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housepartyprotocol · 3 days ago

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A MASTERPIECE XX !! GO READ

GRIEF ASIDE (1/4) | MV33

summary : You fancied your fiancé, you realized with horror. Oh, God. You fancied your fiancé.

wc : 13k

an : this took.. a while ☹️ anyway

For as long as you could remember, you had been engaged to Max Emilian, scion of House Verstappen.

On paper, it was a triumphant match, a union to secure your house's fortunes for generations. To be betrothed to the son of a duke was a dream most could only aspire to.

Yet, no one envied House Button’s lovely heiress.

Instead, the court pitied you.

Jos Verstappen, your future father-in-law and Duke of the North, was a name steeped in infamy. Known as the Butcher of the North, his reputation was as frigid and cruel as the land he ruled. Whispers of his war crimes haunted corridors, and songs of lament cursed his name in taverns.

To marry into such a legacy meant tying yourself to shadows you could never escape.

But duty had bound you to this path as tightly as the chill of the northern wind now clung to your skin.

Raised to bridge alliances and strengthen bonds, you had no illusions about the weight of your role.

Now, you stood before the towering iron gates of the Verstappen estate, carriage behind you, your wool cloak and one of your knight’s heavy coats offered little respite from the North’s unforgiving cold.

“Keep your chin up, my lady,” Lily murmured beside you, adjusting the trunk she carried, her voice nearly drowned by the howling wind. Her cheeks were flushed from the frost, and her attempts at reassurance felt as thin as your cloak.

You nodded mutely, clenching your chattering teeth. Complaining about her poor preparation, or your shared underestimation of the northern winter, would achieve little.

The gates groaned open, revealing the sprawling estate beyond.

The fortress-like walls loomed high, their grey stone stark against the snow-laden landscape. Narrow windows glinted like ice shards under the weak winter sun.

Smoke curled lazily from the distant stables, a muted sign of life in an otherwise bleak expanse.

“Cheerful place,” Lando muttered behind you, his voice dry. He pulled his hood lower, trying to shield his face from the biting wind.

“More like a tomb,” Oscar replied, tone low. His eyes scanned the walls warily, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

Crossing the threshold of the estate, you were greeted by a cavernous main hall that carried little more warmth than the outdoors. Though a fire crackled at one end, its heat barely touched the far corners of the room.

The scent of pine mingled with the cold tang of iron, likely from the spiked chandelier that loomed overhead, casting jagged shadows across the floor.

“Presenting Lady (Y/N) of House Button,” the steward announced, his voice echoing up the vaulted ceilings.

The words washed over you, irrelevant compared to your struggle to stop trembling. The knight closest to you, Oscar, shifted closer, his presence a silent bulwark, but you scarcely noticed.

A figure descended the grand staircase, drawing your attention despite the icy haze clouding your mind.

Max Emilian Verstappen.

He moved with a grace that could only be borne from years of court presence, strides measured and deliberate yet still managing to not look stiff.

Pale hair neatly combed, save for a few strands that fell across his forehead, softening the otherwise hard edges of his face. His broad shoulders were draped in a heavy black coat lined with fur, swallowing what little light the room offered.

You had heard tales of him: a skilled warrior, an even better horseman, and a temper so fierce people began claiming the Verstappen rage was a hereditary trait.

His eyes fell on you then, surprise flickering across his face before being quickly replaced by a furrowed brow and the unmistakable air of annoyance.

“Gods,” he muttered under his breath, his tone cold enough to make you flinch.

You stiffened, unsure whether to speak or remain silent.

Was that usually how the Northern Lords greeted their betrothed?

Max’s eyes roved over you, taking in your trembling form, pale cheeks, and the inadequate cloak clutched around your shoulders.

His frown deepened, and he turned sharply toward your knights, his expression hardening.

“Why in the seven hells is she dressed like this?” he demanded.

Sir Lando bristled but maintained his composure. “My lady insisted, Lord Verstappen, that we keep ourselves alive. We offered additional layers-”

“She’s half-frozen. Who cares if you're alive if your Lady is dead?” Max cut him off, already shrugging out of his own coat.

You opened your mouth to protest, to insist you were fine, but before you could utter a word, he was draping the fur-lined garment over your shoulders.

The residual warmth from his body enveloped you, burying you under the scent of pine and leather.

“Your stubbornness will kill you,” he muttered, crouching slightly to adjust the coat. His tone was still sharp, but his hands were steady and careful as they brushed over you.

You glanced at Lily, who hovered nearby, her eyes darting between you and Max. “Fetch tea,” Max ordered, voice brooking no argument.

She hesitated, clearly unsure whether to take orders from a person who was decidedly not her Lady, but a sharp look from him sent her scurrying away.

Max turned back to you, his expression unreadable as his hand brushed over your elbow, guiding you forward. “Sit,” he gestured to the high-backed chair closest to the hearth.

You sank into the seat gratefully, abandoning the appearance of grace in lieu of the warmth of the fire and the heavy coat easing the worst of your shivers.

Max crouched before you, his face illuminated by the flickering light. “You were standing in the cold far too long,” he said, softer now as though talking to an injured bird.

“I didn’t realize…” you started, but your voice faltered.

Max’s lips quirked in a faint, reluctant smile. “Not even when you were shivering like a leaf?”

He leaned back, regarding you for a moment before adding, “The North will swallow you whole.”

His words should have stung, but you found it hard to be insulted for there was no malice in them, only a hint of amusement.

The tea arrived swiftly, Lily handing it to you with a pinched expression, steam curling from the delicate porcelain as if reluctant to break the stillness of the hall.

You wrapped your frozen fingers around the cup, savoring the way the heat kissed your skin, thawing the numbness in your fingers.

Max walked to stand a few paces away, matching your knight and maid's distance, watching you with a detached sort of interest, his arms still crossed over his chest.

The flickering firelight carved sharp angles along his face, illuminating the high cut of his cheekbones and the stern set of his jaw.

“You look better now.” His voice was quieter this time. “At least you have some color in you.”

You weren’t sure if that was meant to be a kindness or merely an observation, but you offered a polite nod regardless.

“Thank you, my Lord.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Max will do.”

The correction startled you. Men of his station, sons of dukes especially, rarely made such allowances. Betrothed or not.

“As you wish… Max.”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it vanished just as quickly.

“I imagine you have questions.”

Of course, you did.

Too many, and yet none seemed appropriate to ask.

You had spent years preparing for this union in theory, but now that you were standing on the threshold of it, the rehearsed words died in your throat.

“Only a few,” you said carefully.

He hummed, a noncommittal sound. “Then ask.”

You hesitated. “Your father… the Duke… is he here?”

Max’s expression cooled.

“No. My father is at the border fortresses, inspecting the garrisons. He will return before the winter feast to welcome you.”

Relief and dread tangled in your chest. It was a reprieve not to face Duke Jos immediately, but you knew it was temporary at best.

“And your father will be joining us soon enough as well, won’t he?” Max’s tone was unreadable, though something sharp glinted beneath it.

You nodded. “Yes. My father will come north after his duties are finished. To meet with the Duke and… formalize the engagement.”

The words felt heavy on your tongue. This visit wasn’t just a quiet retreat to adjust to your future home. It was a public commitment. Before long, the entire North would know you belonged to him.

You dreaded what that would do to your public image.

Max’s jaw tightened although his expression remained carefully distant. “Of course.”

He turned slightly, gaze sweeping the cold stone hall.

“You’ll find the North is not like the South. Comfort is scarce, and the people scarcer. They will not warm to you easily.”

His words felt more like a warning than a courtesy.

“I don’t expect them to.”

That seemed to surprise him. Perhaps he had been expecting you to be one of those Southern ladies that demanded everyone to bend over backwards for their comfort.

His eyes flicked back to you, studying you in a way that made you want to shrink under his coat.

“Good.”

The fire cracked loudly, sending a shower of sparks upward. Max tilted his head toward it, the flicker of light catching in his pale hair.

“You’ll need to adjust quickly. My father won’t tolerate weakness in his house.”

“And you?” The question slipped out before you could stop it.

Max’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes hardened.

“I won’t coddle you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

It wasn’t. But the way he said it made your stomach twist.

Still, you straightened your spine. “I wouldn’t ask for that.”

A tense silence settled again, though this time, it felt more contemplative than cold.

Max’s gaze drifted from you to the door behind you.

“You must be tired from the journey. I’ll have your rooms prepared.”

“I thought we would stay in the west wing,” you said, recalling the arrangements made in the letters exchanged between your families.

Max’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“The west wing is being repaired. Storm damage. You’ll stay closer to the main hall until it’s finished.”

It was a small thing, perhaps, yet it unsettled you.

The west wing was meant to be yours. A space to adjust quietly, away from the imposing grandeur of the estate.

Now, you were being denied that distance.

But what could you do? Refuse? Argue?

“Very well,” you said softly.

Max nodded once then turned to the waiting steward.

“Have the rooms near the library prepared. And make sure the fires are lit.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Oscar and Lando approached then, boots scuffing against the stone floor as they stopped just shy of your side.

Their eyes darted toward you, assessing your posture, searching for some silent confirmation that you were unharmed.

You gave them a small nod, and the tension in Oscar’s broad shoulders seemed to ease, though Lando’s hand remained near the hilt of his sword, his body coiled like a spring.

Max’s sharp gaze swept over the two knights, his expression unreadable but undoubtedly calculating.

“Your people will stay nearby,” he said, his voice firm but unhurried. “Your maid is not to wander without escort. Your men may walk around but not too far from the fortress. I'd rather not deal with the politics of a Southern knight dying in my land.”

Lily bristled at the casual remark, her cheeks coloring with indignation. “We Southerners aren't as fragile as you seem to think,” she said sharply, her words cutting the silence like a knife.

“Lily,” Oscar said quietly, catching her arm before she could step forward. His grip was gentle but firm, head shaking in a silent plea for restraint.

Max didn’t even flinch at her outburst, his cool demeanor unwavering as his gaze flicked back to you.

“Your people are bold.” His tone was tinged with something akin to amusement. “Let’s hope they’re wise enough to temper it.”

“They’re loyal,” you replied evenly, meeting his eyes without faltering. “I wouldn’t have brought them otherwise.”

“Loyalty is admirable but it doesn’t mean much if it gets you killed.”

Lando shifted beside you, jaw tight. “With all due respect, my lord,” he began without much respect at all. “We’re more than capable of keeping her safe.”

“I’m sure you believe that.” Max’s gaze settled on Lando. “But I’ve seen capable men bleed out on these stones for lesser causes. My rules are for your protection as much as mine.”

Lando’s grip on his sword tightened, but Oscar’s hand on his shoulder stilled him.

“We’ll abide by your rules,” Oscar confirmed, voice calm.

“Good.” Max turned back to you. “Come. I’ll show you the library. You should know where it is if you’re to live here.”

The offer caught you off guard. The scion of House Verstappen switched conversations so casually he seemed to slap you with his casualness.

“The library?”

“You can’t spend all your time staring at the snow,” Max replied evenly, though there was a faint lilt to his words.

Was that… humor? It was hard to tell with him.

“Well..” You tugged your coat tighter. “It is very captivating snow.”

Max’s brow arched. “And yet, I think you’ll survive without it for an hour.”

You blinked, taken aback by the dry remark.

Was he… teasing you?

Shaking off the ridiculous thought, you rose from your chair, trailing behind as he turned and strode toward the door.

You glanced at your companions, giving them a small and, hopefully, reassuring smile before stepping forward to follow Max.

Max’s pace was long, purposeful, and you found yourself scrambling to keep up without looking breathless.

(You decidedly ignored Sir Lando's small snort of laughter.)

The manor was a labyrinth of cold stone and dim corridors, the walls lined with tapestries dulled by age.

Shadows flickered where sparse torches burned, giving the place a haunted sort of stillness.

You found it hard to ever imagine yourself calling this place home.

Max moved through the halls like someone who had been shaped by this place, his presence carved into the very bones of the estate.

His stride was confident, measured, purposeful.

You, on the other hand, felt like an outsider, a stranger, each step heavy on the cold stone floor.

Finally, Max stopped before a pair of massive oak doors, their wood darkened with age. He didn’t look back at you as he spoke, his voice low, but managing to carry through the quiet hall.

“Your men stay outside. Your maid may enter,” he said, the command clear.

Your knights exchanged a brief look.

Lando’s lips curled into a smirk, clearly less than thrilled with the command. He let out a sigh, posture straightening with a resigned huff.

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, he moved to one side of the door, giving a theatrical bow as though he were playing a part in some grand performance.

Oscar shook his head but followed suit, taking his place at the other side, hands clasped with a more restrained expression.

Lando’s voice broke the silence, dripping with mock sweetness. “Enjoy the library, my Lady. Try not to get too lost in there.”

You laughed, unable to contain yourself and bid them a silent goodbye.

Without another word, he pushed the doors open, the hinges groaning in protest, and led you and Lily inside.

The library was vast and dim, lined wall-to-wall with shelves that stretched high into the shadows above.

Dust motes floated lazily in the beams of light filtering through the narrow, arched windows, painting the room in shades of gold and gray.

You inhaled deeply, the scent of aged paper and polished wood filling your senses.

“It’s beautiful…” you breathed, the words slipping out unbidden.

“It is,” Max replied, stepping farther into the room. “And it’s yours to use as I allow while you’re here.”

You followed him in, your fingers brushing the spines of the books closest to you. They were thick and heavy, their titles embossed in faded gold.

“Are these… first editions?” you asked, your voice hushed, as if speaking too loudly might awaken some slumbering beast.

“Many of them, yes,” Max said, his gaze sweeping the shelves as if cataloging them in his mind. “You’ll find original prints of histories, poetry, philosophy. Most of it quite rare. Some of the works were commissioned specifically for this collection.”

“Commissioned?” you echoed, eyebrows lifting in surprise.

He nodded. “Yes. House Verstappen has always valued knowledge. There are some volumes here you won’t find anywhere else.”

You let your hand fall from the books and turned to face him. “You must spend a lot of time here then.”

“Not as much as I should,” he admitted, his tone crisp. “But I’m familiar with the layout. If you’re planning to lose yourself, I can point you in the right direction.”

The corner of your mouth quirked up at his phrasing. “Lose myself?”

“It happens.” He shrugged, glancing away.

You laughed softly. “Is that your way of warning me?”

