#senna!reader

ynsenna

liked by landonorris, mickschumacher, maxverstappen, and 395,235 others

ynsenna I would like to say a big thanks to F1 themselves for giving me this opportunity and the space to take this experience slowly and on my own terms. This sport is in my name, my blood, and I have spent years surrounded by it, yet I could never bring myself to get so close out of fear it would bring up memories I don't even have. I lost my father before I was even born, and I have carried that sadness with me for so long. A further thank you to my friends Lando, Max, Mick and the rest of the grid for being so kind and so supportive.

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user I love her

user She is so open about her life and it is so refreshing

landonorris It was so lovely to see your face in the paddock today

maxverstappen Yes, so happy you made it ynsenna Thank you, both of you, for everything xx user Who wants to bet she is dating Lando?? user WTF Why would you say something like that in the comment section of a sad and thoughtful post

mickschumacher It saddens me to be able to say I understand what you are going through every day, so grateful I can be there for you

ynsenna Thank you micky x mickschumacher I am always here for you

user She never even met her dad, why is it such a big deal?

mickschumacher You don't understand what it feels like to have everyone else have memories of your father and expectations, and you have nothing user Mick to her defence I love it! user He is so true

mickschumacher

liked by oscarpiastri, arthurleclerc, ynsenna, and 121,584 others

mickschumacher Couple days free on my schedule and went crazy

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user Girl??

user Omg Mick is taken

ynsenna Lovely view where is that?

mickschumacher I know the answer to that... ynsenna Did you not know where you went? mickschumacher I just followed my trainer...

user Does anyone know who that is?

ynsenna

liked by landonorris, mickschumacher, lewishamilton, and 351,002 others

ynsenna I've come back home dad x

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user Aww

user I saw Lando was in Brazil too omg

user Omg I bet they are dating and she took him home! user They would be so cute!! user Iconic couple user Senna x Norris, I see the future

landonorris STUNNNINGGGGGG

ynsenna THANKYOUUUUU landonorris NO WORRIESSSSSS user See they so weird user Isn't she older than him though?

mickschumacher Did you have a lovely time?

ynsenna It is always soothing to come back to home mickschumacher Isn't it just mickschumacher <3

f1fanupdates

liked by 12,414 users

f1fanupdates Reasons why we think Y/N Senna is dating Lando Norris!

(1) They have been liking and commenting on each other's posts for a few years now!

(2) She is constantly hanging out with him

(3) They look soooo good together

(4) When she went to the paddock for the first time, she went to the McLaren garage to see him

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user Nah, I don't think so, all your reasons are so unsupported and silly

user OMG I SEE IT

user They are such a cute couple!!

user I always shipped her with someone like Mick or something

user Nooo Lando is so good for her

ynsenna

liked by landonorris, mickschumacher, maxverstappen, 299,464 others

ynsenna Sorry to burst a bubble, but I like them blond

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user breaking news, she's not dating Lando!

user Shes probably done this to shut people up, it's all they were talking about

user She has good taste

user You can't even see his face

user No but like you can tell

landonorris I can dye it?

ynsenna Ew don't you fucking dare that would not suit you ynsenna I will hide all the hair dye in the world maxverstappen Omg Lando with those silly blonde tippy hairstyle landonorris OMg frosted tips yesss ynsenna Brb bleaching my eyes

mickschumacher She's Barbie and he is just Ken

ynsenna Oh completely, that's why he's not got face privileges mickschumacher That is such a fair point, never show his face;) ynsenna Deal! ;) user ummmm

mickschumacher

liked by arthurleclerc, ynsenna, landonorris, and 132,464 others

mickschumacher You can never get me off a beach

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user OOO he is sooooooooo yummy

user Why won't he post her face

user Maybe he doesn't want all the attention on her, keep their relationship private user Yeah but he is a public figure user So what. He is allowed privacy

ynsenna Getting an even tan?

mickschumacher Like you don't know ynsenna Um what? mickschumacher Nothing..... mickschumacher Yes I did! My shoulders were verryyyy red

user Her hair looks like Y/N Senna's

user She's like older than him, he couldn't pull that user Why no?? He's hot

f1fanupdates

liked by 20,251 users

f1fanupdates Someone in a club in Monaco spotting what looked like everyone's favourite drivers' children, Y/N Senna and Mick Schumacher, spending a lot of time close together. Kissing!!

She did say she liked them blond.....

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user OMG OMG OMG

user Nepo baby dating a nepo baby

user Nepo baby squared

user DAMNNN I wanted her to be with Lando

user She already confirmed this was not going to happen user Still! What will Mick give her? user More than you can

user They are so cute!

ynsenna

liked by mickschumacher, landonorris, maxverstappen, 402,116 others

ynsenna Dear Dad, it deeply saddens me to know that you have never met the love of my life, or myself. I find solace in knowing that you met his dad and you would be proud of the people we have become. I love him so deeply, and I love you too dad. My Mick x

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user OMG OMG this is so sad but so sweet

user Senna x Schumacher

landonorris So happy for you two!!

landonorris Was waiting for this lol ynsenna Oh shush, we weren't focused on announcing it to the world, until we were forced, ousted landonorris It sucks when that happens ynsenna People think it is okay to publish and discuss your entire life on the internet

mickschumacher My darling x

🎤 "Max, you looked confident out there. How are you feeling being so close to win the title again?”

Max (grinning): “Well, I’ve got to impress someone today… so I hope I win tonight..”

🎤 "Ah, someone special in the garage?"

Max (shyly chuckling): "Maybe. You'll know soon...."

y/n.senna

liked by redbullracing, victoriaverstappen and others

y/n.senna You did it again, M 💙

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f1 History made for love. 🏁

maxverstappen1 Had to go quickly so I could kiss my girl 💙

verstappengirl33 this post cut through my chest like clean air on a fast lap 😭

schecoperez i knew before any of you did 😏

landonorris Miss Taylor please write a song on them 🥺

maxverstappen1

liked by y/n.senna, schecoperez and others

maxverstappen1 Four to Forever 💙

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y/n.senna Four to Forever, meu amor💙

carlossainz55 Felicidades, hermano🍾❤️

danielricciardo she said yes 😭❤️

redbullracing We don’t usually cry over grid news but… this one hit hard 🥹💙

landonorris I'd be honoured to be the maid of honour. Thank You Y/n.

