Cheering From Heaven

Cheering From Heaven

Charles Leclerc x Senna!Driver!Reader

Genre: sad but also fluffy

Request: yep! I hope you like it! I actually cried a little writing it. My requests are still open for like... half the grid at this point. So please send me your ideas, I am begging, don't be shy. :)

Summary: reader never got to meet her father, but thanks him everyday for the racing in her DNA. When she overhears a conversation about her over dramatic celebrations, she becomes more reserved. Charles immediately takes notice and is determined to restore the energy she once had.

Warnings: Talks of death and crashes, not proofread (if I ever proofread call the police because it’s not me someone stole my identity).

Notes: written in second person. For the purpose of this fic, the Ferrari strategists know how to do their job.

Y’all have been giving my fics so much love. Thank you all so much 🥺❤️

Masterlist

You were the first female driver on the grid. You worked your way up the ranks just like everyone else. Your mother doing her best to support you despite it being just you and her.

She always said you have racing in your blood. Your father died before you could meet him. The fatal accident of Aryton Senna rocked everyone.

Especially your mother, who had just found out she was pregnant with you.

You were determined to continue his legacy. Knowing he was cheering you on from the afterlife.

When you started competing more often and moving up through the stages. You decided to go by your mother's last name. Not wanting your fathers name to have anything to do with how people saw you as a driver.

You wanted to race for him, not because of him. Nepotism in this sport can make or break someone's career.

When you got up to Formula 1, you cried tears of joy. Knowing that your father was looking out for you.

You were relatively accepted among everyone. You and your teammate Charles got along better than anyone could imagine.

Competing and pushing each other, but still remaining close at the end of the day.

What you didn't know was that some on the grid found you annoying.

You had found fast success and with it came rituals. You wanted to cheer loud enough for your father to hear you. Celebrating enough for the both of you.

It hurt having not known him, but you felt like you did at times. Hearing his name still being praised. You’d watched his races on YouTube repeatedly. You knew he would be ecstatic to see you here.

Everywhere else you were very down to earth and chill. On the podium, however, was a different story. There you let everything go, enjoying yourself for those who couldn’t be there with you. It was your ritual and you loved it. Charles found it entertaining despite not understanding it. You worked hard for your success, why shouldn’t you enjoy it?

You were going to run up and join a group of the guys walking and talking after a race one evening. Charles being one of them. You’d grown feelings for him and even if he didn’t return them, having him as a friend was still great.

They didn’t hear you approach, continuing there conversation without remorse.

“I don’t know man, I find her annoying.”

Charles was immediately confused at this. “Annoying? How so? I find her the least annoying out of everyone else.” He chuckled at his own funny remark.

“I agree. She seems very cocky when she wins. Rubbing it in everyone’s faces.”

A course of similar comments and agreements strung from their mouths. You didn’t stay to hear everything, quickly finding your way back to your hotel room.

Charles had left the conversation not long after. Leaving them the group with one last statement before walking off. “Who cares how she celebrates? Anyone that wins wants to enjoy it, so let her have this.”

While you became quieter and more reserved, Charles became more concerned. You weren’t the sunshine everyone enjoyed having around. You weren’t offering soothing words when someone had an off day. It was strange and he didn’t like it. He became determined to help you through it.

Everyone started talking after your next win. You smiled but said nothing. You looked unfazed by the champaign chaos. You were hardly celebrating.

Everyone else assumed your were sick, but Charles had the feeling there was something else at play.

He’d immediately given into his crush on you. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to escape it since you spent tons of time together. If only he could help you through whatever fought patch you were in. Maybe he could get the confidence to ask you out.

It was now time for the Brazilian Grand-Prix. Imola. The track Ayrton Senna lost his life.

You were hoping to win today for him, and you had a good shot at doing so after an amazing qualifying.

In the evening you decided to visit your father’s memorial. The track was clear like the sky. Pink and orange hues shining down in rays. You dropped to your knees, placing the flower you brought in front of the memorial.

“I hope you can forgive me for not cheering loud anymore.” You cried. Failing to notice the footsteps behind you. “Mom says you’d be proud of me. That you would’ve come to every race. I wish I could’ve known you.”

Charles crouch’s next to you. His hand rubbing circles on your back in a soothing manner. He didn’t say anything, just let you talk. He knows how it feels to miss someone.

“I cheer loudly so that he can hear me. I just know he’d be celebrating with me, so I do enough for the both of us.” You confessed, leaning into Charles’ touch.

“I understand.” He guides your face to look at him, gently wiping your tears with his thumb. “Your dad would be proud of you. I am also proud of you.”

No other words needed to be said. You leaned in, your foreheads now touching. Somehow, that did all the talking for you.

The next day brought excitement and anxiety. You and Charles fighting hard to be at the top. You nearly cried when you won. Charles right behind you in second.

When the cars were parked, you jumped into his arms. Adrenaline flooding through your veins. She the interviewer came to ask you about the race, you looked at Charles. Him nodding at you and giving you a thumbs up for reassurance.

“I just want to say that I’m dedicating this win to my father, Ayrton Senna. I hope to continue his legacy.”

Everyone stared at you before the chanting of your name started. The name everyone knew you by now changed.

You were hesitant to celebrate on the podium. Until Charles took your hand in his and yelled at the top of his lungs. Bathing you in the alcohol. So you finally let loose again, the fans screaming with you.

And when you two were alone again, you realized your father had been watching you. He sent you Charles. A soft ‘thank you’ falls from your lips before kissing Charles Champagne covered lips.

The roughie and the racer

Part one

Daniel Ricciardo x male!oc

Word count 4k

I don’t know how I feel about this honestly let me know what you think I had to break up with the last 2k words 😭😭😭😭

Caden arched an eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest. "You want me to accompany you where?" he inquired. His sister let out a sigh. "To the Austin Grand Prix," she repeated. Caden's expression turned sour. "What happened to your date?" he probed. His sister glanced down at the ground and murmured, "He bailed." "And why do you assume I'm free that weekend? Perhaps I already have plans," Caden retorted sarcastically. His sister gazed at him doubtfully. "So, do you have plans?" she asked, fully aware that her loner of a brother likely had no prior commitments for the weekend.

Caden let out a deep sigh and slowly uncrossed his arms. "No, I don't have any plans that weekend," he said, his voice tinged with defeat. His sister's face lit up with a smile. "See, I knew it! And who knows, maybe you'll end up having a great time," she teased, playfully punching her brother in the arm.

Caden rolled his eyes, but a faint smile played at the corners of his lips. "I doubt it," he muttered, rubbing his arm where his sister had made contact. "But I'll go," he conceded, knowing full well he had little choice in the matter. "But don't expect me to enjoy myself. I don't get why you're so into this F1 junk." His sister beamed with excitement. “You're lucky I love” Caden says to his sister rolling his eyes. His sister grinned widely as she ruffled Caden's hair, playfully teasing him. "Awww, Caden, you're such a softie deep down," she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Look at how easily you're being corrupted by my influence. Soon you'll be begging me to take you to every race." Caden grumbled as he attempted to fix his disheveled hair. "I'm only doing this because it's important to you," he muttered, his voice tinged with feigned annoyance. Deep down, he couldn't deny the fondness he had for his sister.

"And I won't beg for anything!" he added defiantly. His sister couldn't help but chuckle, clearly enjoying teasing her brother. "Oh, I know you won't beg," she replied with a smirk. "You're too stubborn for that. But mark my words, by the end of the weekend, you'll be a racing enthusiast just like me." Caden scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. "In your dreams," he muttered, crossing his arms across his chest. "I'll tolerate the races, but I'll never become a fan like you. It's just not my thing, and it never will be."

Their banter continued as they joked and teased one another playfully. Despite Caden's reluctance, he secretly couldn't help feeling a hint of anticipation for the upcoming weekend and the chance to spend some quality time with his sister. "Just promise me one thing," Caden said, interrupting their playful banter momentarily. His expression turned serious, and he looked at his sister with sincerity. "Promise me you'll make sure we get the best view of the race. If I'm going to suffer through this, I might as well have a comfortable seat."

His sister raised an eyebrow, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. "Oh, don't worry, Caden," she said with a sly smirk. "I already have it all figured out. We'll be sitting in the front row, practically on top of the action. You might even forget you hate F1 by the end of it." Caden rolled his eyes again, his irritation mingled with a hint of reluctant curiosity. He didn't want to admit it, but his sister's enthusiasm was beginning to rub off on him...just a little.

"Just don't expect me to root for any of those drivers or anything," he grumbled, trying to maintain his grumpy facade. His sister laughed, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of asking you to root for anyone," she replied playfully. "You can just sit there and judge them in your head. That's what you do best, right?"

Caden huffed, pretending to be annoyed but unable to suppress the corners of his lips from twitching into a slight smile. "You know me too well," he conceded, a hint of affection in his voice. "Besides, you might discover you find one of those drivers surprisingly attractive," his sister teased, wiggling her eyebrows mischievously.

Caden's eyes widened in mock horror. "Oh, please, don't say things like that! I wouldn't be caught dead crushing on some rich, arrogant racer."

His sister laughed wholeheartedly, thoroughly enjoying Caden's sarcastic reactions. "Relax, Caden, I'm just messing with you," she giggled. "But you never know, stranger things have happened. And if you do end up crushing on a racer, you'll owe me a year's supply of ice cream."

Caden playfully shoved her, trying to feign annoyance, but it was evident he was enjoying their banter. "You're insufferable," he muttered, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "But fine, if I end up hopelessly swooning over a racer, I'll treat you to a year's worth of ice cream. However, I highly doubt that's ever going to happen." His sister grinned widely, clearly pleased with his response. "Deal. But beware, Caden, life has a way of surprising us when we least expect it," she teased, her eyes gleaming with amusement. With the deal struck and the banter still flowing, they continued their playful banter, their laughter echoing through the room.