“A mere suggestion,” he corrected, his lips twitching in what might have been the hint of a smile. “Start with the poetry under the windows. It’s a good place for… wandering minds.”

“Poetry under the windows,” you repeated the words under your breath, glancing toward the far end of the room where a faint glow spilled across the shelves. “Any other recommendations?”

“The histories on the east wall are worth your time.” He gestured briefly. “And if you’re feeling adventurous, there’s a collection of letters on the upper mezzanine. They’re in French, though.”

“I can manage French,” you said with a small smile.

His eyebrow arched faintly. “Good. Then you’ll also find some rather colorful accounts of court scandals tucked in the back corner. A few are probably embellished, but they’re entertaining nonetheless.”

Your laughter came easier this time. “Court scandals? I didn’t expect you to recommend something so… frivolous.”

“Frivolity has its place,” he said dryly. “Just don’t let the staff catch you reading them. They might talk.”

“Noted.” You attempted to suppress your grin.

For a moment, the two of you stood in companionable silence, the quiet weight of the library wrapping around you like a cloak. You turned back to the shelves, running your fingertips lightly over the spines once more.

“This is incredible,” you murmured.

You glanced over your shoulder at his lack of a response, catching a faint glimmer of something softer in his eyes, though it vanished almost as quickly as it appeared.

Max seemed to compose himself, clearing his throat. “You will be fetched come dinner time.”

The heavy doors of the library groaned shut behind him, leaving you and Lily in the cavernous stillness.

As soon as the sound of his footsteps faded, Lily let out a sharp exhale, breaking the silence. “I thought he’d never leave,” she muttered, her voice pitched low but urgent.

You turned to her, startled by her tone. “Lily-”

“He’s impossible to read!” she interrupted, her hands gesturing animatedly as she paced a small circle near the door.

“One moment, he’s scowling like the world owes him something, and the next, he’s… he’s practically pointing you toward the best books for a cozy evening! What am I supposed to make of that?”

You blinked, caught between amusement and exasperation. “I don’t think it’s meant to be deciphered, Lily.”

“But it should be!” she shot back, stopping abruptly to face you. “You’re supposed to marry him. How are you supposed to live with someone who switches moods faster than the weather?”

“I don’t think he’s as unpredictable as you think,” you said cautiously, though you weren’t entirely convinced of your own words. “He’s… reserved.”

“Reserved?” Lily snorted. “He looks like he’s trying not to bite anyone’s head off half the time.” She softened slightly, adding, “Although, I’ll admit, it was nice of him to show you this place.”

Her eyes wandered around the library, her earlier frustration melting into a quieter awe. “It really is something, isn’t it?”

You nodded, letting your gaze sweep the towering shelves. “It is. I could lose hours in here.”

“Maybe you’ll have to,” Lily said, her tone lighter now. “If he’s not going to be forthcoming about himself, you might have to dig through the history books to figure him out. Perhaps you'll even find a diary of his.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I think even the books might not have the answers to that mystery.”

Lily gave you a sly grin. “Well, if anyone can figure him out, my lady, it’s you.”

With a roll of your eyes, you turned back to the shelves. “My betrothed's dour personality aside.. help me find that poetry section he mentioned.”

Lily smiled, stepping closer to follow you deeper into the quiet sanctuary of the library.

“Of course, my lady.”

—

Hours later, as the manor stirred for the evening meal, a servant was dispatched to your quarters. The boy found it strange that the two knights he'd heard his Lord's betrothed had come with weren't stationed by the door.

A sharp knock echoed once. Then again, louder, more insistent.

“My lady?”

Silence.

The servant hesitated, damp palms against the polished wood.

“My lady?” He said again, voice cracking. “My lady, may I come in?”

“...My lady, I'm coming in.”

Then, cautiously, he pushed the door open.

The room was untouched. The bed still perfectly made, the hearth’s fire reduced to flickering embers. Shadows stretched long across the walls, and a chill crept in where warmth should have lingered.

Panic tightened his throat.

He checked the adjoining rooms. The empty sitting area, the silent halls. Nowhere.

Not even your guards and maid were present.

Sweat gathered at his brow as he hurried through the winding corridors, heart hammering as he sought out Lord Verstappen.

He found Max standing near the great hall’s window, dusk spilling through the glass in muted gold.

“My lord,” the servant panted, voice tight. “She’s- she’s gone.”

Max turned slowly. “Gone?”

“I searched her chambers, the halls, the west wing-”

“And the library?” Max’s voice was sharp, cutting through the servant’s stammering explanation.

The servant faltered. “The… the library, my lord?”

“Yes,” Max said evenly, already striding toward the east corridor. “She’s there.”

The servant froze, his jaw slackening. “You… you allowed her inside?”

“Are you questioning me?” Max didn’t even glance back as he continued down the hall, his boots echoing sharply on the stone floor.

“N-no, my lord!” the servant stammered, bowing reflexively. “But should I-”

“Stay where you are,” Max ordered. “I’ll handle this myself.”

Your two knights stood sentinel by the library doors when he approached, arms crossed, their expressions a mixture of boredom and indifference.

They barely acknowledged him, their attention elsewhere as the echo of his boots rang down the corridor.

Max didn’t slow his pace. “Is she still in there?”

Lando flicked a glance toward Oscar, then shrugged. “Yep. She's buried in a book or something,” he said with a nonchalant flick of his wrist, as if it were of little concern.

Max’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t think to remind her of the time?”

Oscar raised a brow, voice dry. “A certain scion has, unfortunately, forbidden our entry, my lord.”

Max sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose, but Lando was quick to interject with a smirk. “And it’s a lost cause trying to pry our Lady away from a good book. Trust me, we’ve tried.”

Max’s frustration bubbled over into a short, exasperated laugh as he pushed the heavy doors open.

And there you were.

Curled into a high-backed chair, utterly absorbed in the thick, ancient book resting open in your lap.

A few other volumes lay scattered around your feet, their spines cracked open, as if you’d moved through them in a frenzy of curiosity.

Max’s gaze lingered on the sight before him. On the way your head tilted slightly as you read, your brow furrowed in concentration.

His grip on the doorframe loosened, but his jaw remained tight.

“My lady.”

You glanced up, startled but then smiled when you saw him. “Oh, my- Max, What are you doing here again?”

Max’s brow arched slightly at your casual tone. His irritation wavered.

He knew you were about to say ‘my Lord’ again, knew it was a mere slip of the tongue, court etiquette taking over before personal sense.

But.. my Max. Yes, he supposed he was indeed yours.

He couldn't say that though so when he spoke, it was only a disinterested, “It’s dinner time.”

You blinked, glancing toward the tall windows where the light had shifted to deep amber.

“Already? I hadn’t even realized-” You glanced down at the book in your lap, reluctant to put it aside. “I haven’t even finished this chapter.”

His gaze dropped to the title in your hands. “Faust,” he noted, tucking the information away. “You read German?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I… only at an elementary level.”

Max's eyebrow arched slightly. You were either a liar or terribly humble.

“Faust,” he repeated dryly. “Hardly a book for someone with only elementary German. Your skills are passable, at least.”

“Just enough to get by,” you admitted, more honest now, brushing invisible dust from your skirt as you stood.

Max offered his arm, and you took it without hesitation this time.

He noticed, though he said nothing about the change, afraid that if he voiced it out you'd withdraw again.

“You might find Faust more rewarding if you read it in context,” he remarked as you walked down the hall, your knights and maid following behind.

You glanced up at him, curious. “And what context would that be?”

“Understanding Goethe’s philosophical explorations, for one. Or at least recognizing the poetic structure in its original form.”

You tilted your head. “So now you’re saying my German isn’t good enough?”

“I’m saying it’s a pity to read something monumental in fragments,” he replied. “Not a criticism.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” The corners of your lips quirked upward.

“Take it as you like.” He offered you a small shrug, though there was the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes.

A beat of silence passed before he spoke again. “Which German do you struggle with?”

“Official documents,” you admitted. “The kind that's full of overly formal phrasing and unnecessary flourish.”

Max hummed, thoughtful. Most official documents were indeed like that. “I could assist with that, should the need arise.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the offer. “You would?”

“If I find myself having time.”

“Thank you.”

He shook his head, brushing off your words. “And don't sit too close to the mezzanine shelves,” he added. “They’re unstable.”

Your brows rose. “Unstable?”

“I don’t need you buried beneath three hundred years of German history,” he said, his tone casual but his meaning clear.

A laugh bubbled up before you could stop it. “You’d miss me, then?”

“More likely, the servants would revolt,” he said, gesturing to the doors to the dining hall. “Dinner then, shall we?”

—

The dining hall was an expansive, imposing space, its vaulted ceilings casting long shadows over the vast table.

Candles decorated much of the available surfaces in a surprisingly tasteful way.

Their flames flickered weakly, struggling to combat the cold that clung to the stone walls like it was a living, breathing thing.

The table stretched far ahead, but only two places were set.

Max took his seat at the head without so much as a glance in your direction, and you slid into the chair opposite him.

Lily quietly withdrew to prepare for your night routine while Lando and Oscar remained a fair distance away, leaving the two of you some privacy to discuss.

Servants moved efficiently, placing the first course on the table: roast venison, honeyed carrots, and freshly baked bread that had already begun to cool in the chill air.

The earlier conversation about books had petered out, leaving a quiet in its wake.

Max ate as though entirely alone, his focus on the meal before him.

You shifted in your seat, the faint scrape of your fork against the plate feeling almost intrusive.

"You know," you began tentatively, "for someone who seems to enjoy books, you’re surprisingly difficult to talk to about them."

Max’s knife paused mid-slice, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

There was no hostility in his gaze, but his expression was unreadable all the same. “Talking about books is rarely as rewarding as reading them.”

“That sounds suspiciously like an excuse,” you said, trying to inject a bit of lightness into the moment. “Or maybe you just don’t know how to have a proper discussion about them.”

His lips twitched slightly, as if the idea amused him, though he didn’t smile. “Do you often accuse your dining companions of conversational ineptitude, or am I a special case?”

“That depends.” You tore off a piece of bread. “Are you going to prove me wrong?”

Max tilted his head, studying you with quiet curiosity, like someone turning over a puzzle piece in their mind.

“Very well.” He set his knife down carefully. “What would you like to discuss? Goethe? Schiller?”

“Bold of you to assume I am especially fond of German authors. Perhaps I just picked up Faust in the library on a whim.” You smiled. “But if you must know, I’ve been working through Balzac recently.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting slightly, though still difficult to read. “Balzac? Ambitious. And how are you finding him?”

“Dense,” you admitted with a laugh. “Brilliant, but dense. Definitely not light reading.”

“Few worthwhile things are,” he replied, returning to his meal. “Though I’ve always found Balzac’s fascination with ambition rather… tiresome.”

“Really?” you asked, curious. “Why?”

He took a measured sip of wine before answering. “Because I’ve seen enough ambition in reality to find little appeal in it as fiction.”

You smiled faintly, tilting your head. “And yet, here you are. A product of generations of ambition.”

His gaze darkened slightly, though not in anger.

There was a flicker of something, maybe hesitation, before he spoke. “Careful,” he said, his voice low and quiet. “You’re treading close to dangerous ground.”

“Am I?” you asked, though your tone was gentler now, almost teasing. “I thought we were just talking about books.”

Before he could respond, the servants re-entered, clearing the first course and placing the next before you.

The interruption softened the tension, and you let the moment breathe.

When the room was quiet again, you spoke, this time more cautiously. “Alright, then. Enough about me. What about you? What are you reading?”

Max’s fork paused mid-motion, and he set it down with deliberate care. “Does it matter?”

“Of course, it matters,” you replied, leaning forward slightly. “How else am I supposed to judge your taste?”

For a moment, you thought you saw the faintest glimmer of a smile. “If you must know, The Sorrows of Young Werther.”

You blinked, surprised. “Goethe’s most sentimental work? I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Sentimentality has its uses,” he said dryly, though there was no real bite to his words. “Even you might agree.”

“Are you suggesting I’m sentimental?” you arched a brow.

“I’m suggesting you’re curious,” he replied, his tone even. “Perhaps overly so.”

“Fair.” You conceded with a small laugh. “But I’m curious.. what draws you to it? The tragedy? The unrequited love?”

He hesitated for just a moment, his gaze dropping briefly before he answered.

“The futility,” he said quietly, lifting his wine glass. “Of longing for something you cannot have.”

For a moment, you didn’t know how to respond, the honesty in his tone catching you off guard. When he didn’t elaborate, you picked up your own glass, letting the silence linger without pressing further.

“You have a rather bleak outlook, don’t you?” you asked finally, your voice softer now.

“Realistic,” he corrected, not unkindly, his gaze flicking back to yours. “Not everyone has the luxury of optimism.”

You frowned slightly, not entirely sure how to reply. “It’s not about luxury,” you said after a pause. “It’s about perspective.”

“Perspective is shaped by reality.” His eyes met yours, boring. “And reality is rarely kind.”

The conversation lulled again, but this time it felt less uneasy and more thoughtful.

As dinner wrapped up, Max glanced at your knights before settling on you, his tone lightening as he spoke. “I trust you can find your rooms?”

You nodded, standing from your chair. “Yes, I think so.”

“No late-night wandering, then?” he asked, his voice carrying the faintest trace of amusement.

Max’s lips twitched again, softer this time, as if he might actually be considering a smile. “Good. I’d hate to have to rescue you from some misstep in the dark.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “What makes you think I’d need rescuing?”

“Experience,” he said simply, the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes.

The air between you shifted slightly, the earlier sharpness fading into something more subdued.

You allowed yourself a small laugh, breaking the lingering tension. “I’ll have you know I’m quite capable of finding my way around.”

“Is that so?” he replied, leaning back in his chair. His tone had softened, the sharp edges dulling to a quiet curiosity. “Well, then. I suppose I’ll trust you.”

“Trust,” you repeated, letting the word hang between you. “A bold move, considering we’ve only just met.”

Max regarded you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Bold, perhaps. But necessary.”

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. There was something in his voice, quiet, measured, and entirely unexpected, that made you pause. The weight of the moment settled around you like the faint flicker of the candlelight, warm yet fragile.

“Well,” you said finally. “I suppose I should be flattered.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

He rose from his seat with practiced ease, the flicker of warmth in his eyes quickly hidden behind his composed demeanor. “Goodnight, then.”

You watched him as he left the dining hall, his steps measured and deliberate, the echo of his footsteps fading into the vast, empty space.

