*gives You A Foxglove* *gives You A Nightshade* *gives You A Devils Trumpet* *gives You A Moonflower*

*gives you a foxglove* *gives you a nightshade* *gives you a devil’s trumpet* *gives you a moonflower* *gives you an oleander* *gives you a lily of the valley* *gives you a hydrangea* *gives you wisteria* *gives you a buttercup* *gives you a daffodil* *gives you an iris* *gives you elder berries* *gives you a

heyy any chance i could request 25 ("Don't get in my way") with Max and Red Bull driver!reader?

winner of what?

PAIRING; Max Verstappen x Red Bull driver!reader

SUMMARY; Max thinks you are going to ruin his chance at a fifth World Driver's Championship, and he can't let that happen. set in 2025, but doesn't necessarily follow the schedule

WARNINGS; small description of violence of a crash, angst, manipulative Max

A/N; thank you so much for this request! I hope I did your idea justice:)) also the longest fic I have ever written? thats crazy

not proof read

3.7k words masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・♥︎・✫・゜・。.

.・。.・゜✭・♥︎・✫・゜・。.

You were new here. You were an outsider. You knew that, and you hated every moment of it.

Despite knowing most people on the paddock by now, you couldn’t get rid of the lingering feeling that some of the mechanics or others despised you for taking Checo’s seat, even though you had rightfully won it. You knew that no one actually thought that, but the idea always sat idly in the back of your mind.

The season had barely begun (if you count pre-season testing as the start of the season), and yet here you were, already finding new ways to doubt your own abilities.

After a rough season with RB and Daniel, you were more than ready to actually be in the fight for podiums and wins, rather than measly points. Even with a one-year contract, you were determined to make this season yours, proving to Red Bull that they should keep you around for a little while longer.

Your new teammate, Max, was just coming down from a high of winning his fourth DWC and constructors’ with Red Bull, and you couldn’t be more excited to join the likes of these champions.

You hadn’t really met or had a chance to interaction with him, despite the many team meetings and social media outings you did together. He never really introduced himself; was there really any need too anyway? You knew he was Max Verstappen, 4-time world champion, and that was all you really needed when it came to him. You had raced with him on the grid for a few years now, so it brought you a little comfort to be able to say you at least were familiar with the surface level version of him.

From what Daniel had told you, the persona the media had given him was far from the truth; he wasn’t a villain, a monster out to make everyone’s race a living hell. No, Max was a pretty stand-up guy. According to Daniel, he was “just your type” and the two of you would “vibe like crazy” when you finally spoke to each other.

In fact, it was your ex-teammate who was the one to take the first initiative and introduce you to each other. You were at a season launch lunch, sitting by yourself at your table when Daniel, dragging Max along behind him, sat himself down beside you.

“It had recently been brought to my attention that you two have not been formally introduced, so I am going to do it for you,” he grins, almost proud of himself. Patting the seat on your other side, you look up a Max, silently offering him a seat.

He politely refuses, but the glare Daniel gives him is enough incentive for him to quietly take the seat.

“Now talk to each other.” The Aussie stands, taking his leave. “I am going to go back to the bar an get some more drinks, but I better see both your traps yapping or I’m not gonna be happy.”

An awkward silence entails, neither of you knowing where to start after he walks away.

“…He can be very bossy when he wants to be,” Max chuffs, being the one to break the silence. You laugh quietly in agreement, and the conversation flows pleasantly for the next few hours.

It isn’t until the sun begins to set that you realise how long you had been talking, and that Daniel never did come back. In the most subtle way you can manage, without disturbing Max who was looking on his phone for the best photos of his cats, you peer around the luncheon in hopes of finding your ex-teammate. Spotting him sitting at the bar, he was already looking your way; smirking, he taps his watch, and you can almost hear him say I told you so.

It’s the opening race of the season, and what a stellar start it was for Red Bull; a front row lock-out in qualifying, and a 1-2 podium, Max triumphing for what was the first time this year. It was exhilarating, being up on the podium with the others, especially considering it was your debut race with your new team. It wasn’t your first podium, of course, but this time around it felt much more earned, like you were finally getting recognised for your achievements.

At the debriefing, Max off-handedly mentioned the team going out to celebrate the win and asked if you wanted to come along. It was a stupid question, and he knew it; who were you to turn down the opportunity to commemorate your maiden podium?

