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Max Verstappen

#mv1🏆

Max Verstappen

#mv1🏆

← Main Masterlist

Can someone help me find a Max SMAU I read over a year ago I remember the women in it was a model and single mother to a young girl who’s left her previous partner after he cheated on her I think he was a football player. There was 2 parts to it and max was simping hard for her I think she was his celeb crush. I remember part of it was the internet’s reaction and calling her a bad mother and how she never lets the child see her real father.

MY BOY ONLY BREAKS HIS FAVOURITE TOYS (MV1) part2!

piastri!reader x max verstappen

part 1

series name: the tortured poets department song: my boy only breaks his favourite toys ~ Taylor Swift

Warnings: SMUT!, pnv, bit of angst, panick attack (kinda), wounds, blood, max (yes he's a warning), vomit mention, that's all i think

A/n: PART TWO IS FINALLY OUT (sorry for the wait) this is the first smut fic that i wrote but it's kinda good i'm impressed well...hope you like this part too love you guysss!!!<3

masterlist

you and max didn't talk for the rest of the week and your holidays were soon coming to an end. to celebrate the last night, you all decided to go clubbing. you were sitting at the vip lounge between lando and george and you were exaching the recent gossip.

you told them about what happened with max, how your feelings developed and how you were surelly falling for him. they didn't seem shocked at the news, lando even had a small smirk on his face.

"i swear everyone knew it except you" he said chuckling

"you have to tell him! he loves you too" added george enthusiastic

"george anyone with eyes can see that he doesn't. come on he hates me everyone knows it!" you answered not believing him

"okay sure" he answered

you took a sip of your drink and looked at the dancefloor where max was dancing with another girl. you shot them a glare crearly jealous of the girl. but when you saw them kiss, you immediately ran to the bathroom entering a stall and throwing up. you loved max and you hated yourself for it.

in your hurry to the bathroom, you had forgot about the drink in your hands and when you stumbled into the stall, the drink broke on the floor. as your hands held you up resting on the floor, you could feel every inch of the glass break into your sking and blood started to get out of your wounds.

as you cried on the floor, the door burst open and you felt strong arms wrapping around you. You got up to look at who was holding you. the first thing you saw were max's big blue eyes full of concern. He took your hands in his examining the cuts. "I’m bringing you back home." He said wrapping his arm around your shoulders and getting out of the bathroomwith you. "Max what’s wrong?…who the fuck is she?!" the girl he was dancing with before asked. "Fuck off" he answered coldly pushing her away. He walked you out of the club and into his car. 

When he got into the driver’s seat, he finally looked at you. You were a shaking mess. Tears stained your cheeks and the blood from your hands recovered your dress. "What happened?" He asked in a gentle tone that you never heard coming out from max’s mouth. You shook your head as no. You couldn’t tell him that it was because he kissed the other girl. 

He drove the both of you back to the house. You immediately got into your room to take a look at your hands. Dry blood recovered them and you could see pieces of broken glass coming out of your skin. You got into the bathroom and took the first aid kit when someone entered the bathroom. It was max. "D’you need help?" He asked and you nodded. As much as you wanted him far from you, your hands hurt too much to do it yourself. 

He took the oxygenated water and began to clean your wounds. You bit your lower lip cause of the pain. He then gently took out the peaces of glass from your hand and cleaned them before wrapping a bandage around it. He then looked up at you. You smiled at him and muttered a small "thank you" before kissing his cheek and going back into your room. If you would’ve stayed longer, you would’ve saw how max’s cheeks reddened after your kiss. 

He walked back into your room while you were looking into your cupboard to change your blood stained dress. He came to stand behind you and you could feel the heat radiating from his chest into your back. Your heart skipped and beat and you sucked in a deep breath before turning around to face him. His gaze met yours and you felt your legs becoming weak. You could cum just by him looking at you it’s pathetic you think. 