For a moment, you sat in the quiet, your gaze lingering on the door where he had disappeared.

Finally, you stood, the faintest smile playing at your lips. “Goodnight, Max,” you murmured to the empty room.

—-

The first light of dawn crept through the heavy drapes of your room, painting the walls in soft hues of gold and silver. The air carried a sharp chill, the promise of frost lingering just outside the thick panes of glass.

Everything was still, save for the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth and the soft rustling of fabric as Lily moved about with quiet precision.

She bent over a polished wooden chair, her deft hands smoothing out the folds of the attire she’d chosen for you.

A cloak of deep crimson lay draped across her arm, its rich, heavy fabric catching the faint light. You stirred in your bed, watching her through half-lidded eyes as she worked.

“Good morning, Lily,” you murmured, sitting up and drawing the blankets closer against the morning chill.

Lily turned with a warm smile, setting the cloak on the bed beside you. “Good morning, my Lady. Did you sleep well?”

“Well enough,” you replied, your fingers brushing the thick velvet of the cloak. You tilted your head, examining it with curiosity. “I don’t recall seeing this in my wardrobe before.”

“It was delivered just this morning,” Lily explained, her tone light but tinged with amusement. “A gift, I believe, from Lord Verstappen.”

Your brows lifted as you traced the intricate embroidery along the hem, tiny silver threads woven into delicate patterns. “From Lord Verstappen?”

She nodded, folding her hands in front of her. “He must have assumed the worst given your attire yesterday.”

“It’s rather heavy,” you remarked, holding it up to feel its weight.

Lily gave you a knowing smile, her tone dry but affectionate. “I think I speak for all of us when I say that I’d rather you walk with less grace than freeze, my Lady.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you draped the cloak over your shoulders.

It was impossibly warm, the kind of warmth that seeped through your skin and settled in your bones. “You’re not wrong. I suppose there’s no room for vanity when winter comes knocking.”

“None at all,” Lily agreed, moving to adjust the cloak, fastening the silver clasp at your throat. “Besides, the color suits you. Lord Verstappen has surprisingly good taste. I'd have assumed he’d just grab any old thing and force you into it.”

You raised a brow at the tone that laced her words, giving her a sidelong glance. “Flattery for him, Lily? Are you trying to curry favor? And here I thought you were quite ready to sock him just yesterday.”

She feigned innocence, stepping back with a twinkle in her eye. “Not at all, my Lady. But if he keeps sending gifts like this, I might just start.”

Your laughter filled the room, chasing away the last remnants of sleep. You were somewhat glad Lily saw him as redeemable after yesterday.

After all, she was usually a good judge of character.

As you stood, the cloak fell around you like a royal mantle, its weight grounding but comforting.

By the time you entered the dining hall, Max was already seated at the long table, a vision of composed efficiency.

His pale hair was still perfectly swept back, not a strand out of place, and a small stack of documents sat before him.

His pen moved steadily across the paper, his focus unbroken even as the golden morning light softened the sharpness of his features.

“Good morning, Max,” you said, sliding into the chair across from him, your tone deliberately chipper.

Max glanced up briefly, eyes meeting yours with the barest flicker of warmth.

“Good morning,” he replied, setting his pen down with the precision of a man who never did anything carelessly. “You’re up early.”

“It’s rather difficult to stay in bed when the frost feels like it's climbing up to sleep with you,” you said, grabbing a warm roll from the plate near you. “Do you have a deal with the weather to ensure I never sleep in?”

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “I’ll admit to nothing. But if the frost succeeds, perhaps I should reward it.”

“Ha! I’d like to see you try,” you said, tearing a piece of bread and slathering it with butter. “I’ve made my peace with it, though. I realized there was a charm to the winter once I got over the whole ‘freezing to death’ aspect.”

Max arched a brow, his eyes sparkling faintly with what you hoped was amusement. “A charm, you say? I wasn’t aware you were so poetic in the mornings.”

“Oh, I’m a veritable bard before breakfast,” you said. “In fact, I was just composing a sonnet about how frostbite builds character.”

He snorted softly as he reached for his tea, the sound barely audible, but it felt like a victory. “I’ll be sure to commission a copy of it for the library.”

You leaned back in your chair, feeling emboldened by his rare moment of humor

“Speaking of things worth writing about, I was thinking of spending some time in the garden today. It looks magical with the frost.”

Max paused, his teacup halfway to his lips, and gave you a look that bordered on incredulous. “The garden? In winter?”

“Yes, the garden,” you said, undeterred. “You do realize it’s still a garden, even when it’s cold?”

He set his cup down slowly, as if trying to process your words. “You are aware that nothing grows in the garden during winter, yes? Unless you count the weeds, which I doubt have much aesthetic appeal.”

“There are flowers that survive in winter,” you said with a pointed look.

He tilted his head, his expression blank. “Like what? Frozen dandelions?”

“Snowdrops, holly, winter jasmine,” you listed off, ticking them off on your fingers. “I saw some while passing by yesterday. Honestly, do you even know what’s in your own garden?”

Max leaned back slightly. “I delegate. Why bother when there are people who are willing to brave the frost to catalog it all for me?”

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your grin. “How magnanimous of you.”

He inclined his head slightly, as though you’d paid him a genuine compliment. “It’s a skill.”

“You should come with me,” you said suddenly. “A little walk in the fresh air couldn’t hurt. Who knows? You might even enjoy it.”

He hesitated, his fingers tapping lightly against the rim of his teacup. “I appreciate the invitation,” he said finally, his tone carefully polite. “But my duties don’t often allow for such… luxuries.”

“Luxuries?” you raised a brow. “Surely even a Lord like yourself deserves a moment to himself.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and rare, but it faded quickly. “Perhaps another time.”

You nodded, masking your disappointment with a practiced smile. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to distract you from your responsibilities.”

“Distraction,” he repeated, his gaze lingering on you longer than necessary.

Something unspoken flickered in his eyes, and though his expression remained composed, there was the faintest hint of something warmer beneath the surface.

“Perhaps,” he said again, this time softer, almost to himself.

You glanced down, heat creeping up your cheeks, and busied yourself with your breakfast.

—-

The steady scratch of a quill against parchment filled the room, broken only by the occasional shuffle of papers.

Max leaned over his desk, eyes scanning the dense columns of reports.

The study was dim, the late afternoon light barely filtering through the heavy curtains. The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting long, flickering shadows across the walls.

Yet, for all his focus, his pen paused mid-sentence.

His thoughts drifted. Again.

To you.

He could see it vividly in his mind: the garden cloaked in frost, each branch thin and brittle beneath the weight of winter.

You would be there, wouldn’t you? Bundled in that wool cloak you favored, breath curling in the cold air as you traced the icy edges of dormant rose bushes.

You had mentioned it offhandedly this morning, your plan to spend the afternoon outside despite the chill.

Max let out a slow breath, frowning at the parchment before him.

The words blurred, meaningless.

It was ridiculous.

You were likely gone by now, the cold too sharp to endure for long.

Rationality urged him to stay, to finish the reports that demanded his attention.

Yet the thought persisted.

Why did it matter if you were still there?

It shouldn’t.

And yet.

The chair scraped quietly against the floor as he stood.

He didn’t bother with his coat. The cold would be a brief inconvenience.

His steps were measured as he left the study, though there was a certain tension in his stride, as if he was trying to convince himself this was a simple walk and nothing more.

The manor’s halls gave way to the biting air of winter, and Max inhaled sharply, the cold seeping through the thin fabric of his sleeves.

The gravel path crunched beneath his boots as he crossed into the garden.

The world was quiet here. Still.

The pale sun sagged low in the sky, casting a silver sheen over frost-laced branches and brittle hedges. Even the air felt suspended, holding its breath.

He scanned the expanse, expecting, no, hoping, to see a flicker of movement among the barren trees.

Nothing.

Max’s jaw tightened.

Of course. You wouldn’t have waited. Hours had passed. Why would you linger in the cold for him? The thought was absurd.

He moved forward anyway, slow and deliberate, his hands clasped behind his back as if that could restrain the growing restlessness in his chest.

Each turn of the path yielded only more empty frost-covered stone.

Once.

Twice.

A third time around, and still nothing.

Perhaps this was a mistake.

He turned to leave.

Then, faintly, the sound of movement, a soft rustle of fabric.

His head snapped up.

And there you were.

Tucked into the curve of a stone bench, half-hidden by the skeletal branches of the hedgerow.

A book lay open in your lap, your gloved fingers idly turning the page.

Max stared.

You hadn’t left.

A strange feeling settled in his chest, something between relief and unease.

He didn’t speak, not immediately. For a moment, he simply watched you, the way your breath misted in the cold, how your hair caught the pale light.

He wasn’t sure why he’d come out here.

But now that he had, he found he didn’t want to leave.

Max exhaled quietly, letting the breath curl away into the cold.

He stood perfectly still, half-concealed by the bare limbs of the hedgerow, his figure blending into the stark winter landscape. The cold gnawed at him, a sharp wind threading through the thin fabric of his sleeves, but he didn’t move.

His breath escaped in thin, controlled streams of vapor, dissipating into the frigid air.

And still, his eyes remained fixed on you.

You sat quietly on the stone bench, bundled in the cloak he'd ordered a servant to bring to you last night come morning, its edges stiff with frost.

A book rested in your lap, your gloved fingers lazily tracing the brittle page edges as you turned them.

Every now and then, you paused, eyes lifting to watch the pale sun as it sagged toward the horizon, before returning to your reading.

Max’s hands tightened behind his back.

He shouldn’t be here.

There was no reason to be.

And yet, he didn’t leave.

He told himself it was coincidence, that his steps had simply led him here after hours of restless pacing in his study.

But even that excuse felt thin, crumbling under the weight of his own unease.

He exhaled slowly, the breath catching in the cold.

Why didn’t you go inside? The air was sharp and biting.

Anyone with sense would’ve retreated to the warmth of the manor by now. Yet you sat there still, as if waiting for something.

Or someone.

A ridiculous thought.

Max’s jaw tightened.

"You know," a dry voice cut through the stillness, "standing there staring is a bit creepy, my Lord.”

Max turned sharply, his cold glare snapping to the armored figure leaning casually against the frosted stone archway.

Oscar.

The knight stood with an infuriating air of nonchalance, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword, the other shoved lazily into the crook of his elbow. His breath misted lazily in the cold air, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re out of line.” Max’s voice was flat, the warning unmistakable.

Oscar only raised an eyebrow, entirely unbothered. “Probably. But you’ve been standing long enough that I figured someone should say something.”

Max’s glare deepened.

Oscar tilted his head slightly toward the garden. “You could just speak to her, you know. I’m half certain she wouldn’t mind.”

“I have no intention of interrupting her,” Max said coolly, though the words rang hollow even to his own ears.

Oscar made a thoughtful noise, tapping a gloved finger against his chin. “No, of course not. That’s why you’re skulking in the hedges instead of being a normal person and saying hello.”

Max’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “You have duties. Attend to them.”

Oscar chuckled under his breath. “Oh, I am attending to them. Protecting the lady, making sure her suitors aren’t lurking about. You know, the usual.”

Max’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

Oscar didn’t flinch.

“Did she not mention this morning she hoped you’d join her out here?” the knight asked offhandedly, brushing frost off his shoulder. “But maybe I heard wrong. Could’ve been the wind.”

Max didn’t respond.

Oscar let the silence stretch for a moment before shrugging. “Well. Suit yourself.”

With that, he pushed off the archway and strode casually toward you, boots crunching against the frost-laden gravel.

Max didn’t move. His gaze followed Oscar with a cold, sharp focus, but his feet remained planted, weighed down by something heavier than pride.

Oscar’s figure grew smaller as he neared you.

And then, you looked up.

Your face softened in recognition, lips curving into a faint smile as your knight approached. Max’s chest tightened inexplicably.

“You’ve been out here a while, my lady,” Oscar remarked lightly, stopping beside the stone bench.

You laughed softly, the sound carrying faintly through the still air. “Longer than I meant to. Has it gotten that late already?”

“Late enough,” Oscar said, leaning slightly against the stone edge. “Cold enough too, I imagine.”

You exhaled, watching the breath curl away. “The cold’s not so bad.”

Oscar smirked. “If you say so. Though I passed Lord Max earlier. He was out here too.”

Your eyes lifted, blinking in quiet surprise. “Was he?”

Oscar hummed. “Looked like he was thinking about joining you. Or maybe just staring at you. Hard to tell with him.”

Your gaze flicked toward the distant paths, searching the empty garden.

Oscar watched you carefully. “Still might be lurking somewhere. Shadows seem to agree with him.”

You smiled faintly, but your eyes lingered on the hedgerows, thoughtful.

Oscar nudged a frost-coated pebble with his boot. “You know… if you wanted him here, you could just call him out. Maybe the shame will make his feet move.”

You glanced at him, arching a brow.

He smirked. “Just a thought, my Lady.”

Oscar pushed off the bench. “Come on. You’ll catch cold if you stay out much longer.”

As they turned to head back toward the manor, Max stood still, hidden beyond the hedges.

His hands clenched slowly at his sides.

And then, finally, he turned and walked away.

The frost crunched beneath his boots, louder than before.

—

The rest of the month at the Verstappen estate unfolded in slow, deliberate strokes, like the steady brush of winter wind against frosted glass.

The walls of cold formality between you and Max didn’t crumble overnight, but there were cracks now. Thin, hairline fractures where something softer threatened to seep through.

Max remained composed, distant, his every word and gesture measured. Yet every so often, something flickered.

A hesitation before he spoke. A glance that lingered longer than necessary.

Small, fleeting moments that barely seemed to matter, but they did. They built something fragile and new, fragile as frost on stone.

It started with the garden.

You had grown fond of the winter gardens. Quiet, stark, and untouched. The biting air sharpened your senses, and the stillness gave you space to breathe, something you often struggled to find within the Verstappen estate's cold, towering walls.

You were seated at the breakfast table one morning, fingers curled around your tea for warmth.

Your eyes traced the frost-laced hedgerows beyond the tall windows, lost in thought.

“I’ll accompany you today.”

The voice was quiet but certain, breaking through your reverie.

Your head snapped up.

Max stood across the room, a stack of documents in hand, his expression unreadable.

“…Pardon?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “To the gardens. I’ll walk with you.”

You stared at him, caught off guard. “You want to… walk. Outside. In the cold.”

A slight tilt of his head. “Yes.”

“You?”

