#verstappenxreader

hello! this is my first fanfic. English is not my first language so excuse me for any grammar error or spelling error. have a nice reading!!

smut// warning: 18+ spanking, dirty talking, misogyny, unprotected sex (don't to that irl!), J*s Verstappen

_

"She might be a little difficult or so her former colleagues told me, but she’s definitely going to be an advantage to our team,” Christian Horner said, rubbing his palms together. Just like a fly, Max thought with mild disgust.

He knew exactly what a new teammate meant: another person doomed to be swallowed by the second-seat curse. A few years in, maybe less, and she’d be gone, replaced by another hopeful face. And so the cycle would continue, over and over, until the day he retired. That’s just how things worked.

“I still don’t understand what’s in it for you… or for her,” Max said.

Christian let out a short laugh, the kind that never reached his eyes.“Oh, come on, Max. You make it sound like I’m running a charity. She’s talented, she’s quick, and more importantly, she knows how to handle the media. You’ll see... she’s going to bring a lot of attention to the team. The right kind of attention.”

Max tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “Media attention doesn’t win championships,” he said flatly.

“True,” Horner replied, clasping his hands behind his back as he began pacing slowly across the garage floor. “But it keeps the sponsors happy. And it keeps the pressure off you for a while, at least.”

Max frowned. “Pressure off me?”

Christian stopped and met his gaze, his smile fading. “You’ve dominated for years, Max. People are getting... bored. They want something new. A rivalry, even.”

Max cringed. Christian always had that talent. More like an ability to make his skin crawl with just a few words.

The door opened. “Hi! Nice to meet you, darling! I’m Christian, and this is Max, your teammate.”

“Hello! I’m happy to meet you both,” she said warmly. Her accent was thicker than his, her voice smooth but steady. She looked young. Her face was calm, almost unreadable, yet her eyebrows were furrowed ever so slightly, as if she were already bracing herself for what was to come. She had that thing that made Verstappen think this might be something truly new. A new era, he thought.

He watched her. Every time.

Her first win in Jeddah. The crowd screaming, her team in tears, the cameras catching every shining second of her triumph. He’d stood back, expressionless, as champagne flew through the air. She wasn't crying of happiness. She was just smiling, composed, but that composure made people really like her.

Classy, a news outlet wrote about her after her first win.

Well mannered, was another thing people thought about her.

Young and refreshing to see on track!

Max felt, for the first time ever, old next to her.

She didn’t move much, and yet the entire room seemed to bend around her. Quiet, magnetic, impossibly composed. Her eyes lingered just long enough to make him aware of every second that passed. There was no invitation in her expression, but there was something worse: a calm curiosity that stripped him of balance. She looked at him as though she already knew what he would do, and that knowledge unsettled him more than any words could have. He noticed the way light caught the edge of her hair, the way her breath seemed in sync with the slow rhythm of the moment. The air between them was thin, almost trembling, alive with the weight of everything unspoken.

He told himself to look away. He didn’t.

He watched her during her first DNF when the garage was silent, when everyone else had gone, and she sat alone beside the car, helmet still on, shoulders shaking. When their eyes met, she looked like a deer caught in headlights. She was fragile, raw, human. Of course, Max didn’t interfere. He didn’t say a comforting word. He didn’t even nod. He just walked past her. And that, somehow, made her feel small, hell even inferior. She hated that.

Then came Miami.

She was fuming, standing in front of him in the paddock, her P2 trophy clutched like it was an insult instead of an award. “You fucked me over! You and your fucking strategy made me lose P1!”

Max didn’t want to agree, but deep down, he knew she wasn’t wrong.

The plan had always been for him to take the win. To reinforce the legend, the dynasty, the unstoppable career of Max Verstappen, as Christian Horner reminded Max just after the trace when confusion was at its highest peak.

“Fuck off!” he snapped, tearing off his cap and throwing it onto the table. The sound of it hitting the surface echoed through the room. Sharp, final, and far too loud for what it was.