But your heart made its final beat when his gaze traveled to your lips. You let your gaze flicker to his lips too and when he realised it, he immediately slamed his lips into yours and your back collided with the cupboard’s door. You moaned into his mouth and he groaned in response tangling his hand into your hair. He walked the both of you to your bed and when the back of his knees hit it, he sat down pulling you onto his lap straddling him. His hands immediately found their way to the hem of your dress pulling it up just above your hipbone to grab your ass firmly. 

As you continue kissing, max tongue intertwined with yours into your mouth and you started to grind against him. He groaned into the kiss and pulled back. "You can’t do that to me it’s a crime." He mumbled in a low rough voice. He flipped the both of you over so that he was hovering over you on your bed.

He started to kiss your neck and jaw and sucking at the skin on your collarbone before gliding his tongue over it to ease the pain. His hands traveled on your body until they reached the hem of your dress. He tugged at it before taking it off of you and throwing it on the floor. He took his time to admire your soft curves before tossing his shirt on the floor. He looked at your now exposed chest and you tried to hide it with your hands feeling embarrassed. Max took your hands away and pinned them on both sides of your head. "Don’t hide from me darling." He moved his head down to your breasts and licked one of them. He started to play with your nipple sucking and licking it. He sometimes bit it but not harsh so that you won’t feel pain. You moaned his name and your chest moved up and down from your quick breathing.  

He moved his mouth and latched it to your other nipple giving it the same amount of attention. Your moans created a symphony to max’s ears and he couldn’t get enough of them. He wanted you, all of you. He got away from you and pulled your underwear down revealing him your wetness. "God you’re so gorgeous." He grunts before starting to fumble with his belt taking off his pants and throwing them on the floor. You watched as he hovered you and hooked his fingers into the hem of his boxers before pulling them down and throwing them on the floor. 

"You sure about this?" You nodded and he grabbed your waist turning you around. "Ass in the air." You did as he ordered and lift your ass. He immediately slamed his cock harshly into your pussy and you cried out his name. You felt every inch of him gliding inside you and god, he was huge. He grabed your hips and you were sure that it was going to leave bruises in the morning but as long as it was max you didn't care. He started to thrust inside you with a hard and quick pace reaching the deepest spots inside you. Years of hating each other lead to this and you were extremely grateful for it. 

As max kept thrusting inside you, you felt a familiar tingling sensation building inside you. "You close mmh? Gonna cum on my cock like a good girl?" He mumbled. You moaned in response and he sped up his pace letting out a string of cusses in Dutch. The knot that formed into your stomach finally untied and you reached your high becoming a shaking mess underneath max. The pillow muffled your moans but your cries of max’s name could be heard in all the house. As he continued to fuck you, you felt that his thrusts were becoming sloppier and you could tell that he was close too. 

You thanked yourself for being on the pill when his cum painted your walls. After a few thrusts, he pulled out of you and you both collapsed on your bed. He got up and exited your room and you were sure that he was not going to come back. He just wanted to fuck you for his own pleasure then. But, a few minutes later, he came back into your room wearing a shirt and a pair of boxers. He handed you one of his shirts and you took it putting it on. His shirt covered the top of your thighs and you felt a hot sensation burning your cheeks at the sight of his shirt on you. He layed on your bed and you layed down next to him. He pulled the sheets on both of you and caged you in a comfortable embrace while your legs tangled under the blankets. You drifted off to sleep and he did too. 

Oscar’s POV 

I walked back into my and y/n’s shared room after a long night at the club and when my eyes landed on her bed, my heart almost stopped. My sister was sleeping into max verstappen’s arms and their clothes were thrown on the floor. I quickly recovered from the shock and a smile made its way on my lips. It was time that they got together. I got closer to the bed and placed a kiss on her forehead. Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled up at me. Then max woke up too and his eyes widened when he sees me. 

I chuckled. "Relax you have my blessing to date my sister if it’s what you want." Y/n looked up at max and he smiled down at her. I had never seen max smile like this and I was happy for the both of them. I got out of the room and when I closed the door I heard my sister moan. Well at least they’re happy. 

taglist:

@g00d--vibes @f1addict3 @gorgeousreputation @swiftlyconehead @motorsportbarbie13 @paulinegba @carloswinner (i tagged you hehe)

you all should read this.