His jaw tensed, a muscle ticking. “Is that so difficult to believe?”

“Frankly? Yes.” You set your teacup down carefully, studying him. “Don’t you have something far more important to do than trail after me like some-”

“I hardly think safeguarding my betrothed is beneath me,” he cut in smoothly, though something in his tone lacked its usual sharpness.

You raised a brow. “Safeguard me? Max, it’s a garden, not a battlefield.”

He didn’t answer, only held your gaze steadily.

A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “Well, far be it from me to refuse the protection of a lord.”

Max inclined his head, as if the matter was settled.

—

The cold met you both immediately as you stepped into the garden.

You drew your coat tighter. Max, of course, didn’t seem to notice the cold at all.

His steps were measured, boots crunching against the frost-dusted path. He kept half a step ahead of you, his hands clasped neatly behind his back.

The silence stretched. And stretched.

Then, abruptly-

“Those are evergreens.”

You blinked.

“…Yes. They are.”

Max gave a small nod, as if confirming a fact. “They endure the winter well.”

"That is typically how evergreens work."

Silence.

You bit your lip, fighting the smile threatening to surface.

Max cleared his throat, his eyes flicking forward again. "I thought it was worth mentioning."

"It was very insightful," you teased lightly.

His jaw tightened, though you noticed the faintest flush at the tips of his ears.

The silence stretched again, but it didn’t feel so suffocating now.

"I don’t…" he started, then stopped. His hands flexed behind his back. "I’m not particularly… good at this."

You tilted your head. "At walking?”

A sharp exhale, half a laugh, half frustration. "At this. Talking. Being-" he paused, as if the word itself burned. "-approachable."

You considered him for a moment. "You’re not as terrible as you think."

His eyes flicked to yours, uncertain.

"You just talk about trees a lot."

That earned a genuine huff of breath. Not quite a laugh, but close.

"I’ll… keep that in mind.”

—

Days slipped by like soft falling snow, quiet and unhurried. And so did the walks.

The first few outings had been brittle, every step and word sharp with awkwardness. But little by little, the stiffness began to melt.

It wasn’t anything grand, no sweeping gestures or sudden confessions, but something quieter. Subtle.

Max no longer fumbled for conversation, and you no longer waited for him to.

Sometimes you spoke. Sometimes you didn’t. And somehow, the silences became easier.

There was comfort in it, like the steady crunch of frost beneath your boots or the way your breath curled in the cold air.

It started with small things.

One morning, as you walked past a thicket of frost-covered hedges, Max slowed his pace, watching you with a flicker of curiosity.

“You always stop here.”

You glanced at him, surprised he noticed. “It’s peaceful.”

His eyes followed yours to the bare branches dusted in white.

“Hm.” He made a low sound of acknowledgment, then fell quiet.

The next day, you noticed he lingered near that spot, as if waiting for you to pause first.

He didn’t say anything, but it was enough.

Another morning, you stumbled slightly on the uneven path, your boot catching on a patch of ice.

Before you could right yourself, a steady hand caught your elbow.

You blinked, looking up.

Max’s hand hovered there, his grip careful but sure.

His expression was unreadable, but his touch was steady.

“You should watch your step,” he murmured.

You stared at him for a beat too long.

“I was,” you said finally, a little breathless.

His hand dropped back to his side, and he turned away before you could see the faint pink creeping up his neck.

The next day, the path had been salted.

You never mentioned it. Neither did he.

But the air between you felt lighter.

Then, there was the matter of the scarf.

It was colder than usual that morning. Bitter wind snuck through the layers of your coat and scarf, nipping at your skin.

Max noticed.

“You’re cold,” he said flatly.

You glanced at him, defensive. “It’s winter. Everyone’s cold.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, without a word, he unwound the dark wool scarf from his neck and held it out to you.

You blinked.

“…What are you doing?”

“You need it more than I do.”

You stared at the scarf, then at him. “Max, I’m not going to take your scarf. That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s practical,” he replied, tone perfectly serious.

You huffed a laugh. “Oh, is it? And what about you?”

“I’ll manage.”

His expression didn’t waver.

After a long pause, you sighed and took the scarf from his hands.

It was warm. Warmer than yours, and it smelled faintly of cedar and something crisp, like winter air.

You looped it around your neck, hiding a small smile.

“Happy now?”

Max gave a short nod. “Good.”

The next day, he wore a thicker coat.

You said nothing.

Neither did he.

But his gaze lingered on the scarf around your neck.

And that was enough.

The silences softened after that.

Some days, Max would walk slightly ahead, hands behind his back, eyes on the path.

Other days, he matched your stride, quiet but near.

Once, as you passed a row of brittle rose bushes, you paused, brushing your glove over the thorns.

Max stopped beside you.

“They won’t bloom again until spring.”

“I know.”

He was quiet for a moment.

“They’re still... nice to look at,” he admitted.

You glanced at him.

“That’s surprisingly sentimental of you.”

A slight shrug. “They’re resilient. Even now.”

You smiled, soft and secret.

Another day, you caught him watching you when you laughed at something small. A small squirrel darting through the snow, slipping and scrambling back up a tree.

Max didn’t laugh, but something flickered in his eyes.

Not amusement.

Something warmer.

He looked away when you caught him, but you didn’t tease him for it.

The walks stretched longer. The conversations grew softer.

There were no grand declarations, no sweeping changes.

Just the slow, steady thaw of winter.

And for now, that was enough.

—-

It happened on an ordinary day, so ordinary that you couldn’t have guessed it would stand out for any reason at all.

You were sitting in the common room, absentmindedly flipping through a file, your thoughts half on the task and half on the cup of tea cooling beside you.

You were aware of Max nearby, as you always seemed to be. The two of you had taken to spending your quiet moments together for some reason.

He was seated at the far corner, half-hidden behind a stack of papers, his focus presumably locked on his work.

Or so you thought.

It wasn’t until you reached for your tea, your eyes lifting momentarily, that you noticed it. His gaze.

Max was staring at you.

It wasn’t a casual glance or a quick flicker of attention. His eyes were fixed, steady, like he was studying you without even realizing it.

There was something almost unreadable in his expression, his usual guarded demeanor softened by a hint of… curiosity? Thoughtfulness? You couldn’t quite place it.

For a moment, you froze, unsure what to do. Should you look away? Pretend you hadn’t noticed? Confront him?

The options raced through your mind in a tangle, but before you could decide, Max blinked, as though snapping out of a trance.

His gaze shifted back to the papers in front of him, his movements abrupt and uncharacteristically awkward.

He cleared his throat quietly, shuffling the documents with more focus than necessary.

You felt your cheeks warm, a faint heat creeping up your neck. It wasn’t like Max to lose his composure, even slightly.

You wondered what he’d been thinking. Or if he’d even realized what he was doing.

“Everything alright?” you asked, breaking the silence before it could stretch uncomfortably long. Your voice was casual, light, as though the moment hadn’t happened.

Max didn’t look up immediately, his jaw tightening for a fraction of a second. “Fine,” he said, his tone clipped, but there was a faint edge to it, something almost defensive.

You tilted your head, studying him for a beat longer. “You sure? You looked… distracted.”

He finally met your gaze, his expression unreadable again, but this time you thought you caught the faintest flicker of something.

Embarrassment, maybe, or irritation at being caught.

“I’m sure,” he said, his tone more even now.

“Alright,” you said lightly, turning back to your file with a small shrug. But your heart was still racing, and you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering what had just passed between you.

As the moments ticked by, you resisted the urge to glance at him again, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of his earlier stare.

—

The two of you found yourselves in the library again, a rare moment of calm amidst the usual chaos.

Max sat across from you, his attention drifting between the book in his hands and the room around him.

For once, he wasn’t buried in paperwork or fielding endless questions from others, and the quiet was almost comforting.

The soft rustle of turning pages and the muted hum of your own reading filled the air.

It was a stillness that wrapped around you both, unspoken but shared, a silence that felt like an unacknowledged truce.

Until the peace fractured.

A faint groan of wood sliced through the quiet, subtle at first but growing louder, sharper. You frowned, your eyes flicking upward from your book.

Max noticed the sound too, his head tilting slightly as his attention shifted.

“What was that?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max didn’t answer right away, his eyes narrowing as the groaning intensified. “Stay here,” he muttered, already rising from his chair.

But before either of you could move further, the source of the noise revealed itself.

The tall shelf in the corner swayed unnaturally, its weight shifting in a way that made your stomach twist.

“Max-” you started, panic creeping into your voice.

And then it happened. The shelf gave way.

Books tumbled from its upper shelves like a cascade of water, filling the air with dull thuds and sharp cracks.

The massive structure pitched toward you, and you froze, your feet rooted in place.

“Move!” a voice yelled.

You barely registered the shout before a strong hand grabbed your arm, yanking you back with such force that your book flew from your grasp.

Your back slammed into something solid. Someone’s chest.

A deafening crash filled the room as the shelf slammed into the ground, its impact sending vibrations through the floor.

Books scattered in every direction, some sliding to a stop at your feet.

“Are you okay?” Max’s voice was sharp, edged with panic. His hand still gripped your arm, his knuckles white from the effort.

You turned toward him, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps. “I… I think so.”

His eyes darted over you, scanning for any sign of injury. “Did it hit you?” he asked, his voice quieter but no less urgent.

“No,” you managed. “I’m fine. Just… shaken.”

Max exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging as some of the tension left him.

He dropped his hand from your arm, stepping back to give you space, but his gaze stayed locked on you.

“I should’ve seen it coming,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I knew it was old..” He trailed off, his jaw tightening.

You shook your head, still trying to steady your breathing. “You couldn’t have known it would fall like that.”

His brow furrowed, frustration flickering across his face. “I should’ve checked it. What if-” He cut himself off, his jaw working as he looked away.

“It didn’t,” you said firmly. “You pulled me out of the way. That’s what matters.”

Max’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, his frown deepened. “This shouldn’t have happened in the first place. I should’ve-”

“Stop,” you interrupted, your voice firmer than you expected. “Max, you can’t blame yourself. You didn’t push the shelf. You didn’t make it fall.”

He met your gaze then, his eyes dark and filled with a storm of emotions. “But I could’ve stopped it,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. The raw guilt in his voice surprised you. It was rare to see Max shaken. You didn't even think it possible.

“You did stop it. At least for me,” you said softly.

He stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable.

Finally, he sighed and stepped toward the wreckage. “This is a mess,” he muttered, his tone shifting to something more clipped, controlled. “I’ll get someone to clean it up. You should go sit down. Get some air.”

You followed his gaze to the pile of broken wood and scattered books. The sight made your stomach twist, but you forced yourself to speak. “I’ll help. I was here too.”

“No,” Max said quickly, holding up a hand. “You’ve had enough of a scare for one day. Just… take a break, alright?”

You hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “Fine. But only because you asked.”

Max gave a short, almost reluctant nod in return. “Good. I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

As you turned to leave, you glanced back at him. He was already moving toward the debris, his focus shifting entirely to the mess. But the tension in his shoulders hadn’t eased, and you knew he’d be carrying the weight of what could have happened for a while.

And so would you.

—-

The realization that you fancied Max struck with all the subtlety of a thunderclap.

You fancied your fiancé. Oh, God. You fancied your fiancé.

The thought struck you like a bolt of lightning, the weight of it settling heavily in your chest as you paced back and forth across your room.

With each step, the walls of the room seemed to shrink around you, the air thick with the suffocating pressure of your own spiraling thoughts.

How had this happened? Why him? Of all people, why Max?

Stoic, distant Max, the man you barely even knew.

“It’s a trick of the mind. A reaction to circumstance,” you whispered, the words directed at your own reflection in the mirror.

Your face was pinched, your brow furrowed, and your eyes wide with a mixture of dread and something… else.

You rubbed at your temples, as though the act might banish the errant thoughts swirling in your mind.

“It’s admiration,” you said aloud, as if hearing the words would make them true. “Respect for his… demeanor. His resolve.”

You faltered, the image of Max flickering to life in your mind.

His measured gaze, the faint crease at the corner of his mouth when he was deep in thought.

The way his presence seemed to command the air around him.

Stop it.

“Lily!” you called out suddenly, your voice higher than you intended, panic rising sharply in your throat. “Lily, please, come here!”

The door creaked open, and Lily entered with her usual composed air, her eyes softening as soon as she took in the sight of your distress.

“My Lady, what’s wrong? You look...” she trailed off, hesitation in her tone as she glanced at you, clearly noting the unease written across your face.

“Don’t even say it,” you interrupted quickly, pressing your palms to your temples in an effort to stave off the rising panic. “I’m losing my mind, Lily. I think... I think I have feelings for Max.”

Lily regarded you for a long moment, her expression unreadable, but there was a subtle shift in her eyebrow.

A hint of intrigue that you couldn’t quite place. She did not seem surprised.

“Max?” she asked, her voice calm, though the faintest hint of something stirred in her eyes. “As in, your betrothed, Lord Max Verstappen?”

“Yes! That Max!” you exclaimed, turning toward her with wide, frantic eyes, feeling the chaos inside you deepen with every word you spoke. “What other Max would I be talking about?!”

Lily paused for a moment, her eyes assessing you, the soft lines of her face betraying no judgment, only careful understanding.

Finally, she spoke, her tone even, but with an edge of something like amusement.

“Well,” she said thoughtfully, “I’m glad it’s not hatred you’re feeling.”

You blinked, surprised at her response. “What?”

She gave you a small, wry smile, her hands folding gently in front of her. “I’m glad you don’t detest the man you’re engaged to. That’s a start, isn’t it? At least you’re not loathing him.”

You gaped at her, your mind still reeling from the gravity of your own emotions. “But this isn’t nothing, Lily! This isn’t just some passing fancy. I can’t stop thinking about him. Every time he’s near, I feel like I’m going to lose my mind. I don’t know how to act around him. It’s like- like he’s too close and I’m too far from myself.”

Lily’s gaze softened, but she did not rush to soothe you with easy words.

She tilted her head slightly, her voice measured but firm. “Feelings like these don’t appear overnight, My Lady. They don’t disappear either. But you’re right. You don’t know him very well yet. You’ve got time to work this out, slowly. You don’t have to have it all figured out now.”

You nodded, but the knot in your stomach only tightened as a new wave of uncertainty washed over you.

“I don’t know what to do with all of this, Lily. What if I say something wrong? What if I act like a fool in front of him? What if... what if he doesn’t care at all?”

