Chapter 24 - Loving Her Was Red And Navy

Chapter 24 - Loving Her was Red and Navy

Guys...it's time

“And that is p-” 

Your eyebrows scrunched as you couldn’t hear the rest of what Mitch had said on the radio. You pressed the button down, hoping to try to hear it once again. You had just completed your final quali lap for the Italian Grand Prix. It was definitely fast, but they don’t call it the Temple of Speed for nothing. 

“I’m sorry Mitch, the radio went out. What is my position?” 

“P-”

The radio scratched even worse than before. 

You pressed the button again. 

“P what? Mitch I’m sorry, I legit cannot understand you. I’ll see you in the garage?” 

The radio just kept crackling after that. You drove your car around the track once again before heading to the pits. Outside, you could see all the mechanics jumping up and down and the engineers hugging each other as your car got closer. 

Did Max get pole? You questioned to yourself. 

You guessed that they were super happy for not letting Ferrari be front row? You just wished you knew where you were starting today. Your car was parked and led into the garage. Multiple people were patting your helmet as you sat there, deactivating the steering wheel. 

Did you get P2? That had to be it. 

Once you were out of the car, you took your helmet off, eyebrows still scrunched as everyone was congratulating you. It was starting to weird you out, so you stepped out of the garage, trying to find your teammate. 

However, you passed by George and Lewis first. The taller Briton was smiling widely at you, which made your eyebrows pinch even more. 

George clapped you on the shoulder. “Great job out there! Congrats!” 

“So proud. You’re going to do great,” Lewis said as he gave you a side hug. 

“Uh, thank you?” 

You kept walking, trying to find Max, or maybe even Charles. 

Your wish was granted as you found the Dutchman and Monégasque, along with both papaya drivers. Their eyes were wide as you got closer. Lando almost bulldozed you over in a giant hug. Your hand patted his back as you were stiff, still not knowing what the hell was going on. 

Once Lando let you go, Max brought you into a side hug. Your hand patted his back in congrats. 

“Good job for pole mate.” You sipped your water. 

The four around you went eerily quiet. Your head cocked, looking around. 

“Everyone ok?” 

Your eyes flitted around the pit, while the men just stared. Your phone buzzed, but you only looked at the time and not the multiple posts and tags from Instagram and every other social media you had. 

Your eyes were still glued to the phone when you asked, “Can someone tell me what position I’m in? The radio on my car was super scratchy and I couldn’t hear Mitch.” 

Max was about to respond, but a random interviewer came up to the five of you. The group put on their camera smiles as the man began to ask the drivers questions. You were confused when the man didn’t ask anything about pole to Max when he brought up tomorrow’s race. Well, that was, until he turned to you. 

“How does it feel to have you first pole position?” 

The mic was shoved in your direction. Your face went blank and the world went silent. 

“What?” 

The man kind of rolled his eyes. “You have just become the youngest pole sitter in Formula 1 history. How are you feeling right now?” 

Your eyes widened as you took in the question. You were now hyper aware of Max’s hand on your back, where he had left it after your side hug. 

“Uh, great?” 

The men around you snickered. You looked around, even more confused. 

“This is actually the first I’m hearing about this,” you continued, “I thought that Max was on pole.” 

The man let out a small laugh before thanking you for your time. Your eyes were still wide as Max led you back to the garage, where the cheers got even louder. A second water was placed in your hands as you got closer to Mitch. 

She turned to you once she noticed you were back and brought you into a big hug. You started laughing as you squeezed her tightly. 

“What’s with the giggles?” she asked, trying not to laugh herself. 

“I thought Max was on pole. My radio was super scratchy and I couldn’t hear you. Some random journalist was the one to tell me!” you exclaimed over the celebrations in the garage. 

Vito came to you next and brought you into a side hug. You inhaled deeply as his arms enveloped you in a safe space. 

You whispered, “I did it. I really did it.” 

His hand came up to ruffle your hair. “Always knew you could kid. Always.” 

Next was Christian who, like Vito, bear hugged you. He patted your head during the hug. You sighed contently in his arms. 

“Is it nap time now?” you questioned, making everyone laugh. 

Christian spoke up. “We have debrief and then you can go back to the hotel to sleep. I think there’s a surprise for you.” 

Now that did it. Your leg bounced up and down the entire meeting. You mentally tried to will Christian to hurry up, but he kept on going. The minute the meeting was done, you bolted out of your seat. 

Sadly, your car was being transported for tomorrow, so you couldn’t go very fast. And besides, you had taken an uber, thinking that they would have gone much faster. Yet, their version of fast was nowhere near your version. When the car finally stopped, you quickly thanked the driver and threw some money at him, not even waiting for the change. 

The elevator also thought it would be good to give you a lesson in patience as well, as someone before you had pressed all the buttons – making you stop on every floor. You groaned as it stopped once more at the floor below yours. The moment the door opened up to your floor, you all but ran down to your room. 

Your key card almost fell out of your hands as you were trying to get the door open. It flew wide as you finally got the thing to work. You ran to the empty room. Your eyebrows pinched for what felt like the thousandth time that day. Your eyes flitted around, but didn’t land on anything special. 

“Maybe Christian got it wrong?” you asked yourself as you jumped on the bed, face forward. 

What or who you failed to notice was a lanky Monegasque creeping out of your closet. Arthur watched as you deeply inhaled into the pillows, eyes fluttering shut. He almost felt bad for what he was about to do. 

Key word: almost. 

He quietly inhaled before launching onto the bed. A scream left your lips at the arrival of unneeded body weight on you. Your went stiff as your mind raced. This was it. Some crazy fan had gotten into your room somehow and was about to strangle you. Your arms flailed as you tried to hit the intruder. 

Except, you stopped once you heard a familiar laugh. You gasped as you rolled over to find you boyfriend’s face in yours. The two of you looked at each other for a bit, gasping for air (you from holding your breath and him from laughing so much). 

Arthur suddenly dipped his head, going in for a kiss. Yet, you had other plans. 

You smacked his face. Arthur froze as he was halfway down, lips still puckered. 

“Well that hurt.” 

You rolled your eyes. 

“Sorry for thinking I was about to be killed Thur. That wasn’t nice,” you whined. “And I was about to sleep and now I’m not tired anymore.” 

Arthur smirked. “Maybe I can make you tired another way?” 

Hit. 

“I deserved that.” 

You scoffed. “Max is right in the room next to us. He would hang me if he heard.” 

Arthur huffed before putting his full weight on you, face in your neck. You let out a soft oof as the air was a bit knocked out of you. Your arms came up and wrapped around his neck. The two of you basked in each other’s presence for a bit, before a soft kiss was placed on your neck. 

You whispered, “No marks please.” 

You felt his lips trail up until they hit the bottom of where you ear was. A soft gasp left your lips as he kissed from there to your lips. His hands started rubbing at your sides and he finally placed his lips on yours. 

Your mouth opened just a bit, letting him in. Your hands made their way to his hair, fingers bunching the dirty blond strands. Arthur let out a please groan at the motion, which made him kiss you a bit harder. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he kept pressing his body onto yours, the pressure making a whine escape from your throat. 

The two of you had to part for a breath, but only for a second until you placed your lips back on his. His hands wandered up your torso, now exploring under your shirt. His lips were firmly on yours as he pressed into you harder. 

A loud moan escaped from under his lips, making him smirk into the kiss. 

When Arthur finally deemed you more relaxed, he leaned back, watching you gasp for air. Your head rested against the pillow as Arthur slid next to you. He arms were still wrapped around your middle.

He gave one more kiss to your neck, before whispering, “My pole sitter. I’m so proud of you.” 

Your eyes began to flutter shut, mind sinking into a deep sleep. 

Sunday morning came too quickly. Arthur had to almost drag you out of bed. That almost was an understatement: he did drag you out of bed. 

You had picked out a nice gray pant suit for today, something that Mitch had given you as a present. You had always loved all of her pant suits and tried to complement her whenever you could. 

Your phone buzzed with a notification that your car had arrived safely and it was waiting for you, and Arthur outside. Max wanted to come with you, but it was a hyper car and it only two seats. With your sunnies on, you stepped out of the hotel. Thankfully, there weren’t any fans waiting for the two of you. 

The V12 engine roared to life as you started the car up. You made sure that Arthur had on the seatbelt before you even started to move. The car came with two headsets so that you and the passenger could talk to each other. 

“Did you know that this is my first time driving this car on the road?” 

“What?” 

You didn’t answer him and kept on driving. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him grip the sides even more. You giggled as you continued through the Italian streets. At stop lights, people seemed to scramble for their phones, wanting to take pictures. 

You revved the engine as you got close to the paddock. The car was definitely loud and turned a lot of heads. Yet, people really couldn’t see who was in the car. 

A big group of the drivers were waiting for you and Arthur at the entrance before they went in. Charles’s head was the first to whip around at the sound of a Ferrari V12 engine. 

Lewis let out a loud whistle as the orange spaceship came closer. Lando and Oscar’s mouths were open wide. Alex and Logan just stood staring. 