You were out all night, not officially going back to your hotel room until the sun had risen the next morning. Although you didn’t remember much, there were multiple accounts recounted to you that you had been glued to Max’s side for majority of the party, including from the man himself. Photos of the two of you swarmed your messages and social media; his hand on the small of your back, yours grasping his shoulder for dear life.

He bought you drinks; you bought him drinks. It was a sweet cycle that had you both wasted within a couple hours, you more so than him. Even with your foggy recollection of the night, you knew that Max and you were getting closer, and you didn’t mind one bit of it.

The second race saw a similar fate; P1 for Max and P2 for yourself again, and the afterparty leading to very close proximity for the pair of you. Whilst you didn’t drink as heavily this time, you still felt just as intoxicated from the mere presence of him so near you.

“I know it’s only two races into the season, but you are already by far my favourite teammate that I’ve had,” you laugh, sure that he would barely be able to hear you over the blaring music.

He laughs too, leaning closer to you to be able to whisper in your ear, “same goes for you, Liefde.”

You didn’t even know what the nickname meant, but it sent chills down your spine. You didn’t question it, letting the mystery of his native language sway with you to the bass of the music.

The next few races would follow the same pattern; Max would finish the race above you, he would invite you to a party, and you would dance together much closer than two friends ever would. Even after coming second to Charles in the Monegasque’s home race, Max kept up this new tradition you had created.

Outside of the clubs and bars, he never acknowledged his behaviour. And because he didn’t, you didn’t either. No one asked about it, so it never got brought up, but people knew enough to expect it during any afterparties.

Interviews, podiums together, and in the cool down room, all that the public would see is two teammates celebrating each other’s achievements.

It wasn’t until you were actually able to give Max a run for his money for P1 after he had a poor pit stop that there was a falter in the routine. It all came down to the final lap; you overtook him at turn 1, he retaliated into turn 3, you got a better jump from the hairpin, but ultimately, he was the one who crossed the line ahead of you, even if it was only by a couple tenths of a second.

The cooldown room was tense, a state it had never been before. Even Carlos, known for his non-stop yapping, was quiet, knowing that something wasn’t quite right between the two of you. Of course, he didn’t know what it was, but honestly, you didn’t either – to your understanding, you were just having a good, competitive race, but Max must’ve thought otherwise.

He didn’t invite you to any celebrations afterwards, but others did. It made no difference either way who you went with; he was nowhere to be seen.

You didn’t talk to him much during the doubleheader, focusing more on the want to finally get your first win. With how well the car had been performing, and the statistics showing that you were closing in on Max more and more every race, a win this week was well within the realm of possibility.

With 5 laps left in the race, Max was leading with you hot on his heels, and Lando hot on yours. But all it took for everything to spiral into a flaming hot mess was for Max to cut you off, not leaving you enough room. It resulted in sending you spinning and crashing hard into a wall. Max, struggling to regain his composure, was overtaken by Lando. Red flags were waved, and the Brit was the first to see the checkered flag, trundling along behind the safety car.

To say you were heartbroken was an understatement. Nothing could describe just how angry and devastated you were that you didn’t even get to finish the race, and how willing your teammate was to just blatantly cut you off, all but forcing you into the wall.

Honestly, you wanted to cry, but you held yourself together throughout the media conferences, restraining yourself from diminishing Max’s performance today. As much as you wanted to, and boy did you really want to, a manager pulled you away before you could express your true feelings.

For whatever reason he thought it was appropriate, it was the Dutchman who invited you to celebrations of his win. You declined, being as polite as you physically could, claiming you just wanted to go back to your hotel room and sleep the night away.

He muttered some sweet nothings about ‘it not being the same without you,’ and ‘the party will be such a bore if you aren’t by my side,’ as if nothing had happened between you.

The stark contrast between his personas almost gave you whiplash, but regardless of you left by yourself. You tired and tried your hardest to convince yourself that the reason you weren’t partying tonight was because you just wanted to forget about such a poor end to such an amazing weekend. But in your core, you knew it was because you didn’t want to be with Max, to fall into his traps, be seduced by his niceties.

Were they even real? You weren’t sure what they were anymore.

