Scuderiaferrari: Now It’s Lewishamilton’s Turn To Tell Us The Essentials He Takes To Every Race 🔉

scuderiaferrari: Now it’s lewishamilton’s turn to tell us the essentials he takes to every race 🔉

♡ runnin' with my dress unbuttoned ♡

or: the driver's aren't so calm, cool, and collected when you show up to the paddock wearing a pretty little dress. emphasis on little. featuring: lewis hamilton, max verstappen, lando norris, kimi räikkönen ♡

warnings: sexual innuendo!

♡

𝒯𝒶𝒾𝓁𝑜𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒯𝓌𝑜

Authors Note: Hi All! Wow. Lewis Hamilton absolutely slayed this look! I should be studying for an exam right now but I couldn’t help but write something for the Met Gala 2025. I hope you all enjoy! Lots of love xx

Summary: Lewis Hamilton and his girlfriend share an intimate reveal of their outfits before making a stunning entrance at the Met Gala, capturing the spotlight with their love and style.

Warnings: mentions of sexual content

Taglist: @hannibeeblog

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The morning sun filtered through sheer curtains, casting warm golden streaks across the hotel room. The air was still quiet, humming softly with the calm before chaos.

You stirred awake to the steady rhythm of Lewis’s breathing, his body curled behind yours, arm slung over your waist, holding you like something he couldn’t afford to lose.

You didn’t move for a long time. Just laying there, pressed against him, listening to the world spin slowly outside while his presence grounded you. In these rare hushed moments, Lewis wasn’t the 7x Formula 1 World Champion, the activist, the fashion icon. He was just yours. And you were his.

A sleepy kiss pressed to your bare shoulder made you smile.

“You’re awake,” you whispered.

“Mhm,” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep. “Been awake. Just didn’t want to let go.”

You rolled over gently to face him, fingers sliding between his multiple braids that framed his face. His eyes blinked open, warm and full of something deeper than just affection. Something heavier, quieter.

"Big day," you said, brushing a thumb across his cheekbone caressing it.

"Biggest," he replied. “But not because of the carpet. It’s because I get to walk in with you.”

He said it so casually, but the words hit you like a warm wave. You kissed him, soft and unhurried. Your hand sliding to rest on his bare chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your palm. He rolled over you delicately, pinning you beneath him with a smile that was both teasing and reverent.

“Do we have time for” he trailed off, nuzzling into your neck, “just a little more?”

You laughed, pulling him down into another kiss, slow and languid. Time stretched and folded into itself. Even if the world outside demanded perfectly tailored tuxedos and curated appearances.

This moment was gloriously undone, just the two of you tangled up in sheets and skin. Whispering promises and breathless giggles between kisses that lasted too long.

When the knock at the suite door finally broke the spell, it was with an audible sigh that Lewis rolled away, mumbling, “Why can’t the Met Gala be tomorrow?”

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The room buzzed with an intensity that almost felt electric. Stylists, assistants, and fashion press worked tirelessly to prepare the final touches for the Gala.

A mix of anticipation and excitement filled the air, but amid the controlled chaos, there was a quiet understanding between you and Lewis.

Both of you had decided to get ready separately, not out of superstition but because you wanted to preserve the sacredness of the moment when you saw each other for the first time. Fully dressed, in your Gala attire. No cameras, no flashes just the two of you. In a private world of your own. It would be a reveal just for you.

Your dressing room was a sanctuary of elegance. Soft, golden light filtered through the windows. Bathing the room in a warm, almost ethereal glow. The air was thick with the scent of perfume, freshly pressed fabric, and the soft sound of music playing in the background - classical, yet full of emotion.

You stood in front of a full-length mirror, a whirlwind of stylists and assistants working around you, their hands moving in rhythm as they made their final adjustments.

Your gown was custom, of course. It was everything you had imagined and more. The color was a stunning shade of bronze silk, so rich it almost seemed to glow under the lights. The fabric shimmered with every subtle movement, as though it had a life of its own. The corseted bodice fit your frame perfectly, hugging your figure with a sculpted precision that felt like second skin. The waist was cinched in just enough to create an hourglass silhouette, while the skirt billowed outward, its shape reminiscent of the regal gowns worn by queens of centuries past. The way it moved, catching the light and swaying ever so slightly made you feel like royalty.

But what truly set the gown apart were the intricate details. Geometric embroidery, inspired by African diasporic design, was woven into the fabric in rich metallic threads, glistening with every angle. The embroidery wasn’t just a decorative touch.

It was a bold statement, a celebration of culture, history, and tradition. It felt like the very embodiment of power and beauty, as if you were wearing not just a piece of art though a piece of your own heritage.