—seven days. [ i ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

author's note: not beta-read. not edited. enjoy reading.

part 1. part 2. part 3. part 4. part 5. part 6.1. part 6.2.

You are not surprised when Max Verstappen won the 2023 Formula One season. Given how he dominated each Grand Prix in the season, except Singapore but we don't talk about Singapore, you kind of expected the results already. This is Max's third time winning the WDC title and that makes you the manager of a three-time WDC title holder now. As someone who worked with the guy the last five years, you are immensely proud of Max. You’ve been working as his manager ever since 2019—you, twenty-three, a fresh graduate of Mechanical Engineering and he, twenty-one, an aspiring world champion but you've known each other since 2018—so you knew better than anyone else, better than Christian Horner even, just how much it took from Max just to reach the place where he is standing right now. Furthermore, Red Bull Racing also won the Constructor’s Championship so everyone in the team cannot be any happier. Celebrations are in order, of course, but you have excused yourself to retire early in the evening instead. Max has asked you why. You replied that you're tired and that's the only truth you can offer him.

You draft your resignation letter whilst everyone at Red Bull is partying in some place else in Abu Dhabi. Good for them honestly. What better way is there to celebrate a victory than with alcohol? Fortunately, there's canned beer on the mini fridge so that's your share of the victory alcohol tonight while you're hunched over your laptop on the couch. Rihanna is playing from your laptop speakers in a Youtube playlist in another Google tab while you work on the letter on a separate Google Docs tab.

Dear ________,

Please accept this letter as my formal resignation from my position as the manager of Red Bull Racing first driver, Max Verstappen, effective seven days from today’s date, November 26, 2023.

I appreciate the opportunities for growth and development you have provided me during the five years I worked for this amazing team. Leaving is not an easy decision for me but in order to further my career, I have to spread my wings and explore. Please let me know if I can help with anything to make my resignation easier for the company staff.

Thank you, Red Bull, for giving me wings and the courage to fly. Now, I believe it is time for me to soar new skies. I will cherish the time I have spent here in Red Bull Racing.

Sincerely,

[First Name] [Last Name].

You read it over and over again, checking for errors in the spelling or the grammatical structure.

“Thank you Red Bull for giving me wings and the courage to fly….” you mutter. What Red Bull gave you was five decades worth of stress. One decade's worth of stress for each year since you were accepted in the team. “Cringy as fuck.”

Your phone abruptly rings and you jump in surprise, dropping your phone and your beer and oh shoot, you almost dropped your laptop, too. You scramble to pick up the canned beer, hissing slightly when you see the liquid form a pool on the tiled floor. Your initial response is to avoid it so you sidestepped and kicked your YSL heels away from the puddle. The heels are previously placed next to your feet neatly but now they're thrown haphazardly on the floor a few meters away. Your eyes quickly search for a towel, or anything you can use to wipe that shit off before it reaches the expensive hotel carpet, but there is no towel in your vicinity and the liquid is moving fast so you take off your Red Bull shirt—haha, you’re resigning anyways—leaving you in only your sleeveless undershirt. You throw it on the floor. Then, you crouch down and hurriedly wipe the beer.

Crisis averted! Beer - 0. You - 1. You pick up the call after, already knowing it's from Max even without reading the caller ID because you have set a separate ringtone for him, using that catchy Super Max sound, “Hello, [Name] here. Anythin’ I could help?”

Daniel’s voice is not something you have expected to hear, not from Max’s phone anyway, but then again, they should be together right now at the afterparty, “Hi [Name], we kind of got ourselves stuck in a situation here.”

Your brows furrow, forehead creasing, “Danny? Somethin’ wrong?”

“It's Max.”

You stiffen before slowly rising to a stand. Your head begins running at a speed of 300 kilometers per hour, the pace of a Formula One car, coming up with different scenarios where Max is in danger and a list of things you can do to get him out of those situations, “What's wrong with Max?”