You were in a new country within a day of the last race, completing videos for Red Bull’s socials, some even with Daniel by your side.

Naturally, he questioned your relationship with your teammate once the cameras were off.

Stunned silence was the only answer you could give him. With some gentle coaxing, he gets some information out of you.

“It’s just… I don’t even… I’ve never delt with anything like this in my life. Normally I can separate my outside life and racing, but he is just there. Always there,” you sigh, not realising how heavy the situation was weighing on your chest.

He hums in understanding. “I think you need to talk to him about it all.”

“I tried, once. He just pretended like he didn’t know what I was talking about, as if there was nothing happening between us,” you say. “It isn’t like a want a fully committed relationship with him or anything, I just… I’m so confused, I don’t know what to do. I really like him Dan. I don’t want to stop hanging out with him, he’s become a good friend, but I also don’t want to keep being led on like this. If that is what this even is?”

You collapse on your chair, covering your face in shame. The Aussie doesn’t have much to offer except some quiet consolations, softly rubbing your back in hopes of bringing you some comfort.

Your confidence had taken a hit, and it showed in your race results. Finishing P5 behind Max’s P1 wasn’t exactly a poor result, but for consistently being on the podium this season, you were not happy. You wanted to blame the car, or the slow pitstops (they were actually the two fastest of the race), but you knew deep down it wasn’t either of those.

A knock on your driver room door made you falter, unsure of who even knew you were in there.

“Who is it?” you ask, not bothering to move from your position.

The door creaks open, and you look over your shoulder to see the handsome smile that belonged to the one and only.

“What do you want, Max?”

“‘Congrats on the win Max, you had a great race.’ That’s so sweet, thank you,” he mocks your voice, laughing as he leans against the doorframe.

You don’t laugh, finding no humour in the situation.

“We are going out again tonight, to Frankie’s. you heard of it?” he continues, as if you weren’t glaring daggers at him.

You turn yourself to face him. “Who’s we?” you ask, ignoring his question.

“You and I, of course,” he says, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

“I’m not going out with you tonight.”

“Sure you are, we have to celebrate my win!”

“No, Max. And that’s final.” You stand, grabbing the door to usher him out.

“I’ll pick you up at 8, sound good?”

“No.”

“I’ll see you then,” he grins, walking away to his own room.

And true to his word, he is at the door of your hotel room, three minutes to 8. You don’t bother answering the door, leaving him knocking and calling your name. He leaves not long after, and you’re left to spend the night alone.

Finally, it was time for the Spa Grand Prix, the reigning World Driver’s Champion’s home race. You knew this race was important to Max, and what better way to one up him than to beat him in his home country?

You out qualify him in every possible way – free practises, Q1 and Q2. When it came time for Q3, you wish him luck as he jumps into his car. He grants it in return, but you know it doesn’t hold much value to it.

You complete your timed lap first, clocking the fastest time the last two days have seen. Max is on track to beat it, but understeers around one corner, leading him to…qualify the same time as you?? No, that couldn’t be right…

You sit in shock, looking at the checkered flag was waved. You. In P1. You would start the race up the very front for the first time in your career. You would start ahead of Max. in his home race.

He didn’t have much to comment on it, knowing that the actual competition would come during the race.

The night was a blur, and before you could prepare yourself, the five lights were out, and you were racing in Spa.

You lost the lead before the first lap was even over, and of course it was to Max. You tried to not let it damper your hopes for the win, fiercely fighting him for first place. Halfway into the race, the pair of you were over 30 seconds ahead from Charles, running in P3. You couldn’t remember how many cars you had lapped, but it had to have been at least half of the grid.

With only tenths between you, he crossed the line first. Your heart shattered, but at least you had the fastest lap, right?

Content with the weekend, you took Max up on his offer to go to a party together that night. It didn’t take much to convince you to have a few drinks, and it wasn’t long until you were out on the dance floor. The Dutchman accompanied you, not nearly as drunk as you were.

You let him run his hands down your waist, eventually resting your hips. It made you queasy, how easily he could control every thought you had. You wanted nothing more than this night to ever end, and that was only aided by the sweet nothing he would whisper, only for you to hear.

“I missed having you here with me,” he murmurs, barely audible over the drone of the packed bar you were in. “You’re the only reason I enjoy celebrating my wins.”

