasing, building her up until she's gripping the sheets, thighs trembling around your shoulders. She's quiet at first, until she isn't. "Please," she whispers, fingers tangling in your hair.

You smile against her. "There she is."

When she comes, it's soft but intense, her hand clamping over her mouth to keep from making too much noise. You don't stop until she's shaking, breath stuttering.

You climb onto the bed with her, kissing her deeply, tasting her on your tongue. She pulls you closer, hands roaming now, greedy.

"My turn," she says. She flips you beneath her with surprising confidence, straddling you slowly. Her movements are unhurried, deliberate. She watches your reactions like she's memorising them.

"You spoil me every year," she murmurs, fingers slipping between you. "I adore that about you."

You gasp, hips lifting. "Alex-"

She kisses you to quiet you, slow and deep, rocking her hand just right. She doesn't rush. She doesn't need to. When you finally come apart beneath her, she watches closely, eyes dark and satisfied.

She collapses beside you afterward, limbs tangled, skin warm against yours. "Happy birthday," you whisper.

mi corazón,

i'm writing this late, the room dim and quiet, the kind of quiet that only exists when you're sleeping beside me. i can hear your breathing and there's something about it that settles everything inside me. like my entire world finds its rhythm again the moment you're close.

it's funny. people see me as controlled, composed, careful with my words. and maybe i am, with most things. but with you? you undo me in ways i never expected. you open these small, hidden doors in me — the ones i've kept shut for years because i didn't trust anyone enough to let them see what was behind them.

yet here i am, writing you a letter like a man who feels too much and doesn't mind if you see every piece of it.

i want you to know something simple: loving you makes me better. not because you ask it of me, but because being with you makes me want to rise to the level of the love you give.

you challenge me without ever trying. you calm me without ever speaking. you have this way of grounding me that even the track cannot. when things feel heavy, all i need is one look from you and suddenly the world is not as complicated as i thought.

i don't believe in fate, not really. i believe in choices. in showing up, day after day, for the people who matter. and you... you are the person i choose, every time. without question. without hesitation.

you brought something into my life i didn't even realise i was missing: softness. belonging. the feeling of being seen, fully, without needing to hide the parts that aren't perfect.

you make even the hard days worth it. you make the good days feel brighter. you make me laugh more than i admit. and when you smile at me i feel something in my chest shift, like it remembers what happiness is supposed to feel like.

i want more mornings with you. more shared coffees, more quiet evenings, more road trips, more walks where we talk about nothing and everything. i want the future with you, whatever shape it takes, whatever pace it moves at.

i'm not always good with words, but i hope this letter makes one thing clear:

i love you. deeply. quietly. consistently. not in a rush of feeling, but in the way a tide returns to the shore, inevitable, steady, certain.

sleep a little longer for me. i'll be here when you wake.

Hey... uh, hi. It's me.

So I'm standing outside the motorhome because I locked myself out. Again. And before you say anything, yes, I had the key. Yes, I put it in "a safe place." No, I do not remember where the safe place is.

(soft sigh)

Security is pretending not to laugh at me. It's fine. I deserve it.

Anyway, I was calling because I wanted to see if you wanted dinner later. Something easy. We could go to that place with the good bread... the one I keep ordering five baskets from.