“Whose car is that?” Carlos questioned, watching the car rev for a few more rounds. 

Max stood to the side with a giant smirk on his face. The cameras around them were all pointed to the futuristic car. 

Charles cocked his head. “Isn’t that the car that Y/n wanted at some point? Someone should call her and tell her it’s here.” 

Max laughed loudly, causing the group to look at him weirdly. 

He answered Charles, “Mate I think she already knows.” 

His finger came up and pointed at the car, door already opened with you stepping out. Their jaws dropped as Arthur also stepped out, grabbing his and your bags. You waved to the group, only getting half waves in reply. You giggled as you handed someone the key, only trusting a select few to park it. 

“Hello boys,” you said as you stepped closer. 

They were all silent, eyes still on the car. 

“When do I get a ride?” Logan asked first, breaking the silence. An uproar of the rest asking followed after that. 

Another giggle escaped your lips as you waved your hands, silencing them. 

“So, no matter how today turns out, I’m having a house party down in Capris after the race. Max said we can take his jet. Everyone on the grid is invited, except you know who.” 

A smirk formed on your face as you left, scanning your card at the turnstile. The males followed in suit, now excitedly talking about the party. 

redbullracing has posted

redbullracing and how are we feeling today? "Uh, great?"

liked by y/n.89, arthur_leclerc, monza_tifosi, lechair, and 309,204 others

y/n.nation I have no words - wow, just wow

losingmy_everlovingmind UM THE CAR? ARTHUR? HELLO??

y/n.89 guys it wasn't my fault, I just didn't know I was on pole - admin how could you

redbullracing it was max's idea maxverstappen1 HEY

charlos4ever guys, Charles win 2024?

rookie_on_top nah Y/n win 2024 y/n&co here here

f1 lets go racing!

The red and yellow crowd roared as you walked by, waving to everyone. You thought that there would be a lot of booing, but surprisingly there was little to none. The crowds seemed to adore you, just as they adored their Ferrari boys. 

At the garage, you had finally found out that Max had gotten P3 in a Ferrari sandwich, namely Charles in P2 and Carlos in P4. 

You were nervous as you sat in your Red Bull. This could be it. This could be your winning moment. 

Or this could end up like Suzuka. Another win in your grasps and then ripped from your hands. 

“Radio check kid?” 

“Mitch, I’m scared.” 

The older woman frowned as she sat at the pit wall. That didn’t sound like you. Your voice sounded so young and so scared, almost like a toddler who was scared of the dark. Mitch took a deep breath. 

“Kid, listen to me. You are so amazing. Your car breathes the same air that you breath. You just need to focus and be one with the car. You have to be speed. Remember, you eat losers for breakfast.” 

A small laugh came over the radio, making Mitch smile. 

“One winner, nineteen losers. I eat them for breakfast.” 

“Go get them kid.” 

“And it’s lights out and away we go at the 2024 Italian Grand Prix!” 

You focused on your breathing as you flew down the straights and suddenly slowed at the corners. There was a reason that this was one of the hardest tracks. The G-force of the straights into the corners was hell. 

Your head felt as though it was being ripped off as you went around the turns. Thankfully, you were still leading by midpoint. You were on a one stop strategy, and you needed to pit soon. However, you got the call for a yellow flag. 

“Who was it Mitch?” 

“Max clipped a kerb. He’s fine, but the bottom of his car is ripped. We’re taking this flag to pit you, so come on in.” 

You heart sank as you thought of your teammate. It was just you now to bring home some points. Your breathing got a little fast as you came to pit, watching the hordes of people with bright red flags. You were able to come out in first place once again. But you were alone this time. Not teammate to help if needed.

A lone bull in a sea of red capes. 

Your pace was phenomenal. Every time people thought a driver would catch up to you, you would manage to pull away. 

The final lap flag waved and your stomach jumped to your throat. You crisply cut the corners, managing you tyres and car. Only a few more turns to go. You could almost taste it. 

Max, along with the rest of the team, were jumping and cheering, willing your car to take you to the end. As the Dutchman watched you get closer and closer, he rushed out of the garage and climbed onto the fence.  

“Y/n L/n has the checkered flag in her sights. The world has thrown everything at her, yet she still rises. Today, she joins the elite group of drivers who get to say that they have won a Formula 1 race. The first woman this century to score points, the first woman to step foot on the podium, and the first woman to reach that top pedestal. Her hunger had turned starving, yet she will finally be satiated today.”

Drivers say that when they’re in the car, everything moves in slow motion. 

You watched your crew’s arms slowly jest up and down as you approached the line. When your car finally crossed, everything went silent. Your mind was thrown back to your first karting win. 

How everyone was silent as you stood on that top step. A tear trickled down your face in your helmet. This time, you knew there wouldn’t be any silence. 

The noise would be deafening.  

“SHE DNF-ED AT SPA, PODIUMED AT ZANDVOORT, AND WON AT MONZA. Y/N L/N IS THE WINNER OF THE 2024 ITALIAN GRAND PRIX.”

“You’ve done it!” Mitch screamed over the radio. You however, couldn’t understand yourself over your screams. Word vomit just came out of your mouth. Words in English and Italian sputtered out. 

“AAHHHH THE HECK. WHAT EVEN! NON POSSO CREDER! AAHHHHHHHH! THANK YOU EVERYONE!” 

Being the first one into Parc Ferme was a surreal experience. Normally, you’d be following someone in, but you were the one to lead. 

You stayed in your car for just a moment, taking in deep breaths and trying to will the tears away. Yet, they kept on coming. You quickly took your steering wheel off before getting out of the car on the nose. You raised your fists as you stood. 

The crowds were roaring and your head was spinning. You placed your fingers on your helmet before raising them up to the bright blue sky. 

The two yellow and red clad drivers watched on behind you as you celebrated. If it couldn’t be them, they were glad that it was you. 

You jumped down from the nose and immediately ran to the barriers and into your team’s open arms. You felt their hands rain down on your helmet and back in congratulations. In the sea of team, your eyes finally found bright blue ones to the side. 

Max had come around the little gate to hug your properly. You all but ran and jumped on him. Your legs lifted around his hips as he hugged you tightly. 

The Dutchman could hear your sobs from under your helmet. His large hands gripped you a bit tighter and held you close. Your fingers gripped the back of his Red Bull polo, not wanting to let go. Yet, you knew that you had to, so you slowly slid back down to the floor. 

Max looked into your eyes through your visor. His lips were moving, but you couldn’t really tell what he was saying. He gently turned you around in the direction of your team principal. He lightly pushed you toward Christian, and you took that moment to jog over to him. 

Much like with Max, you kind of jumped on the Briton, making him pick you up slightly. 

“I did it Dad. I’m on the top step.” 

Christian barely heard you, but he squeezed you a bit tighter once you said that. He set you back down and helped you get your helmet off. He was met with the sight of tears running down your face and your hair being plastered to your forehead with sweat. He led you over to get weighed and then place your helmet on the number 1 pedestal. 

You were quickly interviewed before going to the cooldown room. There you met Charles and Carlos.

The Monegasque was the first one to wrap you in a hug. It was nice, but you really wanted the hug of another Monegasque. 

“Siamo cosi orgogliosi di te, ragazzo. Finalmente sul grandino piu alto,” he whispered, before sending you to Carlos. 

There was little time in the cooldown room before the three of you were called to the podium. Your hat fit nicely, the number 1 on the side beaming. Carlos went first, then Charles, and then finally you. Your eyes squinted as you met the bright Italian sun. 

The crowds cheered below as you stood on the top step. Your tears returned as they played your national anthem. You didn’t try to wipe them this time though. 

You let them fall. 

The Austrian anthem played after and trophies were handed out. 

Once the metal was placed in your hands, you raised it up high. The people closest to you knew the significance of it all. The win in Lorenzo’s home country. Your win for him. 

Charles knew all the emotions. He too had won at Monza for his papa and Jules. Pierre down in the crowd let some tears shed as he remembered his time up there, winning for Anthoine. Daniel watched in amazement as you held the trophy high before kissing it lightly. There was a time that he was on that step, clad in orange and blue. You were shining. 

The taste of the bubbly had never been sweeter. After spraying Charles and Carlos, and getting theirs dumped all over you, it was your turn to spray your team. You tried to point the spray down at Max and Arthur, who had snuck into the sea of navy. Your boyfriend was currently looking up at you, as if you hung the stars. And right now, the sun was making you glow so hard that he truly believed that you might have. 

The celebrations didn’t end after that. 

In the group chat that you made, excluding one driver, there was only one message to the drivers. It made them all smirk with excitement. 