You caught sight of yourself in the mirror and for a moment, you almost didn’t recognise the woman staring back. There was something about the attire that transformed you. It wasn’t just the design or the craftsmanship, it was the way it made you feel. Empowered. Strong. Confident.

Lewis had introduced you to the designer and you could see now why he had been so adamant about this specific choice. He wanted you to feel more than beautiful. He wanted you to wear something that spoke to your strength, to your identity and to who you were at your core. The designer had crafted a piece that was a perfect blend of tradition and rebellion, history and modernity, just like you.

"He's going to lose it when he sees you," your stylist whispered, her voice filled with admiration as she pinned the final piece of fabric into place. "You’re going to take his breath away."

You felt a warmth spread through you, a flutter of nerves mixed with excitement. The idea of revealing yourself to Lewis, of showing him what he had helped create felt almost surreal.

You could already picture his reaction. The way his eyes would light up when he saw you, the soft intake of breath, the way he always looked at you like you were the only person in the room. But most of all, how everything else fell away when he focused on you.

For just a moment, the world outside your dressing room seemed to disappear. The buzz of the fashion press, the voices of assistants in the hallway and the chaotic energy of the event. Everything was muted. It was just you, this gown, and the promise of a moment that would belong only to the two of you.

You ran your fingers over the delicate fabric one last time, feeling the weight of its significance. It was the culmination of your journey with Lewis, of the moments you had shared, of the power and love you had found together.

And in that quiet sacred moment, as you prepared to step into the world of the Met Gala. You couldn’t help but think that this moment would be one you’d carry with you forever.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The moment finally arrived.

You knocked softly on the adjoining door between your suites. “Ready?”

There was a brief pause, then Lewis’s voice, warm yet playful, “Only if you are.”

You smiled to yourself and pushed open your door just as he opened his, and time seemed to stop.

There he stood, every inch the vision of class and style. He was dressed in a bespoke cream suit designed by Wales Bonner, tailored to perfection. The suit clung to his form with a sharpness that seemed almost sculpted, its rich texture telling stories of past generations while pointing toward the future. His accessories - gold pins gleaming against the cream fabric, stacked rings that caught the light, delicate chain links that added an elegant rebellion to the whole ensemble came together like a quiet revolution in fashion. It was a bold statement, one that demanded attention without shouting.

He looked like the future, wrapped in the finest memories of the past.

And there you were, standing before him in your custom bronze silk dress, glowing with an ethereal radiance. The gown hugged your figure and billowed elegantly, the intricate embroidery shimmering with a life of its own. The light caught your skin and for a fleeting moment, you were both in a world of your own an artwork brought to life.

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath blinking rapidly, as though he’d forgotten how to breathe in the face of such beauty.

You couldn’t help but smile, your steps slow and deliberate as you walked toward him, savoring the moment. “Good wow, or too much?”

He laughed, his voice full of disbelief, still unable to tear his eyes away from you. “There’s not enough language in the world for what kind of wow this is.”

Your arms slid gently around his neck, drawing him closer as you leaned into him, your body fitting seamlessly against his. “You clean up pretty well too, Mr. Hamilton,” you teased softly, your lips brushing against his ear.

He grinned, his hands finding their way to your waist as he tilted his forehead against yours. The quiet intimacy of the moment hung between you two like a secret, just the two of you in this space. “You make me wanna skip the carpet, you know that?”

Your heart swelled at his words, a rush of warmth and affection flooding through you. You kissed him softly, lips lingering as if savoring the moment. The taste of him lingering on your tongue. “Let’s give them something to talk about first,” you whispered against his mouth.

And with that, you pulled back the connection lingering between you even as you straightened. The anticipation of what was to come humming in the air. Together, hand in hand you stepped into the world awaiting you - ready to turn heads and ready to be unforgettable.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The limo ride was a soft, velvet pocket of quiet between the chaos. You sat beside him hand resting on his thigh, your fingers intertwined.

He watched you from the corner of his eye, unable to stop himself. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

You turned to face him, blushing. “You say that now.”

“No, I’ve seen podiums, wins, thousand camera flashes. But this?” He lifted your hand to his lips. “This is everything.”

Your gaze softened. “I know tonight is huge for you. I just want you to be proud.”

He leaned in and kissed you. Deep, grounding. “I already am.”

Loud yells and cameras clicking could be heard outside the limo. The slick black car rolled up to the Met Gala before stopping.

When you stepped out of the car, the world erupted.