Lily stepped closer to you, her presence steady, constant.

“Then he doesn’t,” she said simply. “If he doesn’t care, then... then you’ll be no worse off than you are now, My Lady. But know this: no other woman is taking him from you. He’s already yours. That’s settled.”

Her words settled over you like a weight.

He was already yours.

There was no escaping the finality of it, the truth in her calm tone.

The idea that you didn’t need to chase after him, that he was already tied to you in ways you couldn’t control, both unsettled and reassured you.

“I’m not even sure I want him, though,” you murmured, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “I don’t even know what this is. What if I’m just... confused? What if it’s just... attachment? I mean, he’s always there, he’s my betrothed, but- he’s not-”

“Stop,” Lily’s voice sliced through your spiraling thoughts. “You don’t need to understand it all right now. You don’t need to be sure of your feelings just because you’ve realized them.”

You took a slow breath, your chest tight as you tried to keep your composure.

Her words were soothing in their simplicity, but they didn’t change your feelings. “I just... I don’t know what to do with all this. It’s too much. Too fast. I can’t keep up.”

You let the words hang in the air, unsure if you were speaking to her or to yourself.

Lily gave you a small, understanding smile, though it was tinged with a trace of amusement.

She didn’t speak for a moment, as though carefully weighing her response. “Then take it slow, my Lady. You’re allowed to feel all of this, in your own time. You don’t have to rush to make sense of it. No one’s going to force you to figure it out on anyone else’s schedule.”

A tiny sense of relief swept over you, but the knot in your stomach still refused to loosen.

You glanced at the door, as though the mere idea of being near Max would send everything crashing down again.

“So... you’re saying I can avoid him... for a while?”

Lily raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with the suggestion. “Avoid him?” she repeated, the edge of disbelief creeping into her voice. “My Lady, if I may-"

“But I can?” you pressed, cutting her off, eyes wide with urgency. “You said I could take my time, right? Well, avoiding him sounds like taking my time to me.”

Lily sighed, the sound long and heavy, as though you were testing her patience. “Yes, My Lady, your free will does indeed allow you to avoid him, if that’s truly what you wish.”

A spark of triumph flickered inside you.

“Perfect.” You stood straighter, a plan forming in your mind. “Call for Sir Landon and Sir Oscar.”

Lily’s eyebrows furrowed as she eyed you suspiciously. “What for, My Lady?”

You gave her an almost manic grin, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease slightly as your plan took shape. “They’re going to help me.”

“Help you... with avoiding your betrothed?” Lily asked slowly, a hint of disbelief creeping into her voice. She crossed her arms, studying you with a bemused expression.

“Yes,” you replied firmly, not an ounce of hesitation in your voice. “They’ll help me stay away from him. They’ll distract him, tell him I’m busy with... other things.”

Lily opened her mouth to respond but stopped herself, narrowing her eyes at you as if you had just suggested something ludicrous.

“My Lady,” she said, her voice dipping into a tone of mild reproach, “I must say, I don’t think that’s the most productive course of action.”

“Oh, please.” You threw your hands up dramatically. “I’m just trying to buy myself some time here. I can’t face him, not with these... feelings…whatever they are…bubbling up every time I even think about him. If I can just avoid him for a little while, I can breathe again.”

Lily shook her head, a small, resigned smile playing on her lips. “I don’t think this is the solution you’re looking for, My Lady. But if you insist on this... strategy, I can’t stop you.”

You raised an eyebrow, suddenly intrigued by the shift in her tone. “You can stop me, can’t you? You’re my lady’s maid. You’re supposed to stop me from making poor decisions.”

Lily raised an eyebrow right back at you. “I’m also supposed to help you navigate poor decisions, not prevent them entirely. And right now, this is just one of many decisions I’m going to let you make on your own.”

She paused, eyeing you carefully. “But just know, avoiding him isn’t going to give you the answers you need. It’ll only prolong the inevitable.”

You smiled sweetly, still not convinced. “Sometimes, a little delay is exactly what I need. Besides, it’s not like he’s going anywhere. We’re betrothed, after all.”

“That you are,” Lily replied, her tone becoming slightly sharper. “Which is exactly why you shouldn’t be avoiding him. You’ve got time, but you also have a responsibility to work through your feelings. Even if it’s uncomfortable.”

You glanced toward the door, already plotting the next phase of your plan. “I’ll figure it out. But in the meantime, I’m going to need some assistance.”

Lily sighed again, louder this time.

She didn’t speak for a long moment, her gaze flicking to the door as though she were silently debating whether or not to humor you.

Finally, she gave a small nod. “Very well. I’ll fetch Sir Landon and Sir Oscar. But I’m warning you, My Lady, this avoidance strategy won’t last long.”

You grinned triumphantly as she turned to leave. “Thank you, Lily. You’re the best.”

As she stepped out of the room, you sank back into your chair, letting your mind wander to the next step of your plan.

You weren’t entirely sure what you were doing, but it felt better than facing Max and trying to make sense of the chaos swirling inside you.

For now, avoiding him was the only option that seemed remotely manageable.

When Lily returned with your knights, they each looked at you with varying degrees of confusion and amusement, but you gave them a firm, confident look.

This plan was going to work.

You could make it work.

“Alright,” you said, standing tall, as though the sheer gravity of your decision had transformed you into a seasoned military strategist. “Here’s the plan. We’re going to make sure Max never sees me again.”

A pause hung in the air, heavy and expectant.

“Or at least… not for a while.”

Lando and Oscar exchanged a glance. Lando’s lips twitched upward, the beginnings of a grin playing at the corners of his mouth, while Oscar’s furrowed brow and pursed lips betrayed his confusion.

“Right,” Lando said finally, leaning back and crossing his arms. His tone was equal parts incredulous and amused. “This ought to be good. What, exactly, do you want us to do, my Lady? This sounds like it’s going to be excellent for my boredom.”

Oscar’s expression tightened further. “You can’t be serious,” he muttered, half to himself, his arms now folded.

You straightened your back, summoning all the confidence you could muster. “I am entirely serious. From this moment forward, I have suddenly become… extremely busy.”

Oscar blinked. “Busy,” he repeated flatly.

“Yes, busy,” you replied, the words tumbling out with an exaggerated air of importance. “So busy, in fact, that I won’t have a single moment to spare. And I need you two to help make sure that’s… believable.”

Lando arched an eyebrow, a grin now fully blossoming on his face. “Wait, let me get this straight. You want us to..what? Fabricate your life for a bit?”

“Exactly,” you said with a flourish of your hand, as though the absurdity of your request was irrelevant. “A little misdirection here, a well-timed excuse there. Between the two of you, I’m sure you can come up with something convincing.”

Lando let out a low whistle, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “So, you’re asking us to keep Max, the man who has been running this house like a clock, distracted? To throw him off the scent entirely?”

“Precisely,” you said, lifting your chin.

Oscar looked less amused and more concerned, his practical nature coming to the forefront. “And what exactly is this plan supposed to achieve? You think if we keep him occupied for long enough, he’ll just… forget about you? You do realize who we’re talking about, right?”

“I don’t need him to forget,” you replied quickly, your voice rising slightly in pitch. “I just need him to be… preoccupied. Thoroughly distracted. He can’t be allowed to think about me, let alone come looking for me.”

Oscar stared at you for a long moment, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “You do realize how ridiculous this sounds, don’t you?”

“Ridiculous or not, it’s necessary,” you said firmly. “I can’t have him breathing down my neck right now. Not while I’m trying to..” You stopped abruptly. “..Figure things out.”

Lando, who had been quietly observing, suddenly burst out laughing. “This is incredible. You’re trying to dodge the one man who could probably find you in his sleep.”

“Lando,” you said sharply, glaring at him.

“No, no, I’m on board,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I just want it on record that when this inevitably backfires, I’ll be there to say ‘I told you so.’”

Oscar sighed, his skepticism undiminished. “Even if we manage to keep him distracted, it won’t last long. He’s too sharp for that.”

“Then we’ll just have to be sharper,” you shot back, planting your hands on your hips.

Lando snorted. “Sharper than Lord Verstappen? Oh, my Lady, you’ve got high hopes. But fine, I’ll play along. What’s your grand strategy?”

You hesitated, realizing you hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Uh… I don’t know. Just make something up. A task, a duty, whatever it takes. You’re both clever. Use your imagination.”

Lando grinned like a cat who had just been handed a saucer of cream. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll come up with something. This is going to be very entertaining.”

Oscar, meanwhile, was still frowning. “This is reckless,” he said quietly.

“Reckless or not,” you replied, “it’s happening. So, are you in or not?”

Oscar sighed again, clearly reluctant but unable to resist your determined expression. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Excellent,” you said, clapping your hands together. “Now, let’s get to work.”

As Lando leaned back in his chair, still grinning, and Oscar reluctantly nodded his agreement, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of triumph. Surely, this would work. How hard could it be to outmaneuver Max Emilian Verstappen?

You tried to ignore the nagging voice in the back of your mind whispering that you might have just made a very, very big mistake.

—-

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rue-isabelle · 2 days ago

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Hi darling. Could I please request a girlfriend x reader story where Rebecca meets Carlos little sister and falls in love with her. She like kisses her and tells her everything is fine. Like, it is a bit dark. Could reader also be younger and a ballet dancer? Thank you

Dark Story!

Love my boyfriend’s sister

The Sainz family home was bustling with the warmth and love that came with a rare evening spent together. The comforting aroma of Carlos’ cooking wafted through the air as his father read a newspaper on the couch, his mother Reyes busily wrapping her youngest daughter’s feet in bandages, and Blanca chattered animatedly about her day.

“You know, mamá,” Blanca teased, leaning on the back of the couch. “She’s probably going to dance until her feet fall off one day.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Reyes said, clicking her tongue. She dabbed a bit of ointment onto the raw patches of Yn’s feet, her expression a mixture of pride and concern. “She already pushes herself too hard. Mira, niña, you don’t have to be perfect every single time.”

Yn winced slightly at the sting of the ointment but smiled at her mother. “I’m not trying to be perfect, mamá. I just love it, that’s all. Besides, you know I can’t leave a rehearsal unfinished.”

Her father chimed in from the couch, setting down his newspaper. “We all admire your dedication, mi niña, but you’re still human. Even ballerinas need to rest.”

“Exactly!” Blanca cut in. “Why do you think Carlos is always stuffing you full of food? You’re going to waste away otherwise.”

Yn rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small laugh. “I think Carlos just likes an excuse to cook. He thinks he’s a chef now.”

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway interrupted their conversation, followed by the slam of a car door.

“Speaking of Carlos,” Reyes said, tying off the bandage and patting Yn’s knee. “He’s home. Finally, we can eat.”

Carlos walked in a moment later, balancing a couple of containers in his hands. His dark hair was slightly windswept, and a grin stretched across his face. “I hope you’re all hungry. I made enough to feed an army.”

“Like always,” Blanca joked as she hopped off the couch to grab the bags from her brother.

“Wait,” Carlos said, holding up a hand. “Before you all start eating without me, I brought someone to meet you.” He stepped aside, revealing a woman standing shyly in the doorway.

“This is Rebecca,” Carlos introduced. “She’s… well, she’s my girlfriend.”

The room went silent for a moment, and then Reyes rose to her feet, smoothing her hands down her apron. “Carlos, you didn’t say anything about bringing a guest, but it’s lovely to meet you, Rebecca.”

Rebecca smiled warmly. “Thank you so much for having me, Mrs. Sainz. I hope I’m not imposing.”

“Nonsense,” Reyes replied, gesturing her inside. “Come, come, sit. Any guest of Carlos is a guest of ours. Yn, make room.”

Yn, who had been sitting cross-legged on the couch, quickly shuffled over to make space. “Hi,” she said softly, offering Rebecca a shy smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“And you as well,” Rebecca replied, her gaze lingering on Yn for just a moment longer than necessary. Yn’s delicate features, framed by her slightly messy bun, caught Rebecca off guard. There was something so ethereal about her, like she was a ballerina even offstage.

Blanca, always the outgoing one, quickly pulled Rebecca into the fold of conversation. “So, Rebecca, how did you meet Carlos? Please tell me it was something romantic.”

“Blanca!” Carlos groaned, setting the food containers on the dining table.

Rebecca chuckled, settling into the couch beside Yn. “Well, not exactly romantic. We met through mutual friends, and he invited me to one of his races. I guess we just… clicked after that.”

As the family talked and laughed, Yn sat quietly, content to listen. Rebecca, however, found herself stealing glances at Yn. The younger woman had a quiet, almost magnetic presence. She wasn’t flashy or loud like Carlos, but there was a grace to her that Rebecca found utterly captivating.

When dinner was served, Carlos made sure to pile an extra helping of food onto Yn’s plate.

“Carlos, I can’t eat all of this!” Yn protested.

“You can and you will,” Carlos insisted. “You’re too thin. Do you even eat at the studio?”

“I eat enough,” Yn mumbled, but she didn’t argue further, knowing it was a battle she’d lose.

Rebecca watched the exchange with a smile. “You’re a ballerina, right?” she asked Yn.

Yn nodded, swallowing a bite of food. “Yes. I train almost every evening.”

“That’s incredible,” Rebecca said. “I’ve always admired dancers. It’s such a beautiful art form. Do you perform often?”

“Not as much as I’d like,” Yn admitted. “Most of my time is spent training or rehearsing, but it’s worth it when I get to be on stage.”

As Yn spoke about ballet, her face lit up, and Rebecca found herself hanging on every word. There was a passion in Yn’s voice that was infectious, and Rebecca couldn’t help but think how unfair it was for someone to be so talented and so… beautiful.

The evening wore on, and as the family grew more comfortable with Rebecca, she felt increasingly out of place. Not because they were unkind—they were wonderful, warm people—but because she couldn’t stop noticing Yn. The way her smile curved just slightly to the left, the way she absentmindedly brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, the way she moved with a dancer’s grace even when she was just sitting at the table.

Later, as the family said their goodnights and Carlos prepared to drive Rebecca home, she found herself lingering by the door, glancing back at Yn one last time.

“Thank you for having me,” Rebecca said, directing her words to the whole family but looking directly at Yn. “It was lovely to meet you all.”

“Come back anytime,” Reyes said warmly, while Yn gave a small wave. “Goodnight.”

As Carlos led Rebecca out to the car, he grinned at her. “So, what did you think?”