A blush creeps up your neck and cheeks, pulling him closer to you. The proximity has you weak, supported only by his hold. You let him sway you side to side, enjoying this side of him. This side you only saw when he was drunk, and you were too.

You couldn’t help but fall back into the rhythm of your relationship with Max. His sickly intoxicating words were music to your ears, leaving you wanting more and more every time. It never escalated into anything physical, but the illusion that it might had you holding onto this faux reality so tightly.

The season was coming to an end, only a few races left on the calendar. One of which was your home race, and you had never been more excited to be a driver in your life. Qualifying saw you on pole for the second time and, a surprise twist for everyone, saw Max sitting in P4, behind the likes of both Ferrari’s.

The thought of him being so many cars behind you brought some comfort to the nerves racking your body. You had never felt so anxious in your life, not even when you were on pole in Spa. You were so, so desperate for this to be your first win.

Red Bull were secure in their Constructor’s Championship, winning for the fourth year in a row. The Driver’s Championship, however, was still anyone’s game. It would be hard for Charles, who was sitting in third, to come back and win it, but it was still a possibility. Sitting in second, you were miraculously only 24 points behind Max. That was close enough to give you hope, determined more than ever. He, on the other hand, was not a happy chap.

On the racetrack, he didn’t really acknowledge you unless he had too. Off the racetrack? Max was a completely different person, never one to break the routine that had begun again.

During the formation lap, you felt the nerves and cheers radiating off of the crowd, supporting you in their wake. Being their only representation, you had a lot sitting on your shoulders.

The lights flicked on. One by one, taking what felt like forever to finally disappear. And when they did, you got the best jump of the group, leading the grid into the first, second, third corners and what would be the next 30 laps of the race.

Max had made up positions, closing in on you in first. It wasn’t until he made a stupid, irresponsible decision to try and overtake in a corner that was not made for two cars, causing a collision that his car couldn’t walk away from. Yours was in much better shape, only having damage to the front wing.

Whilst yeah, you lost multiple positions, his DNF sparked so much hope in your chest that there was almost nothing stopping you from winning this race.

Within record time, you jumped from ninth to first, giddy at the idea of actually winning for the first time in front of your home crowd. With only 1 lap to go, you were crying. You couldn’t lose it now, with whoever was running second so far behind you there was simply no chance of them catching up. You vision was blurred, but you could still see the checkered flag clear as day. People were screaming over the radio, but it all muddled together.

Stepping onto that first-place podium and hearing your national anthem was a dream come true. Literally. Sweat mixed with champagne, and for once you didn’t dread being sprayed. Revelling in the cheers of the crowd, you were overwhelmed with emotion that you couldn’t even form coherent sentences.

Someone, you aren’t quite sure who, mentions that because of your win, you were now first in the Driver’s Championship; Max’s DNF cost him the lead. How ironic.

Back in the team garage, you’re pulled away before you can get a big team photo.

Surprise is the last thing you feel when you see your teammate being the one to lead you away from everyone.

“What are you doing? We need to take the photo, Max. I don’t want to miss the photo,” you whine, laughing from the absurdity of the situation.

The door of whatever room he’s pulled you too slammed behind him, a loud bang you weren’t expecting.

“What the hell were you doing out there?”

“…what?” you ask, confused on what the hell he was talking about.

“Your shitty driving pushed me into the wall. Your shitty driving cost me the championship.”

“No, Max, the incident was your fault. Not mine.”

He looks like he’s holding back from strangling you. “No. I told Christian that you would ruin everything, and here we are. What a surprise, I was right.”

“There is still like 3 races left in the season, and I’m only a couple points up. You could very easily come back. No need to freak out.”

“Do not get in my way of my fifth championship, or else I’ll make sure you never race for any team, ever again.”

He had never been this mad, not in front of you.

“Fuck you, Max. At this point in time, I hold the title. Not you. It is not yours to claim,” you retaliate, fed up with him ruining your day.

“I bet you grinding your ass on me every night was a manipulation tactic, wasn’t it? To get in my head, fuck with my races.”

“What?? You were the one asking me to come with you, not the other way around. Do not try and turn this around on me Max.”

Down the hall, you could hear people calling out for you. He notices it too, opening the door with much gusto. “This isn’t over. Get in my way again, and I will personally see to you never getting in a car again.”