→ y/n.senna Lando. No.

charles_leclerc You two were endgame before the game even began. So happy for you, mate 🥂

lewishamilton Congratulations max and Y/n!

"What do you mean he doesn't know about it?"

Franco took a deep breath, massaging his own scalp as his friend and co-worker continued talking, a mix of excitement and judgment in his words.

"You are not making this any better," he mouthed.

"You are dating his daughter! You are da-ting. The man's daughter. Like... The man's daughter. The hell haven't you met her family!?"

"I am scared, okay!? If I get rejected by her family... It's not just my girlfriend's family. It's simply Senna himself! Should I what!? Drop the job? Hide in a cave?"

Alex laughed, the words and the tone easing the tension. The guy was worried to death and things might be simpler than he thought. Everyone knew Senna was a fun person.

Dating Cecília Senna felt almost like marrying into royalty. It's a good feeling, though. Bagging Cecília Senna could easily be added to one of Franco's big achievements — and he's a former F2 driver called in last minute to fill a Formula One seat — and he's doing great.

But still, it's Cecília Senna, the only child of a legend, someone he looked up to growing up, someone he saw in the paddock many times before ending up in his daughter's sheets.

"Hello, everyone!"

God, his heart might have dropped to the floor just now. The retired driver walked into the garage happily, with his daughter attached to his arm and waving familiarly.

Everyone gathered around them immediately, though Cecília's eyes instantly met Franco's. She knew he was scared and had made fun of him until she couldn't anymore, teasing him in every way she could.

"I've heard the news on the Argentinian! You guys are lucky you got away easily!"

Alright, it's time to pray. What news? That he's fucking his daughter? That they meet every week? That she wanted a Williams' box pass so badly just because of him? Or... That they hid it from everyone just to gain a bit more time?

"We got quality, mate! That's it." Vowels took his cue to fill in the blank, the people dispersing and going back to their work. "Found the kid sparring and made him a beast."

"Yeah, of course," the Brazilian laughed. "What's up, buddy! Feeling the pressure?"

Franco mentally cursed Cecília for raising her eyebrows and doubling the meaning of the question, but he managed to stand up and dry his sweaty hands on his pants.

"I try not to, honestly. Not... think about it a lot," he said, feeling he could have worded the sentence a bit better as they shook hands.

"That's the spirit! I heard a lot about you, little man. Do you know my daughter? Cecília?"

Tricky question. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Tricky question.

If he had heard about it, then he knew about them. Franco could say "yes" and end up with a lecture, or say "no" and be caught in a lie.

"You guys think you are smart, huh? Fooling around, hiding from cameras..."

Oh, it's over. It's over for him. The "drop the job and hide in a cave" plan was almost running in his veins right now. Maybe he should Sebastian Vettel his way around, retire early, and move to a countryside home in Switzerland. Yes, that's a good plan.

"Pai... Para com isso." Cecília shoved her dad's side, rolling her eyes. (Dad... Stop that.)

"What? You guys thought you got away with it?"

"Pai! Ele tá ficando sem graça!" she insisted. (Dad! He's getting uncomfortable!)

Franco thought of speaking up, but the nerves were all up and maybe he should let it be.

"Yeah! He should!" Ayrton still had a serious look on his face, making Franco shiver.

"Pai, sério." (Dad, I'm serious.)

"Sir, I know it—"

"Come on, Franquinho! I'm fooling around, take that scared look off your face!" In a matter of seconds, Ayrton's grin turned into a playful smile, and his arm was hooked over Franco's shoulder, messing up his hair and leaving him even more confused. "Did I scare you? You should have seen your eyes!"

Franco laughed, still a bit dulled. That was a big one.

"You're a bastard," Cecília rolled her eyes once again, aware of the father she had.

The man was a natural jokester, full of little jokes and loved making uncomfortable scenarios in the name of fun. He was a handful.

"And you guys should have told me about this before! You lost it all, Franquinho. Angra, the travels... You need to be introduced to the family!"

He had heard about Angra; the beach house Cecília went to every now and then, how much she and her father loved the place. He even saw an old interview where Ayrton said that his retirement plans included being "Angra's nature inspector."

"Yeah- Yeah, sim." Franco risked some Portuguese, patting Ayrton on the back before they both stepped apart. "Sorry for... for taking too long to meet you, I was- Damn, you got me good."

"I could see!" Senna didn't waste a single laugh. "Don't worry, little boy. You're a good investment. And Cecília is pretty happy, so... you got my support."

"I'm even happier to hear it." Franco chuckled. "Thank you, very much. Your daughter also makes me really happy."

"Of course! Her bad jokes make everyone laugh." Ayrton kept the teasing going. "Now you better show me some racing! I've been in your place and to keep the daughter you need to be as good as dad!"

"You should have seen your face, baby!"

Franco glanced at his girlfriend as he turned his head, their first alone time since the morning's humiliation session.

"I don't wanna talk about it," he mouthed, shirt off and focus switching. "That was traumatizing."

"I told you he's a clown." Her shoulders went up a bit. "But he wasn't lying at the end! He likes you!"

"I got that part. Now I know where you got that dark humor from." The blue-eyed boy stood in the middle of his room, hands on his waist as he let his girlfriend use her eyes.

"What can I say? I am my father's daughter." She smiled mischievously. "He wants you to spend some time, though. Before Vegas, maybe?"

"I could've Max Verstappen my way around and have stayed for the week... But we waited until your dad could scare me to death in the middle of the box so... Yeah, it can be next week." He started simple, voice steady.