Grid Queen:  airmax leaves at 4  see you all in Capris  p.s. bring your girlfriends 

redbullracing has posted

redbullracing Y/N L/N IS THE WINNER OF THE 2024 MONZA GRAND PRIX

liked by olliebearman, oscarpiastri, nicorosberg, lewishamilton, and 602,209 others

y/n.nation LETS GOOOOOOOOO

box_box_express what a race - I'm speechless

formulalalala1 FIRST WOMAN TO EVER WIN A FORMULA 1 GRAND PRIX WHAT IS SHE

y/n&co the greatest rookie to ever cross the face of formula 1

y/n.89 I think I'm still crying, thank you admin

redbullracing love you too rookie!

iamred_iamyellow oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh

f1_fan and everyone liked that

y/n.89 has posted (max is second pic)

y/n.89 I really don't know what to say other than thank you. you all have put so much confidence in my and my abilities and I'm thankful that it's finally paying off. To everyone, I love you - let's get this bread

liked by arthur_leclerc, maxverstappen1, danielricciardo, and 509,219 others

landonorris knew you could do it bug!

carlossainz55 ah chica, you did marvelous maxverstappen1 words cannot tell how proud of you I am geitje fernandoalo_official nina, you're going to make me retire early oscarpiastri roo, you've done good danielricciardo welcome to the league darl' lewishamilton you drove oh so well love charles_leclerc gosse, you never cease to surprise me logansargeant lets go champ! knew you could do it georgerussell63 you did it again sweetie alex_albon super duper proud (lily is crying) y/n.89 y'all made me cryyyyyy

author this entire post has my heart

y/n.89 thank you for making it happen

*comments have been limited*

arthur_leclerc has posted

arthur_leclerc loving her was red and navy

liked by y/n.89 and others

*comments have been limited*

Race Results (top 10 + DNF) 

Y/n L/n – 26 points (fastest lap) 

Charles Leclerc – 18 points 

Carlos Sainz – 15 points 

Oscar Piastri – 12 points 

George Russell – 11 points 

Lewis Hamilton – 8 points 

Alex Albon – 6 points 

Logan Sargeant – 4 points 

Daniel Ricciardo – 2 points 

Yuki Tsunoda – 1 point 

Max Verstappen – DNF 

Champions Standings 

Max Verstappen – 309 points 

Charles Leclerc – 286 points 

Y/n L/n – 207 points 

Lando Norris – 190 points 

Carlos Sainz – 145 points 

Oscar Piastri – 130 points 

Lewis Hamilton – 113 points 

George Russell – 65 points 

Alex Albon – 62 points

Fernando Alonso – 45 points 

Logan Sargeant – 40 points 

Daniel Ricciardo – 25 points 

Lance Stroll – 17 points 

Valtteri Bottas – 13 points 

Pierre Gasly – 12 points 

Yuki Tsunoda – 9 points

Zhou Guanyu – 1 point 

Nico Hulkenberg 

Kevin Magnussen 

Esteban Ocon 

Constructors Standings 

Red Bull – 516 points 

Ferrari – 431 points 

McLaren – 320 points 

Mercedes – 178 points 

Williams – 102 points 

Aston Martin – 62 points 

Alpha Tauri – 34 points 

Alpha Romeo – 14 points 

Alpine – 12 points 

Haas – 0 points 

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summary: [ cs55, cl16, mv1, lh44, fa14, sv5, dr3, mwebber, jb22 x fem!reader ] three major kinks + a couple minor kinks for each driver

word count: 1.8k

content warnings: smut under the cut (minors dni pls!), pwp; i’m not going to tag all of these bc that would take 5ever BUT 1) everything is consensual & in the setting of a happy, healthy relationship & 2) dm me if you are needing any specific tw’s/cw’s & i’ll be happy to share those!

a/n: it’s been a hot, hot minute since i’ve had the energy to write (i was busy surviving my surgery core rotation at a level 1 trauma center & pediatrics at a major children’s hospital), but i’ve been brewing up a lil something for awhile now! i was stalling out on writing the last part of corsica, so i figured i’d at least give you this to get the juices flowing again! i started this blog about six months ago, & i’m nearly at 500 followers & i wanted to take a moment to thank you all! i love you so much and i hope you enjoy this! these are the kinks i think each of these drivers has! what proof do i have, you ask? absolute fuck-all! enjoy, loves! xx

Keep reading

Legends Never Die

Carlos Sainz x Senna!Reader

Summary: sometimes the hole in your heart left behind by the passing of your father becomes almost too much to bear, but Carlos and his family never fail to ease the ache

Brazilian Grand Prix, 2023

The roar of the crowd is deafening as you step out onto the podium at Interlagos after winning your home race — the Brazilian Grand Prix — for McLaren.

You wave to the sea of fans, trying to keep your emotions in check. But it’s impossible. Everywhere you look there are reminders of your father.

Fans wave Brazilian flags emblazoned with his iconic yellow and green helmet. Others wear t-shirts bearing his name and race number. Signs reading “Senna Forever” make your chest tighten.

He’s everywhere … except where you need him most. In your memories.

You were just a baby when he died in that fateful accident at Imola in 1994. You only know the sound of his voice through crackling video footage, his infectious smile from yellowing photographs. But you don’t actually remember him. Your own father, the man whose immense legacy you carry on your shoulders each time you slide into the cockpit of a Formula 1 car.

By the time the national anthem plays and the champagne corks pop, you can barely see through the tears welling in your eyes. You blink them back rapidly, hoping the cameras don’t pick up on your emotional state. As soon as the ceremony ends, you practically run off the podium, heading straight for the sanctuary of your driver’s room.

You barely make it through the door before the sobs start wracking your body. You sink down onto the couch, drawing your knees up and burying your face in your hands as the tears flow freely.

How can you feel so alone when surrounded by so many who loved him?

A soft knock at the door cuts through your cries. You know immediately who it is without having to ask.

“Come in,” you manage to choke out, swiping at the dampness on your cheeks.

The door opens and there’s Carlos, looking concerned but unsurprised to find you in this state. Of course he knows. By now, he can likely sense when these waves of emotion are about to crash over you.

Carlos crosses the room and settles onto the couch, gathering you into his arms. You immediately curl against his chest, comforted by his familiar warmth and scent. One of his hands comes up to soothingly stroke your hair as the other rubs circles across your back.

“Let it out, mi amor,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m here.”

The gentleness in his voice is your undoing. You let out a gasping sob, tears soaking through the material of his firesuit as you finally allow yourself to unravel completely in his embrace.

“I-I don’t remember him,” you hiccup between harsh breaths. “I w-won my home race and all I could see out there were ghosts. He was everywhere b-but in my own mind!”

“Shh, I know,” Carlos soothes, rubbing your back. “I know it hurts, mi vida. But he’s here.” He places his palm over your heart. “Your dad lives in here, just like you live in his.”

You lift your head, seeking out his warm brown eyes through your tear-blurred vision. “How can you be so sure? I don’t have a single first-hand memory of him. I know Ayrton Senna the legend, but not my own father.”

A small, sad smile tugs at the corner of Carlos’s lips. “Because that’s how it is for all of us who didn’t get the chance to really know him.” His thumb brushes away a stray tear trailing down your cheek. “We keep him alive in our hearts through the way he inspired us, the lives he touched without ever realizing it. And for you ...” His expression turns amazed, eyes shining with an emotion you can’t quite place. “For you, he’s here.” He runs his hands over the sides of your body, splaying his fingers wide. “A part of him lives on, in you and through you each time you drive. You embody everything he represented behind the wheel — passion, adrenaline, an unquenchable desire to be the best. That’s your father’s legacy beating within you.”

You stare at him, trying to make sense of the jumbled tempest of feelings swirling inside you. Part of you wants to protest, to insist your longing for a tangible connection to your father can’t be satisfied by philosophical musing.

And yet … Carlos’ words reverberate within you, striking a chord. You think of the split-second decision making, the fearless way you attack corners, your refusal to ever give any less than your full effort.

Those are all traits you’ve been told time and time again you inherited from Ayrton. And maybe Carlos is right — maybe that is how you’ll know him best in this life.

Slowly, you reach up to cradle Carlos’ face in your palms, searching his caring gaze. “How did I get so lucky?” You whisper, a few rogue tears spilling over. “To have someone who understands me, understands this hole in my life, and loves me enough to fill it as best he can?”

The look of utter adoration on Carlos’ face steals your breath. Gently, he leans in to capture your lips in the softest, sweetest of kisses. The tenderness, the depth of emotion in that one simple gesture is enough to make your knees go weak.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. “I’m the lucky one, mi amor,” he murmurs, the words ghosting across your lips. “To be loved by you ...” He shakes his head slowly in seeming awe of you. “You make me feel blessed every day just by letting me share in your existence.”

You let out a watery laugh, rolling your eyes but unable to fight the giddy smile blooming across your face. Trust Carlos to somehow make you feel like the luckiest, most special person in the world after you’ve just spent who knows how long crying on his shoulder.

“You big sap,” you tease, booping him on the nose. You search his expression, your chest filling with warmth at the laughter lines crinkling around his eyes. “I love you, you know that right?”

The words hang there, heavy and significant. You realize you’ve never actually said them before, not with such simple yet loaded sincerity.

From the look of surprise and unbridled joy that overtakes Carlos’ features, he realizes it too. His hands come up to cradle your face, fingers threading through your hair as he holds you tenderly.

“Mi alma ...” he breathes out reverently. “Te amo, mi vida. I love you with all my heart.”