He stalks off, nowhere to be found for the photo. You tell the team not to wait up for him, knowing he would not be coming.

Safe to say that this weekend, this race that you had dreamed of for your whole life, was ruined.

Yeah, you were a winner, but a winner of what?

.・。.・゜✭・♥︎・✫・゜・。.

Oh my god Arthur wasn't lying when he said he way crying. Look at his wet cheeks on the video😭❤️

Oscar + 2 🥺

2) running fingers through hair

You’ve been blurring lines lately.

Crossing boundaries that exist to keep you and Oscar as what you’re supposed to be— friends, roommates. Not whatever thing it is you’re both play acting as right now.

It’s not on purpose. It’s like the two of you just slip into it. Like, he calls you in for dinner and sets plates down and you eat facing each other like you’re a family. Like, you have to find him in the flat every time you get home to say hello and give him a hug. Like, your shoes are set next to each other at the door.

Lately, you’ve been watching TV together. You put the news on after dinner out of habit from the years living with your mum. Also out of habit, Oscar sits next to you on the couch. He starts on the opposite side, but your couch isn’t that big and your flat is cold. It’s not on purpose, but you always end up piled on top of each other.

Tonight, somehow, Oscar has slipped into your lap. His long limbs stretch down the length of the couch and his head rests on the blanket covering your thighs. He’s turned away from you, facing the TV and you’re staring. At the back of his neck, the freckles and moles there, his honey blonde hair.

You don’t think about it, not really, as you gently draw a pattern between the moles on his neck. You feel him press back into you, ever so slightly. Your fingers drift into his hair, nails dragging lightly through the strands on the nape of his neck.

“That’s nice,” he mutters.

You hum, fingers drifting further up. Deeper into thick of his hair on the top of his head. Softly, you brush through his swoop of a fringe, scratching at his forehead.

He presses into your hand like a cat asking for pets. You laugh quietly, fondly at him and you don’t think about all of the lines you’re crossing.

send a driver + number and ill write a drabble

🤨Everyone is Convinced that You Aren't Together

*part of the reverse trope series*

Pairing: Logan Sargeant x FerrariDriver!Reader Genre: Fluff/SMAU Warning: Name calling? Summary: What is your love language? Acts of service? Quality time? Physical touch? Let's just say that you and Logan have a very different type, and no one thinks that you could actually be together.

TAG LIST IS CLOSED

“Hey dickwad!” 

The sound of the not-so-nice name had people in the main hospitality turning in your direction. However, the person whose attention you were trying to get kept on eating his lunch, making you more semi-annoyed than you already were. 

You huffed rather loudly before sitting down across from him and whoever he was eating with. The table, comprising of Lando, Oscar, and Alex, was filled with pairs of wide eyes except for two. When the blond still didn’t look at you, you reached over and grabbed a fry off his plate. 

Then, and only then, did he finally look up to glare at you. Oscar just kept eating. 

“Did you seriously just take my last fry?” Logan questioned, eyes squinting in a glare. 

You raised an eyebrow in retaliation. “Yes. And?” 

“It was my last fry, fat ass.” 

“Like I said: yes, and?” 

Logan huffed, knowing that this was a losing battle already from the start. He put his head back down and started to finish his chicken sandwich. You had momentarily blanked at what you were there for, before quickly remembering. 

You looked to the man on your left. “Are you using this?” 

Lando, with wide eyes, shook his head as he watched you take his spoon. You reeled your hand back and threw it at Logan. When it hit him in the head, he looked back up at you. 

“What the actual heck was that for, whore?” 

You shrugged. “I remembered why I was here.” 

Logan rolled his eyes. “And you decided to throw a spoon at me?” 

“Yes. You forgot your jacket again at the hotel.” 

Alex, who had been in fear of a giant argument breaking out, watched as Logan’s eyes visibly softened. He had been confused for the entire thing. 

“Did you bring it here?” 

“No.” 

Then Alex watched the glare of annoyance come back to the blonde’s eyes while you smirked. 

“Y/n!” 

You turned around at the sound of your teammate’s voice. 

“Yeah, Charles?” 