But then Cecília approached and her hands liked to touch. All over his torso while she traced a good way for his hair.

"You ain't seen nothing yet." The smile was still on her face, lips coming closer and closer to his. "But I am really happy, you know? Now we can just be and enjoy some time... I can take you to Angra, and I don't need to hide in your driver's room. I was done with pretending I was investing in Williams just so I had a reason to watch the races here."

"Told you about it... You could afford my seat."

Another joke. Ever since he got into F1 as an emergency call, she did say she only had to call her dad and his 2025 seat would be secured.

"You're gonna get it because you deserve it, I am not affording that." She flashed her eyelashes, rimming a single syllable as his hands also started to travel.

Inside her expensive shirt, up and down her back in good pressure before they found room at her waist.

"You know what else I deserve?"

"You freak! Go shower and I'll be waiting for you outside. My dad is around!"

It took them no time. Within weeks, Ayrton and Franco became partners in crime, and suddenly, Cecília was having a taste of her own medicine.

"Turn it off! Now!" Ayrton whispered in a screaming tone, the last signal Franco needed before turning off the power for the whole house.

Cecília had just come back from the beach and Franco finally knew the Angra house. It was dark, and the prank was not very well planned.

"Porra." (Shit.) they heard the Brazilian swearing. "Que inferno, de novo? PAAAAI?" (What the hell, again? DAAAAD?)

He knew some words in Portuguese and it only made it funnier. Him and his father-in-law were hiding in the small laundry room as Cecília searched for them.

"Ready, kid?"

"No, but I'll do it anyways."

"Good kid. You're a great one." The old man, as a new custom, messed with the Argentinian's hair, before opening the door and waiting for him to leave.

"Eu juro, se vocês estiverem armando pra cima de mim eu— Ah— FRANCO! NO!" (I swear, if you guys are planning something against me I—)

He's fast even with his limited knowledge about the furniture in the house, walking in the dark before he could lift her and throw her over his shoulder.

It's the fourth time she's thrown in the pool and she just knows it's her father opening the glass door for the exterior area before she's sinking in cold water.

"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU ALL!" Cecília screamed. "I JUST WASHED MY HAIR! OH MY GOD! PUTTING YOU TWO TOGETHER WAS THE WORST THING I EVER DID!"

"Não reclama, princesinha..." (Don't you complain, little princess...) her father played, now standing besides her boyfriend. "Bate aqui, you passed the test. Welcome to the family." (High five,)

"I hate you guys. Eu odeio vocês, los odio. Whatever. Don't ever talk to me again." Cecília stomped her way out of the pool, walking straight past them.

"Don't get mad, baby... It's just a joke!"

"Well, boy... It's your girlfriend. Go ease her nerves. You're called Colapinto for a reason."

The room was still and heavy with half-light. Dawn crept lazily over the hills above Monaco, casting long blue shadows across the cream floor tiles and the soft linen curtains that barely stirred in the ocean breeze.

Everything was quiet but alive, the way mornings sometimes are after a night with too little sleep and too much thinking.

Y/n sat hunched over the piano, one leg folded beneath her, the sleeve of her hoodie pushed halfway up one arm. Her fingers hovered above the keys, unsure, as if pressing down might summon a truth she wasn’t quite ready to hear.

The notes she played came in fits, hesitant melodies made of fragile starts and unfinished endings. The melody she coaxed from the instrument wasn’t finished, wasn’t even close, but it had lived with her for months now. It clung to her like mist, always just beyond reach.

On the floor beside her, a tangle of pages lay scattered. Lyrics, or pieces of them, written in loops of ink that blurred in places where her fingers had lingered too long. She paused, picked up the top sheet, read it again:

“If I just let go, if my heart could choose...”

She exhaled sharply through her nose and crossed the line out again. The fourth time.

It was too raw. Too revealing. Too much of her.

She dropped the pen and sat back, closing her eyes for a moment. Her shoulders slumped. Her pulse was loud in her ears. She wasn’t even sure what she was trying to say anymore—just that it needed out. But every time she got close, it slipped through her fingers. Like him.

The weight on them wasn’t new, but it was growing heavier by the day. Since May 1st. Since the 30th year tributes. Since the interviews where strangers tried to rewrite a father she barely got to know.

Everywhere she turned, Ayrton’s memory was alive — polished, preserved, untouchable. But no one asked what it was like to miss someone that deeply for nearly your entire life. What it was like to be four years old and watch the world turn your father into a ghost you were expected to live up to.

She didn’t hear Lewis at first. Not the door. Not the soft shuffle of his feet on the floor. But she felt him. Not intruding, not announcing himself, just there. Still. Like always.

She didn’t turn around. She didn’t have to.

Lewis stood in the doorway. He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched her, half-silhouetted in the soft morning light, as if unsure whether this moment belonged to him at all.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he said finally, voice low and rough with sleep. “It just… sounded like you were working on something.”

She closed her eyes. The weight in her chest didn’t shift, but it settled. His voice did that. Always had.

“I’m not really playing,” she murmured, her fingers ghosting across the keys. “I’m... circling.”

He took a few steps closer, then stopped again. “You’ve been circling for a while.”

“I know.”

There was no judgment in his tone, but the truth of it still stung.

She gestured faintly to the papers spread across the top of the piano. “It’s the same few lines. I write them, I hate them, I change them. And then I write them again. I can’t tell anymore if I’m grieving or performing grief.”

He finally came to sit beside her, carefully, as if not to tip the bench too much. His thigh brushed hers. She didn’t move away.

Lewis looked down at the notepad, then at her face, not reading the words, just reading her.

“Is it still that song?” he asked.

She nodded, once. “Yeah.”

“Still for him?”

Her voice was quieter now. “Isn’t it always?”

A long pause.

He didn’t ask which “him.” He didn’t need to.

“I thought... maybe if I could finish it,” she said, barely above a whisper, “I’d finally be able to say everything I never got the chance to. The questions, the anger. God, the grief of it all. But it’s like... if I finish it, then it becomes real. Not just a story I grew up in.”