The depth of emotion in his voice, the Spanish words of love and adoration tumbling from his lips, it’s all too much. You surge forward, claiming his mouth in a searing kiss as the last of your tears, these born of happiness and love rather than sorrow, streak down your cheeks.

Carlos kisses you back with an intensity that leaves you lightheaded. His fingers tighten almost possessively in your hair as the kiss deepens, growing more heated and passionate. You’re vaguely aware of him shifting until you’re nearly in his lap, bodies aligned and thrumming with a very different kind of electricity than you’re used to on the track.

Eventually, the need for air becomes too insistent to ignore. You break apart, both of you panting heavily. Carlos’ lips are red and swollen, his pupils blown wide. He looks like a man thoroughly ravished.

You can’t help the impish grin. “So I take it you feel the same way?”

His laugh is low and gravelly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “Oh mi amor ...” he rumbles, nuzzling his nose against yours. “You have no idea.”

You bite your lip, about to suggest taking this celebration elsewhere more private. But a new thought suddenly occurs, giving you pause. Slowly, almost shyly, you meet his heated gaze.

“Carlos … do you really think he would be proud of me?” The uncertainty in your voice is painfully obvious. “My father, I mean. You think he’s ...” You swallow hard. “You think he’s watching over me and approving of the person I’ve become?”

The seriousness of your question douses some of the blazing desire in Carlos’ eyes. But it’s quickly replaced by a look of such fierce conviction, such affection for you, it makes your breath catch.

“Cariño,” he begins, voice thick with emotion as he tucks an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “Your father was the embodiment of passion and integrity in the pursuit of greatness. On the track, he gave everything. He put his heart and soul into being the best driver, the best competitor he could be. And that’s exactly what I see when I watch you race.”

Carlos leans in, resting his forehead against yours as his fingers tenderly trace the line of your jaw. “You drive with the same fire, the same refusal to let anything less than your full ability shine through. And off the track?” He lets out a soft huff of laughter, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, let’s just say the determination, the sheer force of will I see in you would make any parent proud.”

You bite your lip, struggling against the swell of emotion building in your chest at his words. “Really? You don’t think he’d be … disappointed? That I’m not living up to his legacy or-”

“Hey.” Carlos cuts you off firmly, holding your gaze. “Your father didn’t just leave a legacy of winning championships or setting records, mi amor. He left a legacy of spirit. Of personality. Of being a loving, passionate human being who inspired millions.” His thumb strokes along your cheekbone as his eyes shine with complete sincerity. “And let me tell you — in that way? You are so perfectly your father’s daughter it’s unreal.”

The tears that have been threatening finally spill over, but this time they are born of relief, of love and reassurance. You manage a watery smile, curling your hand around the back of Carlos’ neck to pull him close until your foreheads touch.

“Thank you,” you whisper fervently. “For understanding. For loving me through the shadows and the ghosts. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His arms tighten around you, holding you flush against his body in an embrace filled with devotion. “Well, you’ll never have to find out,” he murmurs lowly, lips brushing tantalizingly against the sensitive skin just below your ear. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

A delighted shiver runs through you at his tone, at the deliciously possessive edge to his promise. Shifting in his lap, you capture his lips in a searing kiss filled with all the love, the passion, the longing you’ve been holding at bay.

Carlos responds with equal fervor, one hand burying in your hair while the other maps searing paths across your back, your sides, pulling you ever closer until there’s no space between your bodies. The room seems to simultaneously tilt and burn away until there is only the two of you, tangled together in a heated spiral of want and need.

At some point, you become vaguely aware of Carlos rising to his feet, your legs winding instinctively around his waist as he lifts you effortlessly. Your back presses against the nearest wall and you moan softly into his mouth at the delicious friction. His hands are everywhere, stoking the fire burning through your veins with every scorching caress.

Finally, and reluctantly, you pull your lips from his with a gasp. “Carlos … if we don’t get out of here soon, I can’t be held responsible for what might happen.”

He grins wolfishly at you, pupils blown wide with desire. “Is that a promise, mi amor?” His voice is low, gravelly, and sends sparks of pure hunger fluttering through your stomach.

Holding his heated gaze, you slowly drag your nails down the back of his neck in a deliberate tease, relishing the way his eyes darken even further. “Take me home, Carlos,” you purr, leaning in to brush your lips against his once more. “And I’ll show you just how promising I can be.”

His response is to capture your mouth in another bruising kiss, pressing you harder against the wall as a growl rumbles up from deep in his chest. Then, without warning, he’s turning and striding towards the door, carrying you easily as your legs remain locked around his waist.

Breathless with wanting, you finally pull away as he reaches for the doorknob, laughing softly. “I see someone’s eager.”

Carlos’s eyes gleam with pure, undisguised hunger as he looks at you over his shoulder. “For you, mi alma?” He leans in, lips hovering tantalizingly close as his beard brushes your tingling skin. “Always.”

With that, he’s swinging the door open and striding out into the hallway, completely uncaring of who might see. His focus, his entire world, is solely on you in this moment. Just as yours is on him.

As the adrenaline of victory fades and the ache of longing for your absent father eases into a dull, familiar ache, you’re reminded once more of the incredible gift you’ve been given.

Carlos’ love, his understanding and acceptance of every broken, yearning part of you is a blessing. One you vow never to take for granted.

Winding your arms securely around his neck, you let yourself get lost in the heat of his gaze, the depth of emotion shining there. And you realize — with him, you don’t feel so alone.

Even if your father isn’t here in person, some piece of him does live on. Not in memories or old recordings. But in the love you hold in your heart. The love you pour into everything you do, every dream you dare to chase. The love that connects you to Carlos so wholly.

Maybe, just maybe, your father is prouder than either of you can fathom as he watches the remarkable life you’ve created together unfold.

Smiling softly, you lean in to feather a kiss along the sharp line of Carlos’ jaw, breathing in his familiar scent.

“Take me home, meu amor.”

Australian Grand Prix, 2024

The podium ceremony is pure pandemonium. Carlos stands on the top step, beaming and cheering, having just claimed his first win of the new season. You’re on the second step beside him, arm raised in celebration of your own P2 finish. The energy from the crowd is electric, filling your veins with the same adrenaline rush as when you crossed the finish line.

You should be deliriously happy. Scoring such a strong result alongside your boyfriend at the third race is the dream start to your championship chase. And yet … something feels off. A strange melancholy tugs at the corner of your heart even as the champagne sprays and camera flashes bombard you from all angles.

Then you spot him — Carlos’ father, beaming at his son from the front of the crowd gathered below the podium. His chest is puffed out with undisguised pride, eyes crinkled at the corners behind his designer shades.

As you watch, father and son’s gazes meet and lock, and the sheer depth of emotion in that one look breaks something inside you.

Oh.

That’s what’s missing.

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut, stealing your breath. You barely register the Spanish national anthem playing as your eyes stay glued to the tender scene before you.

Carlos shooting his father a brilliant grin, chin dipping in acknowledgment of the pride shining through. Carlos Sr.’s face split by the biggest smile you’ve ever seen him wear. It’s such a simple gesture, but one utterly steeped in parental pride.

You should look away before it gets to be too much, but some masochistic part of you can’t tear your gaze from the heartwarming display. Seeing that effortless bond between father and son, witnessing their silent communication and affection laden with years of inside jokes and childhood memories … it awakens a hollow ache, one you’re terribly familiar with.

By the time the ceremony finally winds down, hot tears are stinging your eyes. You blink rapidly, ducking your head in hopes that the dark tint of your sunglasses conceals your fragile state. But of course, Carlos notices immediately.

He pauses mid-celebration, halfway through accepting some prize filled with the event sponsor’s product. Frowning, he leans in close under the pretense of thanking you for pushing him all the way. “Mi alma? What’s wrong?”

You nearly choke on your own breath at the naked concern in his voice. Trust Carlos to pick up on your inner turmoil even in the middle of what should be an incredibly joyous occasion. Steeling yourself, you manage a smile that you hope passes as genuine.

“Nothing, I’m just ...” Your excuse dies in your throat as you look past him towards the crowd once more.

Carlos Sr. is shouldering his way through the mass of staff and media, pushing towards his son. He’s waving and grinning from ear to ear as Carlos straightens up, delight overtaking his features. The second the older Sainz’s feet cross the barriers, Carlos drops everything and bounds over, hauling his father into a tight embrace.

They laugh and cheer as Carlos pumps a victorious fist in the air, the other arm wrapped securely around Carlos Sr. You can’t hear what they’re saying over the noise of the crowd, but it doesn’t matter. Their body language says it all.

Pride. Joy. Celebration. A bond forged in the fires of hardship and sacrifice, of a lifetime pursuing the most elite level of a deadly sport.

Father and son, reveling together in the sweetness of hard-earned success.

Your throat constricts painfully as you watch them, your own arms wrapping protectively around your middle. How many times had you dreamed of recreating this exact moment as a young girl? Crossing the chequered line in first place, only to be swept up in a boundless hug by a beaming, triumphant father?