Charles could see that Alex and Lando were getting uncomfortable at the table and wanted to subtract you from the equation (even if that meant taking you away from your boyfriend). He could sense Logan’s “playful” glare from outside the hospitality. 

“We have a meeting in five minutes.” 

“Oh shit.”

You quickly stood up and rounded the table, stopping right in front of Logan’s chair. The American looked up at you. Lando and Alex watched as you stooped down. A sigh of relief was on the cusp of Lando’s lips, hoping that you’d kiss the American before you left. 

However, you just flicked his forehead. “Don’t forget to drink water, bitch.” 

With that you left with Charles on your right, conversation already flowing due to the race that weekend. 

Alex and Lando looked at Logan with wide eyes and were still surprised to see a pretty neutral facial expression as he ate a bite of his sandwich. Next to him, Oscar seemed unbothered as well. Logan was just finishing his sandwich when his eyes landed on something by Lando. 

“She left her water bottle after telling me to remember to drink water. What a cunt.” 

With a sigh, Logan stood up, grabbed the bottle and his plate, and walked over to the door. He put his dish in the return station before walking out the door. Alex’s and Lando’s eyes were glued to Logan’s figure before he went out of sight. After they turned to Oscar who was looking at his phone. 

The Aussie could feel the pair of eyes on him, but decided against it. There were a few moments of silence before George came over and sat in Logan’s empty seat. 

“Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” he asked, fork stabbing his food. 

Lando blinked a bit. “George, would you call Carmen a cunt?” 

George’s face twisted in disgust. “No?” 

“Would Carmen call you a bitch?” 

The Briton shook his head. “I hope not.” 

Lando’s head hit the table in a thunk, making George turn to Alex. “What’s wrong with him?” 

Alex rubbed his face. “What’s wrong with Logan and Y/n is the better question. They must be messing with us, because there is no way that they’re together.” 

George took a bite of his salad. “They are a bit . . . odd. Pretty mean to each other if you ask me.” 

“They’ve been like this for forever. It’s nothing new,” Oscar finally decided to add his piece. “It’s their love language.” 

Lando scoffed. “Like words of affirmation?” 

“More like words of insults. I could never insult Lily like that,” Alex muttered, taking a sip of his drink. 

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Y/n grew up with brothers and so did Logan. It’s romantic teasing if anything. You saw how Logan grabbed her water bottle. He probably took it to her.” 

Lando held his arms out. “But she didn’t bring his jacket! Is it one sided love from Logan?”

The Aussie just huffed, before he turned around. “Benny, did Y/n bring Logan’s jacket by Williams this morning?” 

The personal trainer, who had been silently laughing at the whole ordeal, smiled. “Yep. And she brought him his protein shake since we were out.” 

Oscar pointed. “See? And Ferrari doesn’t even carry those types of shakes.” 

Benny shook his head. “Nope. She would have had to go out to get it.” 

Lando was still unconvinced. “There is still no way. Maybe they can be best friends, but a couple? It’s not happening.” 

Alex winced. “I think I have to agree with Lando on this one.” 

Oscar wanted to refute once again, but he noticed it was time to go. He only hoped that maybe this weekend, Lando would be able to see that you and Logan were together. He knew that the fights between you two were good jests, and the insulting nicknames started from an inside joke that he didn’t even know the extent of. 

When it came time for the drivers’ parade, Oscar pointed out how you and Logan were practically joined at the hip. He took his designated spot to Logan’s left, while you stood to the right. He gestured for Lando and Alex to join him. 

But with a group, it seemed like you and Logan wanted to amp your antics. 

You waved to the crowd with a dazzling smile; however, your words to Logan were not as nice. Your elbow connected with Logan’s side. 

“Think you can actually finish the race today, loser?” 

Lando winced at your harsh words. Alex just stared with wide eyes. Oscar just sighed.

Logan kept his smile sharp as he also waved. His finger shoved your face back. “You think you can maybe win a race, asshat?” 

From behind you two, Max and Lewis had their mouths open as Charles giggled. The Monegasque was well aware of yours and Logan’s fun nicknames as he had heard many phone conversations since you became his teammate. 

Max leaned over to Charles. “Did she really just say that?” 

A nod from the Ferrari driver confirmed that the Dutchman did, in fact, just hear you say that. Not wanting to hear any other comments, everyone else left you two to be. But doing so, they missed Logan’s arm wrap around your waist and your head resting on his shoulder. 