Flashes exploded like fireworks. Reporters screamed your names. The red carpet was transformed into a living runway, but you two walked it like you owned it.

Lewis kept you close, one hand on the small of your back with an expression proud and protective.

Everywhere you looked, people stared. Some with admiration while some with envy. You weren’t just guests. You were the couple. The moment.

@NYCFashionWatch: “Lewis Hamilton and his stunning girlfriend are the blueprint tonight. Tailored excellence and bronze royalty. #MetGala2025”

@F1InsiderBuzz: “They said power couple, and they meant it. Lewis Hamilton serving cream couture, his partner redefining grace.”

@BlackStyleArchives: “Lewis and his partner pay homage to Black elegance through tailoring and textile. This is more than fashion. This is narrative.”

@VogueOfficial: “We have to talk about the chemistry. The styling. The hands never letting go. The looks exchanged. The whispering smiles. It’s romance, but it’s also power.”

Backstage, stylists and other guests approached the two of you with warm smiles and hushed compliments.

“I’ve never seen him like this,” one editor whispered to you as Lewis stepped away to speak to a designer. “He’s softer. Brighter.”

You glanced toward him, watching as he laughed warmly with one hand still subtly reaching for you.

“He’s just himself,” you said. “All of him.”

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The theme Lewis had co-chaired “Superfine: Tailoring Black Style”, was alive in every curated corner of the Met.

Lewis walked you through the exhibition with the quiet awe of someone who had helped build it from concept to creation. His hand rarely left yours, his voice dipping to a near whisper when he leaned in to share details about specific pieces.

“That one’s inspired by Dapper Dan’s original Harlem cuts,” he said, nodding toward a sharply shouldered double breasted jacket displayed in a glass case. “No label. No runway. But it turned the world upside down.”

He paused at a minimalist charcoal suit designed by Bianca Saunders. “She’s the future,” he said. “Structure, soul and softness too. I love how it folds, almost like origami.”

You looked at him then, not just at his words but the way he stood. Shoulders straight, fingers gently brushing the edge of a plinth like he was touching memory itself. His passion for what this night meant was written in the way he held space for each garment, each stitch.

Every few moments, he turned to you, eyes warm. “This one,” he murmured once, standing before a velvet frock coat hand embroidered with ancestral symbols, “this one I want to show my mum. She’d cry.”

People floated by, murmuring greetings and admiration. Journalists, designers, museum curators. But you and Lewis moved like the eye of the storm still, centred and deeply connected in the whirl of celebration.

And then came the cameras again.

Not the frenzied clicks of paparazzi, but the poised intentional elegance of Vogue, Getty and Vanity Fair. Followed by the host of other publications capturing the official portraits inside the Met.

“May we get the two of you here?” someone from the Cut asked politely, gesturing toward a marbled archway beneath soft amber light.

Lewis glanced at you with a subtle nod. “Let’s give them a show.”

He pulled you gently to him, one hand settling on your waist, the other holding yours just so elegant and firm. You tilted your head slightly toward him, the curve of your lips soft but confident. As the camera clicked, your eyes found his.

And that’s when it happened, the moment.

A brief flicker of something unspoken passed between you. Love, pride, history, maybe even a quiet rebellion. And the photographers caught it.

Lewis with his jaw slightly clenched, standing tall in his cream suit. You regal and glowing in bronze beside him, your hands perfectly clasped between you.

The next shot was a little more relaxed. You turned to him with a smirk as he dipped his head to whisper something only you could hear. You laughed softly, leaning into him.

Click. Flash.

You posed for more, shifting from classic to casual. One photo had you seated beside each other on a velvet ottoman. His hand resting on your thigh, your fingers loosely laced with his, your gown cascading in a pool of silk. Another showed Lewis fixing the single curl that had fallen near your eye while you watched him with visible affection.

@VogueRunway: “Tailored storytelling. Hamilton and his partner exemplify everything the 2025 Met Gala aimed to celebrate: legacy, craftsmanship, and unmistakable connection.”

@Essence: “The intimacy. The elegance. The statement. Lewis Hamilton and his partner didn’t just arrive. THEY embodied.”

As the Met wore on, the gala unfolded in waves of live performances, curated cocktails and speeches about representation in fashion. But no matter where you moved, Lewis always found you in the crowd.

Between poses, he kissed your knuckles. Between conversations, he leaned close to ask if you were okay. During the speeches, his fingers remained gently curled around yours.

At one point, a photographer caught you two standing alone in front of a towering black and gold tapestry that mirrored the patterns embroidered into your gown. The lighting framed you like royalty with Lewis whispering something in your ear, your eyes crinkled in laughter, the champagne in your hand forgotten.