Lewis didn’t speak, but his fingers reached for hers. She let him take her hand.

“I know he’s gone,” she went on, her voice tightening. “I’ve always known that. But saying it out … it’s like putting a nail in the coffin I never got to see.”

She blinked rapidly, jaw trembling. “He was gone before I had the memories to mourn him. I only ever had stories. People’s eyes when they say his name.”

“You have more than that” Lewis said softly, rubbing a slow circle into her palm. “You have what he left in you.”

Her laugh was short, sharp. “What, the perfectionism? The pressure? The legacy everyone thinks I’m here to preserve?”

He didn’t flinch. He let her say it.

“I don’t know who he was outside of what people tell me.” she whispered. “I’m trying to love someone I never got to know, and I feel like I’m getting it wrong. All of it.”

Her eyes filled but didn’t spill over. Not yet. “You ever feel like you’re carrying a name that’s too big for you?”

Lewis didn’t answer right away. Just looked at all of her, folded up and undone before the piano under the morning light.

“Every damn day.” he said. “But that’s not your name. It’s his. Yours is what you’ve made it.”

She looked down at their joined hands. His thumb traced the back of hers.

“I’ve had entire days where I wanted to scream at him” she said into the space between them. “Where all I wanted was to ask why he left us. Why he took those risks. If he knew how much of him we’d have to keep secondhand … of how much I’ve had to build my life around a ghost.”

Lewis leaned his shoulder into hers gently, just enough for her to feel the weight of him. To remind her she wasn’t alone.

“Sometimes I think I write so I can pretend I knew him. Just long enough to tell myself the pain is earned.”

Lewis’s hand then cupped the back of her neck, grounding her. Her forehead pressed to his shoulder.

“He’d be proud of you,” he said simply.

She didn’t answer. She didn’t believe it. Not fully. But she didn’t argue either. Because he’d said it in a way that didn’t demand belief—just that she heard it.

A moment passed.

Finally, she glanced at him, unsure. “Can I… show you something?”

Lewis nodded gently as she reached for one of the lyric sheets and held it between them like a confession.

“It’s not finished,” she said. “And I don’t even know if I want to finish it. I thought maybe I’d release it at some point, but the more I write, the more I wonder if anyone even wants the truth from me. Or if they only want the version of me that fits the story they’ve made up.”

He looked down at the page, then back at her. “I want the truth. Always.”

She gave him a small, tired smile. “Yeah. I know you do.”

Her fingers touched the keys again. A gentle, deliberate opening. She started to sing, but stopped before the first full line. She turned slightly toward him, gaze flickering with nerves.

“I hate how real that feels” she said, her voice wrecked and raw.

“It is real” he said.

“I’ve been trying to explain ... Not just the grief. It’s just it's been thirty years, and I still feel like I’m stuck at four sometimes.”

“Say it how you need to.” he whispered.

So she began again, soft but steady.

“I’m a book of mistakes And it’s just getting worse Every new one I make Is a rumor you heard…”

She didn’t look at him as she sang, her voice laced with a pain that bordered on bitterness and longing.

“I can’t do anything without it becoming a headline. They think every misstep is proof I’m not him. Or worse — that I’m trying to be. And I’m not. I just… I never had the chance to figure out who I am without being compared to a ghost.”

She blinked, keeping her gaze at the window in front of her. Her eyes glistened.

Lewis was quiet. But his eyes never left her.

She turned back to the keys, voice quieter now.

“Cause these days I’m self-destructive The way I love I push away every chance ‘Cause it’s never enough”

Her voice broke slightly on that last word. She swallowed hard.

“I know it’s not easy to hear.” she said. “That I still get angry. That sometimes I blame him, and I know I shouldn’t.”

Lewis reached for her waist, the touch meant only to show her he was there. “I don’t blame you.”

She nodded, eyes fixed on the space between them. “When I was younger, I used to get so mad. At him. At the world. I’d think, ‘Why didn’t you stay? Why didn’t you fight harder?’ I know how unfair that is. But that kind of loss doesn’t follow logic. It’s just…”

She lifted her other hand to wipe her cheek, then resumed playing.

“Been a broken machine Since the day you’ve been gone On a loop in a dream Did you think I’d move on?”

She paused again, not singing the next line. Her voice came as a whisper.

“That’s the part that hurts everyone else”

Lewis didn’t answer, but she felt the tension on his posture. The pain of knowing that even now, her grief could take her to places he couldn’t follow.

“I love you” she said breathy “But if I could have just one more day with him, I would give everything else up. Not because it would be better, not because I’d want to lose this, but because that wound has been there since before I understood what grief even meant. And sometimes it still screams.”

Lewis didn’t flinch. He just leaned in and pressed his lips to the side of her head, slow and warm. “You don’t have to apologize for that, love.”

She let herself breathe. The air between them steadied.

“I wish he could’ve met you” she said again, her voice breaking now. “Not just as a driver. God, he would’ve been in awe of you. The way you feel the car, the way you move through the world with this kind of grace and fire he always had too.”

She looked at him finally, and this time, her eyes didn’t hold back the tears.

“But more than that… I wish he could’ve known you. The way you love. The way you love me. The way you pick up every broken piece I drop without ever making me feel like a burden.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“And sometimes I get so mad that he never will.”

Lewis didn’t speak. He just reached for her again, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, holding her tight.

She leaned into him, then picked out the next line on the keys, barely audible now.

“Cause if I just let go If my heart could choose I would burn these bridges I’ve built And find my way back to you…”

She paused again, one hand still resting on the keys, the other limp in her lap. When she finally spoke again, her voice cracked, not from volume, but from something far more fragile.

“That part scares me the most.”

Lewis looked down softly. “Which one?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her lips parted like she was trying to form the right sentence, but even now - even here with him - the words felt dangerous. Like saying them aloud would make them real in a way she couldn’t undo.