Rebecca hesitated for a moment, her thoughts swirling. “Your family is wonderful, Carlos,” she said finally, though the image of Yn’s shy smile lingered in her mind.

And as they drove off into the night, Rebecca couldn’t shake the feeling that she was leaving something—or someone—very important behind.

Over the following months, Rebecca became a regular presence in the Sainz household.

She seemed to have slotted into their lives effortlessly, joining them for dinners, outings, and family activities. To Carlos, it was a dream come true—his girlfriend got along with his family like she’d always been a part of it. To Rebecca, it was the perfect excuse to spend more time with Yn.

The friendship between the two young women had grown naturally—or so it seemed. Rebecca would casually suggest little outings, always under the guise of wanting to bond with her boyfriend’s younger sister.

“Yn, I need you to come with me,” Rebecca said one afternoon, leaning against the doorframe of Yn’s room.

Yn looked up from her book, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “What for?”

“Shopping,” Rebecca said with a grin. “You have to help me pick out something for Carlos. You’re the only one who knows what he likes better than me.”

Yn laughed and closed her book. “I doubt that, but okay. Let me grab my shoes.”

At first, the outings were simple and innocent—shopping trips, movie nights, or getting their nails done. Yn appreciated having someone to share her free time with, especially since her schedule was often consumed by ballet.

Rebecca, however, saw it differently. Every smile Yn gave her, every laugh they shared, felt like a step closer to something forbidden. Rebecca began to crave Yn’s attention, finding excuses to be near her or to touch her.

“Your hair is so soft,” Rebecca commented one day as they sat on Yn’s bed, going through a stack of photos from Yn’s last performance. Rebecca reached out, brushing a strand of Yn’s hair behind her ear.

Yn blinked in surprise but smiled. “Thanks. It’s a mess after rehearsals, though. I’m always sweaty and gross.”

Rebecca shook her head. “I don’t believe that for a second. You’re always beautiful.”

Yn flushed slightly, laughing off the compliment. “You’re exaggerating.”

But Rebecca wasn’t. To her, Yn was radiant—her innocence, her passion, her delicate beauty. Everything about her drew Rebecca in like a moth to a flame.

As their bond deepened, Rebecca grew bolder. She began to find reasons to touch Yn—a hand on her back as they walked, holding her hand during movies, even kissing her cheek when they were alone.

Yn, in her naivety, thought nothing of it. She assumed this was how close friends—or maybe even sisters—acted.

One summer afternoon, the family gathered in the garden for a lazy, sun-drenched day. Carlos was manning the grill with their father, while Blanca and Reyes were sitting at a table nearby, chatting and sipping iced drinks. Yn and Rebecca were in the pool, splashing around in the cool water.

“Come on, Yn!” Rebecca called, swimming toward her. “You’re not tired already, are you?”

Yn laughed, leaning against the edge of the pool. “I might be. I had rehearsal this morning, remember?”

Rebecca swam closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You work too hard. Come here, I’ll help you out.”

Before Yn could protest, Rebecca was hoisting her up, her strong hands gripping Yn’s waist. “Wrap your legs around me,” Rebecca instructed.

Yn hesitated for a moment, but Rebecca’s firm grip made her feel secure. She wrapped her legs around Rebecca’s waist and looped her arms around her neck.

“There we go,” Rebecca said, her voice soft, almost intimate. Her hands moved to Yn’s thighs, steadying her. “See? I’ve got you.”

Yn rested her head on Rebecca’s shoulder, feeling the warmth of the sun on her back. “Thanks, Rebecca. You’re always so nice to me.”

Rebecca’s heart raced at the closeness, the feel of Yn’s body pressed against hers, particularly Yn's soft, round breast. Her hands slid down slightly, brushing against Yn’s ass. She gave a gentle squeeze, her fingers trailing lower.

Yn didn’t seem to notice. She giggled softly, her head still resting on Rebecca’s shoulder. “You’re really strong.”

Rebecca smiled, her voice low. “Anything for you, Yn.”

From the patio, Carlos glanced over at the pool. “Rebecca, is Yn okay?”

Rebecca turned her head slightly, giving him a reassuring smile. “She’s fine. Just tired from rehearsal. I’m keeping her from sinking.”

Blanca laughed. “Our little ballerina always needs someone to catch her when she’s overworked.”

Reyes shook her head fondly. “That girl pushes herself too hard. Thank you for looking after her, Rebecca.”

Rebecca turned her attention back to Yn, her fingers still lingering on the younger girl’s ass. “It’s no trouble at all,” she said softly, her words meant for Yn alone.

Yn lifted her head, smiling brightly at Rebecca. “You’re the best. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Rebecca’s chest tightened at the words. In her mind, they were more than just an innocent expression of gratitude. To her, they were proof of the connection she believed they shared.

But as the family laughed and chatted in the background, Rebecca knew she has to tread carefully. For now, she would savor these stolen moments, each bringing her closer to the girl that had unknowingly stolen her heart.

A few days later, the rain drizzled gently on the windshield, the rhythmic pattering a soft backdrop to Rebecca's steady breathing as she waited in the car outside the studio. The faint glow of the streetlights illuminated the empty parking lot, casting long shadows that danced with the occasional gust of wind.

She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, glancing at the studio's doors. Moments later, they opened, and there Yn was, her hair slightly damp from sweat, her tired frame illuminated by the faint glow of the fluorescent lights behind her.

Rebecca watched her for a moment, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Yn looked exhausted, her duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a water bottle in her other hand. Yet, even now, she was beautiful. Rebecca stepped out of the car, opening the umbrella and walking toward her.

"You didn't have to wait outside, you know," Yn said, her voice tinged with guilt as Rebecca reached her.

"I wanted to," Rebecca replied simply, her voice warm. She gently took Yn's duffel bag, slinging it over her own shoulder before reaching for her hand. "Come on. Let’s get you home."

Yn hesitated for a moment, her hand lingering in Rebecca’s before squeezing lightly. "Thanks, Becca."

Rebecca didn’t reply, instead guiding her toward the car. She opened the passenger door for Yn, waiting until she was seated before setting the duffel bag in the backseat and getting behind the wheel.

As they pulled onto the empty road, the soft hum of the engine filled the space between them, mingling with the sound of the rain against the car. Yn sighed, leaning her head back against the seat.

"Long day?" Rebecca asked, her eyes flicking briefly from the road to Yn before returning to the windshield.

"You have no idea," Yn groaned, stretching slightly. "I was stuck on the same routine for hours. I just couldn’t get the last part right. It’s so frustrating."

Rebecca glanced at her again, a small smile playing on her lips. "You’re too hard on yourself. I’m sure it’s already amazing."

Yn shook her head, a tired but amused laugh escaping her lips. "You always say that."

"Because it’s true," Rebecca said softly, her voice carrying a conviction that made Yn pause. She looked at Rebecca, her tired gaze softening.

"Thanks," Yn murmured, her voice barely audible above the rain.

Rebecca reached over briefly, her fingers brushing Yn's knee in a comforting gesture before returning to the wheel. "Anytime."

The conversation flowed easily after that, Yn recounting her struggles in the studio and Rebecca listening intently, occasionally chiming in with a question or a comment. The road stretched ahead of them, deserted and glistening with rain.

When they approached a red light, Rebecca slowed the car to a stop.

It was then that she turned to Yn, her expression unreadable. Before Yn could ask what was wrong, Rebecca cupped her face with both hands, her thumbs brushing gently against Yn's cheeks. Yn's breath hitched, her eyes widening in surprise.

"Rebecca, what are you—" Yn began, but her words were cut off as Rebecca leaned in, her lips capturing Yn's in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was intense, filled with a desperation that left Yn reeling.

"Becca—" Yn tried to pull back, her voice muffled against Rebecca's lips, but Rebecca didn’t let her go. Her hands held Yn firmly, one sliding to the back of her neck while the other rested on her cheek.

"I love you," Rebecca whispered against Yn's lips, her voice raw. She moved her hand and unbuckled Yn's seatbelt before pulling the younger girl on ber lap.

Her forehead pressed against Yn’s as she continued, her breath warm against Yn’s skin. "I love you, and I can’t keep pretending I don’t."

Yn stared at her, her heart pounding in her chest. She started to get nervous about this whole situation. "What are you talking about? What about Carlos—"

"Carlos doesn’t mean anything to me," Rebecca interrupted, her voice firm. Her hands moved to Yn’s hips, gripping her as though she were afraid she might disappear. "He never did. It’s always been you, Yn."

"Rebecca, no..." Yn’s voice wavered, her mind racing as she tried to process what was happening.

But before she could say anything more, Rebecca’s lips were on hers again, silencing her protests.

This time, the kiss was rougher, even more intense. Rebecca’s hands moved to Yn's ass, squeezing it with practiced ease. Yn gasped as Rebecca guided her forward, making her grind onto Rebecca’s lap.

"Rebecca, wait—" Yn began, but the words caught in her throat as Rebecca’s hands found her breast, pulling her shirt down.

"Just… let me," Rebecca murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She immediately moved her mouth towards Yn nipple, sucking and biting it. Her other hand tugged her other nipple harshly.

When Yn tried to move away, she kissed her again. One hand moved to her hip, while the other started touching Yn between her legs.

She moved it left and right, putting pressure on Yn's pleasure button.

The hand that held her hip moved to Yn chin, making her look at Rebecca. Rebecca moved ger hand fast in-between Yn legs.

Yn legs started shaking, she was approaching her orgasm closer and closer but looked very displeased.

Rebecca moved her mouth to Yn ear, whispering to her: " You are mine now. Mine alone."

#formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #rebecca would leave carlos for yn #rebecca donaldson #rebecca donaldson x reader #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x sister!reader #sainz!sister #ballerina #charles leclerc x reader #lando norris x reader #max verstappen x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #dark!fic #-��

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obsessedhoneycomb · 3 days ago

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Boyfriend size

Max Verstappen x fem!reader

Summary: Being the personal photographer and manager of Max’s socials got your feelings caught in a mess. Everybody knows besides Max.

Warnings: none

A/N: Had this in my drafts for a long time. Just a silly little thing.

———

“Oscar! What’re you doing here?” You smiled at Oscar, who walked towards you, while you were typing on your phone.

“Just messing around and I saw you. I must say, that work you put through that instagram of Max’s, good job. Looks like you’re a number one fan.” Oscar teased you, smiling amused.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You scoffed, putting your phone to the pocket of your jeans.

“Hey, I know you for a long time. Everybody sees that. Even Max.” Oscar smiled mischievously.

“What? He said something?”You blurted out immediately.

“Maybe, I don’t know.” He just shrugged his shoulders.

“You’re just teasing me.”

“Hey, what’s up?” Max stood beside them.

You smiled kindly as always, Oscar looking at you, seeing the way you look at Max and rolled his eyes.

“She was just talking about her crush.” Oscar said smugly.

“What- No!” Your cheeks reddened, giving Oscar offended look.

“Oh, I’m in for some gossip.” Max smirked.

“That’s not-“

“He’s a driver.” Oscar wiggled his brows excited.

“Hmm. Who would that might be…” Max looked like was thinking about something.

You stood there frozen to the ground, your palms getting sweaty as your heart pounded in your chest.

Oscar was just about to say another hint, but you put your hand over his mouth. “Shut up, Oscar.”

Max was amused by your reaction. “Maybe we could help you to set you up with that driver, on a date.”

You looked at Max, your breath hitching in your throat.

“I see, here’s all the fun.” George just walked towards them, laughing softly.

“Oh my god…” you whispered to yourself.

“Ha! I know.” Max said pointing to Oscar, who frowned in horror.

“No, you got it wrong.” Oscar said while you were working on tackling him to the ground.

“You little shit.” You said in low voice.

“What’s the matter between them?” George asked Max.

“Oscar was just about to reveal her crush.” Max chuckled obliviously.

George looked at him with raised brows. “I know who that is.”

You heard what George said, perking your ears, taking step off from Oscar, who chuckled while he tried to get back on his feet.

“How do you all know, but I don’t?” Max furrowed his brows.

“Everybody knows actually. It’s really hard to not see it.” George smirked while you cleared your throat.

———

After this conversation Max tried to wrap his mind around it. He liked you being around. A lot. And you had someone on your mind, who’s also driver. All he could muster was that you were always able to get photos of him in the best angles, working on his fan page, your eyes were always on him. Getting one plus one his eyes widened at realisation.

It’s really hard to not see it.

You stood near the entrance of the garage looking around the track. The breeze was cold and you were wearing only a thin sweater and blouse with RedBull logo. Hugging your arms you tried to warm up. Max noticed you were shivering. Taking off his RedBull soft shell coat, he put it over your shoulders.

“You’re cold.” He said while standing behind you rubbing his hands against your upper arms through the material of the coat.

You were taken aback by his reaction, only to feel the warmth spreading from your chest. “I forgot my jacket.”

“You can also hug me to get more warmth.” He chuckled.

“Hehe, you’re funny.” Your cheeks were hot.

“I’m serious.” Max slowly turned you around to face him, wrapping his arms around you pulling you to his chest. You hugged him back, resting your head on his chest, exhaling with ease. They stood there for a while, getting looks from the people around.

“This is so much better. Thank you.” You murmured to his chest. Inhaling his scent, you felt like home.

“Honestly, I could spent all day having you in my arms.” Max rested his head on the top of your head.

“Really?” You smiled to his chest.

“Yeah. You’re my favourite person.” he said and you looked up at him, clearly flustered from the situation.

“I really like you, Max.” You said, thinking it’s the right time.

“So, I’m the driver, huh?” Max chuckled pinpointing the conversation about your crush.

“That’s right.”

“I was so blind to not see the hints.” Max wrapped you more into his coat.

“I wasn’t helping either. I’m usually just staring, smiling and blushing when you’re near.”

“So, are you ready to be my girl?” Max cupped your face with smile.

You placed your hands over his. “More than ready, Max.”

Claiming your lips with his in soft and gentle kiss, you leaned more into him, feeling your heart fluttering with happiness.

———

Max was on the track racing, and you took the best shots from different places as usual, still wearing his RedBull soft shell coat.

Oscar met you on his way back to the garage. “Nice coat.”

“Thanks.”

“Clearly not you size, is it?”

“That’s boyfriend size.”

“What?!” Oscar nearly yelled in shock.

“You heard me.” You smirked, amused, seeing Max that he’s back, still in his race suit, hair crazy from helmet and his proud smile on.