You remember pretending with your childhood race cars, standing on an overturned bucket that served as your make-believe podium. You’d mimic the anthems and champagne sprays, then launch yourself off the “top step“ and into the arms of an imaginary Ayrton, dreaming about what it would feel like to bury your face in his shoulder as he swung you around, both of you dissolving into happy laughter as you celebrated together.

Of course, those were only childish fantasies even then. By the time you were old enough to understand racing, to grasp what your father did and meant to the world, he was already long gone. You never got the chance to make those podium daydreams a reality.

And you never would.

The harsh truth is like a bucket of ice water over your head. You’re vaguely aware of your sunglasses slipping down your nose as your eyes burn with unshed tears. Angrily, you blink them back, steeling your jaw.

Now is not the time.

You plaster on the brightest smile you can muster as Carlos and his father turn back towards you. Throwing propriety to the wind, Carlos Sr. comes up to engulf you in a tight hug, the scratch of barely-there stubble rasping against your cheek.

“Another stellar drive, mariposa,” he praises in his thick, warm accent as Carlos laughs in delight beside you. “Keeping this one on his toes, I see.”

Despite your fragile emotional state, you can’t help but grin at his spirit and affection. “Always,” you reply, squeezing him back firmly before pulling away to make room for Carlos.

Almost automatically, you take a step back to give them space. You have no wish to intrude on what should be their private moment together. And sure enough, no sooner have you retreated than Carlos is wrapping his arm around his father’s shoulders, guiding him towards the edge of the pit lane where Ferrari representatives are waiting.

You hang back, a sad smile playing across your lips as you watch them go. All the teasing and laughing, the play-fights and unbreakable bonds of family you wish you could have experienced for yourself play out in vivid detail before your eyes.

Off to the side, almost like an afterthought despite your place right beside him on the podium. Just … watching.

Slowly, you turn away, the roar of the fans and celebrations fading into the distance as you head up the ramp to the McLaren motorhome.

A thousand wistful memories drift through your mind. Muted footage of you as a newborn cradled in your father’s arms, grinning up at him in pure innocence and adoration. Photos of Ayrton gazing down at his infant daughter with a look of such unconditional love that it breaks you all over again.

No matter how many trophies you win or records you break, that will always be the one achievement he never had the chance to witness. You’ll never experience a father’s unadulterated pride at his child’s success.

Your breath hitches as you finally reach the solitude of your private room, sinking onto the plush sofa as the tears begin rolling in earnest. Who are you kidding? As much as Carlos and his family envelop you in their warmth, as much as you are unquestionably part of their clan now … there is always going to be an empty space in your heart where a father’s love should be.

You bury your face in your hands, ignoring the wet streaks smearing across your knuckles as you try in vain to compose yourself. You can’t be like this, falling apart every time. Carlos deserves to revel in one of the greatest wins of his career. He shouldn’t have to devote energy to consoling you, not after a spectacular drive like that.

A soft knock at the door startles you. Swiping hastily at your cheeks, you suck in a shuddering breath and call out. “Come in.”

The door opens, and of course, it’s Carlos. Because even in the midst of unbridled jubilation, he senses your inner turmoil. He steps inside, the happiness draining from his expression as he takes in your blotchy complexion and reddened eyes.

“Mi amor,” he breathes, crossing to you in two quick strides and gathering you into his arms. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his sweat-damp race suit as he rubs soothing circles across your back. “Talk to me, cariño. What’s got you so upset, hmm?”

You want to explain, but the words stick in your throat. Instead, you simply shake your head, a few errant tears slipping free to wet the material covering his shoulder. Carlos doesn’t push, just holds you close and lets you cry it out against him.

Eventually, you find your voice, thick with emotion. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your celebration like this. You should be out there enjoying your win, not consoling your mess of a girlfriend.”

“Hey now,” he chides gently, tipping your chin up to meet his concerned gaze. “None of that, mi alma. Your feelings are never something to apologize for.” His thumb brushes away a stray tear from your cheek. “I know today was … difficult. Seeing me with my dad, it brought up a lot of old hurts, didn’t it?”

You let out a watery chuckle, amazed as always by his intuition when it comes to your innermost struggles. “Am I that obvious?”

“Only to someone who knows and loves every facet of you,” he replies simply, stroking your hair back from your forehead. “Will you tell me? Let me in on what you’re feeling so I can try to understand?”

Taking a shuddering breath, you nod and disentangle yourself enough to sit beside him on the couch. You keep one of his hands linked with yours, anchoring you as you gather your thoughts. “It’s just … out there on the podium, when I saw you and your dad together ...” You pause, blinking rapidly against a fresh swell of tears. “It reminded me all over again of what I’m missing. What I’ll never get to have.”

Carlos’ expression softens with understanding and he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, silently urging you to continue. You draw strength from his presence beside you.

“You two have this … bond. This connection, like you’re the only ones who truly understand each other’s perspectives. And I’m envious, Carlos. So envious of the lifetime of love and memories that exists just in the silent communication between you.” You let out a mirthless chuckle, swiping at the dampness on your cheeks. “God, that sounds so pathetic when I say it out loud.”

“No, mi vida.” Carlos is firm, his eyes shining with sincerity. “Not pathetic at all. You’re allowed to feel that longing, that sadness over being deprived of something so integral.” His free hand comes up to cradle your jaw, calloused thumb stroking along your cheekbone. “You miss your dad. You mourn not having that relationship in your life. Those are entirely valid feelings to have, especially on days like this when I got to share my joy with my own father.”

You lean into his touch, fresh tears spilling over at his words as your breath hitches. “It’s like … no matter what I accomplish, no matter how successful I become, there will always be this hole.” Your hand comes up to clasp his wrist, holding him close. “Because he never got to see it. He never got to be that person cheering me on, taking pride in my achievements. Instead, I’m left imagining what it would be like, watching you and your dad and aching for something I can’t have.”

Carlos’ eyes turn molten, brimming with empathy and sorrow for your pain. Slowly, he guides you forward until your foreheads are pressed together, his breath fanning across your lips.

“Mi amor … I can’t replace what you’ve lost, or take away that regret and heartache. All I can do is promise to spend every day showing you how proud I am of you.” His fingers thread through your hair, cradling your head tenderly. “You are the strongest, bravest, most amazing woman I have ever known. Watching you out on the track, giving everything you have with that same fire and spirit as your father … words can’t express how awestruck I am. How honored I feel to witness your brilliance and passion race after race.”

You suck in a sharp breath at the reverent tone in his voice, fresh tears streaking down your cheeks at the depth of feeling behind his words. Carlos tugs you even closer until there’s no space between your bodies, until you’re sharing the same air in an intimate embrace.

“I only wish he could see you the way I do,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours with each word. “I wish he was here to feel the immense pride and adoration I feel every single time you leave me breathless behind the wheel.” A tender, lingering kiss punctuates his words. “You are your father’s greatest legacy, mi alma. And I will spend every day showing you that, if you’ll let me.”

A choked whimper escapes your lips as you surge forward, capturing Carlos’ mouth in a searing, fevered kiss. You pour every ounce of overwhelmed emotion, every bit of ardor and heartache and gratitude into the heated glide of your lips against his. His arms band around you like steel cables, holding you impossibly close as the kiss turns bruising, desperate, all-consuming.

When you finally pull apart, you’re both panting harshly. Carlos’ pupils are blown wide, lips red and swollen and thoroughly kissed. He stares at you with such naked adoration, such devotion, that it steals what little breath you have left.

“Thank you,” you rasp, cradling his face in your trembling hands. “Thank you for loving me so completely. Despite all my broken pieces, you see me at my core and still chose me.”

He leans into your touch, lips brushing your palm. “There is nothing to thank me for, mi amor. You are the sun, I’m merely lucky enough to orbit you and bask in your warmth.” He places another soft, lingering kiss to your wrist, right over your thundering pulse. “I am yours, corazón. Every piece of me, for every piece of you. Never doubt that.”

A fresh wave of emotion rises up, this one filled with pure, dizzying love and affection for the incredible man kneeling before you. Pulling him up, you simply hold him for a long moment, relishing his solid strength surrounding you in the protective circle of his arms.

Here, in his embrace, the ache of your father’s absence dulls to a faded echo in the corners of your heart. Here, you can breathe easy, reassured and loved down to your very core.

Eventually, the sounds of celebration filter in through the door — your team must be getting restless waiting for their driver. Carlos seems to hear it too, huffing out a quiet chuckle against your hairline.

“We should get out there, hmm? Before both of our teams send a search party for their drivers.”

You nod, but make no move to disentangle yourself, soaking up his warmth and steady presence for a few more selfish moments.

When you do finally pull away, there are fresh tear tracks on your cheeks but also a peaceful smile gracing your lips. Reverently, you run your fingers through the sweat-damp curls at Carlos’ temples as his eyes flutter closed, savoring your touch.

“I love you,” you murmur, the words seeming impossibly inadequate to convey the depth of feeling they represent. “Endlessly, meu amado.”