She swallowed, looking away. Her eyes fixed on a small chip in the piano’s glossy edge. It gave her something to anchor to.

“How I’d burn it all down just to see him again. That part. That even now, after everything, after so long, it’s still true.”

Her voice dropped, almost inaudible.

“I would throw it all away. This life. The name. I’d give it all back just for one more afternoon. Just for a few stolen hours with him - to know him, to ask him the things that haunt me, to let him see me.”

She blinked hard. A tear slipped down her cheek.

“I know it’s irrational. I know it wouldn’t fix anything. It wouldn’t erase the pain. But there’s something in me that still wants to reach for him like a child. And it scares the hell out of me.”

Lewis sat still, his shoulders tense. Not from anger. Never that. But from the ache of hearing her say what he always suspected and hoped wasn’t true.

“How long have you felt like that?” he asked gently.

She smiled bitterly, eyes wet. “Since I could understand what ‘gone’ meant.”

The silence stretched.

She let out a trembling breath and pressed her palm flat against her chest.

“This grief isn’t just something I carry. It’s part of me. And some days, when I let myself imagine what it would be like to hear his voice, or have him show up to a race, or just know the people I love now…”

She glanced at Lewis, and for a second, her eyes were full of apology.

“…I think I’d set the whole world on fire to make that happen.”

His jaw tightened, just a fraction. She saw the way he swallowed. How it landed.

“I don’t want it to be like that,” she added quickly. “I don’t want to lose what I have. I love this life. I love you.”

He nodded, gently. “I know.”

“But that impulse… it’s still there. And it’s not fair on anyone. I know that.”

Lewis didn’t move for a long time. Then, slowly, he reached out and took her hand again. His thumb brushed over her knuckles.

“I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt to hear” he said quietly. “Because I want to be enough. I want this life we’re building to be everything.”

He looked at her with open eyes, no guard between them.

“But I also know that wound it’s older than anything I can fix. And it’s not my job to compete with it.”

She looked down, unable to hold his gaze.

“But it is my job to stand with you in it” he added.

Lewis moved closer, touching his forehead to hers.

“You don’t have to pretend you’re healed to be loved, Y/n. You don’t have to be whole to be worthy.”

She closed her eyes. The closeness, the understanding. It made her breath catch and her heart sink.

“You also don’t need to show this to anyone” he said. “Not if it hurts too much. Not if it costs you more than it gives.”

He brushed a hand over her cheek, the gesture reverent.

“But maybe… what the world needs isn’t another shrine to him.”

She looked up, a bit taken aback by how gently he’d said it.

“Maybe what they, and you need, is for them to finally see you. Not the name they project onto. You. Real. Whole. Cracked in all the right places.”

She didn’t answer. Just leaned her head against his chest as his arms came around her again.

She nodded, finally, barely.

And then: “Stay with me a while?”

His lips brushing the top of her head. “Always.”

The hum of the engines was the only sound between them for a while, smooth and unbothered as the jet sliced through the night sky somewhere above the South American coast. The lights were dimmed, the cabin dressed in the kind of hush only exhaustion could bring.

They hadn’t said much since takeoff. There wasn’t much left to say — not after a weekend like that.

The bed in the back of the jet wasn’t really a bed, more like a stitched-together excuse for comfort. But it was better than the hard, over-lit flight with the rest of f1 personnel, a mercy everyone knew had been for her.

Lewis had arranged the private jet without telling her until the last minute. Said it was to give them peace, to avoid the questions from media about the homage, her father, the rain.

She hadn’t argued. She didn’t have the energy to.

Now, they lay together in the cramped space. Her back pressed loosely against his chest, his hand curled around the edge of her waist, thumb moving in lazy, absent circles against the cotton of her shirt. The rhythm was slow. Familiar.

He was holding his Switch like he wasn’t really playing, just fidgeting with it. The glow of the screen threw faint light over his jaw, his eyes flickering toward her more often than toward the game.

“You looked miserable out there,” she murmured eventually, voice low and hoarse, like it had been left somewhere at the circuit.

Lewis huffed. “Because I was. Every time I thought I’d figured out the handling, it’d aquaplane just for laughs.”

He tilted his head toward her, playful. “You mocking me now?”

“I mean… you did finish P10.”

He gasped, one hand to his chest. “Wow. Betrayed by my own girl.”

She smirked, letting her head rest against his collarbone. “At least you got something else out of it.”

He tilted his head, brushing his nose lightly into her hair as he let the Switch drop to his chest with a small exhale, finally still. “I get it now. Why they say it danced in the rain.”

She turned onto her back, eyes on the ceiling. “He called it his second skin.”

“He was right.” Lewis glanced at her. “I thought it’d be delicate, or temperamental. But it was solid. Like it was built for the storm.”

She let silence stretch between them, her fingers brushing lightly over the hem of the blanket until she smiled faintly, eyes tracing the thin lines of light that moved across the ceiling as the aircraft adjusted altitude. “You should’ve seen it from the stands.”

His head turned toward her slowly. “Wait. What?”

“I snuck out. Hoodie, cap, all that. Went to the stands just before the homage started.”

Lewis blinked at her. “Y/n—”

“I know,” she cut in quickly. “I know. It was stupid. But no one noticed. They were all too focused on the track. On you. Or maybe… on what it felt like to see that car again.”

He sat up slightly, elbow pressing into the mattress. “There was a real chance you could’ve been recognized. That could’ve gotten ugly.”

She reached out, thumb brushing over his hand to ease the tension. “I know. But I needed to. It was different out there. In the stands. It didn’t feel like something to be analyzed or dissected or watched from behind a screen. It felt like—grief. And joy. Like breathing old air.”

Lewis was quiet for a beat, then settled back down beside her. His expression stayed tense for a while, but his fingers found hers again. “And?”

She smiled as she looked behind them, lost on her own memories. “I stood in the middle of a section near the Senna’s Ss. It was packed. Everyone was wet, cramped. And not a single person cared. When the McLaren came out, it was like the whole place held its breath.”