As the conversation continued, Caden found himself slowly becoming more at ease. Despite his initial reluctance, the idea of attending the race with his sister no longer seemed entirely unbearable. Who knows? Maybe, just maybe, this could turn out to be a memorable weekend. But for now, he would continue grumbling and eye-rolling, maintaining his grumpy exterior as much as possible. After all, he needed to uphold his reputation as a tough, no-nonsense guy.

The weekend finally arrived, and Caden found himself standing outside the entrance to Circuit of The Americas, surrounded by a boisterous crowd of racing fans. His sister stood beside him, bubbling with excitement, while Caden tried to maintain his indifferent facade.

As they made their way through the bustling crowd, Caden couldn't help feeling out of his element. The noise, the energy, the excitement - it was all so foreign to him.

But there was something oddly captivating about the atmosphere. The colorful team jerseys, the enthusiastic chants, the intoxicating scent of engine oil and gasoline. It was a different world completely, a world that his sister seemed completely enthralled by.

“Here,” Cadens sister said, handing him something. “What’s this? " he asked looking at the lanyard. “It’s a paddock pass” his sister says. Caden raised an eyebrow, his tone filled with skepticism. "A paddock pass? Seriously? I thought we were just going to watch the race like normal people."

His sister shot him a teasing smile. "Oh, come on, Caden. Where's your sense of adventure? Besides, how could I possibly ask you to accompany me to the race and not give you the full experience?"

Caden rolled his eyes, but a hint of curiosity piqued his interest. He had to admit, being in the paddock and getting up close with the race cars did sound somewhat intriguing, even though he tried hard to hide it.

“So what team hospitality will we be in?” Caden asked his sister. His sister's eyes lit up with excitement as she replied, "We'll be in the Red Bull hospitality. It's one of the best teams in the league right now, and their hospitality is legendary. We might even get a chance to meet some of the drivers!"

Caden couldn't help rolling his eyes once again. "Meet the drivers? Yeah, because that's what I want, to spend my day chatting with a bunch of pompous, adrenaline junkie billionaires." His sister laughed and playfully punched him on the shoulder. "Lighten up, Caden! You might find that these drivers are not as pompous as you think. They're human beings like us, dedicated to their passion and craft."

“Oh yeah like you and your bull riding? his sister says. Caden's expression hardened at the mention of his own profession. "Bull riding is a true test of skill and courage. Those bulls are unpredictable. It's a lot more than just sitting in a car and pressing pedals." His sister raised her hands in surrender, realizing she had inadvertently struck a nerve. "Alright, alright, I get it. Your bull riding is hardcore, no question. But you have to admit, those race car drivers have some serious skills too. It's not just about the speed, it's about precision, strategy, and the ability to handle these machines at insane speeds." Caden grumbled, still not entirely convinced. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Fine, maybe those drivers do have some talent or whatever. But I'll still stick to my horses and bulls, thank you very much."

As Caden stood among the crowd, a voice interrupted his thoughts. "You ride bulls?" The question came from behind him. Turning around, Caden was met by the sight of a man slightly shorter than himself. The man stood confidently, wearing a crisp Ferrari polo. However, it wasn't the polo that grabbed Caden's attention. What stood out was the curious fashion choice of the man - his jeans were tucked into his boots, making for an interesting appearance.

Caden couldn't help but stare in disbelief at the man's attire. He had certainly seen some unique fashion choices in his life, but jeans stuffed into boots inside boots – a cowboy style – was definitely not something he had come across before. It was a stark contrast to the formal dress code he had grown up with thanks to his father's strict ways.

"Yeah, I do ride bulls now and then," Caden replied, trying to compose himself and look away from the man's unusual boot situation.Caden’s sister gasped, tapping him on the shoulder trying to get his attention but she had no luck because he was still staring down at the man’s boots.

As Caden looked down at the man's boots, he could feel his sister nudge him on the shoulder, trying to get his attention. But his focus remained on the unusual boot situation before him. Feeling a sense of obligation, Caden kneeled down and swiftly fixed the man's jeans, ensuring they were properly positioned outside the boots.

"Jeans go on the outside of your boots," he advised, trying to keep his tone neutral but unable to resist a subtle hint of amusement in his voice.

The man looked utterly bewildered, clearly stunned by Caden's unexpected act. He glanced down at his boots and back up at Caden, as if trying to comprehend what had just happened. "You... you fixed my boots?" he stammered, still processing the situation. Caden stood up, casually adjusting his own attire. "Yeah, sorry, man, but jeans stuffed into boots is just wrong," he replied with a shrug. "You gotta do it right if you're going to be in Texas and I’m surprised that everybody just let you walk around like that”

The man looked down at his boots once again, a hint of embarrassment creeping onto his face. He chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess I got carried away with the look," he admitted, unable to hide a sheepish smile. "Thanks for the correction, man." “I’m Charles” the man says introducing himself. Caden glanced up and met Charles eye-to-eye, offering a firm handshake. "Caden," he responded simply, his voice carrying a subtle hint of curiosity. There was something oddly magnetic about Charles' presence that intrigued him. "Are you a racing fan or just really into boot fashion?"

Charles grinned, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "A bit of both, I suppose," he replied, his tone laced with a touch of playfulness. "Racing is my profession, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to rock this fashion statement."

Caden raised an eyebrow, slightly taken aback. "Racing? as in F1?" he asked, his skepticism evident in his tone as he gestured towards the Ferrari emblem on Charles' polo. Charles nodded enthusiastically, a mixture of orgullo and enthusiasm evident in his expression. "Yeah, Formula 1, to be precise. I drive for Ferrari."

Caden's eyes widened slightly as he took in this newfound information. He had a feeling he was speaking with someone of significance within the racing world, but he hadn't anticipated just how significant. "Well, I'll be damned," Caden muttered, a hint of surprise in his voice. "I never thought I'd be fixing some posh Formula 1 driver's fashion faux pas."

Charles laughed heartily, clearly amused by Caden's remark. "Posh, huh? I guess you could say that," he replied with a light-hearted shrug. "But hey, fashion faux pas can happen to anyone, even F1 drivers." Caden rolled his eyes, not entirely convinced by Charles' self-deprecating remark. "Yeah, well, it's a good thing someone was around to fix it," he retorted, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "Imagine if you had been filmed walking around like that."

Charles nodded, his expression turning sheepish once again. "Yeah, I wouldn't have heard the end of it," he said with a chuckle. "Thanks for saving me there, Caden. I owe you one."

Caden waved a dismissive hand, trying to brush off the gratitude. "No biggie. Just doing my Texan duty to spread proper boot style." Charles' eyes widened with interest as he processed Caden's words. "You're a Texan, huh? That explains the boots. And the bulls, I assume?" he asked, a spark of curiosity in his eyes.

Caden chuckled, a subtle hint of pride in his voice. "Guilty as charged. Born and raised in Texas, where cowboys and bulls coexist. Though the bulls might have the upper hand sometimes." Charles let out a hearty laugh, clearly amused by Caden's remark. "Sounds like an interesting life you lead, Caden. Bulls and cowboys, huh? Maybe you could teach me a thing or two about handling those bulls. And I can teach you a thing or two about F1."

Caden raised an eyebrow, feigning indifference. "Oh, so you're offering lessons now, Mr. Fancy Formula 1 Driver? I'll consider it, but only if you promise not to bring back the boot fashion blunders."

Charles grinned, clearly enjoying the banter between them. "Deal. No more boot blunders from me, I promise," he agreed, holding out his hand for a mock handshake that Caden reluctantly returned. "And who knows? Maybe you'll end up enjoying the racing world more than you think.”

Caden playfully rolled his eyes, masking his intrigue. "Right, sure. I'm sure the racing world and I will become fast friends. Just as soon as you convince me it's not just a bunch of millionaires driving in circles." Charles couldn't help but chuckle at Caden's remark. "No worries, I won't force you into a racing suit. But I do hope you'll enjoy your day and the race," he said, his voice tinged with sincerity.

Suddenly, someone called out to Charles from a distance, drawing his attention away. "I have to go, but it was great meeting you, Caden. Maybe we'll see each other later." Caden nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Likewise, Charles. Take care of those boots, and yourself. And try not to crash in the race, alright?" "I'll do my best,” Charles replied with a wink, offering a playful salute as he turned to leave. As he walked away, Caden found himself stealing a quick glance at the shortened jeans, still feeling the lingering impact of the brief encounter.

As Caden watched Charles walk away, his sister appeared at his side, a knowing smile on her face. "Making friends already, huh?" she teased playfully, nudging him with her elbow. Caden rolled his eyes, trying to feign nonchalance, but a faint blush creeped over his cheeks. "Don't be ridiculous. I just fixed the guy's boots. It's not like we're best friends now." His sister laughed, seeing right through his attempt to play it cool. "Right, right. Fixing someone's boots is the classic Texan move for making friends," she jested, a mischievous twinkle in her eye."Oh, shut it,” Caden grumbled, feeling a mix of annoyance and embarrassment. "I just didn't want him walking around like a fashion disaster, alright? That's all there was to it." His sister just grinned wider, clearly enjoying his discomfort. "Whatever you say, big brother.“

Caden scowled at her, knowing he had inadvertently given her ammunition to tease him about for the rest of the weekend. "Just great. Now I'll never hear the end of this" he muttered under his breath. His sister laughed, clearly amused by her brother's annoyance. "Oh, don't worry, Caden. I'll make sure to keep reminding you of this little boot-fixing episode. It's not every day you get to impress a Formula 1 driver with your Texas manners." Caden let out a long-suffering sigh, resigning himself to the fact that his sister would always be there to remind him of his embarrassing moments. "I should have known better than to step foot in this racing-crazed world. It's like a magnet for embarrassing situations" he grumbled.

As Caden and his sister made their way towards the stands, the atmosphere grew more intense. Cheerleaders performed acrobatic routines, bands played upbeat music, and fans wore colorful shirts and hats representing their favorite teams. The energy was palpable, and Caden couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and apprehension. "Remind me again why I agreed to come to this madness," he groaned to his sister as the two of them walked to the red bull hospitality and garage.