She didn’t flinch. She stared at him for a long moment, jaw tight, eyes flashing with anger and something else he couldn’t quite place — determination, maybe defiance. Then, finally, she spoke.

“You think throwing a tantrum makes you untouchable?” Her voice was low, controlled, but every word carried fire. “You didn’t win because you’re better than me today. You won because you had a team protecting you. And don’t pretend it wasn’t planned.”

God, it was infuriating for him, knowing that her sharp attitude, her little digs and challenging glances, were only for him. To everyone else, the Ferrari guys, even Lewis fucking Hamilton, his rival since forever, she was warm, charming, the kind of person everyone adored. She made people laugh at her jokes. People smiled when she walked by. Her kindness and sweetness were almost unbearable to Max.

“Maybe she needs to be spanked. ” His father, Jos, told him one night when he was visiting his own son.

“What? ”

“If she wants to be such a cunt and take your place, remind her. Remind her you’re Verstappen, the World Champion. Not a fucking whore that slept to get her seat. ” He answeard nonchalantly.

Ah, yes, the wisest of the Verstappen spoke again, Max said in his mind sarcastically.

But later, alone in his house, with only silence and a glass of whiskey, he imagined just her sitting by his feet, looking up at him, with her pout on her face and her watery eyes fixed on him, just like in Miami. Her eyes were wide, pleading, shimmering with something he could not name. Her hair brushed softly against his shin, and the faint warmth of her breath tickled his skin as she leaned closer.

Her fingers rested lightly on his shoes, trembling just enough to make him aware of every pulse in his body. She sought balance, not just for her own body but for him, and the thought of it made something coil tight and electric inside him. He did not want her to find it, yet he wanted to feel her searching, reaching, needing.

Her nose tilted toward him, almost grazing his knee. The faint scent of her lingered in the air, sweet, intimate, unavoidable. Max could almost feel the weight of her gaze, the subtle tremor in her hands, the tiny shiver that ran through her as she leaned in. Every second stretched, charged with a tension he could neither claim nor resist, a quiet fire that roared silently behind his ribs. He let himself linger there, suspended between desire and control, imagining her reaching, imagining her needing, imagining the tension stretched taut between them like a wire that could snap at any second. And in that suspended silence, Max felt the raw intensity of what it meant to be seen and to see, to crave and to resist, all at once.

In Monaco, he picked her up from her house. He hadn’t expected her to agree, yet she insisted, claiming it would help their team dynamic. Fans online were already speculating, leaving comments on every video they appeared in: He hates her!/ Somebody bring Checo back with Max, ASAP! /He makes more eye contact with a tree than with her./ Omfg, is he fr?/ What a fuckin’ virgin.

That morning, she had dressed with deliberate care. Her black leather skirt clung to her body, her leopard-print kitten heels gave her an extra edge. Her makeup was flawless, highlighting every line of her face, and her hair fell perfect, even better than on her graduation photos.

“Hi, grumpy man,” she said, leaning over the chair to place her bag in the back seat. Her body brushed against his shoulder just enough to make him aware of it, and the scent of her perfume enveloped him.

Max felt a pull in his chest, a tension he could neither name nor release. Mijn kleine hoer… he thought, the words echoing in his mind as his gaze followed the curve of her neck, the movement of her hands, the subtle sway of her body as she settled into the car. Every detail pressed in on him, the sound of her voice, the warmth of her presence, the faint tremor in the air between them. How much he would love to bite her neck to make sure even those fuckers online knew he had her. How much he would kill to kiss her chest and the rest of the body until she begged for more.

He wanted to keep his composure, to remain the grumpy, untouchable Max. Yet every instinct in him screamed to lean closer, to feel her reach for him, to taste the tension coiled tight between them. The car felt smaller - and so his pants - the world outside irrelevant, as the silent pull of attraction crackled quietly, dangerously, in the space they shared.

“I’ll try not to ruin your concentration today, old man. Wouldn’t want the world champion distracted, would we?” she teased, her voice dripping with mockery, clearly enjoying every second of it.