The race, for you, went surprisingly well. You had, once again, finished second behind Charles, who had managed a second race win of the season in Barcelona. Max finished the podium placers. You had been too busy to try to find Logan right after the race, but you wished deep down that he had at least finished. 

After the podium, you had been on your way to media when Ellie, your PR manager pulled you to the side. 

You cocked your head. “Is everything all right?” 

The girl bit her lip nervously. “Well, Logan finished in points today. It was P8 actually. But he had some issues with Lance during the race.” 

Well, that had your blood pressure rising. 

Your eye brows scrunched. “Did something happen?” 

Ellie looked down at the floor, not wanting to be on the receiving side of your anger. Everyone knew that you, and only you, could mess with Logan about his racing. 

“Stroll mentioned something about Logan’s racing style and made some snide comments.” 

You took a deep breath before turning to walk toward the media pit. “I’m guessing you have something for me to say?” 

The poor girl tried to keep up with your bigger strides as she thrust her phone near you. You had barely glanced at the words before deciding that you didn’t want anything to do with what Ferrari had written out. 

You were a bit out of breath as you approached the microphone. You licked your lips before glancing over at Ellie, a pitiful look on your face. You wanted to say sorry for what you might say during the interview. 

“I’ll say what I want,” was picked up by the mic, making the journalist wince a bit. 

You looked at the journalist as you put your hat on. The man tried to smile before he asked you some questions about your race. He could tell that you were disinterested in the questions, so he steered the interview in a different direction. 

“We watched Logan, your boyfriend, finish the race in P8. It was a really nice race on his part. Have you been able to watch the finish?” 

You shook your head. “I wanted to see him after the race but I had to be on the podium. I’m sure he did a very great job, and I’m proud of him getting points.” 

Both Ellie and the journalist saw a sliver of a smile on your face. Too bad it was about to disappear. 

The man clinched his teeth before speaking again. “After what Lance Stroll said on the radios and after the race, do you have any plans to speak up on that?” 

Your head cocked in a slightly annoyed manner; smile wiped from your face. Around, you, some drivers went silent as they waited for your words. Charles had been behind you, waiting for his turn. He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face, and his eyes kept glancing to your back. 

Oscar, who had been talking to Alex, also went quiet before they were called to do their own interviews.   

“I can’t speak on something I haven’t heard him say. Do you want to do the honors of telling me?” 

Your hands rested on the barrier, shoulders hunching. Everyone was bracing for impact. 

“He said some choice words over the radio, and then said, ‘Sargeant is lucky that his driving style is cowardly. He’s a dumb ass for trying to pull that move, which inevitably ruined my race. He’s just a total idiot. Next year will be nicer for sure’.” 

You pursed your lips as you mulled over Lance’s words. He was definitely insinuating that Logan wasn’t going to be on the grid next year. Something that no one knew for sure. Your eyes flickered around, trying to find some shade of green. However, you couldn’t see any, and maybe that was for the best. 

You gave a very fake smile as you said your response. “Well, Lance is just a cunt, and he can learn to keep his mouth shut. I haven’t seen anything about his contract renewal, so he should really focus on his races. I can show him cowardly if he would like?” 

Your smile was sickening as you slightly threatened the Canadian. It was then that you decided the interview was over as you thanked the man before turning around to leave. Ellie gave him an apology as she trailed behind you. 

On the way to Williams, you had managed to lose Ellie. On the inside, you were apologetic for how you acted today, but Logan needed you. You really weren’t expecting to see Lance on the way, but somehow fate was in your favor, and against his. 

Oscar, who had finished, was behind you and saw the moment you made a bee-line for the Canadian. 

“Oh shit,” he muttered, picking up his pace to possibly stop you from hitting the brunet. 

When he got there, your finger was pressed against Lance’s chest as you berated him in front of the paddock. 

Alex and Lando, who had joined Oscar in trying to gently redirect your attention, were wanting to start laughing as how scared Lance was. They had finally started to drag you away, but you were still not done with Lance. 

“And if you think that you’re safe on the grid, then you’re a bigger dumb ass than I thought. You better watch out Stroll. Your head is getting too big for your body. A beau cave is what you are, and yes, I can speak French you insolent fool!” 