Carlos’ gaze when he opens his eyes practically glows with emotion, pure elation and adoration radiating from his expression. “As I love you, mi alma,” he husks, stealing one more searingly tender kiss. “Always.”

With twin smiles and your hands linked tightly, you exit the room together into the raucous cheers and celebrations. Outside, you can see Carlos Sr. surrounded by a sea of red, laughing and beaming with incomparable pride and joy at his son’s success. Your breath catches when he spots the two of you emerging, arms flinging wide.

“There are my superstars! Vámonos, we have a victory to toast!”

As Carlos tugs you forward into the chaos, his father enveloping you both in a crushing embrace and peppering your cheeks with scratchy kisses, you feel a sense of peace settle over you.

Yes, there will always be an absence where your father should have been, a hollow space in your heart shaped perfectly to his memory. But you’ll never truly be alone.

Not with Carlos beside you every step of the way. Not with his family’s boundless love and affection enveloping you, treating you as their own daughter. They are the salve for when that empty ache becomes too much to bear.

So you let yourself sink into the celebration, into the warmth of the Sainz clan and the sheer euphoria of your personal success. As long as Carlos keeps chasing his passion with the same fanatical devotion as his father … as long as you chase your own with every ounce of vigor and spirit that your father passed down through shared blood … then Ayrton will never stop watching over you both with immeasurable pride and a heart overflowing with love.

And for now, for today, that will simply have to be enough.

Days Before the Miami Grand Prix, 2024

The Miami sun sinks lower in the sky, bathing the hotel balcony in a warm orange glow. You lean against the railing, staring unseeingly at the cruise ships dotting the horizon. Your eyes are glassy, your mind a million miles away.

It’s been thirty years to the day since your father’s life was snatched away. Thirty years of living in his immense shadow, constantly reminded of the racing legend you never truly knew.

Your phone buzzes incessantly in your pocket, a steady stream of texts and calls offering condolences. Old acquaintances you haven’t spoken to in years, suddenly reaching out on this morbid anniversary.

What can you possibly say that the world doesn’t already know? That they haven’t already dissected and analyzed a million times over?

The harsh truth is that so many strangers have more vivid memories of Ayrton Senna than his own daughter. It’s a sobering reality, one that reopens that wound all over again every May 1st.

You feel numb, gutted, emptied out.

“Amor?” The familiar voice pulls you from your reverie. You turn to find Carlos staring at you with soft concern in his warm brown eyes. “Are you alright?”

You try for a reassuring smile, but it feels stale on your lips. “I’m fine, just … thinking.”

He sees right through you, the way he always does. Crossing the balcony, he wraps his arms around you from behind, his chin resting atop your head. You lean back into his solid embrace, drawing comfort from his presence.

“You know you don’t have to put on a brave face for me, right?” He murmurs against your hair. “Not today.”

You let out a shuddering breath, blinking back the sting of tears. “I know. It’s just … it never gets any easier, you know? All these years later and the wound still feels fresh.”

His arms tighten around you. “I’m so sorry, mi amor. I wish I could take the pain away.”

“You help more than you know, just by being here,” you reply thickly. A tremulous smile curves your lips as you cover his hands with yours. “Thank you for putting up with my melancholy every year.”

“You never have to thank me for that,” he says fiercely. “I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

The sound of the balcony door opening draws your attention as Carlos Sr. steps out onto the balcony, his eyes kind but assessing as he takes in the two of you embracing.

“Ah, lo siento,” he says apologetically. “I did not mean to intrude on a private moment.”

“No, no, you’re not intruding,” you assure him, reluctantly extracting yourself from Carlos’ arms. You turn to face his father, subtly wiping at your damp eyes. “What’s going on?”

Carlos Sr. hesitates, shooting his son a questioning look. Carlos nods almost imperceptibly.

“Actually, hijo, do you mind if I borrow Y/N for a few minutes?” Carlos’ father asks. “Hombre a hombre, as they say.”

Your brows knit in confusion, but Carlos just smiles faintly and drops a kiss on your temple. “Of course. I’ll be inside whenever you’re ready, mi vida.”

With a final squeeze of your hand, he disappears back into the suite, leaving you alone with his father on the balcony. The older Sainz settles into one of the plush lounge chairs with a slight groan.

“Please, join an old man,” he says, patting the chair beside him. You hesitate briefly before sinking into the indicated seat. An awkward silence stretches between you both.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” Carlos’ father begins at last. “I am not usually at such a loss for words. But I find myself struggling to know what to say on a day like today.”

You manage a watery chuckle. “Trust me, you’re not the only one at a loss. I don’t even know what to say to myself half the time.”

He regards you with such tender understanding that it steals your breath away. “My dear girl, you have carried such a heavy burden on those young shoulders for far too long. No child should have to grow up in the shadow of tragedy the way you have.”

Tears well up anew in your eyes. “I just … I wish I could remember him, you know? Really remember him, not just what I’ve seen in videos or heard in interviews. It feels so unfair that the whole world has vibrant memories of who he was, but I’m just … left with echoes and fragments of a man I never truly knew.”

Carlos Sr.’s eyes glisten with empathy as he reaches over to take your hand, enveloping it in his calloused grip. “Listen to me, mija. While I cannot begin to understand the depth of your loss, I do know this — it is never strange to mourn someone you loved, even if you cannot recall the time you spent together.”

His words are like a soothing balm on the ragged wound of your heart. You squeeze his hand fiercely, struggling to keep your composure as he continues.

“Your father was ...” He pauses, seeming to carefully weigh his next words. “Your father was an incredible man, one who touched countless lives all over the world. But to you, he was simply your father. And that bond, that love between a parent and child, transcends memory. It lives on in here.” He taps his heart with his free hand. “In a way that no amount of biographies or documentaries could ever capture.”

The tears spill over, streaking down your cheeks. You make no effort to stop them this time. Carlos’ father merely watches you with infinite tenderness, his thumb brushing soothingly over your knuckles.

“I know I cannot replace the father you lost,” he continues softly. “Nor would I ever try. But I hope you know that our family … we love you as one of our own, mija. You will always have a home and a family with us, for as long as you desire it.”

A broken sound escapes your throat and Carlos Sr. immediately rises from his chair to gather you into his arms, his embrace warm and secure and achingly paternal. You bury your face in his shoulder, body shaking with muffled sobs as the floodgates finally burst open.

“That’s it, let it all out,” he murmurs, one broad hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Holding in such grief for so long, it’s a wonder you did not crumble beneath the weight of it long ago. You are stronger than you know, mija.”

You cry until you’re completely spent, until the front of Carlos Sr.’s shirt is damp and your eyes are swollen and puffy. When at last the tears subside, leaving you wrung out but strangely peaceful, he produces a handkerchief from his pocket and gently dabs at your cheeks.

“There now, that’s better isn’t it?” He asks, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles down at you. “I think my son may have plans to cheer you up, if you’re amenable?”

You let out a watery chuckle, feeling lighter than you have in days … weeks … months maybe. “That does sound nice.”

The elder Spaniard presses the handkerchief into your hand, then steers you back towards the balcony door with a gentle hand on your back. “Then what are we waiting for? That boy may look like me, but his sweet tooth is all his mother’s doing.”

You pause in the doorway, impulsively turning to throw your arms around the man who has, in many ways, become a second father to you. “Thank you,” you whisper shakily against his shoulder. “For everything.”

His arms tighten around you briefly. “De nada, mija. That’s what family is for.”

When at last you disentangle yourself, Carlos is waiting just inside, a bright smile lighting up his face at the sight of the two of you. On the counter, a cheerful array of pastries and confections beckons, the delicious aroma of fresh Brazilian baked goods enveloping you in a warm, sugary hug.

Carlos’ eyes are shining with love and relief as you cross the room to plant a lingering kiss of gratitude on his smiling lips.

“I love you,” you murmur when you finally pull back, cradling his face in your palms. “Thank you for being you.”

His forehead drops to rest against yours. “Always, mi alma. I’ll never stop loving you and being here for you, no matter what.”

You hold him tightly for a long moment, savoring his warmth and solidity. When you finally part, Carlos’ arm stays looped around your waist as he turns towards the dessert spread.

“So, I may have gone a little overboard at the bakery,” he admits with an unrepentant grin, waving his free hand at the sugary bounty. “But it’s been a rough day and you deserve to indulge a little.”

You can’t help but laugh, feeling some of the lingering heaviness dissipate at the pure, infectious joy on his face. Leave it to Carlos to try and solve everything with baked goods and affection.

“Well, when you put it that way,” you tease, leaning into his side, “I suppose I can’t say no to that face.”

“That’s the spirit!” Carlos crows, beaming at you with such adoration that it makes your heart squeeze. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he scoops up one of the frosted confections and holds it up to your lips. “Open wide, mi amor.”

You obediently take a bite of the sugary pastry, the rich flavors of doce de leite and buttery dough melting over your tongue. Carlos watches you with rapt attention, his eyes darkening slightly as you slowly lick a stray bit of frosting from the corner of your mouth.

His father clears his throat loudly behind you. “Ay dios mio, get a room you two!”