"Because you secretly love it," his sister teased with a knowing grin. "You’re just too stubborn to admit it."Caden huffed in playful annoyance but couldn't keep the corner of his lips from curving into a small smile. He secretly enjoyed the vibrant atmosphere, despite his initial reluctance. As they entered the Red Bull Hospitality, Caden's eyes darted around, taking in the luxurious interior adorned with the team's signature bulls and crimson red colors. The atmosphere was a whirlwind of chatter and laughter as fans mingled and enjoyed food from various catering tables.

Caden's sister seemed to be in her element, effortlessly striking up conversations with fellow fans and basking in the buzz of excitement. Caden, on the other hand, found himself feeling a bit out of place. He stuck to the sidelines and observed the scene unfolding before him in silence. As they made their way through the bustling crowd, a sudden change in the atmosphere caught Caden's attention. The fans around them erupted into cheers and applause, their gazes fixed on something or someone behind him. Curiosity piqued, Caden turned around to see what had caused the commotion. Standing amidst the whirlwind of commotion was Daniel Ricciardo, the charming Australian driver with a contagious smile. His presence commanded the attention of everyone around him, and the crowd seemed to gravitate towards him like moths to a flame.

Caden's heart skipped a beat as he laid eyes on Daniel's captivating presence. There was something magnetic about him, an undeniable charisma that drew people in, and Caden found himself strangely drawn to it. His sister noticed the way Caden's gaze lingered on Daniel, and a sly smile curved her lips. "Seems like you've found someone interesting," she teased, nudging him gently with her elbow. Caden snapped out of his momentary trance and quickly composed himself, trying to mask his interest in Daniel. "What? No, I was just observing," he replied, trying to maintain a nonchalant demeanor but failing miserably.

His sister arched an eyebrow, clearly amused by his reaction. "Observing, huh? Is that what we're calling it now?" She teased softly, her eyes twinkling with playfulness. Caden grumbled under his breath and turned away, trying to hide the faint blush creeping up his cheeks. "I was just admiring the whole circus, that's all," he muttered, but his sister saw right through his denial.

She laughed softly, clearly amused by her brother's subtle interest. "Whatever you say, Caden. Just don't deny that you're intrigued by the charm of that Aussie driver and besides he’s your type.” His sister rolled her eyes, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Oh, come on, Caden. Don't act like you can hide it. All those guys you've had little flings with over the years, tall, charming, and charismatic. Seems like Daniel Ricciardo ticks all those boxes for you." Caden shot her a glare, feeling a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment at her astute observation. "Shut it," he muttered between gritted teeth. "I'm not interested in him. And even if I were, there's a zero percent chance he'd look my way."

His sister shrugged nonchalantly, clearly enjoying teasing her older brother. "Who knows? People surprise you sometimes. And who says you're not his type?" Her mischievous grin seemed to suggest that she had a few ideas up her sleeve. Caden gritted his teeth, feeling the familiar frustration and annoyance that always surfaced whenever his sister played matchmaker in his life. "Leave it, alright? We're here to enjoy the race, not discuss my non-existent love life," he huffed, hoping to put an end to the conversation. His sister chuckled, sensing her brother's discomfort. "Alright, alright, I'll drop it for now. But just remember, life's too short to hold back from what you want," she said, giving him a gentle pat on the shoulder before sauntering off to explore the hospitality area.

As his sister vanished into the crowd, Caden let out a frustrated sigh, feeling a mix of relief and irritation. He cast a quick glance around, his eyes landing on Daniel once again, who was engrossed in conversation with a group of fans a few feet away. Despite his best efforts to remain aloof, Caden couldn't resist stealing discreet glances at Daniel. There was an inexplicable allure about him that drew Caden in, a magnetic charm that transcended the realm of racing. He couldn't shake off the subtle flutter in his chest every time he laid eyes on him. It was a confusing mix of intrigue and unease, and Caden couldn't help but question the strange pull he felt towards the captivating Australian driver. As he continued to observe Daniel, Caden couldn’t help but notice the effortless way he interacted with fans. Daniel's smile was genuine, and he engaged with each person with warmth and enthusiasm. Caden's heart thumped against his chest as he watched, and the thought that he could ever even approach such a vibrant and charming individual seemed far-fetched. He silently chastised himself for allowing his imagination to run wild.

Just when Caden was lost in his thoughts, Daniel glanced in his direction, their eyes locking for a brief moment before Caden swiftly averted his gaze. His heart raced, and a wave of nerves washed over him, silently cursing his awkward demeanor. It was in that fleeting glance that Caden felt a connection, a strange recognition that sent a shiver down his spine. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to this encounter than just a casual glance. The moment was brief, but it left an indelible mark on Caden's mind. He couldn’t help but wonder if Daniel had felt it too. The thought tormented him, making him question everything he thought he knew about his own feelings and desires. With a mixture of excitement and trepidation swirling within him, Caden knew that this chance encounter had stirred something deep within him, a flame that refused to be extinguished.

The rest of the time at the hospitality area went by in a blur for Caden as they mingled with fans and enjoyed the pre-race festivities. He tried to keep his mind occupied, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the brief connection he had felt with Daniel. As the race grew closer and the crowd became more hyped, Caden's anticipation to witness Daniel in action slowly replaced his initial apprehension.

As they made their way to their seats, Caden found himself torn between excitement and anxiety. Every time Daniel's name was announced over the loudspeaker, Caden's heart raced, and a mixture of nerves and anticipation swirled within his stomach. He had never felt such a strong connection to someone, especially someone he barely knew, and he couldn't help but wonder if there was something more to this inexplicable pull he felt towards the captivating driver.

The race started, and Caden was immediately immersed in the frenzy of engines revving and tires screeching against the track. The energy of the crowd was infectious, and he found himself caught up in the excitement of the competition. His sister leaned over, a mischievous glint in her eye. "You know, Daniel Ricciardo is leading the race so far. He's quite the skilled driver," she remarked, subtly trying to gauge Caden's reaction. Caden's heart skipped a beat as he heard the news, a mixture of anticipation and anxiety swirling within him. He tried to play it off coolly, shrugging nonchalantly. "Yeah, he's not bad," he replied, trying to keep his emotions in check. "But it's a long race, anything can happen," he added, hoping his sister wouldn't pick up on the newfound interest in his voice.

As the race continued, Caden found himself glued to every move Daniel made, his heart racing with every pass and overtake. He couldn't help but admire the confidence and skill with which Daniel navigated the track, seemingly unfazed by the intense competition. Caden's sister noticed his unwavering attention and let out a soft chuckle.

"Looks like you have a favorite driver now," she teased, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "He's quite captivating, isn't he?" Caden playfully shoved her shoulder, trying to lighten the situation. "Shut it, you. I just appreciate good racing," he protested, though he couldn't deny the undeniable charm that Daniel exuded both on and off the track. The race continued to unfold, and Caden watched with a mixture of anticipation and dread as the leading positions changed hands numerous times. The race was on a knife's edge, with Daniel still firmly in contention. As the laps neared their end, Caden felt a wave of anxiety wash over him. He couldn't help but feel invested in Daniel's performance, his heart racing with each turn and overtake.

As the final lap commenced, Caden's heart pounded against his ribcage, the tension palpable in the air. His eyes were fixated on Daniel's car, watching as it navigated through the curves and bends of the track. The race was nearing its climax, and the suspense was unbearable. Caden found himself involuntarily clenching his fists, silently cheering Daniel on.

The final minutes were a flurry of excitement and anticipation, and Caden's heart skipped a beat as Daniel took the checkered flag, securing first place. The crowd erupted into a roaring applause, and Caden found himself smiling despite his earlier reservations. He couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and admiration for the captivating driver who had managed to capture his attention like no one else had before. As Daniel's car slowed to a stop and he climbed out, waving to the cheering crowd, Caden's heart skipped a beat. He couldn't help but stare, captivated by the magnetic aura that surrounded Daniel. There was something about him that transcended the realm of racing he was charismatic, talented, and undeniably charming.Caden felt that strange pull towards him, a connection that he couldn't explain but couldn't ignore.

His sister, who had observed his reactions throughout the race, gently nudged him once again. "Looks like you're hopelessly smitten with the race winner," she teased, her eyes twinkling with a mix of curiosity and amusement. Caden snapped out of his temporary stupor, quickly regaining his composure. "Smitten? Hardly. I just appreciate good driving," he retorted, dismissing her statement with a casual wave of his hand. However, the faint blush on his cheeks betrayed his attempts to downplay his true feelings. His sister smirked, clearly not buying his denial. "Sure, just ‘appreciating' his driving skills, right?" she teased, her words dripping with playful sarcasm. Caden rolled his eyes, secretly flustered by her teasing yet unable to deny the magnetic pull he felt towards the charismatic race winner.

As the crowd started to thin out and the excitement began to subside, Caden found himself feeling a mix of emotions. There was a strange combination of anticipation and dread building within him, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to happen. Despite his best efforts to push the thought away, he couldn't help but wonder if he would ever cross paths with Daniel again. He was pulled out of his reverie by his sister's soft voice. "You know, you've been watching him like a hawk. I never thought you'd be this interested in a race," she commented, a teasing lilt in her words. Caden shrugged nonchalantly, trying to play it cool. "I just appreciate good driving, that's all. He's a talented driver." But he couldn't hide the fact that his heart was beating erratically in his chest at the mere mention of Daniel.

As they made their way out of the hospitality and towards the parking lot, Caden's mind was preoccupied with thoughts of the charming race winner. He tried to dismiss the persistent flutter in his heart as mere adrenaline, but deep down, he knew there was more to it. Little did he know that the night had a surprise in store for him

Unexpected Arrival

Pairing: Max Verstappen x f!reader

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, giving birth, one? bad word.

Max and y/n get an unexpected surprise one race weekend.