Oscar stood there surprised seeing them getting in loving embrace, giggling like teens.

“You owe me twenty bucks, mate.” George said standing beside Oscar.

He only scoffed crossing his arms. “I thought that’ll take them some more time. They were so blind.”

Please don’t use my writings without permission! Pictures found on Pinterest.

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vettelsvee · 2 days ago

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SECOND CHANCES SAGA Formula 1 Series Universe coming up on March 21st, 2025

⋆ As promised… I'm very happy to announce that, to celebrate my first year posting on Tumblr, I'll be focusing (while still posting independent fics as your requests and Come What May series) on this project I've been working for six months alongside @celemilii, who will be having some other series in her account before I post mine! If you know me, you might know that I love range and variety, so here you have it! ⋆ As I've been doing for this past month, I'll be posting a monthly update calendar with a taglist in case you're interested in read some of the stories ⋆ If you have any questions, requests, or you just want me to spoil something for you (like the tropes for each fic), just tell me! I'd love to chat with you about this project that's been in my mind for quite long <3

⸺ LET IT BE Aston Martin Sebastian Vettel x Musician!Reader Faceclaim for SMAUS: Lucy Boynton ↳ Settled in 2021 and 2022 Formula 1 seasons

⸺ SHARED BED KISSES Charles Leclerc x Ex girlfriend ballerina!Reader Faceclaim for SMAUS: Blanca Soler ↳ Settled in 2021 and 2022 Formula 1 seasons

⸺ START FROM SCRATCH Mick Schumacher x Korean ex best friend!Reader Faceclaim for SMAUS: Angelina Danilova ↳ Settled in 2021 and 2022 Formula 1 seasons

⸺ ONCE UPON A DREAM Max Verstappen x Disney cast member!Reader Faceclaim for SMAUS: Camille Pidoux ↳ Settled in 2021 and 2022 Formula 1 seasons

⸺ FAR FROM FICTION Lewis Hamilton x Movie director!Reader Faceclaim for SMAUS: Marion Pascale ↳ Settled in 2021 and 2022 Formula 1 seasons

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nichmeddar · 1 day ago

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max verstappen

Existing Love

Max Verstappen x Uni Student! Reader

Summary: a sneak peak into the life of Max and his private girlfriend

Masterlist / TipJar

ynusername

liked by maxverstappen, yourbff and 3,952 others

ynusername It's getting colder, workload is getting heavier

view all 79 comments

yourbff I hate looking at photos of what you do

ynusername its beautiful no yourbff no

user is this max's girlfriend? i saw he liked

user thats the public idea, they are quite private user she is pretty

maxverstappen

liked by redbullracing, landonorris, ynusername, and 651,876 others

maxverstappen One more race before winter break, lets keep pushing!

view all 10,008 comments

user 4 time world champion right here!

user god he is delectable

user he is taken i swear user if not posted officially doesn't count user thats fucking stupid

landonorris Looking forward to seeing you soon, you know where

user what on earth is going on maxverstappen don't you dare embarrass me landonorris i would never do such a thing

ynusername

liked by maxverstappen, yourbff, and 2,643 others

ynusername When your friends are the only things keeping you going...

view all 12 comments

yourbff okay, now i'm feeling worried about your mental state

ynusername Thriving! Dying! Same thing! yourbff u need an intervention

user shes who i wanna be when i grow up

maxverstappen

liked by landonorris, redbullracing, ynusername, and 520,263 others

maxverstappen and with that, the 2024 season comes to an end.

view all 240 comments

user Dutch Lion!

user sometimes i forget how not old he is, and then he says something like this

user i bet this was written by like a young social media manager user or his gf, shes younger than him user he has a gf? since when? user why is she never in the paddock tho, that's sus...

landonorris 4 seasons in a row of championships. I say no more

maxverstappen Agressive, shame you werent on track landonorris wow danielricciardo woww redbullracing wowww user damn! max has got some SASS landonorris you will be regretting that.... you'll see maxverstappen Lando....

ynusername

liked by maxverstappen, landonorris, yourbff, and 3,140 others

ynusername Approach to the Christmas holidays may not be synonymous with parties, but for a uni student, everything is synonymous with parties

view all 19 comments

yourbff feral

ynusername wowwwwwww ynusername true maxverstappen true

landonorris I maybe shouldv'e gone to uni

ynusername all you would like is the parties, and they don't happen to often with us landonorris i would find other people

user okay i came across this account, why is lando norris here?

user and max verstappen?!? user thats Max's gf, we all think

maxverstappen

liked by landonorris, ynusername, danielricciardo and 473,838 others

maxverstappen Lando may be cut out for the partying lifestyle of a uni student, but I cannot handle another party for a year.

view all 275 comments

user lando looks hot as shit

user okay that girl must be his gf, she used the same picture in her posts

user you guys are getting insanely stalker-y user is it really stalker behaviour if they are both public Instagram user yes

user why is Max posting thirst traps of Lando. Not complaining

landonorris I mean i think i feel my liver die but YOLO

mclaren do we need to talk about your alcohol consumption maxverstappen Ha, get outed! landonorris No I was just getting an immersive week experience into the life of a uni student user he got sooo wasted

user damn i wished max posted thirst traps of himself like that

ynusername

liked by yourbff, maxverstappen, landonorris, and 4,002 others

ynusername driving flying home away for Christmas!

view all 21 comments

yourbff I am still so jealous you are in Monaco for Christmas

yourbff I am jealous you are in Monaco again full stop, this time without me ynusername I can't believe it myself yourbff also stop posting him, its sappppy ynusername girl its the first time i've posted him! yourbff stop it im feeling singleeee

user she has gone to see MAX it's so obvious

user or she is having fun on holiday with no other reasons user god leave some people be

user Monaco looks insane

maxverstappen

liked by ynusername, redbullracing, landonorris, and 620,632 others

maxverstappen it really is a wonderful time of the year

view all 352 comments

user max in a relationship confirmation?!

user does it matter

landonorris can't believe you got her to join you for Christmas, how?

maxverstappen becuase she loves me... landonorris bs. how much you pay her? maxverstappen nothing landonorris fine. Ill ask

user max being a white wine drinker, would not have guessed

user he is a sophisticated man

ynusername

liked by maxverstappen, landonorris, yourbff and 2,952 others

ynusername Ending the holiday on a high point

view all 17 comments

maxverstappen <3

ynusername <33 user OMH

yourbff come back I miss you

yourbff ... i need your notes ynusername I'm coming home soon yourbff YAy, bring ya man ynusername maybeeee

maxverstappen

liked by ynusername, landonorris, and redbullracing, and 835,235 others

maxverstappen 2 years ago a beautiful woman got tripped up by an idiot (me) on the sidewalk of the streets of Monaco, and since then has had my heart wrapped around her finger. YN, my love, to many more years

view all 872 comments

user CONFIRMATION

ynusername <33

user this is her?? user we were right! user the fact that you were right with an assumption, doesn't justify a year of stalkerish behaviour maxverstappen I love you x landonorris gagggggggg maxverstappen grow up

#Existing Love #max verstappen x university student!reader #max verstappen x uni student!reader #max verstappen x gf!reader #max verstappen x girlfriend!!reader #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen smau #max verstappen social media au #f1 smau #f1 social media au #f1 x reader #f1 imagine

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wagconts · 16 hours ago

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F1 Alert | Formula 1

➤ summary :: Where you create an interactive game for Formula 1 fans, and become the new star of the pits.

➤ warnings :: a quick imagine, with prior development.

➤ word count :: 0.839 words

➤ masterlist | sportify

➤ Notes :: I had this idea because Swifitie fans know about "Swift Alert", which was a game where we bet on the clothes from The Eras Tour. So I wanted to bring this into the context of Formula 1.

Working on F1's social media was a daily grind, but you loved every second of it. Between creating posts, planning content, and keeping up with trends, your mind was always spinning, thinking of ways to make fans feel more connected to the drivers. Then, one brainstorming night, the idea hit: an interactive game where fans could bet on little details of the race weekends.

— What if we created something like a more elaborate 'Fantasy F1,' but focusing on the small stuff? Helmets, suits, celebrations... — you suggested, drawing curious looks from the team. — We could call it 'F1 Alert'.

After a few weeks of planning, meetings, and tweaks, the app was ready. It was simple: fans could make predictions about visual and behavioral items about the drivers before the GPs. Each correct guess earned points, which could be redeemed for virtual prizes or discounts on official products.

On launch day, you were nervous. Would it be a hit or a flop? It only took a few hours to get the answer: it was a phenomenon.

The app had questions that kept fans hooked, especially with the fact that those points were worth something.

— Leclerc’s helmet in Monaco: same as always or something special?

— Which driver will complain the most on the radio?

— How many drivers will retire from the race? And who?

The numbers didn’t lie. In the first weekend, a little over 70 thousand people signed up. And the drivers quickly took notice.

At the pre-GP press conference, Russell was the first to mention it:

— Did you guys see that app? F1 Alert? Are you betting on my training suit now? That’s a lot of pressure! — he joked, drawing laughs.

Next to him was Charles, who also smiled.

— I saw it too. Someone bet my helmet will have gold on it. — he made a confused face. — Gold? I don’t know if I’m that fancy.

You didn’t realize the impact would be so big until that moment. Seeing the drivers talk about something you created was surreal. But things got even more intense in the paddock.

At the Italian GP, while you were tweaking a post backstage, Pierre showed up out of nowhere behind you.

— So, you’re the one behind the app? — he asked, crossing his arms with a big grin.

You laughed, a little startled.

— It depends. If you like it, then yes. If not, marketing came up with it.

— Oh, I like it. But now I have to think of new helmets every week, because I don’t want the fans to get bored. — He winked before walking off, leaving you laughing alone.

The F1 Alert craze grew with each race. Fans’ discussions on social media were massive, and even journalists started mentioning the game in their reports. Some drivers, like Norris, began directly engaging with the fans.

— Do you think I’ll use a special helmet in Singapore? Place your bets on the app. — he smiled at the line of fans in the stands.

Meanwhile, you started getting recognized in the paddock. It wasn’t something you expected, but the drivers and teams now knew who you were. At the Las Vegas GP, Max Verstappen stopped you during a technical meeting with a rare smile.

— Just wanna know... Who was the creative genius that put “Max will smile on the podium” in the game?

You tried to keep your composure but ended up laughing.

— My bad. Sorry, but it was irresistible.

— Well, I hope no one bets on that. It’ll be money down the drain. — he joked.

The interactions with the drivers became more frequent, but the peak came at the last GP of the year, when the season had ended and some fans were satisfied with their scores on the game. And the burning question was whether the game would continue the next year.

During the final press conference, Daniel Ricciardo — who was making a special appearance as a third driver — decided to mention you.

— I wanna thank the person behind F1 Alert. Thanks to them, I’m already thinking about how to celebrate before I even know if I’ll be on the podium.

The cameras zoomed in on you in the corner of the room, as everyone laughed. It was the moment you realized how much your idea had impacted the world of Formula 1.

After that GP, you got nicknames in the paddock: “the pit star,” “the mind behind the game,” among others. And while you tried to stay grounded, you couldn’t deny that the app’s success had put you in the spotlight.

Now, you were more than just another face in the paddock. You’d built an incredible bond with the fans who always asked you questions like, “What’s the next update for the game?” and you’d made amazing friendships with some of the drivers. It was all like a dream. F1 Alert was just the beginning.

#formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 x y/n #formula 1 x female reader #charles leclerc x you #max verstappen x reader #charles leclerc x reader #imagines charles leclerc #charles leclerc #formula one #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 x you #f1 x y/n

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peachway · 1 day ago

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✦ chapter one : Lossless

series masterlist

word count - 3.3k

A/N - oops i'm little bit late for publishing sorry hehe. alsoo i forgot to mention, this story takes place in the 2024 season! happy reading ✨

Third person's POV -

The roar of the ferrari engine echoed through the Miami air as Charles steered his car into the bustling F1 paddock. Adrenaline high in him, a familiar pre-race feeling. Beside him, were you his ever-present support, smiled brightly, your eyes sparkling with excitement.

The paddock was a hive of chaos: mechanics preparing the cars, the engineers engaged in intense discussions, and a sea of photographers jostling for the perfect shot. Charles, ever the professional, flashed his signature smile for the cameras as they navigated the throng.

"They're going crazy for you, as always," you commented, a hint of amusement in your voice.

Charles chuckled, a playful glint in his eyes. "Me? I think they're more interested in someone else."

He glanced at the photographers, instead of capturing him, their lenses were focused on you, their cameras clicking furiously. That caught you off guard, you blushed slightly, and gave a shy smile to the camera.

One of the photographers, with a mischievous glint in his eyes said, "Never seen a more stunning grid girl"

As the cameras were still clicking away. Charles, watching the scene, couldn't help but grin.

He stepped closer to you, his arm brushing against yours. "Seems like I've got some competition for the spotlight today," he teased, his eyes twinkling.

You playfully nudged him. "Very funny, Charles. Now let's go find a quiet corner before I succumb to embarrassment."

After giving a brief smile to the media, you both fled towards the Ferrari hospitality.

"Hey wait for me!" a voice called out. Turning, you encountered Carlos.

"Oh, Carlitos. Hi," you greeted him with a smile.

"Someone stole the spotlight today, huh?" he teased.

"Shut up!" you retorted, nudging him playfully.

"Oh before I forget, Good luck!" you wished as you stepped into the Ferrari building.

"Thank you, pequeña!" he replied, his smile wide. "You're wearing blue, so we have our lady luck."

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. "It's just a coincidence, Carlos."

"No, really! We have our best races when you wear blue. You just don't want to see us do well, do you?" he teased.

You shook your head, still smiling. "Whatever you say, Carlos. I hope you both have a good qualifying."

Miami, the Magic city of sunshine was ablaze with a different kind of heat – the kind that only the pinacle of motorsports could ignite. The track, a shimmering ribbon of asphalt snaking through the Rock Hard Stadium, never looked so beautiful.

The garages were full of frenetic activity and the absolute chaos of pit crews preparing for the FP3 and Qualifying.

Later that day after the FP3 it was finally time for Quali. Inside the garage, the atmosphere was electric. The tension in the garage was obvious as qualifying began. You watched the monitors intently, your heart pounding in your chest with every second. Lap after lap, the drivers pushed the cars to their limit.