That's how you found yourself in the middle of the Red Bull afterparty, navigating through the sweaty and drunk Red Bull employees with your eyes actively searching for a tall, broad-shouldered, blond-brown-haired, blue-eyed Dutchman. You find him nearly ten minutes after entering the party, in a corner, on the floor, next to a yellow puddle of disgusting liquid with his head hanging low and the two Alpha Tauri drivers, Daniel and Yuki, standing right beside him. Thank God they did not leave Max.

The fact that they are in a party full of Red Bull employees and none even tried to help Max bothers you greatly. Jesus, what is wrong with these people? You lower yourself in front of him, hand coming up to his nape while the other is on his forearm before gently guiding him away from the vomit pool just in case he accidentally touches on it. If he did, you know you're the one who’s going to clean him up and frankly, you aren't in the mood for dealing with that. Max follow your hands like it's second nature for him to follow your guidance, leaning into the warmth of your palm.

“What happened?” you finally voice the question you've been dying to ask once Max is a good distance away from the pool of vomit. Daniel is the one who answers you, “He asked for you.”

That doesn't answer your question. Thankfully, Yuki decides to be more helpful, “He broke up with Kelly this morning.”

Oh.

He raced while shouldering a broken heart and still won? Poor Max. But also, you are not surprised. Not even a bit. It's very much like him to prioritize the race over his feelings because Max Verstappen only wants one thing in the world and that is to emerge victorious at the sport he loved. To prove to the world that he is top one, to prove to Jos Verstappen that he is top one and that he will go down in history as top one and the world shall remember it even after he leaves the F1 racing scene for the young ones.

“Thanks, Yuki,” you turn to Daniel and nod. “Danny, I’ll take it from here.”

“Are you sure you don't need help?”

You shake your head and offer a tight-lipped smile. Dealing with a drunk Max is no biggie. You have worked with the guy for five years already, four as his manager. That's over a hundred podiums and defeats and in each defeat and each podium, alcohol and Max become the best of friends. You’re used to this; cleaning him up, picking him up, tucking him into bed, calling his girlfriend to deal with his drunk ass, and helping him nurse the hangover in the morning with an Advil and a good breakfast.

You roll the sleeves of your champagne-colored button-up to your elbows and in one swift motion, you lift Max in a fireman’s carry. That volunteer work you did at LAFD back when you're still in university paid off in these moments.

It was a comedic sight. A 5’5” woman in heels carrying an almost six foot drunk racer who is at least two times broader than her on her shoulders. The media has already caught a picture of a similar-looking moment one time in 2019 and another in 2021—such times are the beginning of those annoying dating rumors that involves you and Max—and you can say that Twitter is mostly impressed that the Red Bull manager was strong enough to lift a high-performance athlete. Some made memes of it. You'll never admit that you saved some of them, especially the ones that made fun of Max so you could put it above his head. Some even claimed that your YSL heels must be some sort of superhero power up because you do a lot of athletic things in those heels like running through the paddock as if you were just wearing a pair of Nikes, kicking a door down, driving a motorcycle around in Monza to buy Max's morning coffee, and getting in a physical fight with Max’s anti-fan back in 2022. In theory, you can and will absolutely kill a god in those heels and honestly, it's about time YSL sponsors you because you're giving their Opyum heels so much promotion.

What the public doesn't know is that Max is lighter than he looks and paired with your capability of lifting heavy equipment and people due to your history as a volunteer firefighter, it is incredibly easy to lift him without breaking a sweat and yes, even while wearing heels. People are too easily impressed nowadays.

You ignore the confused stares that are sent your way as you hurriedly walk to the comfort rooms. In a matter of seconds, you are power-walking yourself inside the male comfort room, sending an unimpressed look at the two Red Bull rookie employees making out inside. They are horrified when they see you. You can tell with the way their eyes widened and how they scrambled away from each other and hurriedly fixed themselves while muttering a thousand apologies. You don't even need to say anything. They are out before you could even tell them to.