Lewis watched her now, all the frustration drained out of him and replaced by curiosity. Reverence.

“I saw people take their caps off” she said, quieter now. “Like it was sacred. Like the car itself was holy.”

He didn’t move. Just listened.

“There was this little boy beside me,” she continued. “Couldn’t have been more than five. His dad kept telling him ‘that’s Senna’s car’. And the kid just kept asking, ‘but is he really in there?’

“There was this tweet someone read after” she went on. “’The rain heard Senna’s car roar and had to come one more time to challenge him.’”

Lewis’s breath hitched faintly.

“And you know what was strange?” she added. “It was so quiet. When the engine came to life. Like… no one wanted to break it. That sound. And everyone listened. As if they were afraid they wouldn’t hear it again.”

He reached for her hand, held it tighter this time.

“I needed to be with them,” she said. “Because I’ve spent years listening to everyone else’s memories. Trying to preserve them, trying to protect him like he was glass.”

Lewis watched her, eyes softer now. Something unspoken passed between them, as heavy and intimate as silence.

“I had to see what that meant to them” she whispered. “How many of them never met him, never saw him race, but still felt like they did. Because that’s where I fit into this. Isn’t it?”

He kissed her knuckles.

“I wish I could’ve seen that,” he said.

“You did” she replied. “You brought it to them.”

Lewis smiled, slow and reverent.

“He would’ve liked that” she whispered.

“Do you think…” Lewis began, then stopped.

She reached out, traced his knuckles with her thumb.

“I think maybe this is what I’m supposed to do” she said. “Let people remember him. Give them a reason to feel something new because of him.”

“That’s a big job.”

“Yeah… I don’t think it has to be mine alone. I want it though. Not just out of duty. Out of… love. I guess.”

He turned his hand over, let their fingers tangle.

“I think I’m finally okay with building my own memories of him. Even if they’re secondhand. Even if they come through other people.”

Lewis nodded. Not agreeing. Just… acknowledging as his thumb swept along her jaw, grounding her.

“I’m still mad sometimes” she said, more quietly. “It sneaks up on me. I’ll see an old clip, or a photo, and I’ll just think: ‘You selfish bastard. You left.’”

“And I hate that you’ll never meet him,” she added, voice catching. “You two would’ve—” Her throat closed.

“I know” he said, kissing the side of her forehead, slow and deliberate, like anchoring her to the moment.

She turned toward him, tucked her face against his neck. He didn’t say anything else. Didn’t need to. His arms found their way around her, held her close.

No promises. No platitudes. Just warmth.

Just presence.

They fell quiet for a while, just breathing. His hand warm in hers. A little sweaty even.

Lewis was the first to speak again. “Your grandmother’s house was a trip.”

Y/n laughed softly. “Chaotic hospitality. I told you.”

He chuckled. “They shoved food in us every ten minutes.”

“They were testing you.”

She turned toward him, her body curling slightly into his side. “They were.”

He hesitated, then said “Me and Viviane, we had a talk, you know.”

Y/n blinked. “When?”

“After dinner one night you were too busy with your grandmother. She took me out to the garden like I was about to be interrogated.”

Her brows lifted. “And?”

“She didn’t ask anything. She just… told me a story. About you. When you were little. How you used to fall asleep with his helmet in your bed.”

Y/n laughed softly, almost embarrassed. “God. I forgot about that.”

“Said you wouldn’t admit, but you have always wanted to carry more than just a legend, you’ve always wanted meaning.”

Her throat closed up. “She said that?”

He nodded. “And then she said something about chasing me down if I had wronged everyone into believing I saw you as more than a story about your father.”

Y/n blinked hard, looking away.

“I didn’t know if I should tell you” Lewis admitted. “But I think she wanted me to keep it to myself until it felt right.”

It was quiet after that. The kind of quiet that pressed into skin. The kind that made everything feel heavier, but not unbearable. Just… more present.

Lewis turned toward her fully, his hand brushing her jaw. She didn’t move, didn’t blink, just let herself look at him.

“I didn’t cry today” she said. “Not when the car came out. Not when you got in. I thought I would. But I didn’t.”

He nodded gently, encouraging her to go on.

“But when I saw the way they looked at you… the reverence, the wonder—like you’d given them a piece of something lost.”

He ran his thumb slowly down her cheek. She leaned into it.

“There’s always been this part of me that thought… maybe I’m just the girl who was left behind,” she murmured.

“You’re not,” he said.

“I know. But it’s taken so long to believe that. And … when I saw you in that car, and them watching… it wasn’t just about what was lost anymore.”

Lewis leaned in and pressed a kiss just below her eye, where a tear hadn’t fallen but had been waiting anyway.

“I’m glad it was you” she whispered. “No one else could’ve done that.”

His lips stayed close to her skin. “I was never trying to be him.”

“That’s why it worked. You never took it as your moment”

“It wasn’t mine to take” he said quickly.

She smiled faintly. “Still. You carried it well.”

He pressed a kiss to her temple. “I had someone to carry it for.”

And that one broke her a little.

She didn’t cry. Not quite. Not anymore. Maybe because there were no tear left. But something in her let go.

And outside, outside, the rain began again. A soft patter against the windows. Not heavy. Not violent. Just… constant. Familiar.

She didn’t ask him to stay.

She didn’t need to.

_____________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @itsmrshamilton @vicurious28

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São Paulo. Brazil. Her favourite race of the year. Her home race.

If McLaren hadn’t been so close to Red Bull and Ferrari in the constructors, she wouldn’t have been so pumped up as she was.

Can you imagine it? Another Senna, helping McLaren to another constructor since 1998.

It couldn’t get better.

That’s what she thought until she saw Gabriel Leone and Matt Mella outside of the McLaren garage before the sprint race.

She had binged the whole of the Senna series the night before, probably a bad idea, but she had forgotten it came out, and she had immediately gotten the hots for Matt.