The paddock was full of people as they all ran around making last-minute adjustments and began getting the cars out onto the grid ready for race day. You had mainly stayed out of the way, hanging around to see Max in between interviews and meetings with his team. You had loved race day, even before you met Max you had loved watching it on TV with your dad or with your friends, and you loved it even more so since you began dating Max.

Something felt different today though; you had not been well the past few days but had brushed it off as something you had eaten or the jet lag from following Max around. You decided to hang out in his driver's room, being away from the loud noise and cameras, preferring the quiet to curl up on the couch and cheer him on from there.

As you sat watching him, the cramps in your stomach grew worse. You knew you were not due yet, so you brushed the cramps aside, hoping to find some distraction in the race. Max was leading, as usual, but Lando was hot on his tail. You were excitedly texting your friends and knew Max would be enjoying finally having some competition. The pain became more intense and more consistent, but you did not want anything to ruin the day. You could make an emergency appointment somewhere later if the pain was still there.

With your attention turned back on the race, you were not prepared as a pain shot through you, causing you to let out a gasp. It was so intense you were almost doubled over in pain. You felt wetness between your legs, and holy shit, this was not cramps. Too much for a period…Reality kicked you worse than the cramps in the stomach. You were in labor.

It was funny really; you had watched that program once with Max and ended up turning it off after he turned to you, “How do you go nine months without realizing you have a baby inside you?”

You tried to remember the birthing advice you had seen on the crappy medical dramas you had watched, although you knew they were far from accurate, as well as advice from your friends who had babies before you. However, fear clouded your judgment and everything went out of the window.

‘Okay…this is happening. You can do this y/n. Women all over the world give birth alone and have done so for thousands of years,’ you told yourself.

You managed to reach your phone and sent a text to one of the friends you had been texting. It was incoherent and barely made sense, but hopefully, they could get word to someone in the paddock to get you help. There was no point in screaming or shouting for help; for one, you knew your body would not allow you, but also, with the noise from the paddock and the race, no one would hear you anyway.

You tried to stand but could only do so for a short while before you were doubled over in pain again. Still, you managed to shuffle to the bathroom, grab a few towels, and get yourself on the floor. The contractions were coming closer together, and if those crappy medical dramas taught you anything, you knew this baby was coming, and coming soon. With one last push, you gritted your teeth and felt a release followed by a soft baby's cry.

Trembling, you wrapped the baby in one of Max’s clean Red Bull hoodies, fitting for a Verstappen, and stared at the tiny life you had just produced in disbelief. You were shocked, overwhelmed but filled with so much love for this tiny being. As if by instinct, you picked the baby up and held the tiny bundle to your chest.

It felt like hours you sat there with your baby clutched to your chest as you tried to calm yourself down from the ordeal, but in reality, it was only minutes before there was a knock on your door followed by the arrival of the medical team. They quickly checked you and the baby over, but your mind was thinking of Max.

How were you going to explain this? Sure you had both spoken about having children before, but nothing was concrete. What if he did not want this?

Meanwhile, back on the circuit, Max had crossed the finish line closely followed by Lando and Carlos. He completed his victory lap and pulled up to the first place sign, climbing from his car and doing his signature celebration. Max was completely unaware of the miracle that had just occurred in his driver's room.

He was led to be weighed and had a quick interview before he was led to the corner by his head engineer. The atmosphere in the Red Bull garage was weird. That was the only way Max could describe it, and there was no sign of you, not that it was unusual. He knew you liked to hang in his room sometimes when you got overwhelmed. There were whispers as people looked at him, but he had just won so that was not unusual either.

It was his engineer with an unreadable expression on his face that had him wondering what the fuck was going on.

“Max…it’s y/n. Now don’t freak out but…”

That was all he heard though. That was all he needed to know before he was running to his driver's room to find you. He froze in the doorway, eyes wide as he took in the scene. You were on the floor, surrounded by medics, clutching a small wriggling bundle against your chest wrapped in one of his Red Bull Shirts. You looked exhausted. He just looked like a deer in the headlights.

“Max…” you whispered. “Meet your daughter.”

He rushed to your side, falling on his knees beside you as he carefully wrapped his arms around you both and placed a kiss on your temple.

“What? How did we? You did this?”

You chuckled at him lightly, you had the same questions, but in that moment with him by your side and your daughter in your arms, you fell in love with him all over again.

“You’re incredible.”

You were utterly exhausted as you leaned into his side. After a moment, the medics intervened and informed you they needed to get you to the medical center. A few people from Max’s team stood by the door as they watched the scene unfold, snapping a picture of the soft moment.

The moment was broken when Lando made his way through the crowd, “Max, the podium is about to…fucking hell, is that a baby?”

Three is a party

Lewis Hamilton x Reader x Max Verstappen

Summary: Max hated you. He hated your pretty face, your beautiful body and your amazing personality. He hated that you were Hamilton’s girl.

Word count: 3.8k

Tags: Smut, female reader, +18, anal sex, unprotected sex, voyeurism, exhibtionism, edging, filthy, porn with very little plot, dom!lewis, sub!reader, sub!max, possibly queer! everyone, kinda polyamory situation, bit of dirty talking, pet names, not beta read

Notes: this is honestly just pure filth, you are warned. This is entering lgbtqia+ territory (for both drivers).

I’ll post this and drink a bottle of holy water or something.

God, Max hated you.

He hated your pretty face, your beautiful body and your amazing personality.

He hated that you were Hamilton’s girl.

Really, it was never his intention to look at you that way. Your paths should’ve never even crossed if you weren’t the most friendly person in the entire world. The first few times he saw you was just in passing, and he thought you were beautiful, but granted, all Lewis’ girlfriends were beautiful anyway. But then, you and Lewis became official after a couple of months, and your presence in race weekends became more and more prominent.

You soon became friends with other drivers, and Max always saw you around having a blast with George and his girlfriend, or even joking with Lando and Oscar, or helping the Ferrari guys with photography, or chatting with Valtteri or Esteban. When you even started a brief friendship with the Alpha Tauri boys, Max knew his time was coming, you seemed intent on getting acquainted with everyone.

The first time he was introduced to you, it came from Daniel Ricciardo, who was strolling with you, and Max suddenly crossed your path, trying to avoid both.

“Max!” He heard Daniel calling after him, and Max immediately froze on the spot. He managed to move and turn around just in time as you and Daniel stopped right in front of him, “This is Y/N, she’s brought everyone some cookies!”

“Hi, nice to meet you, Max!” You shook his hand, and he looked down to the box of cookies you were balancing with the other hand, “those are 100% healthy, ok? Gluten-free, vegan, low carb, all the athlete friendly stuff!”

“You made them?” Max asked, dumbly. But you laughed out loud as if he had said the best joke ever.

“Oh no, I can’t bake- or cook, to save my life!” You offered, raising the box, “go on, take one, you won’t regret it!” You said sweetly, your eyes shining in such a way that if you had offered him poison, he would probably take it willingly.

You chirped away as soon as you spotted Lando and Oscar, offering them cookies too after wishing Max a quick “good luck”.

You were always at the races, and through gossip, Max had heard you had a job only during four weekdays, so even if you had to work up until Thursday, you would always find a way to go to the races to support Lewis. You made sure to always greet every driver, wishing them luck regardless if you were rooting for your boyfriend only.

One day, Max was passing by and you noticed him, even if you were chatting with your boyfriend.

“Hey, Max!” You saluted him, and he just nodded back to you with his lips pressed in an almost smile.

He hated your ass in those jeans. He hated the way your perfume lingered behind every time you left after chatting with him. He hated the way you were always touching Lewis, not in a very PDA way, but more with soft touches, holding his hand, putting a supportive hand on his shoulder, whispering softly and giving him that divine smile of yours.

God, Max was so fucked.

-

Lewis invited everyone to a pre-season party at his place in Monaco. He even invited Max, who was particularly surprised, since they’re not really close. When Max texted other drivers to check if they were going, all of them confirmed, because no one would willingly miss an infamous Lewis Hamilton party. And Max decided to go because he didn’t want to be the only stuck up guy who wouldn’t show up.

And definitely not because he was hoping to see you there.

As he arrived purposefully late, the party was in full swing as soon as he entered through the door. His eyes scanned the room, dimly lit lights, loud music and way more people than he expected. He spotted you first, wearing a skimpy shimmering dress, standing between Lewis’ legs as he was sitting in a bar stool right behind you. The two of you were chatting with Lewis’ friends and Carlos, so Max did the most rational thing and walked to the opposite side, finding Checo and Charles talking over drinks.

Eventually he had to go and greet you and Lewis, since you’re both hosting the party, would be rude not to. He saw the opportunity as soon as you and Lewis were alone by the bar, whispering conspiratorially. He approached with a small smile.

“Glad to see you, Max” Lewis shook his hand as you smiled softly. It took Max a lot of restraint to not allow his eyes to rake down your body as you touched his shoulder in a friendly manner.

“Hope you’re enjoying yourself tonight, Max,” you said sweetly.

“I am, thanks for the invite,” he raised his drink politely. Luckily for him, he was immediately called over by Charles, who wanted a partner for a darts game.

He managed to let loose after a few drinks, and he didn’t stare at you as much as he did on the paddock. He drank and even met new people that Charles introduced him to.

As the party was winding down after a few hours, Max made sure Checo got to his car safely and instructed his driver to walk him inside because his teammate was way too drunk to walk on his own.

When Max got back, the amount of people still partying had lowered to half, and as he entered the room, he saw you exactly on the center of the dance floor. Reggaeton was blasting by the DJ, and you were dancing and grinding on your girl friends. And he felt like he was going insane as he went half hard just watching you dance. The way your hips moved, and the dress hiked up dangerously close to show half of your ass, and the envy he felt as he saw your girlfriends’ hands roaming your sides. He swallowed thickly forcing himself to look away, but the image of your hips moving slowly didn’t fade from his mind.