Carlos has the grace to look abashed, but you just grin unrepentantly at your future father-in-law as he shakes his head in mock exasperation.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Carlos says cheekily, surprising you by suddenly sweeping you up into his arms bridal-style.

You let out a squeak of surprise that quickly dissolves into delighted laughter as he starts carrying you toward the bedroom, peppering your face with noisy kisses. Over his shoulder, you catch Carlos Sr.’s indulgent smile and parting wink before the door swings shut behind you.

The rest of the evening passes in a sugary, affectionate haze. For the first time in as long as you can remember, the grief feels bearable, soothed by the love of your chosen family.

While the ache may never fully heal, you have a newfound sense of lightness in your heart.

As you lay tangled in the sheets later that night, Carlos’ arm a grounding weight around your waist, you send up a silent thank you to whatever cosmic forces brought this incredible man into your life.

And maybe, just maybe, your father can finally rest easy knowing his little girl found her way to happiness after all.

𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

𝙼𝚊𝚡 𝚅𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗

𝚃𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚜 Sometimes things go right in the moment but will they always be right? can they survive through the hardships of love? can their love hold the test of a treacherous path of love?

𝙻𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝙽𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚜

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚒'𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 an unexpected meeting to unexpected chai times to something more

𝙼𝚊𝚡 𝚅𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗

𝙰𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚜𝚊𝚢 I would recognize him by touch alone, by smell, i would know him blind. I would know him in death, at the end of the world

𝙻𝚎𝚠𝚒𝚜 𝙷𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚝𝚘𝚗

𝙲𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙿𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚖𝚎-𝚞𝚙𝚜 modeling is tough job, it can get tiring but when you have someone to look after you...every worry seems to leave you

taglist for all fics: @miloformula123fan, @badblondebisexualboy

can’t you see ☆ mv1

genre: redbull!driver, enemies to lovers, smut, lando and danny playing cupid lol, protective!max (although he won’t admit it), mean!max, sub!max, dom!reader

word count: 3.2k

In between your mutual dislike with your teammate, Lando and Daniel try their best to make you and Max uncover some hidden feelings.

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+...penetrative sex, riding, sucking on fingers

req!...quick one, but ahh first maxie drabble. eekk :)

“What a fucking asshole.”

Daniel’s eyes bulge out as he hands you a cup of coffee. It had been an extremely long day. Perhaps not the best idea to keep it going, but it seemed like the FIA didn’t give a shit about that. You were past being upset. You were seething. 

“Uh…Yeah. I mean I get it. I’m tired, too. This red flag came at the worst time-”

Briskly, you take the cup from him, cutting him off. “It’s not the red flag, it’s Max.” Ever since you joined Formula 1 as the first female to drive for Red Bull, you had felt welcomed by everyone. Everyone but your actual teammate. You had thought maybe it was because he had small balls and couldn’t handle the fact that you were driving alongside him, but when you confronted him about it, he only growled. 

As if you would ever cross my fucking mind.

Squinting, you point accusingly at the Australian. “You ought to stop being his friend.” He loudly laughs as he throws his head back. 

“You say that every time.”

Making a face, you shoot back. “And you never choose!”

“You’re both my friends. No one is winning custody.” 

“You’re older than both of us combined.”

“Hey!”

Hey, a low voice replies. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. A shiver runs down your spine. Max leans up against the nearest wall as he ignores you and keeps his eyes on his friend. You wave your hand up in front of him a couple of times for good measure before your mouth drops open when he acts as if you were Casper the Friendly Ghost. 

“We were just talking abou- Ouch!” Daniel shrieks in pain when you pinch him. Faking a smile, you turn to the Dutchman. We were actually in the middle of something here. Nothing. He just keeps looking past you. Running a hand through his hair, he starts talking about how this all ‘ruined my flow’ and how he was going to have to ‘try to fix the FIA’s mistakes’. You have to laugh.

“Is something funny to you?”

You look around the room as you theatrically shudder. Sipping on the hot beverage, you hum and close your eyes. Max clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he crosses his arms in frustration. Cold weather, Danny. Do you think there’s a place nearby that sells homemade chicken soup?

“What the fuck is your problem?”

“If we find one, then maybe we can invite Lando and-” Suddenly, he reaches out for your cup and hot drops hit your hand. You hiss in pain. “What’s your problem, dickhead?”

Now, a normal reaction would be to be a decent human being and apologize. Offer up their own cup of coffee, perhaps. Not Max. Throwing it into the nearest trash bin, he turns to you. And he actually has the audacity to look upset.

“Why didn’t you let me overtake you? I don’t know if you don’t know this because you’re new or something like that, but here, when we are instructed to do something - we do it.”

Narrowing your eyes, you step closer. “So what? I don’t let you by one time and suddenly I’m the bad guy? Let me remind you that that’s all I’ve done for you this season.”

“Maybe when you’re someone’s number one driver then you won’t have to do shit like this, but until then,” he angles himself lower to you, “...It kinda looks like you have to.”

“Oh. No.” Daniel winces as he sips quietly on his hot drink. He can physically see your wheels turning as you glare back at the Dutchman. Your cheeks have turned light pink as you refrain yourself from yelling in front of all the Alpha Tauri engineers. Max scrunches his nose.

“Cute.”

You’re about to explode and let all hell loose, but just then, the red flag is over. Huffing, you grab your helmet as you walk away without sparing a single goodbye. Daniel frowns. “You need to stop treating her like that.” Max scoffs. Treating her how? The Australian inches closer as he lays a large hand on his friend's shoulder. “Like you don’t care.”

As soon as the race picks back up, you’re in the zone. You have to work twice as hard to overtake anyone in your way, considering most drivers were on new tires, but eventually you worked your way through. Drops of rain hit your visor as you slow down in sector 2. 

“Should I be worried about the rain?”

“Nothing to be worried about, just keep it up.”

You nod, even though Christian can’t see you. As you get closer, you can see Max’s rear wing. He’s fast - zooming, almost - but that only made you want it even more. Defend. I repeat, defend for a 1-2 finish. “Yeah. No.” Entering the DRS zone, you press down on the throttle as you try all tactics to catch up with the 3x World Champion. Fat drops of water hit the Red Bull as you squint in order to not get lost with the commotion. What are you doing? Defend. “I am defending.” You press harder. “Except I’m defending my spot. Not his.”

It’s almost as if he knows what you’re about to do. Quickly, he scans his sideview mirror as he curses when he sees  that you weren’t slowing down. It looks like the two Red Bulls are going head-to-head! Probably not the best idea at the moment considering the tough weather, Crofty announces. Passing Max by, you can’t help but cheer as you try to imagine his reaction. 

“Not what we were picturing, but very well executed. He will be defending now.”

It wasn’t planned to get stung by a boiling hot coffee, of course it wasn’t, despite the bickering between you two. It wasn’t planned to take time to scratch your burnt hand. And it most definitely was not planned to crash.

Plunging into the wall, you groan, curses flowing past your lips. Are you okay? “Yes. I’m okay.” Lifting your visor, you shyly wave at the grandstands. Would you mind going over to check on Max? He’s currently not responding. Your heart stops. Jumping off your seat, you climb out of your car as you turn and sure enough, Max’s Red Bull is ruined. 

“Are you alright?”

Throwing a thumbs up, he lifts himself out of his car to wave at the fans. He turns to you, dark blue helmet still over his head. “What the fuck was that all about?” You narrow your eyes.

“What do you mean? I got an itch.” And though he wears his helmet, you can’t help but notice the crinkles by his eyes. Your stomach flips. It's because of the crash. That’s all it is. You clear your throat. “What happened to you? You were driving well.” Professionally, he slides his gloves off as he waves over at the safety car.

“I had to check on you one way or another, right?”

Dumbfounded, you're faced with his back as he walks away.

-

“He’s into you, can’t you see it!”

“No. Jesus, don’t even say that.” Lando raises his brows as he throws his legs on top of your bed. Daniel hums from underneath the covers. He’s right, though. Pulling the sheets off, you scowl. “Don’t give me reasons to kick you both out.” Throwing yourself onto the mattress, you smile widely. “Soooo, what’s new?”

It’s all you three are ever good for. Pure gossip. Chewing hard on a piece of pizza, you gag. Daniel cackles as he reaches for the last slice. Hey! What if I wanted that? He cocks his head. Fine, you mumble.

“All I wanted was a warm soup.”

A gentle knock echoes through the room as you all turn to face it. Go and open it, Daniel hisses. Wha- No! You go open it, Lando whispers back. Bunch of babies, you murmur as you untangle yourself from your blanket. Swinging the door open, you freeze. Standing tall is Max with a paper bag at  hand.

“Hey.”

Peeking out into the hallway, you stare back confused. “Hey?”

Almost timidly, he kicks his feet up against the wall with a small smile. He extends his arm out, signaling for you to take the mysterious bag. I don’t want any problems, you choke out, feeling skeptical. His blue eyes grow wide.

“Oh. No, don’t worry!” He opens the bag and takes out a small container. Leaning forward, you feel blood rising up to your cheeks. “It’s just soup.”