Who can blame her? He was pretty- he is pretty. Probably the prettiest man she had ever seen, and she had to admit, growing up and watching F1, she had always found Prost rather pretty.

She couldn’t help but stare as Gabriel and Matt talked with a few journalists and staff members- Matt even more seeing that he had worked for McLaren in ‘21-‘22, so he was saying hello to familiar faces.

Oscar noticed this as Matt stepped further into the garage, saying his hello’s to more people.

“You’re staring,” He said with a soft smirk as he walked up beside her.

She blushed slightly, clearing her throat “I’m not,” She said, taking a glance at Matt before looking back at Oscar, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

“You’re not subtle,” He chuckled.

“Can you blame me?” She asked “Have you seen him? He’s fucking pretty,” She subtly pointed at the Frenchman.

Oscar didn’t say anything, but he laughed quietly. Oscar cleared his throat softly and walked over to his side of the garage as said Frenchman approached them.

“Bonjour- Hi. Matt” He was nervous- Why is he nervous?

“Hi. Y/N,” She said softly as she shook his hand- He was even prettier up close

She was about to speak, say something about how she was impressed by his acting or something, but the team photographer interrupted them and asked for a photo of them together.

They posed, her arm around his waist, his hand between her shoulder blades as they smiled for the camera.

The photographer thanked them for the photo and moved along. Matt turned to face her again, his hand ghosting down along her back, sending a tingle all through her body.

“Good luck in the race,” He said, his eyes soft, his hand now in his pocket.

“It’s just a sprint race,” She said, shrugging her shoulders slightly.

“Still possible points, no?” Matt smiled softly “I’ll be cheering for you” He blushed slightly as he said the words

—

She won- not with ease, but she won.

“Guess your cheering worked,” She smiled softly as she stepped back into the garage after the podium celebration.

“I think your talent played a bigger part,” He smirked softly as they stepped into the empty hallway so the mechanics could work in peace.

“Cheering does more than people think,” She smiled softly as they stopped outside her driver's room.

Matt stepped closer, a staff member walking behind him.

“I need a shower and stuff, but do you want to come in?” She asked, her hand on the doorknob.

Matt nodded softly “I’d like that- yes” He blushed slightly again, his cheeks painting a pretty red.

They had barely gotten into the room before she had Matt pressed up against the now-closed door.

The adrenaline made her not think, but it didn’t matter when he kissed her back immediately.

Matt tried pulling her back when she took a step back “Shower,” She said, pulling him towards the small bathroom.

“I-I don’t have more clothes with me,” He stuttered slightly.

“You’ll have to reuse your pants, but I have a spare shirt you might fit in,” She chuckled softly, pulling the paddock passes over his head, placing them neatly on the sink and his sunglasses as well.

“And that might not seem suspicious?” He chuckled softly, her hands working on the button-up he wore on top of a white t-shirt.

“You spilled coffee on your shirt and borrowed a spare one,” She said, pushing his button up down his arms and off his torso.

“I don’t drink coffee,” Matt said, shivering slightly as she pulled his t-shirt over his head, throwing it to the floor.

“Now you do,” She muttered, her hands trailing down his chest, mesmerised by his body.

Matt’s hands moved to pull her fireproof shirt off of her, his eyes immediately dropping to her bra-covered chest “Won’t we have to hurry?” He stammered “W-with your interviews?”

“No,” She chuckled softly, her hands reaching out for his waistband, tugging him closer, making him help softly, his hands on her bare waist “Told my agent I felt ill,”

He breathed out shakingly, her knuckles brushing against his very obvious boner as she undid the button and zipper “Y-you were planning for this to happen?” He asked, almost choking on his spit.

“Hoping. I was hoping,” She smirked slightly, letting his slacks fall to the ground with a soft thud “Step out,”

He did as he was told, stepping out of his pants, kicking his shoes off in the meantime, watching as she got out of the rest of her suit, leaving her just in a matching pair of panties and bra.

She leaned in to turn on the shower, letting it heat up as she slowly got out of her underwear and bra.

“Come on. Get naked, muito,” Pretty. She smirked softly, stepping back into the shower, the water flowing down her naked body.

Matt swallowed a lump in his throat before he shakingly pushed down his boxers, stepping out of them and slowly into the shower.

She pulled him closer by his waist, watching as he slowly got wet by the water.

Both of Matt’s hands were on both sides of her neck, tilting her head up slightly so he could lean down and kiss her.

The previous was rushed and messy, this one was passionate and tender, full of feelings. Wet from the water and not from saliva.

She squeezed Matt’s waist softly before she softly pushed him up against the wall, making him yelp quietly from the cold tiles.

She slowly got onto her knees, making sure to keep eye contact with Matt, watching as his breathing got heavier and quicker.

Matt leaned his head back against the wall, his eyes closed softly, a quiet, breathy moan escaping his lips as she licked a slow stripe up his cock.

She raised her arm, covering Matt’s mouth with her hand as she slowly slid her mouth down on him, making the hand in her hair tighten from the sheer pleasure.

She smiled as best as she could when she heard how he struggled to keep quiet against her hand.

Her other hand kept Matt’s hips back against the wall, limiting his movements.

She pressed her tongue up against the vein on Matt’s cock, his sounds getting louder, even against her hand.

Matt choked slightly as she pushed two of her fingers into his mouth, pressing down against his tongue, but it kept him quiet.

His hand that was not in her hair was around her wrist, keeping her hand still as he sucked gently around her fingers.

She pulled her mouth off of him and her fingers out of his mouth, making him whine quietly.

“I was so close,” Matt panted when she got back up to her feet, her lips trailing up his neck “Please,” He said as he turned them around, her now pressed softly up against the tiles, now hot from his body heat.

Matt put his hand on her thigh, hoisting her leg up around his hip, the tip of his cock nudging against her entrance, making them both moan softly.

She pulled him closer, Matt slowly entering her, his sounds muffled against her shoulder, one hand tight on her thigh, the other supporting his weight on the wall behind her.