You lock the door behind you before heading towards the bathroom sink and placing Max there. You put your hands on the back of his head and shoulders to support him until he's leaning against the mirror and sitting fully upright. You wish he won't topple over and accidentally hit his head on the tiles.

“Hey, hey,” you tap his cheek. “You good, Max?”

You sincerely hope he won't pass out. Unconscious people are heavier than conscious people when you lift them.

Procuring a water bottle inside your tote bag, you hand it to him. He accepts it wordlessly and down it in one go. You pull out an extra shirt from your bag, “Off with the shirt, big boy.”

Obediently, Max does what he is told and he peeled his shirt off him. You have to help him midway because he got it stuck around his neck. You toss the stinky shirt somewhere on the sink and hand him the shirt you brought. Again, you help him put it on because drunk Max has seemingly forgotten where the holes of the t-shirt are and which limb should enter a specific hole. Oh wait, that sounds wrong.

“You're taking good care of me.”

His voice sounds so small when he utters those words that it almost got swallowed up by the silence of the room and the muffled sound of the party outside.

“Aren't I always?”

You are paid to take good care of him after all.

“Always.”

You wet a towel in the sink and squeeze out the excess water in the wool. Your fingers gently cradle Max’s jaw as you wipe his face. He has a little vomit on his cheek.

You're used to looking at Max’s face up close but you still cannot help but be amazed by the beauty of it, you know? Some people will not consider Max as a conventionally beautiful man. Different people have different preferences. Honestly, you used to be one of those people. You met Max when he was twenty-one and that time, he looked like a fetus and greatly resembled Sid the sloth from the Ice Age movies. You used to tease him all the time about it, calling him a kid and pulling the age card when he needed to be reigned in or to annoy him until he submits into obedience, when you are only a year older than him. The stress of racing caused Max to age quickly but thankfully, he does not age badly. No, instead Max transitioned into an absolute daddy. Thank God he is more like his mother than his father, too. His mother’s genes saved him. Thank you Sophia!

You would have fallen for him, too, like the gazillion women all around the world who'll fall at his feet, but it’s hard to do so when you know he doesn't even know how to peel his own oranges. Drives a car going 300 kilometers per hour and can’t even peel a damn orange.

Twitter is always having a field day when they manage to snap a picture of you peeling oranges for him. Orange Peel Theory or whatever that is. Ludicrous bullshit, to be honest. The only theories you know are the ones taught in Physics class.

“I wonder if you know how much I need you,” he mutter. “I wonder if you can tell.”

“Very poetic,” you say flatly because Max has the tendency to say the most out of pocket yet soul breaking things when he's drunk and you are too tired to rationalize all his musings right now. We love a trauma-dumping king.

“You talkin’ ‘bout Kelly?” you ask, brow raising slightly. You continue to clean his face before proceeding to wipe his arms and his hands.

“I don't know.”

“Okay.”

He probably is talking about Kelly anyway.

Now that Kelly is gone, you’re beginning to get worried for Max. Earlier, as you wrote that resignation letter in your hotel room, the worry of leaving Max was not present. He has Kelly after all. Kelly can easily do the things you did for Max, not that she should do the work of a Red Bull manager because honestly, if she plans on taking up your job now, you’ll tell her to run and save herself. You mean the support you gave Max. You mean going all-out in protecting Max whether from haters or even his own father and especially his own darkness. You mean standing with him, inside that open cage that he can walk out of anytime but chose not to because Jos Verstappen still had his claws on him. You mean not leaving Max, no matter where he stood, may it be at the top of that glorious podium or at the end of the line. You mean taking care of Max the same way you did, even if he insists that helping him is nothing but rotten work.

But then, she left. Now what?

“I want to tell you something.”

You lift your eyes and met Max’s glazed blue ones.

“It is in my will that if I die—”

“You're not dyin’," you cut him off, not even the least bit amused about the idea of Max dying.

“Shush,” he playfully glares at you and you roll your eyes, itching to pull that I’m older than you so don't shush me card just to annoy him. “Let me finish. It is in my will that if I die, my cats will be taken care of by you. Oh come on, stop making that face. You look like you're having an aneurysm.”