After an awkward exchange, he leaves. Inhaling the delicious scent, you let out a dreamy sigh.

“He so likes her.”

-

“We might have been wrong.”

Lando tilts his head, curly strands bouncing at the motion. Daniel hurriedly takes a seat next to the Brit as he smacks his large hands on the table. “What do you mean, mate?”

Daniel scans the room quickly before shaking his head. “I mean, that I just heard them two. They were going at it.” Lando blushes as he lets out an awkward laugh. I don’t even want to know. The Australian bites back a smile as he continues. “Not like that. Yet. What I mean is that they’re back to square one. He’s being a complete dick.”

“Alright. Looks like we have to knock some sense into him.”

-

Go, Daniel mouths once Max enters the debrief room, eyes entertained on his phone screen. Pushing past the Dutch, Charles jogs over to where you sit next to George. “Hey!” Greeting him back with a warm smile, you pat to the open seat. “I was wondering if you wanted to grab a bite after this. Maybe some chicken soup?” You beam.

“I love a good soup!”

Rapidly, Max’s ears perk up as he hears your conversation with the Monegasque. He was well over the rivalry, but with this? He would not second guess bringing it back. He clenches his jaw as he notices you nodding along with Charles. Strolling over to the small group, he shoots a bitter grin.

“Did you see Christian’s message about our last minute meeting?”

“Hello to you, too.” Checking your phone, you look back confused with a pout. “No. I haven't received anything.”

“Yeah, well, there’s one-”

“No, there's not.” Flickering your eyes behind your teammate, you’re even more lost. With hands on his hips, Christian taps his shoe as his eyes flicker between his two Red Bull drivers. “Don’t mind him, sweetheart. There’s no meeting.” He sends a small wink at Charles before walking off to the rest of the team principles. Max slumps.

“Ha. Guess it got canceled or something like that…”

Rushing over Lando and Daniel, Charles hunches over as he starts blabbering. “Did it work? Please tell me it worked - God - I think I almost shit myself. Tell me it fucking wo-”

The Brit points discreetly to where Max paces the room, orbs trained on you like a guard dog.

“It’s definitely working.”

He smacks a one hundred dollar bill onto a large hand. 

“And thank you for the help, too, Mr. Horner.”

-

Despite the attempts to get you and Max together, nothing seemed to work. The blue eyed boy would appear to start registering his feelings, and at the last minute, would completely chicken out. It would be an outright lie to say that this didn’t entertain the Alpha Tauri and McLaren boys, but they also knew that they had to continue their fairy godparent duties.

“Watch it!”

Crashing onto the couch inside of the Red Bull Hospitality, Max’s face bounces against it. He groans in pain before throwing a harsh stare at his friends. Lando stiffles a giggle as Daniel raises his arms up in defense. Getting seated, the Dutch looks back with a sour expression. 

“What’s this hostile situation about?”

Lando panics as he turns to his mate. The Aussie licks his lips, patting his lap. “Look, we’ve noticed a few things-” What things? He huffs. “Maybe if you would just let me finish-” That’s what she said! He glares at Lando who slaps a hand over his mouth, tears from unreleased laughter painting his blue eyes. “As I was saying…We’ve noticed your behavior towards a special little someone…”

“Towards Heidi? Shit. I didn’t think it’d be that noticeable.”

Lando clicks his fingers rapidly before pointing at the Red Bull driver. “He’s trying to not talk about it because he knows where this is going!” No, I’m not, Max shrieks as his voice cracks. Blushing, he pushes his hat lower to his face.

“You like her!”

“You know I like Heidi! She’s good for you-”

“You know that’s not who we’re talking about.”

It’s silent for a while. Standing up, Daniel goes to sit next to the 26 year old. Running a hand over his face, Max’s sighs as he looks up. “I’m not…used to feeling this way, okay?” 

“That’s totally fine, but that doesn’t give you the right to treat her like a piece of gum stuck at the bottom of your shoe. She’s amazing. Could have anyone - and I mean anyone - but she likes you. I don’t know why or how, but she likes you.” Daniel scoots away when Max narrows his eyes.

“She doesn’t like me.”

Jumping over the coffee table, Lando plops down. “Yes! She does. Ask me how I know.” A bored expression slashes Max’s face as he asks anyway. How, Lando? How do you know? “Because she’s always fighting with you.”

Daniel clicks his tongue as he slowly squints his brown eyes. “I don’t think you’re making the point you think you’re making, mate.” The Brit waves him off.

“I’m dead serious. When she gets upset, she always walks away because she claims to not want to waste her time on stupid arguments. But with you,” he pushes his index finger against the Red Bull polo, “With you she never - ever - walks away. Sure, you’re both at each others throats, but that only means one thing.” He leans against the sofa as he takes a sip of the open energy drink. 

“She doesn’t mind wasting time on you.”

-

After some more convincing, the duo had managed to raise the 26 year olds confidence. They could be wrong. Embarrassingly wrong, but how would he ever know if he never tried? Taking in a deep breath, he finds himself knocking on your door.

“More soup?”

Sheepishly, he shakes his head. His heart skips a beat as he notices how laid back you seem. How relaxed you were. He was going to ruin all that. He was going to say something that would change everything and things might never be the sa-

“Wanna come in?”

Handing him a plate of cut up watermelon, you take a seat in front of him, legs tucked beneath your butt. What are you doing out so late at night, Mr. Max Verstappen? He sets the plate down as he forces himself to mold into his chair. 

“I’ve never hated you.”

You blink. Clearing his throat, he looks down to his lap as he fiddles his fingers. “I know I’ve been such a bad teammate - I know - but I promise that it never had to do with you.”

“Okay. So…then what did it have to do with?”

He lets out a croaky laugh as he shuts his eyes. “That’s the tough part…” Opening his blue eyes, he finds you staring back, waiting for an answer. “I feel the opposite of hate…towards you.” He hates the way your face doesn’t change and you remain still. He hates when you shrink back and chew on your lip.

But he could never find himself hating the moment you climb onto his lap.

“T-that’s not what I came here for-”

“I know.” You slide your hands against his stubble. “Your confession was…adorable. Had trouble saying those words out loud, right? Because you,” you strum your finger against his chest, “...You don’t have feelings. You don’t have a heart.”

Now he’s frowning as he tries to unravel your words. A giggle bubbles up your throat, eyes crinkling shut. His breath hitches. “I feel things…” Your heart twirls with the way his voice sounds. Sure you do, Maxie- 

Grabbing your face with his left hand, he kisses you. It’s hot, feverish, and impatient.

It’s him.

Whimpering, you grind against him as he groans underneath you. Forcing himself to pull away from your warm lips, he cocks his head to the side. “Was that enough proof?”

“I might need more.”

It’s such a moment of pure adrenaline, that you can’t even pinpoint the moment your hatred towards him had turned into lust. All you know is that it felt so good to be riding him. Squeezing your hips, he lifts you up as he lets out a strained moan. The sound itself makes you drip even more. 

You had always loved his voice. How croaky it was. But you never imagined that it would turn your entire world upside down to hear him moaning your name like a prayer. Oh, fuck. Holy shit. Pushing his hands down, he opens his eyes as he looks back, weak and concerned. He worries you might have suddenly regretted all of this. That you would walk away and never want to talk to him ever again. But he’s already kissed you. He’s already been inside of you. 

He would beg you to stay in order to make you keep it that way.

“B-baby.” He whimpers with the way you dig yourself against him before circling your hips. Slow. “It’s okay if you want to stop-” You slide his fingers into your mouth. He swears he could finish with such a pretty sight.

“I don’t want to. I just want you to say sorry for everything you’ve ever done to me.”

“I already said I never meant any of it! You’re absolutely everything to me.”

Your core grows tighter with his affirmations. Holding onto his broad shoulders, you continue your sinister rhythm. “Maybe. But I still want one.”

“I’m so-”

Rubbing your bare tits against his chest, he shudders as he harshly pinches your thigh. Try again. “I said I’m so-” Pulling all the way out, you slide back down onto his cock. “Oh - don’t fucking do that.”

“Try again.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m so fucking sorry.”

A satisfied smile slides onto your plump lips as you nod before kissing him and riding him the way you know he deserves. With one last hop, you both finish as he moans into your neck. Your fingers push his sweaty, blondish strands away before pressing your lips against his cheek. He smiles weakly.

“I like you, too.” You look down before returning your attention. “But I can’t be with you.”

“Wh-”

“Max. Let’s be realistic here. I’m a girl in Formula 1. You don’t know how hard I’ve worked to get here. I’ve had to do twice the work simply because I’m not a man.” You roll your eyes. “People are going to hate me. Call me names - God, I can already hear them.”

He never thought his heart could actually hurt for someone. You were really messing him up. He gingerly rubs small circles against your cheek.

“I’ll ruin whoever says anything bad about you, but please give this a chance. I’ve never wanted someone as bad as I do you. Please.”

And yes, there will be nasty comments. Hateful interpretations about your relationship. But that never really mattered as long as you had him. 

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?