​After the Monaco Grand Prix, where Red Bull got P1 for her and P2 for Max, they celebrated with champagne. The laughter of the others filled the air, blending with the sound of champagne bottles opening and cameras flashing, easily covering his frustration. Still, the tension was written all over his face, the tightness in his jaw and the way his shoulders refused to relax. The cap he wore cast a shadow over his eyes, hiding the storm beneath them from everyone else. Everyone but her. She watched him closely, quietly, noticing every small movement, every flicker of emotion he tried to suppress, as if she could read the thoughts he was fighting to keep hidden. As she started to unzip her racing suit, the door swung open suddenly. Max stood there, his face still tense from the unspoken argument that had been brewing all day.

“You really think you can just walk in and take my place?” he said, his voice low but cutting.

She turned toward him, her eyes burning. “Who do you think you are to talk to me like that? You can’t handle the fact that a woman’s matching your pace, and now you’re trying to make me the problem?” she snapped, her words quick and sharp as she faced him head-on.

The silence that followed was thick, pulsing with everything neither of them dared to say as rivalry, pride, and something else neither wanted to name started to fill the room.

His hand caught her arm suddenly, and before she could react, her body spun a full 180 degrees. The motion was swift, almost disorienting, and she found her belly pressed against the nearest table. Every small movement of his body, every flicker of his expression, held meaning she couldn’t ignore.

“So you think you’re going to take my place, kleine hoer?’’

“What the fuck are you saying, Max?” she asked as she tried to step back, but the movement only brought her closer, her body pressing against his, the tension between them crackling in the air.

And fuck, he was hard. Having her pressed down like this, her hair everywhere, on her back, on the table. Her little moans and her legs that where around his body now. She could feel her pulse in her pussy and the only thing she had in her mind was if he could feel her desire for more.

“You’re pathetic! Look at you, pressing up against me like this. Ass in the air like a fucking slut. You like this, don’t you?”

She gasped and moaned softly as his hands moved closer, exploring her reactions.

“Fuck you, Max…” she muttered, her voice a mix of frustration and need.

Fury starts to settle in his mind and his hand grab a hand full of her ass-cheek making her try to pull away from the pain.

His right hand pulled back, but the movement was replaced by a quick, sharp spank that made her flinch. She felt a sting of surprise and frustration, and her eyes began to glisten with unshed tears. She wanted to protest, to tell him to stop, but her voice had deserted her, leaving only the helplessness of the moment.

“You want to be a brat? This is what I’ll do to you from now on. You think you can replace me?” SPANK “Erase my name?” SPANK “You’re nothing ” SPANK

She moans desperatly as her legs are wide open.

“No, I don’t want... that. I don’t want to replace you, sir.”

Fuuuck, his dick screams.

He almost ripped off her suit and as it was discarded at her feet, his fore arm pressed into her throat, her body exposed to him.

“Be a good girl for me.”

“Anything for you”, she answers.

Her lingerie was the only thing that was covering her body. And Max, of course. His hands were touching every part of her body and his tongue was licking every bite his teeth made on her neck. His dick rubbed on her pussy like they were two teenagers that just found adult sites. Max felt every wet part of her pussy as he kept rubbing and rubbing all over her private parts. As his left hand was pulling her hair like a leash, his right hand was rubbing her clitoris. Her panties were a full wet mess from just rubbing and as she was trying to take a deep breath, he felt his cock slipped inside her, filling every part of her body.

“Look at how good you take me, bunny. You like having me inside you, huh?”

“Ye-yes...” she moaned just like a porn star.

The rubbing was replaced with the sound of their bodies slapping against one another.

“C’mon, pretty, talk to me, please...” his hand cupped her face. As Max saw her he almost nutted in her: tongue out, eyes rolled back, sweat on her forehead and cheeks red.

“Harder, please!” she screams again in pleasure.

Max cups her nape as he starts going faster, his mind filled with lust over her. Just as he felt himself leak into her, her body starts to pulsate and her moans got even louder.