He tried to not pay you any attention, but you spent the next 30 minutes dancing, and grinding dangerously close to show your ass and you cleavage as the dress moved with your body.

He decided to go into the bathroom to calm down his mind and the hard on inside his pants. He threw cold water in his face that was red from the alcohol and the show you were giving outside. He refused to do anything about his boner other than mentally calm down. He is a high performance athlete, he could and would have the self control to command his body. He didn’t even want to touch himself because he didn’t want to cross that line.

He spent almost an hour inside the bathroom, pacing around and calming down.

As he came back to the party, he frowned, noticing that almost everyone had left, and those who were still there were getting ready to leave. Max decided that was the right course of action.

He spotted you and Lewis sitting down, Lewis sitting on an armchair and you sitting on the arm by his side.

“Hey, guys, thanks for the invite, I had a great time” Max waved.

“Do you want to accompany us for a nightcap?” Lewis suggested. Max looked between you two, confused.

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Max said slowly, not sure if you were only being polite, or if you really wanted him to join.

“Come on, Lewis stock the good stuff in the second office,” You winked at him, which made him laugh a little, in disbelief.

He watched as you got up, strolling happily upstairs. Max wasn’t sure if you were tipsy or sober enough, because you were always this chirpy and extroverted. Lewis followed behind you, and Max trailed right after, following to the second floor.

The second office, as you had called, looked like it had came right out of a 1920’s movie with leather couch and armchairs, and a wall full of different types of alcoholic beverages.

Max sat in an armchair close to the warm lights, and Lewis sat right in front of him, strangely close, with only a small centre table between them. Max’s eyes followed you as you went to the bar area.

“Max, how do you take your bourbon?” You asked softly, aligning three glasses.

“On the rocks, please” Max muttered, still unsure about everything. Something seemed off.

“You’re one of us, right baby?” You commented with a little giggle. As Max watched you prepare the drinks, he understood what you meant, all the three glasses were bourbon with ice.

Lewis started a small talk with Max, talking about how you two were considering buying a place in Netherlands because you adored Amsterdam.

As you came back, balancing the drinks with both hands, Max helped you grabbing one and giving other to Lewis. Max swallowed as you bent over to hand him his glass, and his eyes snapped to the way your dress lowered and he caught a glimpse of your breasts. His cheeks were red and warm as you sat down on Lewis’ lap.

“Cheers!” You said sweetly as you raised your glass for him in a toast, Lewis following your lead raising his too, from behind you.

The three of you kept talking about the plans to buy a new place, and the neighborhoods you’re contemplating moving to. Suddenly, you stopped talking.

“Max, can you be a dear and help me take off my heels?” You raised one of your legs in his direction, dangerously close to raising the hem of your dress. He stared at the red bottom of your heels, the strings around your ankle in a simple knot.

Max licked his lips, unsure as he looked over to Lewis, who just nodded, as if giving permission. The Dutch just leaned forward and held your ankle firmly with one hand and pulled the knot with the other. He tried not to think about being so physically close to you, how soft your skin felt against his hand, or the way you curled your toes as soon as the shoe was off. He lowered your foot trying not to linger his touch on your skin, and waited with bated breath as you raised the other one. He quickly undid the other, and he sighed as you finally let go.

He felt like it was some sort of test, as he checked Lewis to see a small smirk tugging his lips.

“Thank you, Max.” You said, politely.

“Do you think she’s pretty?” Lewis asked all of a sudden.

“No, I- I mean- Yes, but-” Max failed miserably, choking on his own words, but both you and Lewis waited calmly for his response. Finally, Max exhaled, looking deep into your eyes, “You’re beautiful, Y/N.”

He watched as you smiled, your cheeks blushing a bit and some kind of sick pride swelled in his chest.

“What do you say, baby?” Lewis tapped softly the side of your hip.

“Thank you, Max,” you whispered.

“We have noticed you,” Lewis started, looking Max in the eyes from above your shoulders, “how you ogle my baby every time you set your eyes on her,” Max felt his chest thudding on his ears, eyes wide, he barely breathe as Lewis’ hand settled on your neck, rising until it cradled your jaw firmly, “but luckily for you, we’re putting on a show tonight. Right, baby? You can stay and watch, Max, or you can leave right now and we’ll never talk about it again,” Lewis offered and waited for Max to get up and leave, but instead, Max just flexed his fingers, eyes on you.

Max’s breath caught on his throat, and he couldn’t believe his eyes as Lewis let go of yours, settling back on the armchair.

“Go on, baby. Make yourself comfortable.” Lewis commanded you, seemingly unbothered as he went back to nursing his drink. But you didn’t move from your place, just staring at Max, as Lewis finished his drink, he set down the glass, pulling your hair on the back of your head, “you’re not getting shy right now, are you pretty baby?” Lewis said and nipped at your neck, eliciting a moan from you as Max watched, mesmerized, his own hands firmly against his thighs.

Max’s eyes were wide as he watched Lewis hands finding your shoulders and pulling down the strings of your dress, making the loose fabric pool down around your waist, and your breasts proudly poking up beautifully. Max had to stifle a moan, his blood going straight to his cock at the sight of you half naked on Lewis’ lap. His eyes went from your nipples to your eyes that looked so turned on, pupils dilated and pretty mouth hanging slightly open, he then looked to Lewis, who looked up from ravaging your neck with a smirk.

“Go on, honey,” Lewis said to you but kept his eyes on Max’s.

Max only stared as you put both feet on the center table, flexing your knees and opening your legs to give him a full view of between your legs. He groaned as you showed him you were wearing no panties under that tiny dress. Lewis helped you take the dress fully off, throwing the shimmery fabric on the floor.

“I can bet she’s glistening right now, isn’t she, Max?” Lewis said, grabbing a hold on both your thighs and opening your legs even more for Max to see your pussy, “isn’t she?” Lewis asked again, his tone showing some dominance.

“She’s dripping wet,” Max answered slowly nodded, eyes focusing between your legs, which made you even hornier as they talked so casually about it. Your pussy was clenching and dripping so much you were sure you’re going to ruin the couch between Lewis’ legs soon, “you look so pretty, Y/N” Max added, reverently.

“Keep going, pretty baby, touch yourself so Max can see how pretty you look when you come.”

You obeyed, reaching your middle finger between your legs, finding a small relief running it up and down your slit, moaning softly which made Max palm himself on his jeans. You also could feel Lewis raging hard by your ass, and you wiggled your hips a little to give him some relief too.

“Put a finger in your pretty pussy,” Lewis said, and you went along, putting your middle finger into your pussy, moaning loud at the delicious contact, even though your fingers were nothing compared to Lewis’, “make yourself feel good.”

Max only watched, hypnotized by the way you were pulling your finger in and out, moaning and head lolling back, your tits bouncing with every roll of your hips. Lewis hands caressed your sides and went up until he pinched your nipples and you cried out, your moans louder by the second. The only thing Max could do was press his own erection through the fabric, the up and down of his hand, matching your own movements. He was getting closer to shamelessly finishing on his pants, and he could assume by the way your moans were getting louder that you too were close to finishing. He followed your rhythm, attentively.

“Stop” Lewis commanded and you immediately stopped, whining from being so close to release.

Lewis hummed softly as he noticed how Max also responded to his command, stopping his hand too, fingers flexing against his thigh. Lewis wasn’t sure about anything when the two of you talked about inviting Max to watch. But now seeing how quickly he was to follow an order, how his cheeks flushed and how his mouth was open, Lewis realized he got a great deal in all of this. He never knew Max could quickly fall into a sub preference.

“Max, open your trousers, pull your cock out” Lewis kept his voice firm, no space for questioning.

Max did what he said, unzipping his jeans, lowering just enough to spring his cock free.

“Now you two can start again, slowly” Lewis said, and he watched as Max licked a wet stripe in his own hand, finally closing his fist around his cock and starting slow, immediately moaning. You also started touching yourself again, enthralled by watching Max do the same. He was still following your lead, setting the pace the same as you. Lewis watched, feeling a little bit of relief in your ass grinding against his clothed cock. You were so close again, this time both you and Max moaning out loud, quickening the movements, you pressing the heel of your hand against your clit and Max pressing his cock head firmly. You could feel the tightening in your core, close to-

“Stop.”

You two stopped, you whining at being denied again, and Max put his shaky hand on the arm of the armchair. Max had never had no one bossing him, much less in edging, but relinquishing control was very freeing, in a way.

“You will warm my cock in your ass as you touch yourself, ok?” Lewis said, calmly instructing you. You only nodded. “Use your words.”

“Yes, Lewis.”

“Now get up, give me a kiss and show Max your pretty plug,” Lewis helped you up, because your legs were a bit shaken.

You turned around, bent over to kiss Lewis on the lips, and the position allowed Max to see your beautiful plug decorated with a pink gemstone. Lewis sucked your tongue, and you moaned against him. You wanted more, but his hands made you turn back around. Max watched fascinated as Lewis lowered his pants and freed his cock, pumping twice before spitting on himself, then pulling the anal plug out slowly, and you only moaned as he aligned his cock in your ass and started pushing softly.

You settled back on his lap, groaning at the feeling of his girth inside you, your eyes rolling in pleasure.

“Oh, Lewis! This is so good, love” You moaned, voice failing.

“You two can start again.”

You let Lewis hold your legs open, and placed your hand on your pussy again, inserting two fingers at once, needing release. Max also grabbed his cock, hand pressed against his leaking head, the view of Lewis’ cock disappearing between your legs was doing something to him.

The build up was quick for both you and Max, all the moaning mixing together, and Lewis joining you now that your ass was gripping his cock.

“Lewis, I’m going to-” you tried, moaning as you pumped your fingers in and out.

“Nuh-uh, hold it,” Lewis said, holding the sides of your hips with both hands, managing your movements as you were impaled on his cock. You kept moving, rubbing your wet fingers circularly your clit. Your eyes found Max’s, face fully red, sweat dampening his hairline. “I said, stop.”