Oscar snorted as they finally got you into the Williams garage, Lance out of sight. You were puffing still as you tried to calm down. 

“Are you done now?” a voice sounded, making everyone’s head whip around. There Logan stood, now out of his race suit and into more comfortable clothes. 

You pouted. “Yes.” 

Logan affectionately rolled his eyes as he walked over. He put his arm around your shoulders and brought you in. “You didn’t have to do that you know. Ferrari might get mad.” 

You huffed again, sticking your head into Logan’s chest. “No one gets to call you dumb ass except for me.” 

The American hummed before kissing your forehead and then your lips. 

While you two were caught up in the moment, Alex and Lando had their mouths open. Oscar had a smirk on his face as he looked at two others. 

“Now do you believe me?” 

Lando blinked for a moment. “I do now.” 

Alex rubbed his chin. “They’re actually quite cute.” 

You knocked yourself out of Logan’s arms before punching his shoulder. Logan gawked at you as he rubbed the hurt spot. 

“What the hell was that for you bitch?” 

“That was for getting points and not telling me you swine!” 

Oscar smacked his forehead. “And we’re back.” 

logansargeant has posted

liked by sargeant4president, y/nferrari, logan2sargeant, and 74,039 others

logansargeant finally putting it the points! thanks you all for the love and support 💙

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f1slay LOGAN MY MAN

y/nxlogan the couple that stays together, slays together

americanf1fan YEE HAW LET'S GO 🦅

y/nferrai I love you bitch, I ain't neva gonna stop lovin you bitch

logansargeant love you too ass hat 🎩

alex_albon I liked you two better when you were nicer

oscarpiastri let them love the way they know best

y/nferrari awww thanks loser 😗

oscarpiastri HEY

y/nsworld Logan and y/n are the power couple of the grid

y/nferrari has posted

liked by y/nsworld, daddysmoney, logansargeant, and 1,204,395 others

y/nferrari another day, another p2, another day of Logan calling me a fat ass (but I love him) ❤️

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y/n.nation the caption is everything

logan4president the matching team colored hearts was a nice touch

Ferrari you'll get Charles in Austria 💪

charles_leclerc no she won't 🥰

logansargeant but you're my fat ass 🤤

y/nferrari maybe you'd get more points if you stop staring

logansargeant maybe you'd win a race if YOU stopped staring at charles's or max's ass

maxverstappen1 I knew it 😌

y/nferrari SHUT UR MOUTH

trustthefund I'm still worried about Lance, he looked shooked

TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @myxticmoon @cherry-piee @blueberry64857959 @glitterquadricorn @lizzypiastri @sam-is-lost @spilled-coffee-cup @ilove-tswizzle @the-untamed-soul @allenajade-ite @starssfall @torchbearerkyle @judespoision @halfdeadsage @juniper-july19 @severewobblerlightdragon @thatgirlmj @gods-menace @ineedafictionalman @namgification @dark-night-sky-99 @samantha-chicago @2pagenumb @treehouse-mouse @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @kagatinkita @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @awekbachira @vellicora @skepvids @sunrizef1 @stan-josie @fanficweasley @hiireadstuff @barcelonaloverf1life @c-losur3 @graciewrote @bruhhhhhhhhehhhhhhh @tallrock35 @ashy-kit @kat-s2 @minkyungseokie @lozzamez3 @leslieis-crying @adventuresofrose @lighttsoutlewis

SUGA MAMA.

summary: leaving them money after sex.

warnings: pretty suggestive obvi.

pairings: lando x reader, max x reader, charles x reader, lewis x reader, oscar x reader, mick x reader.

author’s note: hi. sorry for being mia. i have sm half finished projects saved 😭 but as an apology, i am opening up my discord!! if you want to come say hi, or meet other like minded f1 and/or football friends, then please join! i’d love to have you!

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— taglist: @23victoria @maxlarens @m1892 @stinkyjax @yelenasloverrrrr @tsireyasgf @landososcar @ourlifeforchaos @itseightbeats @xylinasdiary @chelle1306 @velentine @ariellovelynn @shhhchriss @f1kenzzz @lavisenri @flowergirl1134 @namgification @hiireadstuff @km-23mr @theblueblub (want to be tagged for future works? fill out my new taglist!)

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