“You okay, Muito?” She asked softly, a hand going through his soaked hair.

He hummed softly “Jus’... Need a moment,” He panted heavily, his breathing fanning across the skin on her neck.

Matt moved his hand from her thigh to just below her ass as he slowly started moving, her head rolled back against the wall, her breathing as heavy as his.

She captured his lips as he started moving faster, swallowing both their volume-increasing sounds.

One of her hands was on his bicep, the other one was on her clit as Matt too was close to his orgasm, his cock twitching inside her, her walls clenching down around him.

“Close,” He moaned against her lips, his thrusts getting sloppy and out of rhythm.

“I know, baby. Come for me,” She panted heavily, her fingers going faster against her clit.

A few sloppy thrusts later, and Matt came deep inside her, the feeling of his cum filling her up sending her over the edge as well.

They stayed close together for a while, kissing slow and sensual before they pulled away from each other to actually shower.

“Where did you leave Gabriel?” She asked in a teasing voice while they were getting dressed again.

“Last saw him with some journalist, but that was before the race,” He said, pulling the McLaren hoodie over his head.

“He probably went back to the hotel,” He mumbled as he leaned in to kiss her again, holding her face in between his hands.

______________________________________________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

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Like most traditions it started without any intent on actually becoming a thing. You and Lewis would take a couple hours off on Wednesdays before the Brazilian GP every year, the destination a known one to everyone in the paddock. It was a journey you used to do by yourself until Lewis had been the brave, and first one, to ask you if he could tag along. He’d been to Senna’s tomb before, you knew that much, but the respect and adoration he held for your late father had you deciding he should be good company.

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“I swear I had never seen my mom angrier. Can you imagine her with the speaker at Interlagos shouting to everyone with an ear that I shouldn’t be racing and if anything happened Ayrton was to blame cause I wasn’t even old enough to be there” You told a laughing Lewis while remembering when your father faked an ID so he could sneak you to the track and teach you how to race in your brand new - Mclaren themed – kart. A Christmas gift he went out of his way to get to the famous Brazilian track circuit in time to open day.

“You know, my favorites snippets of his life are the ones you talk about, Sundays at the pool, ice cream dates, kart running without your mom knowing. Whenever someone talks about him it’s always about his wins, his hardships, his cars and battles … it’s almost as if he didn’t exist beyond formula 1, like we froze just a fraction of him and forgot all about the rest.” 

You smiled at him, you liked how Lewis never questioned your feelings towards f1’s out of this world idolatry on your father, mainly because at the end of the day, to your 8 year old past self, Ayrton was first and foremost “pai”, the dude that thought you not to be afraid by throwing you into the ocean when no one was looking, the one that cooked instant noodles for dinner in spite of your mom’s pleads, the one that constantly tried to show you that love is a feeling we should act upon in the present and never wait for a so promised tomorrow.

“He would’ve liked you I think… would’ve hated to race you, for sure. But as a person, he would have probably seen you as one of the good ones, pointing out bullshit, fighting fia every chance you get, protecting the guys back at the garage, focusing on racing and not talking, looking out for everyone.” You answered truthly, as he respectfully held his hands behind his back looking at the tomb stone, while you casually sat in the edge of the stone, almost too comfortable around the place from all the visits you’ve done over the years.

“I think you should meet Galisteu someday, she’ll have way more interesting stories about him to tell you than I do.” You absentmindedly noted, remembering all she’s told you about your father, this other side to him you never got the time to see.

“Nah… we’re our truest around kids, his best version was the one you got to see. Now, what was that time he sneaked a stray dog onto your apartment?” he asked while reaching for your shoulder so you both could walk along the path back to the car awaiting to take you both back.

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“I don’t think I really remember the sound of his voice” you sighed looking up at the Ipê tree just beside the tomb. You had shown Lewis a photo of what it looked like once in full blossom before, in the Brazilian winter, and he promised you he would eventually find the time to come see it in its full glory in late June.

The walk in the cemetery, the light hearted banter, him opening his heart on dreams and the future and the confessions you would eventually make to Lewis about Ayrton were part of the annual occurrence you had both unspokenly agreed on, but that one line seemed to have hit him hard enough he just motioned you to go on, no answers or remarks. 

“I mean, I know what his voice sounds like because there’s a thousand and one interviews with him, but I don’t think I can truly remember what he sounded like in real life … how he talked to me.” You explained it further, now looking at the Briton.

He engulfed you in a hug, the kind only he knew how, your tears leaving marks on his shoulders. You would rarely cry over anything related to your father, at least not in front of people anyway, but Lewis was… well, Lewis. You and Niki were the one who pushed, like hell, to sign him to Mercedes back in 2014 against everyone’s better judgment, and while you knew he would be every bit the driver and phenomenon he was, neither of you anticipated the friendship that came out of seeing him almost every GP you attended. A relationship that had crept its own way into your hearts, slowly allowing to see each other as something more than just good friends.

“He’s proud of you, wherever he is. I know that much” He whispered, leaving a soft kiss to your temple and bringing you even closer to his body.

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“He would’ve crashed into Verstappen back in 2021, wouldn’t he?” He prompted out of nowhere, gazing seriously at the tomb as you observed him pondering over the possible outcomes of a race that, like a ghost, had been following him nonstop, specially with the São Paulo GP fast approaching and with it his chances of securing his 8th title, two races before the end of the season.

“Start another Senna vs. Prost ?! ” You thought out loud, trying to read into his expressions and mannerisms, a talent of his you weren’t quite as good.

“Maybe I should’ve done it”

“You’re not like that Lew. You’re you and no one, not a single person, wants someone else” Your exasperation clear in your voice, hands reaching for his chin as his eyes locked into yours and he nodded, an unspoken agreement between the two of you, one you had to hammer into his head from time to time, that he may have Ayrton as his idol but he was just as much of an icon to the sport, and to a million of kids out there.