Max was the one to whine as he let go of his cock, hips bucking searching for release. You also stopped, feeling the overwhelming need for release as your eyes teared up. Even if it was hard to endure, you loved the reward after edging sessions. Sometimes Lewis even edged you for hours, and in those occasions you came so hard you almost passed out.

“Please, please let us come,” you begged, not caring about how pathetic you sounded.

Max was only following you and Lewis, going with whatever was the flow, needy for release as much as you, but not as prone to begging as you, so he just stayed there panting as desperate.

“Sure thing, baby. Keep going now.” Lewis snapped his hips up, making you choke to the feel of him filling you up.

You nodded to Max, and the both of you started masturbating again, now more synced than ever. Lewis kept fucking into you, and the sensation only added to your own orgasm quickly building up again.

“Lewis,” Max moaned, “can we just-”

“Yes,” Lewis said with a breathy groan, with how your ass gripped his cock he knew he wasn’t lasting long either. “Max, Y/N, you can come now.”

Lewis had barely finished the sentence when you pressed your clit harder and started shaking, and he held you in place as the blinding pleasure overtook you, his cock twitching inside you as he also came with your body pulsating on him. Max groaned loud as he saw you shake, eyes rolling back and toes curling as you practically sobbed through the orgasm. Thick ropes of cum spilled down his hand and his lower abdomen, hips stuttering. He watched as you squirted, hand still on your pussy making a mess as you gushed, dripping on the floor and on the couch.

It was the filthiest view Max had ever witnessed, your tits bouncing as you came shaking, Lewis’ cock still inside you, spilling his cum down his length. Max fell back on the armchair, trying desperately to catch his breath. For a few minutes, the three desperate breaths calming down were the only sounds heard.

Then, Max watched as Lewis carefully removed you from him, putting you on the sofa, you were still all soft from coming so hard. Lewis opened a small fridge and picked two bottles of water, opening them before giving one to you, and the other to Max.

“Drink it up, Max” Lewis said and Max stared dumbly at him, but he just drank it, the cold water refreshing the heat. He watched as Lewis held the bottle against your lips, and you gulped down more than half of the water at once.

You were still fully naked but you didn’t seem really bothered by it. Lewis got up again, and this time, he went through a small door that Max hadn’t noticed before. Max tucked himself in his pants again, and he stayed silent as Lewis came back, he had a damp towel and he cleaned you between your legs.

“I’m sorry, baby” Lewis said as you hissed when he pressed the towel against your still sensitive pussy.

Over the table, Lewis handed Max the towel.

“To clean up the mess,” Lewis explained, looking pointedly at Max's hand and shirt still a little smeared with his cum.

“Thank you,” Max said, using the towel. As he cleaned, he watched as Lewis helped you put on a fluffy robe.

“Max, it’s really late so we suggest you take one of the guest rooms,” Lewis said gently as he helped you get up.

Max was still confused and also spent, but he just nodded. The party had ended long before and he really believed that the three of you should talk about it. But he could see you and Lewis were too tired for a conversation.

Lewis and you led him to the guest room that was the closest to yours, just in case.

“Just sleep, and we can talk about it in the morning, ok?” You said, smiling kindly.

“Yes, of course.”

Note: should I do part 2?

Mi Hijo (My Boy)

Pairing: Fernando Alonso x reader

Requested: no - i love a bit of papa nando content

Fernando had always dreamed of being a father, but racing had always taken over, taken over everything. That was until he had met you and your little boy. When he had met the two of you, you were a single mother, your ex-boyfriend walking out on the two of you before Finn had even been born, all Finn had known was Fernando, as far as your son was concerned Fernando was his Nando and that was all he needed.

There had always been scrutiny of Fernando dating a single mother, but he had always stood up for you, always defended you. He brought you to every race, brought your son to every race, buying him every piece of Aston Martin merchandise and you and your son loved it. You supported him every step of the way, and he loved you and your son unconditionally.

Father’s Day, whilst it was a day you had celebrated each with Fernando, it was never a massive celebration, with Fernando not wanting fuss, he knew he wasn’t Finn’s dad and would never want to push himself to be known as such without yours or Finn’s permission. But this year was different, he just didn’t know it yet.

Father's Day dawned with a vibrant sun peeking through the curtains of your cosy apartment. You could hear the soft patter of Finn’s tiny feet as he shuffled around his room. At four years old, he was already a bundle of energy, especially today. Today was special.

"Mummy, is it time yet?" Finn asked, his eyes wide with excitement as he peered into your bedroom wearing his favourite spiderman pyjamas.

"Almost, sweetie," you replied, smiling at his enthusiasm. "We have to make sure everything is perfect before we wake up Nando."

You had already prepared breakfast: pancakes shaped like race cars, scrambled eggs, and freshly squeezed orange juice. Finn had insisted on making a card, which he had decorated with colorful drawings of them as a family. But the most important part of the plan was still a secret, hidden in an envelope that you kept close to your heart.

"Alright, let's go wake him up," you whispered conspiratorially, taking Finn’s hand. You both tiptoed down the hallway to Fernando’s room. Finn could barely contain his excitement as you gently pushed open the door.

"Nando, wake up!" Finn shouted, jumping onto the bed. Fernando stirred, a smile forming on his lips even before he opened his eyes. He reached out, pulling Finn into a warm hug.

"Good morning, mi hijo" Fernando said, his voice still thick with sleep. He looked up to see you standing by the bed, her eyes sparkling with love.

"Happy Father’s Day, my love," you said softly, leaning down to kiss him. Fernando’s heart swelled, he had always felt appreciated by the two, you both always showed him how much you loved him and were thankful for the life he had come to give you, but today seemed to go the extra mile.

"Thank you," he said, sitting up and ruffling Finn’s hair. "What’s all this?” Looking questioningly, thinking this was more of a big effort than any father’s day before.

"Breakfast and presents!" Finn exclaimed. "Come on, come on!"

They led Fernando to the kitchen, where the table was set with the special breakfast. Fernando’s eyes widened at the sight of the race car pancakes.

"Did you make these, Finn?" he asked, genuinely impressed.

"Mummy helped," Finn admitted. "But I did the drawings on your card all by myself!"

Fernando took the card from Finn’s outstretched hands, his heart melting as he saw the crayon drawings of the three of them. He opened it to find a heartfelt message from Finn, thanking him for being the best Nando in the world. Fernando felt a lump in his throat as he read the words.

"This is beautiful, Finn. Thank you," Fernando said, his voice thick with emotion. He pulled Finn into a tight hug. "I love you, buddy."

"I love you too, my Nando," Finn replied, his small arms wrapped around Fernando’s neck, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Y/N captured the moment on her phone, tears brimming in her eyes. But the biggest surprise was yet to come.

"Finn, do you want to give Nando your present now?" Y/N asked, winking at her son.

Finn nodded eagerly and ran to the living room, returning with a large envelope. He handed it to Fernando, bouncing on his toes in anticipation.

Fernando looked curiously at Y/N before carefully opening the envelope. Inside, he found a set of documents. His eyes scanned the first few lines, and his breath caught in his throat.

"These are... adoption papers," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked up at Y/N, his eyes wide with astonishment and love.

Tears welled in Y/N’s eyes, crouching down next to her son. “Baby, do you have something you want to ask Nando?”

Finn climbed into Fernando’s lap, looking up at him with those big, innocent eyes. "Nando, will you be my papa?" he asked, shy, his voice small but full of hope.

Fernando felt his heart shatter and mend all at once. He had always loved Finn as his own, but this – this made it real. He pulled Finn close, holding him tightly as tears slipped down his cheeks, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

"Yes, Finn. Yes, I will be your papa," Fernando choked out, his voice trembling with emotion. "I would be honored."

Finn giggled with joy, hugging Fernando with all his might. Y/N joined them, wrapping her arms around both of them in a warm embrace. She kissed Fernando softly, whispering, "Thank you for loving us."

“Thank you for having me.”

Thank you, for everything (it takes a village) - Lewis Hamilton ft. Ayrton Senna

Little something for the 30th Anniversary of Senna's legacy

pairing: Senna! Reader X Lewis Hamilton

warnings: mentions of death, mourning, 30th anniversary of Senna's legacy

wordcount: +4k

song: In your arms - Birdy

a/n: People in Brasil don't say is the anniversary of his death but rather of his legacy, and it's such a beautiful way to see it. I hope Ayrton knows, wherever he is, how loved he still is.

a/n.2: Ayrton was known as Beco/Becão by his family and friends

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi! (Also, my written portuguese is a bit rusty, so if there's anything weird, please let me know)

______________________________________________________________

When hope went away I still held on, to the love that you gave, it’s all I’ve got of you now. I will never know you, don’t get to understand, no answers to questions. It’s too late for that. But I was in your arms, once

A pre-dawn Miami humidity clung to y/n like a second skin, even inside the automatically cooled hotel room. The city slept, but the salty air carried a raw energy that mirrored the turmoil brewing within her. Today, the 1st of May, was a day she always needed to face alone.

She laid there, staring at the ceiling, the weight growing with each passing moment. Today, the air itself seemed thick with an unspoken grief, a shared memory of loss that resonated across the globe. 30 years. Three decades since the world had watched in horror as lives changed forever, hers included.

The sheets felt too restrictive, the silence too loud. Pulling them back, she tiptoed past the rumpled form of Lewis, still fast asleep. He'd offered to come with her, to run by the beach together, but she needed this. Needed the solitude, the rhythmic pounding of her feet against the pavement to chase away the ghosts of a past she barely remembered.

Miami slept, bathed in the faint glow of pre-dawn light, but Y/N felt wide awake, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. Stepping out onto the balcony, the salty air stung her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she gazed out at the vast expanse of the ocean, the darkness slowly giving way to a canvas of vibrant oranges and pinks.

A single tear traced a path down her cheek, a silent tribute to a love stolen too soon. Every year on this day, it was as if the world held its breath, waiting for her grief to surface. This anniversary wasn't a celebration; it was a stark reminder of the void that had forever shaped her life.