“Shut up,” you swat his forearm with the damp towel, causing him to laugh at you. “Why’d you even do that? Give them to your Mom or somethin’.”

“But nobody is better at taking care of someone than you,” he says and his voice bled with rawness and honesty and so much sincerity that you're taken aback. “I want someone to take care of them like how you take care of me.”

You blink, mouth slightly agape. What can you even say to that? Thank you? I’m honored? Dude, what the fuck? Are you confessin’ to me or somethin’? You doin’ big shit over there by putting me in your will.

Now, you’re even more worried. Who will take care of Max after you're gone? The same way you took care of him?

Nonetheless, on December 13, you submit the resignation letter to Christian Horner. He reads the letter with a deep frown marring his face. It's funny how he had the same expression on his face, too, on the first day you met him when you were applying from Red Bull.

“Have you told Max?”

The guy is sleeping in his hotel bed as you speak and will probably be awake in a few hours with the world’s shittiest hangover. So no, you have not told him. Not yet, at least.

“No.”

“He wouldn't be happy with this.”

You know Max does not bode well with goodbyes, especially from the people he closely worked with leaving Red Bull. Look at what happened with Danny in 2018. Now, it is your turn. Two of his biggest friends in the Red Bull team, leaving in search of careers outside his shadow. Being in Max's shadow..... They are right after all. It is a curse.

While you love Max, platonically of course, being his manager is not what you wanted. You did not suffer through four years in engineering school just to become an errand girl for a racer. This is not what you applied for when you sent that application letter in Red Bull and Renault back when you were twenty-two. Renault didn't have an opening in their engineering team so your future with that team was quickly erased. Red Bull had no opening in their engineering team either but they had an open spot on the team as Daniel Ricciardo's manager for a whole season. You accepted their offer, naturally, hoping that their engineering team will have a place for you soon. When Danny left, you contemplated following him to Renault.

Then, Max told you to not go to Renault because they're a shitty team and perhaps he was right because in that sucky car they had, Daniel barely won podiums, but if Renault would give you the position you wanted and worth your student loans, then you'd take it.

"No, stay."

Demanding little prickly ass, he was, "I will win next year. When I become a world champion, I'll ask Horner to move you to the engineering team."

You did not know why you believed him.

2021—Max became world champion. You hoped he would ask Horner like he told you back in 2018.

2022—Max became world champion again but you're still stuck as his manager. You reminded him of his declaration in 2018. He told you he was already on it. Two rookie engineers entered the team that year, taking the spot that should have been yours years ago and you were stuck wondering if Max was really putting truth on his words.

2023—Max became a third-time world champion and you wouldn't even ask anymore.

“I know," you say, voice barely above a whisper. "I'll deal with it."

"I'll trust that you'll be the one who'll tell him?"

It amuses you how no one wants to deal with Max or drop him the big news. Everyone knew how crazy he could get when Max does not like something. He's a menace. He'll terrorize everyone. You're the only one who could hold the menace down.

"Of course, Sir. Leave it to me."

“Are you transferring teams? Are you still going to stay in Monaco near Max?”

Monaco is not home. Home is desert and heat. Home is Texas.

“Nah, goin’ back to Austin.”

Everybody knows Texas was your home, your accent and your manners spoke of it. Some Europeans look down on it, calling you a country bum and a cowgirl mascarading as a sophisticated sidehoe of a champion. Fuck 'em all.

“Everyone in the team is given two weeks off now that we’ve won so your resignation is immediately effective of today,” Horner says. “If the US GP is held at Austin next year, make sure to come by. Max would appreciate it.”

Christian Horner is an asshole but he is at least good to Max and that's what's important.

You get a text from Max an hour later.

him: i feel like shit

him: thanks for the advil and the soup

him: also im flying back to monaco tonight, fly with me

Tonight, you're flying to Monaco with Max Verstappen. Seven days from now, you're flying home alone.