That image would later go viral, dubbed by Twitter as - “The Met’s most iconic candid. Not just a look. A love story in motion.”

The rest of the evening blurred in art and elegance, but the thread never snapped between you. You were each other's constant, each other's mirror, muse and memory.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Back at the hotel room, the atmosphere shifted. The bustling energy of the Gala had given way to a soft, intimate quiet moment of just the two of you in a world of your own. The luxury of the night was still present, but now it felt like a backdrop. Almost like a memory waiting to be tucked away as you peeled away the layers of opulence.

You started with your dress, slowly unzipping it. The fabric, once fitted perfectly to your body now slipped from your skin with a soft sigh. Pooling onto the floor in a heap of bronze silk and intricate lace.

The contrast between the elegant exterior and the warmth of your bare skin was almost poetic. You felt an overwhelming sense of freedom. No cameras, no lights, just you and him, as raw as it could get.

Lewis stood behind you, watching every movement. His eyes filled with a quiet admiration that made your chest tighten. As your gown fell, you turned to him, your gaze locking for a moment. His hands moved toward you, fingers grazing the curve of your waist.

He stepped closer, eyes never leaving you. Delicate lingerie covered you and that felt like the only real thing in the room, Lewis’s gaze never wavered. His breath caught in his throat as he took you in, your bare skin and every curve. He looked at you like he was seeing the most breathtaking masterpiece, yet with so much admiration and tenderness that it made your heart flutter.

You reached for him, gently slipping his tuxedo jacket from his shoulders, fingers grazing the smoothness of his suit. The material felt cool beneath your fingertips as you undid his cufflinks one by one before finally removing the shirt that clung to his body like a second skin. When it fell to the floor, revealing the taut muscles beneath, you couldn’t help but admire the quiet strength in him. Everyone about him so sculpted, yet so unassuming.

With a soft gasp, you leaned forward your lips brushing against the smoothness of his collarbone, feeling the heat radiating from his body. His hands cupped your face, guiding you back to meet his gaze. His eyes were darker now, focused only on you, though softness was there, an affection so deep it made you melt inside.

He kissed you then, slow and deep. Lips moving against yours like they had all the time in the world. The kiss was full of everything you had shared tonight, the glamour, the adrenaline and the electric energy of the world watching. But it was also full of something so personal, something between the two of you that no one else could touch.

“I know we were dressed for the cameras tonight,” Lewis whispered between kisses, his voice rough with his lips trailing across your jaw and down your neck. “But every time I looked at you, I forgot the world was watching.”

His words sent a shiver through you, making your heart race. You pulled him closer, your bodies pressed together now. Fingers threading through his braided hair. You didn’t need to say it, but you felt the truth of it in every inch of your skin. Here, in this moment it was just you and him. No one else.

You smiled against his lips, your fingers trailing down his tattooed chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. “That’s okay,” you murmured softly. “I only saw you too.”

He paused for a heartbeat, his forehead resting against yours as if absorbing the weight of your words. The quiet tenderness in the space between you was so palpable. But Lewis’s hands began to roam over your back gently guiding you toward the bed, where the sheets awaited soft and inviting.

As you lay down together, everything in the room felt suspended. Like time had decided to slow down just for the two of you. Lewis’s lips found yours again, but this time it was different. It wasn’t rushed or eager, it was a slow lingering kiss, as though he was savoring every moment.

Your hands roamed over him, tracing the familiar yet always thrilling planes of his body. Feeling the heat radiating from his skin as if he was a flame that you couldn’t stay away from. The air around you was thick with the electricity of desire, but it wasn’t just physical it was the culmination of every glance, every smile, every word you’d shared. It was the connection, the intimacy that no spotlight or flashing camera could capture.

His lips trailed down your neck, pausing over your pulse point, kissing softly before moving lower, drawing delicate patterns on your skin. Your breath caught as his hands caressed your sides, pulling you even closer as his body hovered above yours. His warmth enveloping you completely.

In this space, there were no barriers. There were no cameras flashing. Just the two of you, skin and heart tangled in a dance that was yours alone.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Lewis whispered against your lips, his voice thick with emotion. His forehead resting against yours as his hand caressed your cheek. “No matter what the world thinks, it’s just us.”

The words felt like a promise, a quiet vow. And in that intimate silence as his hands traced the lines of your body with so much care and love. You knew this was real. This moment, this connection, nothing else mattered.

Your hands tugged at his waist, pulling him closer, feeling the warmth of his skin and steady rhythm of his breath. The space between you didn’t exist anymore. It was only love.

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