The need to move, to outrun the memories that threatened to consume her, became an insistent ache. With each step, a memory flickered to life, but one always stood out the most, the one few people knew of.

She was four, piloting her tiny kart around a makeshift track at Interlagos. The familiar scent of burnt rubber and exhaust fumes flooded her senses, transporting her back to a time before tragedy struck. Y/n grinned, her hair whipping in the wind, as she pushed her little kart to its limits.

A wild turn, a sickening jolt, and the world tilted sideways. Then, strong arms scooped her up. "Tudo bem aí, filha?" (Everything okay there, darling?)  Her father's voice, warm and reassuring. He checked her over, a playful glint in his dark brown eyes. "Você tava indo bem, se assustou?" (You were doing great, did you scare yourself?)

Y/n shook her head, a defiant tear clinging to her cheek. “Eu acho que tá bom por hoje já.” (I think that’s enough for today) Ayrton ruffled her hair, a conforting glint in his eyes. “Não pai, eu quero baixar o tempo da volta”(No dad, I wanna lap faster) little y/n stood her ground, already half way back into her kart. "Vamos voltar lá e mostrar como se faz então, Senninha” (Let’s go back there and show who’s boss then, Senninha).

The memory faded, replaced by the rhythmic sound of the waves. Y/n stopped, chest heaving. Frustration gnawed at her. She would never know that feeling of hearing him cheer her on in that deep, familiar voice again. All she had were these fleeting snippets, these echoes of a life stolen too soon.

Each stride was a battle cry against the past, a desperate attempt to find some semblance of peace. She ran until the sun climbed higher, painting the sky in vibrant hues, until her lungs burned and her legs screamed for mercy. Finally, Y/n slowed to a walk, chest heaving, sweat stinging her eyes.

Collapsing onto a weathered bench, she leaned forward, hands on her knees, gasping for breath. As the initial wave of exhaustion subsided, a new clarity washed over her. The memories would always be there, a bittersweet reminder of a love lost.

But today, she would celebrate his life, his passion, his legacy that lived on, not just in her name, but in the hearts of countless who still chanted his name at races.

Returning to the hotel, Y/n showered, the steam slowly clearing the remnants of the run and the emotional turmoil. Opening the bathroom door, she found Lewis propped up on the bed, scrolling through his phone. He looked up, a concerned look in his warm brown eyes.

"Morning," he said, his voice slightly raspy. "Early run?"

She offered a tired smile. "Needed to clear my head." She sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling a towel around her damp hair. "Big day ahead"

Lewis put down his phone, his gaze intent on her. "Yeah," he agreed, his voice softer now. "You alright?"

Taking another deep breath, she met his gaze. "Yeah, I'll be okay. Just… emotional, even more so this year"

Lewis reached out and took her hand, his touch a warm anchor in the storm of her emotions. "No judgment," he said quietly. "Today isn't easy for you, I know."

Y/n leaned into his touch, finding comfort in his understanding. "Interviews all day and the dinner at night" she sighed. "They want me to relive it all – the memories, the grief. It gets exhausting sometimes."

Lewis nodded. "Maybe you could have your people reschedule some of it. There's no need to—"

She cut him off with a gentle shake of her head. "No, Lew. I can't hide from it. Today may be hard, but it's important. It's a chance to celebrate his life, to keep his memory alive." she squeezed his hand, a newfound determination strengthening her resolve. "I just…" she hesitated, her voice thick with emotion, "I wish I could remember more."

Lewis's gaze softened further. "You may not have years of childhood memories, but you carry his spirit in you. His passion, his strength, that's part of who you are."

Y/n looked out the window, at the city slowly waking up to a new day. His words held truth. She may not have clear memories of her father, but his legacy, his love, was woven into the fabric of her being.

Taking another deep breath, she met Lewis's gaze, a small smile danced in her eyes "I hope so.”

Today would be impossibly hard. As people celebrated a hero, she would mourn a loss, but they would all be facing the future nonetheless. He may have been gone, but the love he gave her remained, with her and in her.

"I remember you my way, It’s not perfect or fair, I paint you with colours, That weren’t ever there. Feels harder these days after so long, ‘Cause my memory fades"

The sterile hotel conference room felt strangely warm, the air thick with a mix of anticipation and unspoken grief. Y/n sat opposite Galvão Bueno, the legendary Brazilian motorsport commentator, his kind eyes reflecting a lifetime of witnessing triumphs and tragedies on the track.

But this wasn't just another interview. Galvão knew Ayrton. Knew him not just as a driver, but as a friend, a competitor, a kindred spirit who left a void in Brazilian hearts, and most acutely, in Y/n's.

The interview began, a dance between formality and shared history. Galvão's questions flowed, laced with a quiet respect that Y/n appreciated. "Ayrton" he began, a nostalgic smile playing on his lips "sempre teve uma maneira diferente de cativar o público” (always had a way of captivating a room"

Y/n nodded, a flicker of curiosity sparking in her eyes. "Ele tinha” (He did) she admitted "Mas para ser bem honesta, eu lembro de sempre ficar puxando ele para sair dos lugares porque ele parava para conversar com todo mundo” (But to be honest, I remember always dragging him out of every room because he would stop and talk to everyone)

A warm chuckle escaped Galvão's lips at her confession. He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Você sabia que antes de toda corrida, ele fazia um ritualzinho? Ele parava na frente do carro, fechava os olhos, e... bom, ninguém sabe direito o que ele fazia. Mas ele tocava o carro em três lugares específicos – o nariz, a roda direita dianteira, e aqui” (Did you know that before every race, he'd have this little ritual? He'd stand by his car, close his eyes, and…well, no one knew exactly what he did, but he'd touch the car in three specific places – the nose cone, the front right wheel, and then, right here) Galvão tapped his chest over his heart.

Y/n smiled, surprised that someone still remembered that sequence. But, although this was the Ayrton Senna she knew from the countless documentaries and newsreels, how he recounted that from memory was a glimpse of a private Ayrton, a man seeking solace and strength before the roar of the engines began, not something she would notice while watching a video.

"E tem mais, Senninha” (There's more, Senninha) he said, using the affectionate nickname many Brazilians called her by. "Você sabe que ele era muito supersticioso. Ele nunca usava um capacete novo pela primeira vez em um final de semana de corrida. Sempre insistia em um mais velho, mesmo que estivesse ruim para usar.” (He was fiercely superstitious, you see. He wouldn't wear a new helmet for the first time on a race weekend. Always insisted on the old one, even if it was a little worse for wear.)

Y/n couldn't help but let out a small laugh, a welcome sound that broke the tension in the room. "Parece exatamente algo que ele faria” (That sounds exactly like something he’d do) she said, a newfound appreciation blooming in her chest.

Galvão continued, weaving a tapestry of anecdotes. He spoke of Ayrton's meticulous work ethic, his relentless pursuit of perfection, and then, with a twinkle in his eye, of his playful side. "Ele sempre arrastava os reporters brasileiros para o kart em Interlagos, lá onde você aprendeu a pilotar” (He'd always drag Brazilian reporters to go-kart at Interlagos, right there where you learned how to race" he reminisced, a fond smile creasing his face. "E deixa eu te contar, seu pai sempre ganhava da gente, por muito!" (And let me tell you, your father would always beat us, by far)

Y/n listened, captivated. These were stories of a man, not just a legend. A man who found joy in competition, even outside the high-pressure world of Formula One. As the interview progressed, a kaleidoscope of Ayrton unfolded before her, a man filled with complexities and contradictions, yet undeniably her father.

Stepping out of the stifling conference room, Y/n felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her. Galvão's interview had stirred a potent cocktail of emotions within her – a heady mix of pride, nostalgia, and a gnawing sense of loss. Back in her hotel room, she found her ant Viviane unpacking a basket of goodies as she waited for her youngest niece. The scent of warm pão de queijo filled the air, a familiar comfort amidst the whirlwind of emotions.

"Você chegou, florzinha" (You’re here, little flower) the elder woman said, her voice as warm as the sun, pulling Y/n into a tight embrace. "Como foi?” (How did it go)

Y/n sank into the hug, the scent of lavender and her ant’s comforting embrace temporarily pushing aside the weight of the interview. "Foi bom” (It was good) she mumbled, pulling away slightly. “Galvão knew Dad well, that's for sure” y/n’s changed to English, hoping it’d be okay to use the language she didn’t have to think so hard to answer back in.

Both women sat by the outdoor sitting area of the room, the crash of the waves a comforting distraction as y/n ate the last bits of the cheese bread that were being served all day during the interviews on the anniversary and promotions for the new Netflix show.

"I believe everything's going well for the dinner latter tonight” the younger offered, more out of obligation than conviction. Viviane’s gaze sharpened, the lines around her eyes crinkling with a quiet understanding. She held Y/n’s gaze until she asked "But something troubles you, doesn't it?"

Y/n hesitated, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her shirt. It was a familiar pattern her family knew all too well, the switch to English, the fiddling, the lack of glint in the eyes she had inherited from Ayrton.

Taking a deep breath, y/n confessed, "It's just…all these interviews, all these stories about Dad. I feel like everyone knew a part of him I never did."

A shadow flickered across Viviane’s face, a brief echo of the grief they both still carried. She reached out, gently squeezing Y/n's hand. "My love" she began, her voice soft yet firm “Beco was a complex man. Even those closest to him couldn't fully grasp him. He was a whirlwind, a force of nature on the track, but off it…" she paused, a wistful smile gracing her lips. "He was a private man, and yes, perhaps a little distant at times. He lived for his racing, dedicating every fiber to it."

Y/n nodded, a familiar ache tightening her chest. "It's not that I blame him," she said quietly. "He was the best."

Viviane’s smile softened. "He was, my darling. But being the best came at a cost. It left little room for the mundane, the everyday things that build memories."