As the final seconds ticked away, the positions locked in. A collective cheer erupted from the Ferrari garage. Max Verstappen was on provisional pole with Charles in second place and Carlos right behind him in third!

After the qualifying interview they both went back at the Team hospitality. You rushed over to congratulate them as they reached. Charles, very happy grinned widely. "P2! Not bad, eh?"

"Not bad at all," you replied "Excellent job, Charles."

Carlos, equally elated, threw an arm around your shoulder. "See? I told you! Blue is our lucky colour Peach!" he exclaimed, winking at you.

Peach was the nickname Charles used to call you and now almost everyone in the paddock calls you Peach.

You laughed, shaking your head. "It was your driving, Carlos, not my dress."

"A little bit of both," he grinned.

Second and third on the grid was a good result, setting the stage for an exciting race day. Tomorrow would be the real test, but for now, the team have lots of strategies to plan.

Later, as you enjoyed a much-needed caffeine fix, Carlos joined you, a cappuccino in hand. "Hey, so what are you doing tomorrow night?" he asked.

"Nothing, I guess. Why?" you replied.

"It's Miami, baby. We're going out. And if there's a podium, it's a double celebration. You should come."

"Ha! That's a joke, right?" you asked, surprised. Carlos simply stared at you. "Me?"

"You're my friend, too. We can hang out outside the paddock, no?"

"It's not like that... you know I don't usually go out like this."

"That's why I'm asking you. It'll be fun. Come on, I'll talk to him for you," he offered.

"He'll say no," you shook your head.

"Do you want to come?" he asked, his eyes searching yours.

"Yes, but Cha—" Before you could finish, Carlos marched off towards the drivers' room, you trailing behind him. Charles was inside, engaged in his phone.

"Hey, Charles," Carlos called.

"Oh, hey man! All good?" Charles greeted him with a smile.

"Yeah, listen," Carlos began, turning to you and gesturing, "I was just telling her we're going out tomorrow night after the race, win or lose, and I think she should come."

Charles's gaze shifted to you, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. You shifted uncomfortably, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks.

"Going out?" Charles repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, you know, celebrate, unwind. It's Miami. We gotta do it right, we'll come back early i know we're meant to fly later." Carlos explained.

"Sure. Why not." Charles looked back at you, a question in his eyes. "but Peach?"

You hesitated, glancing between the two drivers. "I... I wouldn't want to intrude."

"Intrude? Don't be ridiculous," Carlos scoffed. "It'll be fun. Come on, you'll love it there."

"I... I don't know, Carlos" Charles said.

"It's just a party.." Carlos said.

"She can stay at the hotel." Charles said.

'Charles come on man, you don't trust me?' he said.

"It's not about you Carlos." Charles remained firm. "I won't risk her safety like that." You knew he was right, but the allure of the night, and the promise of a carefree evening, was a powerful temptation.

The air in the motorhome was thick with tension. Amidst the race preparations, the three figures stood locked in a silent, simmering argument.

"You can't seriously be considering this?" Charles growled, his voice low with anger. His eyes with the usual gentleness replaced by a fierce intensity.

Your face flushed with anger to his question. "Why not? It's just for one night..."

"And to expose you to danger?," Charles spat, "Parties and stuff, those aren't for you." he said slowly as the driver's room wall was thin.

"And who decides that?" you retorted, your voice rising. "You? Because you're trying protect me?"

Charles flinched, the accusation striking a raw nerve. He'd always been hyper-aware of the gulf between his world and yours, a world of mafia and racketing pursuits, a world far removed from the drama of Formula 1.

"Don't be like this come on," he said, his voice softening. "This is messy. It's dangerous. You know about the code. I've always cared about you. I— " He paused, searching for the right words. "Carlos, you knew she can't come still you asked her? and you, Don't think i'm some kind of toxic boyfriend villain who's stopping you from going to a party. This is far more serious."

"I'm not a child, Charles," you said, your voice trembling with frustration. "I can handle myself. I can make my own decisions."

Charles reached out, his hand hovering near yours, then retreating. "I know you can," he admitted, his voice rough. "But I... I don't want to see you hurt. You're not going, the topic is closed."

You looked at him, her anger fading, replaced by a wave of unexpected tenderness. "You worry about me too much," you said softly.

Charles shrugged, avoiding her gaze. "It's my job," he replied.

You smiled, a small, sad smile. "You know," you said, "you're very stubborn."

Charles finally met your eyes, a flicker of amusement in his emerald depths. "Says the girl who refuses to back down from a pointless argument."

The gazes locked, a silent battle waged between conflicting emotions.

"The hotel is quite comfortable, with a library, a pleasant café, and a spa. You're welcome to explore the facilities," Charles stated.

"Thank you," you replied, the word laced with a bitterness you couldn't quite conceal, before turning and walking quickly away.

Charles watched you go, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. He turned to his friend, Carlos, who had witnessed everything. "I'm sorry, Carlos."

"Don't worry about it, mate," Carlos replied, clapping him on the shoulder. "But i'm worried about her. She's suffocating."

"I know she is," Charles admitted, nodding slowly.

Just then, Gisèle, Charles's girlfriend, arrived, she had reached the paddock a little late. Her presence immediately filling the space with a different kind of energy. "Hi!" she chirped, a bright smile on her face.

"Hello, chérie," Charles replied, leaning down to kiss her lips.

"What was that about?" Gisèle asked, her eyes narrowing slightly as she glanced in the direction you had disappeared. Charles then explained the conversation that took place earlier.

"Really?," Gisèle scoffed. "Let her go then. She'll learn it the hard way."

"Gisèle, please," Charles cautioned.

"She's so ungrateful for everything you've done for her. She wouldn't be here if it weren't for you," Gisèle continued, her voice rising.

"No it's complicated Gee," Charles sighed, running a hand through his hair. "She's being a little stubborn today."

"a little?" Gisèle scoffed. "She's a spoiled brat. Living off your generosity, enjoying the perks of your life, and now she wants to go clubbing with your friends? Ridiculous."

"She's not a spoiled brat," Charles defended, though his voice lacked conviction.

"Right. That's why she's living in one of your apartments," Gisèle countered, her words laced with sarcasm.

"She's just... different. From us." he defends.

"Different how? Because she's from a different world?" Gisèle sneered. "A world of crime, of shady deals? Let's be honest, Charles, she's not exactly the kind of woman you should be associating with."

Charles opened his mouth to protest, but the words caught in his throat. Gisèle had a point. Your world was a dangerous one, a world he barely understood. A world he wanted to keep you away from.

"I know that...that she doesn't exactly have a good influence." he admitted, his voice low.

"If something goes wrong, her men will point a gun to you Charles." she said.

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring the already chaotic scene before you. You had come back to apologise to Charles but instead you overheard this exchange. It shattered you. Does he really think of you that way? Your blood ran cold as you heard Charles agree with Gisèle. You needed escape, a momentary release from the constant vigilance. So you ran away from there.

"Ungrateful" you muttered, your voice trembling with anger. "Spoiled brat?"

You had always known that your world was different from theirs, that you didn't belong in their glamorous, high-flying world. But you've been a part of Charles's life since eight years and it's now he thinks you're someone with he can't be associated with?

Charles turned sharply towards Gisèle, his expression a mixture of anger and disappointment. "You have no idea what she's been through. You have no right to speak about her like that."

"But it's true," Gisèle protested, though her voice wavered slightly under his intense gaze. "You don't see her like a sister, nor like a girlfriend..who is she actually to you?"

"That's enough," Charles interrupted, his voice firm. "My race is tomorrow. Stop this shit." He warned.

Charles Leclerc, the Ferrari's precious son, was your brother's childhood best friend. To keep you safe from your father and his enemies your brother used to send you with Charles to attend races.The mafia men would come after you only if they knew what you looked like right? But the danger still loomed over. You can never be sure in this shadow world. Most of the year you used to travel all around the world with Charles - away from home. Sometimes in off months you'd stay in Monaco at his other apartment.

Automatically you had become very close to him as you were with him since 8 years. Through him, you had entered the glamorous world of Grand Prix racing, becoming an almost mythical figure in the F1 paddock as the "Ferrari princess." Because you've been with Charles in every race since he joined Ferrari.

Your world revolved around Charles, around the Ferrari family and around the escape they provided.

His unwavering concern, born from years of shielding you from the dangers that lurked in the shadows of her life, was a testament to your unbreakable bond. Yet, sometimes it felt suffocating, a gilded cage that imprisoned your spirit. Everything was just so overwhelming and you just wanted to be alone for a few moments.

In the haste, you collided with a towering figure, the impact jolting you. "Whoa, hey, hello there!" a deep voice boomed, a gentle hand steadying you.

"I-I am so sorry, Mr. Verstappen," you stammered, wiping away the tears that had escaped.

The blue-eyed Dutchman looked down at you with a gentleness. "Is everything okay? Are you alright?" he asked, his gaze filled with concern.

You nodded mutely, unable to articulate the turmoil within. Before you could offer any explanation, you turned and fled towards the private paddock club suit, the encounter leaving you breathless and bewildered.

Max just stood there in confusion.

'Was that...Peach?' Lando's voice, a mixture of disbelief and amusement, broke the silence.

Max nodded dumbly. 'She can talk?' he chuckled, 'She never talks to anyone. What's up with her?'

"Pffft, no idea," Max replied, "but she looked...upset. Really upset. And she was alone."

"Huh. Strange," Lando mused. "Do you think she has a boyfriend?"

Max furrowed his eyebrows, "What does that have to do with anything?"

"What are you idiots yapping about?" Daniel's voice cut through.

"Oh, nothing," Max replied, with a playful smirk "Lando was just telling me about his undying affection for Peach."

"Peach?? Wow, I can talk to Charles if you want! I'm sure he'd be thrilled to hear about Lando's 'affection'." Daniel offered, his voice dripping with mock horror.

"Thank you, but I love my life. I don't want to get murdered!" Lando retorted.

The humidity of the previous night dawned to the crisp air next morning and the first rays of sunlight fell down on Miami. The whole day was almost gone in swift of time and finally the sunday began at 4:00.

The race unfolded as the five lights above turned red. It was going quite normally for some time then it took a swift turn. Max, who dominated until lap 23, was forced into an unexpected pit stop after damaging his front wing. Lando capitalized, surging up the leaderboard. And Max, who everybody thought will take the lead but his recovery was hampered when Logan Sargent's crash brought out the safety car which solidified Lando's lead more. Despite the expectation that Max or Charles would close the gap, Lando maintained a seven-second advantage and he held on against all odds. As the checkered flag fell, a wave of happiness washed over the paddock. Lando Norris had achieved his maiden Formula 1 victory, the moment was celebrated by the entire paddock. Max secured second place, while Charles, despite a valiant effort, finished third.

Gisèle, didn't wanted to come there so you went alone to the front with the Ferrari team as the boys parked their cars in their respective positions.

As Max greeted his team, his gaze fell upon you, standing patiently beside the Ferrari entourage, waiting for Charles. For the first time, he truly saw you. Not as the "Ferrari princess," or enigmatic figure who flitted through the paddock like a ghost but as a young woman, vulnerable and alone despite having everyone.

And for the first time, you looked at him too, a shy smile gracing your lips, a flicker of recognition in your eyes. Maybe because you had bumped into him yesterday. The encounter, brief and unexpected, had shattered the invisible barrier that had existed between you two, leaving Max with a lingering sense of curiosity and a newfound appreciation for you.

He didn't know exactly what was in his mind when he walked towards you. He found himself drawn to you, his feet moving almost of their own accord. But he stopped abruptly, a moment of hesitation flickering across his face. Was this appropriate? Should he approach? You noticed his movement, your smile widening slightly as you mouthed a silent "Congratulations." His eyes crinkled at the corners, a silent smile in return.

Just then, Charles approached from behind, pulling your attention away. Max, as if startled back to himself, turned and walked towards his own team, the unspoken moment hanging in the air.

That night, while Miami reverberated with celebratory fervor, you found yourself drawn to the hotel window, the city's vibrant nightlife a distant hum. Seeking refuge from the turmoil within, you decided to go to the hotel library, hoping the hushed atmosphere would offer a semblance of peace. But focus proved elusive. Charles's words replayed in your mind.

However, you couldn’t help but think about someone else. Max. The image of him lingered, a stark reminder of a world beyond the Ferrari bubble. A faint smile touched your lips.

Alongside Charles, Max occupied a prominent space in your life, albeit on the opposing side of the racing divide. In your seven within the Formula 1 paddock, you had never interacted with him. He represented the rival, the embodiment of the relentless drive for victory that had defined your seven years in the paddock. You admired him as a driver; his talent was undeniable, his skill exceptional. But it didn't matter, you were there so you could be safe. But somehow you couldn't dispel the thoughts of Max Verstappen.

After taking dinner you headed back to your room to catch some sleep. Upon reaching the lobby, you encountered the very man who had occupied your thoughts.

"Hey, I know you," he says.

"Mr. Verstappen," you replied with a polite smile.

"Ugh," he grimaced. "It's Max, Liefje. M-A-X."

"I—"

"Max!" he corrected again, his words slightly slurred.

"Max," you said. "You're drunk. You should go to your room."

"Verstappen." a cold voice cut through the air. Charles. He stood a few feet away, his eyes fixed on Max.

Max's gaze shifted to Charles, a flicker of recognition, or perhaps simply drunken focus, in his eyes. "Leclerc." he mumbled, the name thick on his tongue. "You're on the wrong floor," said Charles.

Max blinked, seemingly unfazed by Charles's icy demeanor. "Am I?" He glanced around the lobby noticing his surroundings. "Huh. Guess I am." He said and turned his attention back to you. "Anyway," he slurred slightly, "it was nice finally... officially... meeting you. You're very cute." He offered a lopsided grin before turning and stumbling towards the elevator.

Charles quickly comes over to you, his expression unreadable. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," you replied quietly, "He... he was just drunk."

"Clearly," Charles said dryly. He paused, his gaze searching your face. "Did he say anything else to you? and why were you talking to him out of all people?"

"I wasn't," you protested softly. "He approached me."

Charles's jaw tightened, "Alright anyways, I don't want you talking to him. Or anyone from Red Bull. Do you understand?"

You met his gaze, a flicker of defiance rising within you. "Charles—"

"It's for your own good," he interrupted, his voice softening slightly, though his eyes remained hard. "He's a manipulative bastard."

You sighed, the familiar weight of his protectiveness settling upon you. With a quiet nod, you agreed and went back to your room.

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