A flicker of a childhood memory sparked in Y/n's mind – the faint scent of her father's cologne, the warmth of his hand enveloping hers as they walked through a park. They weren't grand gestures, but they were hers, proof of a love that existed beyond trophies and championships.

The elder saw the shift in Y/n's eyes, the glimmer of a forgotten memory. "Não se compare com o Galvão ou com qualquer outro, meu amor” (Don't compare yourself to Galvão or the others, my love) she said gently. "Você é a filha dele. Você conheceu o Beco, o homem com o mesmo olhar que o seu” (You are his daughter. You knew Beco, the man with the same eyes as yours)

Y/n's gaze drifted out to the bustling Miami cityscape, a blur compared to the vivid image forming in her mind's eye – a playful smile on her father's face as he taught her how to say pão de queijo. It was a fleeting memory, but a precious one nonetheless.

The stories, though fragmented, were pieces of a larger puzzle, a picture of her father that was starting to take shape, not just as a legendary driver, but as a man capable of love, laughter, and quiet moments of joy.

As they finished their lunch, Viviane placed a comforting hand on Y/n's cheek. "Go now, my darling," she said, her voice soft yet strong. "Celebrate your father, honor his memory. But don't forget to celebrate the love you shared, the love that lives on within you."

Y/n nodded, tears welling up in her eyes, this time tears of gratitude for the woman who had been a constant source of love and support throughout her life. Leaning in, they embraced tightly. "Obrigada, tia. Por tudo" (Thank you, antie. For everything) she whispered, the words thick with emotion.

As she left the hotel room later, for another round of interviews before the official dinner, Y/n went to the window, gazing out at the ocean once again, taking a deep breath, she whispered, "Obrigada, pai. Por tudo.” (Thank you, dad. For everything). It was a simple phrase, but for her, it held the weight of a lifetime of love and an unspoken promise to keep his legacy alive.

"And these aren’t tears because you’re gone, But for all the years that we lost, All those times I missed that love, Had it just for a moment"

As the night dawned in Miami, the heat dissipated but the humidity continued to clung to the city like a second skin. Y/n bustled around the room, a flurry of nervousness. The dinner to celebrate Ayrton Senna’s legacy started in a couple of hours and although the event had been meticulously planned for weeks, and by at least 30 people, the weight of the world felt concentrated on Y/n shoulder’s, the formal host to the dinner.

Lewis emerged from the shower, a towel wrapped around his lower waist, beads of water clinging to his dark braids. He stopped short at the sight of Y/n, a smile spreading across his face as he took sight of her sat perched on the edge of the bed, a faded white t-shirt of his hanging loosely on her frame, a white towel turbaned around her wet hair.

"Planning on hitting the town like that?" he teased, a playful glint in his eyes. "Although" he added, his voice dropping a touch lower, "I do love the look."

Y/n laughed, a sound that banished the last vestiges of worry from Lewis's heart. "Not quite," she said, her smile widening. "I’m trying to figure out what to post"

He noticed her phone held open on the bed, displaying two video options. As he walked closer, his bare chest brushing against hers for a fleeting moment – a small reminder of the intimacy they shared – Y/n looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with a light he hadn't yet seen earlier in the day.

"Help me choose" she said, her voice filled with a newfound energy.

He picked her up and sat her on his laps, occupying her place by the edge of the bed, the scent of his shower gel a subtle but pleasant counterpoint to the sweet aroma of the lotion she had applied. He leaned over to see the two videos.

The first one, showed a baby Y/n, barely a year old, toddling through a sun-dappled garden, her chubby arms flailing as she chased a flurry of brightly colored butterflies. In the background, Ayrton with a gentle smile on his face, playfully swatting the butterflies away from his daughter.

The second video, showed a slightly older Y/n, around two years-old, in a swimming pool. Ayrton, submerged in the water next to her, was demonstrating how to blow bubbles. Y/n, a mischievous glint in her eyes, mimicked his actions, creating a flurry of glistening bubbles that danced around her face.

"The bubble one. Something about that mischievous gleam in your eyes always has me hooked” Lewis said, amusement dancing in his voice

Y/n laughed, a sound so genuine and unburdened that it made Lewis's heart skip a beat. "I was always a rowdy thing" she admitted, a playful glint in her own eyes.

"A charming one, at that" Lewis confirmed, reaching out to kiss her shoulder. Picking the video, Lewis handed the phone back to her. "Let the world see that side to you" Y/n grinned, tapping on the screen to schedule the post.

She got up and disappeared into the bathroom to get dressed, and a few minutes later Lewis walked into Y/n intently listening to her phone on speaker, as she fiddled with a stray curl as she spoke.

"Adriane" she soothed; her voice laced with a warmth that cut through the phone's static. "Você está indo como minha convidada, lembra?” (You're coming as my guest, remember?)

A nervous laugh tinkled on the other end. “Eles sabem disso?” (Do they know that?). Andriane, Ayrton's last girlfriend and a prominent Brazilian television personality.

Y/n bit her lip, a pang of sympathy shooting through her. "Eu sei.” (I do know) she sighed. "Eu sei que eles nunca realmente te aceitaram, mas você era diferente. Você foi a única que ele me apresentou” (I know they never really accepted you, but you were different. You were the only one he introduced to me."

A brief silence followed, then Adriane spoke, her voice softer now. "Ele queria uma família, Y/n. Uma família para você. Ele sempre falava isso, seu futuro, com ele” (He wanted a family, Y/n. A family for you. He talked about it all the time, your future, with him)

Y/n's heart clenched. Memories flickered – fleeting glimpses of her father smiling at her from across a dinner table, his eyes holding a tenderness she hadn't quite understood at the time. Perhaps, she thought, there had been more to those moments than she'd realized.

"Obrigada Adriane, por tudo. Por ter sido parte da vida dele, e por ser parte da minha, do seu jeito.” (Thank you Adriane, for everything. For being a part of his life, and for being a part of mine, in your own way) she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Adriane sniffled softly and then laughed “Você é tão charmosa quanto ele, Senninha” (You are as much of a charmer as he was, Senninha) a sound that banished the last traces of tension. "Vai dar tudo certo.” (Everything will be alright)

With a final exchange of goodbyes, Y/n hung up. Glancing over at Lewis, who was attempting to catch the few Portuguese words he could understand. She took a deep breath. "My family’s not gonna make this any easier" she sighed, her voice hesitant.

Lewis turned and reached for her, pulling her by the waist with a questioning look etched on his face. Y/n, feeling a flicker of anxiety, explained the conversation, but mostly of the unwavering loyalty she felt towards the woman who held such a significant piece of her father's story.

As she finished, Lewis placed a gentle hand on her cheek. "You miss him, don't you?" he asked softly, his eyes filled with understanding as you gave him a sad smile and nod.

"It doesn't matter how long it's been" Lewis continued, his voice firm yet gentle. "Grief doesn't have a deadline."

Y/n remained silent, the weight of his words settling in. He knew the anniversary was a constant reminder, a punch to the gut every year. He could only imagine the whirlwind of emotions it brought – the bittersweet memories mixed with the crushing weight of what could have been.

"It feels unfair, sometimes…" she started, her voice catching signaling she wouldn’t complete her thoughts. Lewis tightened his hold on her, pulling her closer. "It is unfair," he agreed, his voice a low rumble against her ear.

Y/n leaned into his touch, seeking solace in his words and the steady beat of his heart. The dam finally broke, and a light sob went thought her body. Tears streamed down her face, hot and silent. Lewis held her close, whispering reassurances against her hair, letting her feel without judgment.

"Every year," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, "it's like a punch to the gut. A reminder of all the birthdays, holidays, just…everyday moments I missed with him." Her voice cracked. "Everyone has stories, memories. They remember his laugh, his jokes, his warmth. All I have are these…flashes of moments, barely enough to string together a semblance of who he was."

Lewis didn't try to fix it, to offer empty platitudes. He simply held her gaze as she spoke, a silent promise etched in his eyes. He wouldn't try to replace the memories she never had, but he would be a part of her future, a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold.

“It's okay to mourn the future that was stolen from you” he whispered, his voice gentle, as Y/n leaned into his touch, a flicker of something akin to peace flickering in her eyes. "Do you think he would have liked me?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

The question hung heavy in the air. It was a question she'd probably grappled with for years, a silent fear gnawing at the edges of her grief. Lewis knew he couldn't give her a definitive answer, but he could offer her the solace of a possibility.

"There's no doubt he would have loved you fiercely." he said, his voice firm with conviction. “And he would have been so proud of the woman you've become."

Silence settled between them once more, but this time it was a comfortable silence, filled with a newfound understanding. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "For being here, for listening, for understanding."

Y/n turned, her eyes meeting his in the mirror, a fresh wave of tear forming in her eyelids. A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

"These aren't sad tears" she explained, wiping away at her eyes "They're just…wish you were here' kind of tears… For this" Y/n gestured at the phone on the counter. "For the celebration, for being surrounded by people who loved him. I just wish he could be here too."

Her voice softened, an acceptance in her eyes. The pain and loss would always be there, a part of her story. But there was also space for joy, for celebrating his life, and for building a future for herself.

As he pulled her into a warm embrace, Lewis whispered into her ear, "He is here, Y/n. In you, in your strength, in the mischief you still carry in your eyes. Every step you take forward is partly because of his love for you."

They stood there for a moment longer, a silent conversation passing between them. Y/n pulled away, wiping the last vestiges of moisture from her cheeks.

"Alright then" she said, a playful glint back in her eyes. "Let's go celebrate Dad. And show Miami a little Brazilian hospitality."

Lewis grinned. "Lead the way" his arms wrapping her and turning her around so he could kiss her.

The 30th anniversary of his death, although grim and a meticulously planned affair, held a significance that went beyond events, interview and RSVPs. It was a celebration of a life well-lived, a father cherished, and a daughter determined to carry his legacy forward, one mischievous bubble at a time.

______________________________________________________________

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

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora