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serpentandlily · 2 months

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Lost in a Labyrinth - Azriel x Reader

Lost in a Labyrinth I - Azriel x Reader

Summary: Lonely and heartbroken after his near kiss with Elain, Azriel finds himself at the door to the most exclusive pleasure house in Hewn City, The Labyrinth, taking Rhysand’s cruel advice. What he expected to find was a pretty girl to warm a bed with him for a single night. But instead he finds something he never thought existed—his mate. A mate that is tangled up in something far more sinister than he could ever imagine.

Warnings: smut (minors dni), reader is a prostitute

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Part I

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“So you will leave Elain alone. If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure house and pay for it, but stay away from her.”

Rhysand’s words had played over and over again in his head since the Winter Solstice, three months ago. Azriel wasn't sure why he was taking him up on his shitty advice now but by some will of his own, he was standing in the shadows of the alley across the street from The Labyrinth—Hewn City’s most exclusive brothel.

Azriel only knew of this place because some of the high ranking nobles he spied on talked about it often. It was known for its secrecy, for making sure their clientele had confidentiality. There were far more pleasure houses that were known to the public, even one in Velaris, but the last thing Azriel wanted was word getting around that he had been seen visiting one. Partly because he liked keeping his love affairs secret, but mostly because he didn’t want to give that satisfaction to Rhysand.

When his shadows came back with no reports of any sightings of faeries nearby, Azriel crossed the distance to The Labyrinth. He knocked five times on the plain looking, unassuming door, following the instructions he had overheard.

A sliding peephole opened revealing a pair of dark eyes. “A bargain, Shadowsinger,” a male voice said through the door. “A copper for your eyes.”

“A silver for your tongue,” Azriel agreed. He felt a burning sensation behind his ear, the bargain tattoo forming.

This was another thing he had learned from spying— the secret bargain that would grant you access to The Labyrinth. A bargain that he wouldn’t speak of the people and things he might see here so long as they kept their silence in regards to his identity.

The door swung open a second later and the male guard ushered him in. The guard gave him a once over, his eyes stopping on the dagger sheathed on his thigh.

“No weapons allowed, Shadowsinger,” the guard ordered. “Especially around the girls.”

Azriel wordlessly unsheathed Truth-teller and let his shadows take it away. He didn’t tell the guard that it was pointless, that he could summon it back at any time regardless of whatever wards they had set up around here—his shadows didn’t abide by the typical rules of magic. But the guard didn’t need to know that.

The guard held out a gloved hand. “The entrance fee.”

Azriel reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pouch filled with coins. He set it in the guard’s palm without question.

The guard gave him a dip of the head, satisfied, before gesturing for him to continue on. Azriel strided down the dim hallway. He could already smell various aphrodisiacs and drugs amongst the intoxicating scent of arousal in the air. It spurred him on, kept his feet moving on the dark red carpet, not allowing him the chance to second guess his decision to come here.

He wasn’t sure what magic was at play, or if they specifically scented the hallway to further get their clients in the mood, but something was tugging him forward.

He finally made it to the other end of the hallway, where a black door was awaiting him. He opened it slowly, cautiously and when no threat appeared, stepped through the threshold. The door opened up into a large foyer of sorts with a large candle chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

Straight ahead was a grand staircase that led to the second floor. On both sides of the foyer were large double doors with masked guards standing in front of them, swords strapped to their backs.

Waiting for him in the center of the room was an older, High Fae female with generous curves, dressed decadently. A polite smile graced her pretty but aging face as she took him in.

“Shadowsinger,” she greeted with a dip of the head, her hands clasped in front of her. “Welcome to The Labyrinth. My name is Lydia. I will be your point of contact during your time here. Please follow me, I will show you to the girls so you may make your selection.”

This wasn’t the first time Azriel had visited a pleasure house. Gods, when they were younger, him, Rhysand and Cassian had gone to some together. Had even taken the same girl once. But this felt…different. The atmosphere was soft, sensual—not rowdy like the other brothels he had been to.

He followed Lydia into the first set of double doors, which led down another long corridor with more doors lining the wall, all numbered. Until they reached the end where another set of double doors waited. As soon as Lydia pushed them open and gestured for him to continue, soft music crept through the air.

Azriel walked into a heavily perfumed room, dimly lit much like everywhere else in this place. Dark red, velvet settees and cushions lined the walls and floors. Silks hanging from the ceilings gave each space a bit of privacy. A bar was on the opposite wall, fully stocked with various alcohols. Males and females, alike, were milling about the room in various states of undress, some paired up on the couches and chairs.

At the front of the room was a wall made entirely of glass that overlooked a courtyard. Hanging plants and flowered vines decorated the space. A large fountain bubbled in the middle of it. Girls in lingerie and silk robes sat on the stone benches and cushions on the floor, lingered near the fountain, danced to the soft music in corners of the courtyard—all giggling and chattering with each other.

“These are the girls in The Labyrinth,” Lydia explained. “If you would like to see our selection of males, let me know.”

His eyes wandered over the girls, all so beautiful and unique. Every single type of fae was here—from nymphs to firelings to High Fae. But his gaze was drawn towards a lone figure in one of the second story alcoves.

His breath was sucked from his lungs the minute his eyes fell on her. She was…she was so beautiful. The most beautiful female he had ever seen in his five hundred years of living. She was dressed in a light pink lingerie set, a sheer robe hanging over it with white fur trims. She was alone, resting an elbow on the stone railing with her chin plopped in her hand as she gazed out into the carved mountainside within Hewn City.

He couldn’t rip his eyes away from her.

“Are any of them suited to your tastes, Shadowsinger?” Lydia questioned from beside him, knocking him out of whatever spell he had been put under.

“Her,” he answered, his voice a mere whisper, as he dipped his head towards the female he couldn’t help but stare at.

Lydia murmured something to one of the masked servants walking around with trays of champagne flutes. A moment later, one returned and handed the female a slip of paper. She clicked her tongue at whatever she read.

“Apologies, Shadowsinger,” she said, “But it looks like she’s already been chosen for tonight. Do any—”

“By who?” Azriel growled before he even realized, his shadows whirling around him. Lydia looked up at him with a stern look that accentuated all the fine lines on her face.

“You know I can’t tell you that,” she chided. Azriel gave her a sheepish look, not knowing what had come over him. “It looks like any of the other girls are still up for the taking if you’d like to choose another?”

But Azriel couldn’t stop staring at the girl in the pink. Couldn’t help but be mesmerized by her. None of the other girls caught his attention. He had come here looking for a quick, no strings attached, fuck but that desire, that need—it was like it had been sucked right out of him.

“I…” he trailed off, suddenly reeling back into his body. Lydia was staring up at him expectedly but he took a step away. “N-no. I’m sorry. I should…I should go.”

Not a second later, his shadows swirled around him, whisking him away.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Azriel wasn’t sure what drew him back to The Labyrinth the next night. Or the night after. Each time he came, he asked for that girl in pink, and each time, he was told she had already been booked for the night. It would’ve been easy to accompany Mor to Rita’s and find a plethora of females that would fuck him for free. But none of them would’ve been her.

He wasn’t even sure why he was becoming so obsessed with a girl he’d never even talked to. Obsessed enough to travel to Hewn City, pay the copious entrance fee, just to leave when he was told she was still not available.

But here he was.

Again.

Standing at the doors to The Labyrinth.

It had become such a reoccurrence that Lydia would merely shake her head no at the sight of him, already knowing what he was there for. He was sure tonight would go more or less the same. But he was surprised when he caught sight of Lydia standing in the large, intricate foyer and she shook her head yes.

“Well, Shadowsinger,” she said, “I admire your persistence. It seems it is your lucky day. The girl you’ve been waiting for is available. Please, continue on up the stairs and into The Labyrinth. She will be waiting for you behind the ninth door.”

Azriel gave her a dip of the head before striding past her to the staircase. His shadows were swarming him—excited about something. He tuned them out, pushing open the black doors waiting for him at the top of the stairs.

He paused for a second, feeling like he had suddenly been transported somewhere else. Instead of one long hallway like he’d been expecting, the doors opened to a maze of large pillars, multiple pathways lit by candles placed on the floor.

He sent his shadows forward to scout the place and locate the ninth door that Lydia had mentioned. He followed their trail which led him to a red door with a number nine painted on it in a darker shade of red that looked suspiciously like blood.

He let out the breath he had been holding as he wrapped his scarred fingers around the doorknob and slowly pushed it open.

Slow, sultry music met his ears and the scent of pomegranates and cardamom flooded his senses. It was intoxicating, beckoning him forward. He softly shut the door behind him before he completely paused in his tracks as he turned to face the room.

There, standing with her back to him, was the girl who had been utterly consuming his mind since he had first laid eyes on her. She was wearing a light pink nightgown that laced down her lower back. She was bent forward slightly, lighting a candle on a coffee table set up in front of a pair of red velvet couches.

His eyes trailed over the room for a second, trying to gather his bearings. It was a large room, large enough to have a sitting area separate from the four-poster bed covered in silk and textured fabrics. Everything fit the same color scheme as the other rooms he’d been in, red and black. Lit only by candles, the soft lighting only added to the sultry atmosphere.

Some smoke lingered in the air, making everything a bit more hazy. He recognized the scent as a popular aphrodisiac often used during parties with high nobility. His shadows seemed lulled by the music, drifting around him lazily as he stood in place.

He stood frozen as she finally turned around and met his gaze. He had thought her beautiful that day he had seen her up on the balcony, but this close, well… beautiful was not strong enough of a word. She looked crafted for the Gods, a being not meant to walk alongside man. His breath was sucked right out of his lungs again, his eyes widened as his shadows reacted by lowering themselves onto the ground, leaving him bare.

“There you are,” she purred, her voice as smooth as silk and honey. “I’ve heard you’ve been waiting for me.”

Azriel swallowed harshly, his throat bobbing with the motion. He watched her eyes track it, watched how her smirk slipped into a soft smile instead. He opened his mouth to speak, to say anything, but it was like no thoughts existed in his head except for an image of her.

“A bit shy, are you?” She teased after he failed to speak, walking towards him and holding out a hand with well manicured nails. “That’s okay, my love, let me take care of you.”

She grasped his hand in her much smaller one, not even flinching when her skin met contact with his brutal scars. He let her guide him to the couch and push him to sit, entranced by her very presence. She moved to the bar cart behind him, running a delicate hand over his shoulders as she did, before pouring two glasses of whiskey.

She meandered back over to him, plopping on the couch next to him before handing him one of the glasses. She clinked her glass against his. “For the nerves, my love.”

Azriel wanted to tell her that he wasn’t nervous, but that would be a lie. He had no idea why he had been reduced to the shy teenage boy he had been in his youth but he couldn’t shake himself from the feeling. Her presence was overwhelming, intimidating. Like she somehow held his entire being in the palm of her hands.

“Thank you,” he grunted out, his voice rough. He cleared his throat before downing his glass of whiskey in one go. She followed his lead, her smoky eyes never leaving his as she swallowed her whiskey. Beneath the exaggerated desire he found in them was a more calculating look, like she was trying to figure him out.

A bit of the whiskey slipped out of the side of her mouth, dripping down her chin and neck to the crevice between her breasts. Azriel’s gaze followed it, his cock tightening in his pants as he wished to lick it off her gleaming skin.

“Oops,” she giggled, swiping it up with a finger and sucking it into her mouth. “Would you like another glass?”

He shook his head. He didn’t want to be drunk for this. He wanted to savor every second of his time with her, the girl who had been plaguing his thoughts night and day.

“You seem tense, Shadowsinger,” she purred with a pout, making his eyes dip to her full, red painted lips. “I can fix that.”

She reached forward and ran a slender hand up his chest and he nearly moaned at the feeling of her touching him. His hand latched onto hers, stopping it in its tracks.

“What’s your name?” Azriel asked, finally speaking. He needed to know. Needed to taste the way it felt to say it on his tongue as much as he needed to taste her.

“Serenity,” she replied with a coy smile. “But you can call me anything you like, my love.”

His eyes searched hers. “That’s not your real name, is it?”

“Of course not, darling,” she giggled. She leaned towards him, close enough that her breath fluttered over his ear. His cock twitched in his pants, his skin heated. “I think the real question is, what would you like me to call you, Shadowsinger?”

“Azriel,” he breathed out. “Just…just Azriel.”

“Azriel,” she repeated in that voice of silk and honey.

His eyes darted down to her lips again. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t help how turned on he felt. Was it the aphrodisiacs in the room? Or perhaps the whiskey had hit just right? He didn’t care. All he knew was he needed to have her.

Azriel let go of her hand, letting her continue her travel up his chest until she grabbed the empty glass in his hand and set it down on the table in front of them. She made eye contact with him again, slowly moving to straddle him on the couch, wrapping her arms around his neck lightly. He bit back a groan as her weight fell on his hardening member.

“What is it you’re here for, Azriel?”

His brain couldn’t focus with her in his lap. Her eyes were so mesmerizing, her scent one he could get high off. His hands found her waist, the silk fabric of her nightgown so smooth against his rough skin.

“You,” he whispered, honestly. Because that was the truth. He had seen her and knew he needed to have her.

“I’m yours, Azriel,” she giggled. “Any way you want me.”

If he were a better male, perhaps now would be the time he realized this might be a mistake. But he wasn’t a better male. He couldn’t be. Not when her body was pressed against his, not when she looked so beautiful staring up at him with her large, expressive eyes, and certainly not when his body was singing for her—hungering for her like she was the only sustenance he needed.

So Azriel surged forward and kissed her.

Lightning exploded, skittering over his skin, the moment his lips touched hers. He groaned at the feeling of their softness. She let out a small sigh as she kissed him back, melting in his lap, pressing herself closer to him.

Azriel slid a hand up her exposed back until he grasped her by the back of the neck and tilted her head so he could deepen the kiss, finally taking control of the situation. His cock hardened painfully as she spread her legs further, allowing her heat to rub against him.

He kissed her like a starved male, licking along her bottom lip, compelling her to part her lips for him. She let him consume her, let him slip his tongue into her mouth and taste her fully.

So sweet.

So divine.

Azriel broke the kiss, letting her gasp for air. The scent of her arousal had his eyes rolling back in his head. Still holding her by the back of the neck, he twisted her head to the side and pressed his lips just below her ear before trailing down her jaw and to her delicate neck.

She moaned, squirming in his lap and rubbing against his hard length, only spurring him on more. His other hand started working on unlacing her nightgown. His fingers fumbled over the ribbon, until finally, it came undone and fell, pooling at her waist.

Azriel pulled back to look at her, now bare before him from the waist up. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly with her breathing, her eyes dilated and full of lust, her lips swollen. The perfect image of desire.

“So beautiful,” he growled, before leaning forward and latching his mouth around her right nipple. She gasped, arching into his mouth as her hands fisted his hair.

“Azriel,” she whimpered, pushing her hips down against his bulge. He growled again, thrusting his hips up to meet hers.

His lips made a path back up to hers, taking her breasts in his palms as he kissed her deeply. She grinded down on his cock again, pulling a whine from the back of his throat that had her smiling against his lips.

He wanted to take his time with her, wanting to draw this out as long as he could. But he knew he wouldn’t last. Not when the need to be in her was causing him to strain against his pants to the point of pain.

Azriel stood, lifting her up with him with an arm under her ass and the other wrapped around her. He let his shadows swarm them, stepping out right in front of the bed. She was breathless as he dropped her onto the soft pillows and sheets, her hair fanning around her head like a halo.

An Angel.

That’s what she was.

A godsdamn Angel.

He couldn’t keep his hands off of her, running them down her body as he pulled her nightgown all the way off, leaving her entirely bare before her. She moved to sit up, reaching for the buttons of his shirt but he lightly grasped her throat in his hand and pushed her back down.

“How do you want me, Azriel?” She hummed, seductively, wrapping her hands around his wrist.

Azriel leaned down, running his nose along the column of her throat until his mouth was beside her ear.

“First, I want you coming on my fingers,” he commanded, his voice husky with desire. “Then my tongue. And then my cock. Do you understand?”

She swallowed audibly, nodding her head.

“Words, angel,” he smirked. “Use your words.”

“Yes, Azriel, I understand,” she whimpered, the scent of her arousal peaking.

He inhaled deeply before pulling away and dropping to his knees before her. She sat up on her elbows, letting out a small cry as he hooked his arms around her thighs and yanked her towards the end of the bed.

Her sex was glistening with her want and Azriel groaned at the sight, unlacing his pants with one hand to relieve some pressure. He watched her as he dipped forward and ran his tongue up her slit, his eyes rolling back at the sweet taste of her.

She tossed her head back with a moan, spreading her legs wider for him. Azriel didn’t waste any time. He sucked and licked at her clit with a hunger he’d never felt before, his cock twitching every time he drew out a moan or cry from her lips.

True to his word, his finger swirled around her entrance, causing her hips to thrust closer and closer. He continued his ministrations as he slid a single finger inside of her, cursing as he felt how tight she was wrapped around him.

“Azriel,” she cried out as he added a second finger before slowly thrusting in and out of her. “Fuck.”

He continued to suck that spot that had her crying out, pure waves of euphoria crashing through her body. His fingers began to thrust inside of her faster and faster as her moans became more frequent.

“That’s it, angel,” he praised as she rutted against his fingers. “Fuck yourself with my fingers.”

She whimpered, her movements frenzied as he latched his mouth back on her clit, sucking in rhythm with his fingers. One of her hands gripped his hair while the other fisted the sheets and she squirmed in pleasure until he pushed her over the edge.

“Az…Azriel,” she cried, arching her back as flames licked their way through her body. “I’m gonna—”

Azriel didn’t stop, palming himself with his free hand as she orgasmed, pulsating around his fingers with a loud moan. He slipped his fingers out and replaced them with his tongue just in time to feel the aftershock ripple through her.

She tried to pull his head away, but he didn’t relent. He needed her on his tongue, needed to fulfill the hunger inside of him. It wasn’t long before he had her screaming through her second orgasm, lapping at the wetness pooling between her thighs. Azriel didn’t let up as he rode out her orgasm with his tongue, not until her body was writhing in pleasure and she was begging him to stop.

He stood, sticking one of the fingers covered in her juices into his mouth, eyes rolling back in his head as he groaned. “Gods, you taste so good.”

He left her panting on the bed as he made quick work of ripping his clothes off. His eyes were black with lust, his shadows spilling all around him in his craze. Gods, he needed her so bad. Every piece of her.

He climbed onto the bed, hovering over her and crashing his lips against hers. His tongue was still claiming her mouth as her hands roamed the muscles of his chest, sliding down to his cock. He groaned into her mouth as she ran her hand up and down his shaft.

“Please,” she begged.

“Please what, angel?” He nipped at her bottom lip. “What is it you want?”

“Please fuck me, Azriel,” she whined.

The noise that came out of his throat at her words was one he’d never made before. He sat back on his haunches, replacing her hand with his as he guided himself towards her entrance, rubbing up and down against the wetness that was waiting for him.

Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as he slid himself inside of her slowly. She moaned as Azriel let out an animalistic growl at the feeling of her wrapped around him. It wasn’t until he was all the way in her when they both finally released a breath.

“Fuck,” he grunted, falling forward and peppering kisses along her throat. “You feel so good.”

She whimpered at his praise and felt him smirk against her neck before he started to finally move, pulling himself all the way out her before thrusting back in, faster this time. She cried out as he slammed into her.

Azriel set a punishing pace, thrusting into her again and again. His shadows seeped from him until nearly every crevice of the room was taken over by his darkness.

Her nails raked down his back, between his wings as she let him take her. He claimed her mouth again, passionately swallowing each moan he pulled from her. Her hips began to meet his with each thrust, pushing him deeper and deeper inside of her.

“Gods, Azriel,” she cried, squeezing around him as he hit that sweet spot inside her.

“Are you going to come on my cock, angel?” he cooed.

“Yes,” she mewled. “Yes, gods, yes.”

“Good girl,” he growled, nipping at her throat with his canines.

His words pushed her over the edge into the hot bliss of pleasure. She screamed his name as the lightning shot through her, her core pulsating with each strike.

“Fuck,” Azriel groaned. He rode out her orgasm and then his thrusts became harder, faster but sloppy with no rhythm as his own release slid up on him.

His tongue swirled around the base of her neck before an utterly feral growl ripped through him. And then he bit down on that spot. His canines ripped through the skin, sinking down into her flesh as he came, thrusting once, twice and one final time—burying himself in her.

They both panted in silence for a moment, coming down from their highs before Azriel slowly slipped out of her with a small whimper. He pulled away from her and she smiled up at him, her eyes glazed with pleasure and satisfaction.

And then something happened. Something he never thought would. Something he had only dreamed about but never wished for because he had thought it a waste of breath.

A golden string of light unwound itself and shot across the darkness, all the way to the beautiful girl before him.

The mating bond snapped.

His mating bond.

Azriel let out a choked noise, rising fully. He stumbled back in shock, his eyes wide as he stared down at her. Her brows furrowed in confusion and she sat up.

Fuck, his mate…

She was his mate.

His godsdamn mate.

This couldn’t be happening. Not like this. Not after he had just paid her to have sex with him. Not after he had come here for a shameless fuck. She’d never want him now. Why would she?

He hastily began picking up his discarded clothes and dressing himself. She did the same in her confusion, slipping her nightgown back on as she frowned at him.

“What happened?” Her voice was meek as she hugged an arm around herself, looking at him. “Have I…have I done something wrong?”

“N-no,” he stuttered, not looking her in the eyes. Gods, she would hate him if he told her now. She would not want anything to do with him. “No, I’m sorry. I-I need to go.”

“But you paid for the whole night,” she said, perplexed with a hint of insecurity. “Please, if I wasn’t good…if you didn’t enjoy it…I can do better, I swear it.”

He finally looked at her, at his mate. His heart sank in his chest at her words. Fuck, he was making this worse. He couldn’t stand the sight of her looking at him like she’d done something wrong. She was perfect. She had been perfect. It was him who fucked up.

“No, no, don’t. It’s not you," Azriel tried to reassure her. “I…it’s me. I need to go. I’m so sorry.”

“At least let me get you your money back,” she said, rubbing her arm. He felt sick to his stomach.

“No! No, please keep it,” he murmured, buttoning up his shirt as fast as he could. “I’m…I’m so sorry. This was a mistake.”

And then he disappeared in his shadows, her confused and hurt face the last thing he saw.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

a/n: so obvious this was entirely from Az's perspective but it will be reader y/n just in case it wasn't super obvious! Hope you guys enjoyed it! If you asked to be tagged but don't see your username, it wouldn't let me tag you for some reason :((

(also, now that the whole chapters out, if this isn't what you thought you were signing up for, no hard feelings if you asked to be removed from the taglist)

taglist: @itsswritten @impossibelle @lilah-asteria @heartless-tate @sheblogs @jesskidding3 @landofpetrichor @thecollegecowgirl @5onedirection5 @cherry-cin @fayeatheart @brieflyclassymortal @saltedcoffeescotch @glitterypirateduck @eyebagsanonymous @chxosangxl @daardyrnitta

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel #acotar x reader #acotar x you #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #azriel angst #azriel smut #azriel spymaster

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chinesekleptocracy · 1 year

Photo

Dining Room in DC Metro

#Enclosed dining room - large transitional light wood floor enclosed dining room idea with white walls #a hanging fireplace and a stone fireplace colored glass chandelier #chandeliers in foyers #high end dining room #high end chandelier #hand made chandelier

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visionify · 1 year

Photo

Contemporary Entry in Cleveland

#An illustration of a large #modern entryway with a dark wood floor #gray walls #and a black front door. glass double entry doors #arched wooden front door #built-in shelving #architectural details #sherwin williams paint classic french gray #foyer chandeliers

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styckywycket · 1 year

Photo

Family Room in Miami

#Large trendy open concept dark wood floor family room photo with a bar #white walls and a wall-mounted tv wood floors #elevator foyer #family room #breakfast area #crystal chandelier

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upsidedownwithsteve · 2 months

Text

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

[2.7K] loosely based on the movie float, lifeguard!steve, a summer full of swim lessons. mentions of drowning, eventual smut 18+

SWIM LESSON SCHEDULE

LESSON #3

You didn’t have to wait seven whole days to see Steve again, and when you did, it wasn’t poolside.

This meant that between you both, there were a lot more clothes than normal, but you found out the hard way that that fact didn’t really make a difference to the effect he now had on you. There was a party at some rich kids house on the outskirts of town, someone called Sam that neither you nor Eddie knew all that well but Robin used to work with him at the Shake Shack and well-- if Robin was going somewhere, Steve followed, and if Steve was allowed through the door, that meant Eddie had a ticket in too.

If Eddie was there? High chance you were too.

It’s how you ended up in a neighbourhood that rivalled even Steve’s, each house sprawled out across green manicured lawns and the pools out the back were almost as large as the one you were learning in, a shiny red slide to boot. Three stories, arched windows, a winding driveway to a three door garage and when you entered behind Eddie, the crystal chandelier in the foyer was vibrating to the beat of the music.

Two guys you recognised from the trailer park grabbed Eddie as he pushed his way through the crowd, your fingers hooked in his as he dragged you behind him. They were ready with cash, bills rolled up and an eagerly impatient look in their already glassy eyes, so you waved the boy away and headed to the kitchen, a safe enough sanctuary as you skirted around the makeshift dance floor that had been created in the living room. It seemed that anyone over seventeen and anyone under thirty was at the party, the large space full to the brim with drunken strangers, people moving to the synths of INXS.

The pushed back furniture made it difficult to move around the gyrating bodies, Sam’s parent’s cream coloured carpet already stained and sticky with questionable substances. The lights had been switched off and someone had strung multicoloured Christmas lights around the curtain poles, around the second chandelier above the coffee table. There was a broken disco ball sitting in a wall sconce, pink and green and blue hitting off each mirrored tile, making everything glitter.

You saw Steve before you could make it to the kitchen, rainbows on his cheeks, a stripe of colours across his lips. He was talking to a girl - a pretty redhead who had a drink in one hand and Steve’s bicep in another. The sight of him made you feel as warm as a saturday morning, as if you were walking into water with his naked chest in front of you, his pink cheeks and sleep mussed hair just for your eyes only. It felt almost unfair to see him now, surrounded by others, touched by someone else. He looked just as pretty with a striped shirt on, his hair styled and curling around his ears and neck, one hand shoved into his jeans pocket as the other gripped a beer.

His gaze caught your own, a fleeting thing before recognition clicked at the sight of you and then Steve was moving, the redhead’s fingers catching at his sleeve before he was in front of you, her frown behind him.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.” Steve was smiling, eyes drinking in the corners like he was genuinely happy to bump into you. He craned his neck and spotted Eddie, raising his beer in greeting. “You want a drink?”

“Uh, yeah.” You smiled back, heart in your throat because Steve was placing a familiar hand on the small of your back in order to steer you into the kitchen and Eddie was grinning, a full beam that made your cheeks warm. “A drink sounds good.”

You let Steve pour you a vodka and lemonade, and he fumbled an ice tray he found in the back of the freezer, the fizz spilling over the rim of the glass as he handed it to you with a grin. You watched him lick the soda from his fingers, his eyes on yours as he smiled still, his cheeks a little pink and it felt like you were back in middle school and the pretty, popular boy was giving you too much attention.

You weren’t sure why, but you lapped it up happily.

Taking a gulp, you hummed, happy that your drink didn’t burn on the way down and Steve stayed close, his hand gone from the small of your back but his shoulder bumped yours and you could smell his cologne, leftover sunscreen and hairspray.

“You ready for lesson three tomorrow or are you planning on getting black out?” Steve asked with raised brows. “I gotta tell you now, legally, I’m not covered for drownings due to hangovers.”

You rolled your eyes, lips lifting into a smile you tried to suppress because you had absolutely no intention of getting messy drunk in the vicinity of Steve Harrington, with or without the threat of swimming the day after.

“It depends,” you joked anyway, “what does lesson three include?”

Steve smirked, leaning close, hair falling across his forehead and you could see the freckles over his nose, the glint of the chain he wore flashing under the collar of his t-shirt. “M’not sure I should tell you now.” He was all charm, a cheekiness you normally didn’t get to see up close. “You might stand me up.”

You scoffed, a dismissive sound that barely covered your embarrassment because you were sure that your eyes were wide enough to show off how flustered you were. You took another long sip, lemonade and bubbles coating your tongue and you watched Steve stare at the way you licked the vodka from your lips.

“I wouldn’t stand you up,” you murmured, barely heard over the thud of the music.

The boy beamed, ecstatic. “You wouldn’t?”

“Not unless you were planning something drastic, you know, like swimming.”

A laugh burst from Steve’s chest, his eyes shining with an amusement you were proud of producing. He leaned back against the kitchen counter, spreading his feet wide enough that you were able to stand between them. Not too close, not too suggestive, just close enough to each other that girls glared at you and no one tried to interrupt.

“Swimming? In a pool?” Steve cocked his head to the side, one hand nursing his beer, the other reaching out to poke at your side. You squirmed, amazed at how such a friendly touch seemed just as intimate as his hands on your bare back, keeping you afloat. He frowned at you, all faux confusion that made him look unbearably cute. “Who the fuck would think of that?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, unable to stop smiling. Come to think of it, your cheeks ached a little, your grin permanently etched onto your lips since you saw Steve, whether it was from being flustered or amused. Your cheeks felt hot, your chest light and you barely noticed anyone else in the room.

It’s why you jumped when two hands caught your shoulders, a diabolical cackle in your ear as you recognised the scent of smoke and old spice a little too late. Eddie smelled like childhood and home but now, standing in a strangers kitchen with Steve Harrington, you couldn’t have been less impressed with your friend’s appearance.

“Hey, there’s a good chance I can shift the last of this green if I hit up this party on Maple Street,” Eddie half yelled over the music, his arm draped over your shoulder in a too familiar way. You wanted to elbow him. “You comin’ with or—?”

He was glancing at Steve over your head, brows raised, suggestive and waiting on an answer from him rather than you. You swallowed hard, noticing how Steve had seemed just as disappointed as you at Eddie’s arrival but he shrugged, nonchalant. “I could walk you home later,” the beer in his hand glinted in the low light, his fingers tightening around it. He smiled, eyes soft, “I don’t mind.”

You wanted to say yes. Fuck, you wanted to say yes so bad and the word was costing your tongue, buzzing and excited, a fizzy candy explosion. But you took too long to look at the boy, tanned skin and messy hair, scruff on his jaw that he hadn’t bothered to shave that morning, the freckles on his cheeks and neck that made you want to touch them.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d kissed a boy, never mind one you really liked. And perhaps that wasn’t even on the cards, maybe Steve didn’t like you in that way at all - but the idea of being alone in the darkened room with strangers, people you didn’t know and people who wouldn’t care if you fell into each other - it suddenly seemed a little too much for one night.

“Um, it’s— it’s okay,” you told him regretfully. You hated the way his eyes seemed to lose a little warmth, his lips turning down before he righted himself. “I should probably just go with Eddie.”

“Pussy,” Eddie coughed, barely concealed and Steve stared at the ground, cheeks pink.

You really did elbow your friend then, the sharp point of your arm finding his rims and he kicked at the back of your heel, childlike in the way he scuffled to get you back in a way that really wasn’t subtle.

“Thank you, though,” you smiled at Steve, hopeful that he’d return the gesture. He did, although not as warm as before, not as confident as he’d been as he’d guided you to the kitchen with a wide hand on your back. “I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow, right?”

Steve sank the last of his drink, licking it from his lips before nodding. He was already back out of the kitchen and you tried not to look defeated. “Yeah, ‘course,” he told you. “See you in the morning.”

“Well,” Eddie watched Steve retreat, his hand slapping down on your slumped shoulder. “You fucked that, didn’t you?”

Steve was already in the pool when you arrived the next morning, still sleep mussed and frazzled from the way your alarm had blared too loud. Despite three weeks of early mornings, it was still a struggle to pull yourself from bed. But the promise of a warm day, pink-blue skies and Steve Harrington made it so much easier than you ever thought.

You paused at the loungers for longer than you needed, your toes curling at the thought of stripping off your shorts and shirt because the swimsuit underneath was newer and skimpier and cherry red. Steve was underwater, swimming effortlessly beneath the surface from the shallows to the depths you weren’t brave to venture to yet.

So you took the opportunity to pull off your t-shirt, a ratty old thing that used to be Eddie's and you cursed picking it up from your floor, hoping Steve wouldn’t get the wrong idea despite how many times you’d told him that Eddie was just your friend.

You let it fall to the sun warmed tiles just as Steve broke the surface, pushing his hair back with one hand as he grasped the edge of the pool with the other. He grinned when he saw you, a familiar and friendly thing that made your heart jump but his gaze darted to your chest, just for a second, just for a tiny moment, and you remembered to feel shy.

“New suit?” Steve asked, sounding casual, his brows raised as if it didn’t really matter what the answer was.

You wondered what he’d say if you told him you’d bought it with him in mind, what he’d say if he knew you’d stared at your half naked frame in your bedroom mirror for far too long, inspecting each curve, each bruise, all the old silver scars and stretch marks, stripes along your thighs that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. This suit dipped low in the back, as modest as it still was in the chest. Would he think your boobs were too small? Too big? Too flat? Uneven? Could he tell?

Would it matter?

It was a vibrant colour against your skin, the same red as the cherries you’d scooped in your smoothie before you’d left, a shade off of Steve’s lifeguard shorts. It seemed too bright now, too silly, but you nodded regardless and tried not to make a big deal out of it.

Steve leant on the pool edge, chin resting on his tanned forearms, water dripping from his wet hair, clinging to his too long lashes. He tilted his head, appraising, gaze gentle, never staring. “S’nice. Colour looks good on you.”

His words made it a lot easier for you to unbutton your shorts and slip the denim over your hips. Chin ducked, you couldn’t hold eye contact, not bold enough quite yet. But you let the shorts drop from your thighs, hitting the tiles and you kicked them under the sun lounger as you flicked off your sliders at the same time. The sun was already blazing, rising higher in the sky, turning the tangerine edges into a warm blue and the heat of it slipped over your skin like a blanket.

Feeling a little less naked than before, you walked to the shallows, Steve swimming the length of the pool to meet you. You stopped just shy of the stairs, lips pressed together and brow furrowed, contemplating. Steve stopped too, watchful as you considered your next move the boy positively beamed when you dropped down to sit at the edge of the water.

The surface lapped at Steve waist when he stood, not too deep but certainly not the gentle entrance you’d become accustomed to. You cringed as you slipped both feet into the cool water, hands curling around the edge of the pool until your knuckles burned.

“Yeah?” Steve coaxed, sounding impressed. Proud. “You’ve got it. You can just slide right in, you’ll touch the bottom.”

You knew you would. The logic was in front of you, just like the bottom of the pool was very much visible. Looking down, you could see Steve’s feet on the tiles, rippling into funny shapes and sizes, his bare legs, just as tanned as the rest of him and dusted with coarse hair. He was planted there firmly, no current or waves to knock him over, steady as ever.

He lay his hands on the top of the water, palms up. His gaze met your own, his smile warmer than the morning. “I’m right here.”

It was comforting, his words, his closeness, even if you didn’t take his hands, he kept them there, waiting. It was enough for you to lean forward, bum slipping off of the warm tiled edge and into the cool water. You gasped as always from the shock of the temperature difference, the water rippling around the tops of your ribs and it was enough to make your nipples pebble, glaringly obvious under the new, thinner material of your suit.

If Steve noticed, he didn’t dare look down.

He did take a step forward though, enough for his toes to touch yours and you could count the freckles on the bridge of his nose, could see the chlorine water that still made his lashes cling together in spikes. It was intimate enough to make you wonder if something like this would’ve happened the night before if you’d stayed. If you had let Eddie and the boy shaped comfort blanket that he was go, if you’d hung back with Steve and shared secrets and drinks under the multicoloured lights, if you’d let him walk you home under the glow of street lamps.

If he would’ve kissed you at your front door.

But then the gate clanked noisily against the chain link fence and there was a splash big enough to soak your chest and the side of your face - Steve’s too - both screwed up in shock.

Eddie appeared from the water - the deeper, indigo coloured end - shaking his sopping curls like a wet, disobedient dog, his tattooed chest bare and much paler than Steve’s. He grinned through his curls, oblivious to whatever he’d just interrupted, his arms spread wide.

“What’s up, fuckers?”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #Steve Harrington fanfiction #Steve Harrington oneshot

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xdacted · 22 days

Text

twenty seconds or twenty years?

Pairing: Reader x Max Verstappen

Warnings: fluff, Regency! Au, period-typical sexism

Word Count: 4,359

Status: Completed

Max was never one for balls or parties.

The entirety of the social season felt bothersome, a chore. His mother, however, found his resistance to society a mere ‘bout’, a passing stinge, thinking he simply had yet to stumble across the right debutante. As such, she insisted upon his attendance at any and all gatherings, responding to invitations on his behalf.

He was expected at nearly every event until June.

Max was previously able to busy himself with the workings of business affairs, often called to distant corners of the nation just as the season neared, but his mother had enough of his excuses. When she stomped into his office, an invitation in hand, slamming it upon his desk, he was unable to escape.

“You will attend,” She seethed, “If you are to take the title from your father, you must find a wife.”

Attend he did, rocking along in a carriage to the first ball of the season. A rather large event, or so Victoria had said, hosted by the Russel family.

The estate grew closer, emerging from the darkness with twinkling lights. The strong structure sat surrounded by lush grass and proud trees, gently swaying in the evening wind. Max fought the growing knot of dread that formed in the pit of his stomach, twisting uncomfortably in his seat. He wished for nothing more than to pass the evening as a mere shadow, lost to the crowd, unnoticed.

The carriage slowed to a stop and Max was slow to descend, gingerly stepping down and straightening his tailcoat. He dismissed his driver with a nod, suppressing the urge to clammer back within the confines of the carriage. He was met with the grandeur of the Russel estate, staggering pillars wrapped in foliage, imposing walls that dripped into magnificent window frames, and adorned with intricate moldings.

It was a sight to beyond, but Max could hardly stand it.

The sounds of others pulling onto the gravel behind him prompted him to slip through a lingering horde of guests and the entrance. The large doors opened to a spacious foyer, marble floors drenched in the warm chandelier light.

Max expected nothing less from the Russels, an honorable family attached to an impeachable name and title. He attended school with the youngest son, George, and hoped to find him before he was lost to the throng of other partygoers. Finding his fellow bachelors was the only source of solace Max found at such events. Many were his past schoolmates or current business partners, but more so, they were his friends.

If he were to suffer, he saw no reason why he needed to do so alone.

As if hearing his plea, a tall figure entered his field of vision.

“Verstappen!” A voice behind him exclaimed, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

He turned, the tension easing in his shoulders, “Russel.”

George stared at him, an indiscernible look on his face, “I must admit, I was quite surprised to hear that you would be attending tonight. I thought you, of us all, a perpetual bachelor.”

The comment was made in jest, but Max could not deny the truth of his words. Though he did not hold as infamous a reputation as some, Max was regarded as Unmatchable, unrelenting in his desire to never marry or sire children.

As far as he was concerned, his father’s wicked bloodline would die with him.

Max could only shrug, scooping a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, “ I assure you, old friend, it was far from my idea.”

It was my mother's, the thought went unsaid, but Max was sure George knew well enough. His mother worried for him. She only wished to see him happy, Max wished she would drop the marriage matter entirely.

“I see,” George muttered, running a hand across his chin, a moment of silence passed between them.

Then, as chipper as ever, he exclaimed, “Well, here is to the rotten luck of some.”

With a snort, Max raised his glass before bringing it to his lips. Their banter was a long-established one, forged within the walls of preparatory academy and later enforced at university.

Max opened his mouth to inquire about their fellow bachelors, but was interrupted by two ladies making their way to him, fans held up to their faces. He was locked into a conversation before he could plan his escape. Though Max was grateful for George’s company, the sight of two of the ton’s most eligible bachelors detached from a group of their own welcomed the yapping hordes of women and mothers. They were soon drowning in a sea of fabrics and sparkling jewels, unable to do more than listen as accomplishments were rattled off and dance cards were shoved in their faces.

Max wished they would attach themselves to truly interested bachelors, of which there were plenty, but he suspected it was not so much them as it was their lineage. The other had always been incredibly popular, but Max, well, he knew of the rumors.

Max Verstappen, heir to the Duke of Hasselt, is a great beast - a monster, like his father. Though his stormy demeanor deterred many, the alluring promise of a dukedom attracted far more than his attitude could ward off.

Just as the voices began to melt into one, George nudged Max with his shoulder, “Thank you, ladies, but we must take our leave. We are required elsewhere.”

Their protests were almost immediate, pushing themselves closer to the bachelors, fluttering eyes and pouted lips directed towards them.

Truly, Max would have more sympathy if he would be given more space.

“Thank you,” He said, voice coming out far firmer than he meant, “But we should be going now.”

They were quick to silence, shuffling apart to clear a small opening, and Max was quicker to take it. He could hardly breathe amongst the clouds of perfume, nose burning with the assaulting scents, and was grateful for their escape.

“You looked as if you might die,” George muttered, guiding them to a small clearing by the dancefloor, “Were they truly so appalling?”

Max opened his mouth to answer, but no words found themselves tumbling out. It was not as if he were repulsed by the idea of a woman, or even of marriage, but the unhappiness he witnessed with his parents’ marriage was something he was unable to shake. His mother had been miserable, chained to a Verstappen man with no option but to provide him with the children he demanded.

Max could never, in good consciousness, reward that with the succession of the Verstappen line.

They arrived at the clearing before he could gather his thoughts. There, nursing glasses and wearing knowing smiles, stood Viscount Riccardo, son of Viscount Norris, and the Earl of Monte-Carlo.

A few of his oldest friends.

“Gentlemen!”

The men tipped their heads in respect but maintained their smirks.

“Never thought I would live to see the day,” Daniel began, “Max Verstappen at a party.”

“I rather think it was not his idea, was it?” Charles laughed, looking over at Lando who watched on with an ill-concealed smile.

“No,” Max sighed with a roll of his eyes, “It was not.”

Laughter erupted from the bachelors, George clapping another hand down upon Max’s shoulder. Their voices were hidden from passersby by the constant flow of music.

“Regardless,” Lando said, wiping a tear from his eye, “Perhaps a wife could be best.”

“How so?”

“Well,” He gestured to the room, clusters of women craning their necks to gaze at them, “If you were married, there would be no reason to attend these parties. You would have your solitude.”

“It is not solitude I desire,” Max muttered, running a hand through his hair.

He could hardly imagine a worse fate, but it was one he was willing to fall into.

“Then what do you desire, dear friend?” Daniel quipped, casting him a sideways glance.

Max could give no response, the words a thick ball in his throat, he could only push his nose into his glass. The topic was quickly dropped and conversation floated between them easily, even as they were picked off to catch a dance or two. Still, they were left to relative peace. Approaching a pair or lone bachelor was simple, it was encouraged. But, to find yourself in front of a group, was seen as distasteful, and desperate.

Regardless, the room only continued to fill, guests spilling into other parts of the estate, but with it, so did the knot in Max’s stomach. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, fingers nervously tapping upon a nearby table.

Parties presented the unknown, and Max had tried desperately to stay far from it - the thought frightened him more than he would ever admit aloud. Within the unknown, was love.

Love felt completely foreign, a thing of fiction or myth, a sentiment that filled the pages of novels and fairy tales. Max was told that his mother and father did love each other, once. To present, however, that affection had long been lost.

Max had more than one idea as to why.

His father was a petulant man, looking to command others through fear, not respect. He was well regarded in the eyes of His Majesty, but ill in the eyes of the Ton. He was cold and selfish and, despite his prayers, Max’s father. Though Max had made every attempt to differ himself, it seemed that he was his father’s son.

And he always would be.

“-stappen…Verstappen…Max!”

The sound of his name yanked him from his thoughts.

“...yes?”

Charles looked over at him, eyebrows furrowed with worry, “Is something the matter? I called your name, but…”

Max shook his head, waving a dismissive hand, “I am quite alright, I apologize. I was merely lost in the lights.”

Still, the look remained.

“Honestly, Charles,” He placed a hand on the other’s shoulder, “I am fine.”

Max turned away from him before he could utter anything else, bringing his hand back to his side. His eyes swept over the dance floor, hoping to calm his nerves in the senselessness of the evening. Both Lando and Daniel had taken to the floor, pulling themselves towards their partners. They stepped to the music, the quartet hidden away in the balcony. A few paces over, was George. Accompanying his mother on a round of the room, and receiving praise for a successful opening to the season no doubt.

The room was lively, couples turning in time and chatting coyly. Though it was not his preferred evening, he could see the appeal of such parties.

He felt rather foolish.

His eyes moved over the entrance, the trickle of people slowing, most finding themselves huddled around the dancefloor. Then, just as he was about to pull his gaze from the doors, something - or rather someone - caught his eye.

A woman, drenched in the candlelight, moving through the crowd of people. Her entrance was met with no fanfare or buzz, but he was entranced. If no one had taken notice of her yet, how foolish they must be.

She was the most gorgeous creature to exist.

A gentle smile on perfect lips, a tendril of hair curling over her forehead, the softest hint of rouge dusted across her cheeks - Max was caught. He was caught within the lace of her dress, within the glimmer of her jewelry, within the silk of her gloves. He was caught and never wished to be released from her grasp.

She was beautiful, extraordinarily so - blindingly so.

She was unlike any other woman he had ever seen, working her way through greetings, and rounding the room with her chaperone.

“Do you -” He forced himself to swallow, throat suddenly tight, “Do you know who that is?”

Charles nodded, relaying to Max her name and family, “I believe this is her first season. She was, according to my mother, a great success at the presentation to the queen.”

Max could see exactly why, a hand curled around the arm of her chaperone, dance card dangling from her wrist - each step was taken with purpose, with conviction. She was no simpering debutante, she was a lady commanding the attention of the room. Her strength was in her grace.

He watched as George and his mother approached her, she dropped into a low curtsy, rising again with her gentle smile. They were too far to make out the words they spoke, but Max yearned to know. He yearned to hear her voice, to be near her, to breathe her air.

“Has she caught your eye, old friend?”

For the first time, Max broke his start, turning to glare at Charles.

“Do not bother denying it,” He laughed, patting Max’s arm, “Ask her to dance.”

Perhaps, he dared, just for tonight.

He glanced back over to her, her eyes moving across the room before finding him. He was sure he forgot to breathe, her gaze piercing through him.

The thought crossed his mind. He could take her to dance, it would hardly mean a thing, but he was unsure if he would survive it. If he could withstand the heat of her gaze, the feeling of her hands within his own.

Max never thought himself a weak man.

He pulled himself away, “No,” he cleared his throat, adjusting his collar, “I - I - it would be best if I refrain.”

Perhaps, he was.

He hadn’t the slightest clue what was wrong with him, but he could not possibly give himself the chance to find out, most definitely not with her. Granted, he hadn’t attended as many parties as Charles or Daniel, but he was no neophyte. Such a reaction was ridiculous, he had only learned her name, and he could not dismantle his entire life’s purpose for a woman he had only just met.

Could he?

A look of curiosity crawled across Charles’ face once more, and this time Max feared he would be forced to hear the question that awaited him, but, as if by magic, George reappeared before them.

“Whatever is the matter with him?” He teased, sipping from his champagne glass.

“I think our dear friend is -”

“I am not.”

“Oh,” George smiled, an evil thing, “I think you are.”

Max felt his face flush, a dreadful heat racing down his spine. He reached over, snatching a lute of champagne from a passing tray, his mouth felt incredibly dry.

“I suggest you make haste, friend,” George muttered, turning to take in the dancefloor. It was filled with bodies, but Max was only concerned with one.

She stood alongside other ladies, chatting idly before a gentleman approached. Max recognized him as a second son with little to offer, the gentleman bowed deeply offering his hand to her. She seemed to draw the same conclusion, the smallest lapse of hesitation passing over her before placing her hand in his. He turned them onto the dancefloor.

Max was unable to answer, attention locked onto her as she danced, the music beginning behind him. Her movement was graceful and perfect, lines straight and steady.

“You may have found your bride yet,” Charles sighed, resting his hands upon his hips, “But you will lose her if you do not take action.”

“She is not mine to have,” Max said, placing his glass down harsher than necessary, “Perhaps it is time I take my leave.”

“I did not mean -”

“No,” George stepped forward, “You never come out to these parties, stay.”

“I really should -”

“Stay.”

He looked towards his friend, unsure of what to say. He hadn’t ever revealed his reasoning behind his continued bachelorhood, but he knew his friends recognized it as something far deeper. It was simply not in their nature to divulge such feelings.

Wordlessly, he plucked another glass from a tray and downed its contents. Quite boorish, but the slight burn helped soothe the pounding of his heart. It was far from his favorite alcohol, but it was all accepted for such parties. The stronger brandy was hidden away in the smoking lounges, and Max hardly entered those.

“Excellent!” George cheered.

Eventually, Lando and Daniel returned, with George departing to greet more guests.

Despite not being the heir, George made himself ever-useful. He was often a source of great knowledge or companionship - a dutiful host too.

“I cannot believe it…” Lando mumbled, fixing a crease in his coat, with a scowl.

“What?”

“Lord Ambrose,” He nearly sneered, “He insists on filling up dance cards before other gentlemen can, believing it to be a ‘claim’ upon the ladies.”

Charles shuddered, “He is a brute.”

“He is a cheat,” Lando pressed, “There are open bookings at the club with no sight of a check.”

“He is an Earl,” Daniel reminded, placing his glass between Charles and Max, “To be his wife is to have security.”

“But what of love?” Charles questioned indignantly, “What of proper courtship? Of a love match?”

“What of it?” Max’s words left him before he was able to keep them back.

“Well,” Charles turned to the dance floor, gesturing with his glass to her, “Would you court her? Or would you wish that she marry a man like Ambrose for security?” He nearly spat the word.

“It is much more complex than that,” Max said, finding her once more in the crowd.

She returned his gaze in an instant as if she could sense him, offering him a small smile. His heart began to pound once more.

“Women are forced to rely on the security of a name,” He tried to busy himself with his words, “A name that can only come from marriage, a name only a man can provide. They are not left with much choice.”

Charles seemed to think. He would never truly understand, as he had no sisters, but Max did. He remembers Victoria’s first season with burning clarity, how terribly nervous she had been. Her entire life and personality were boiled down to a singular match. And once she did marry, she was removed from their family, excised, and replanted.

Max hated it.

“Yes,” Charles whispered, his voice nearly lost to the swell of the music, “I - I suppose you are right…”

A bubble of pleasant silence grew over them, shrouded by the music as it drew to a close. Max watched as the gentleman returned her to the other ladies, offering another deep bow before stepping away. The ladies curled around her in an instant, their eyes alight with wonder. There was a soft flush to her cheeks, but she still looked breathtaking, fanning herself gently with a hand.

Something grew within his stomach, only it was not dread, it was something light.

“Oh, bother,” Lando hissed, eyes squirting just beyond the group of ladies.

“What is it?”

“There he is,” He jerked his head, something quite unlike him, “And dare I say he is -”

He was approaching her, coming upon the smallest break within the ladies’ bodies and greeting them with a hungry smile. Max’s legs were moving before he could will himself to stay put. Lord Ambrose was looking around the ladies, leaning far closer to them than necessary.

Max was cutting through the crowd, sidestepping other partygoers and ignoring the calls of his name. Anger flared within him, perhaps it was more disgust, at Amrbose’s blatant disregard for their honor.

Of all the bachelors, he had the most notorious of reputations. Countless mistresses and bastards littered his name, but the depth of his pockets made it a mere speck upon his title. She was well within her rights to select any man she pleased, and Max could never tell her any different, but he would not allow her honor to tarnish - any other gentlemen, just not him.

“I hope I am not interrupting,” Max interjected, inserting himself between her and Lord Ambrose, “But I was wished to ask if,” He turned to face her, heart pounding, “I may have your next dance?”

“You are interrupting, Verstappen, as I was about -”

Her eyes went aglow with something akin to relief and she placed her hand in his, tightening around him, “Of course, I would be honored.”

The murmurs from the surrounding ladies were immediate, covering their mouths with dazzling fans, but there was nothing to hide their amazement. The beast out to dance, how unlikely. He held his arm out for her, rounding the expanse of the dance floor as they awaited the music.

“I must apologize if - if I overstepped,” He sighed as they settled away from earshot, “I did not mean to make it seem as if you needed my saving.”

“Your apology is accepted,” She smiled up at him, placing a gloved hand upon his shoulder, and the other resting gently within his grasp, “But, regardless of how unnecessary it may have been, I am quite grateful.”

“Though I must admit, Mr. Verstappen,” The music queued up behind them, a gentle melody of strings, “I was under the impression you had no interest in dancing.”

Her words were a double-edged sword and Max could not deny.

“I, typically, do not,” He swallowed thickly, unable to withhold the truth with her before him, “But for you, I suspect there are many exceptions to be had yet.”

Her blush burned through her cheeks and to the tips of her ears, Max suppressed a chuckle. She was quick to recover, moving away from him with the first steps of the dance. It was a simple one, filled with a series of spins and skips. Despite his reluctance, he was still a member of high society. His education had included such social niceties, though he never thought he would put them to use.

“You are a far better dancer than the rumors allow you credit for.”

“Are you one to listen to rumors?”

“Only when they make such a man to be a beast,” She looked at him through her eyelashes, though it was not coy. There was nothing demure about her gaze, it was striking.

It was as if she wished to see into the very depths of his soul, to know all of his secrets and deepest desires.

And Max, the great fool he is, would gladly allow her.

He spun her in time with the music, guiding her by the waist, before pulling her near him once more. This close, he was able to see her more clearly. The shape of her eyes, the slope of her nose, the roundness of her face - her beauty knew no bounds. The very dress she wore, a mere cloth of elaborate stitching, seemed to be one with her body, made for her.

He supposes it was, but so many debutants attempted to hide their nervousness behind frilly clothing and blinding jewels. She, however, seemed to command the very fabric on her skin.

“Is there something the matter, My lord?”

Her voice shook him from his thoughts, but there was a knowing look in her eye.

“No, no, I apologize,” He stepped behind her, reaching for her hand, “And I am not Lord, not - not yet.”

“Many men would jump at the chance to claim a title that is not theirs,” She huffed, unable to hide the roll of her eyes.

“Well,” Max found both her hands, lifting them above their heads before tracing a hand down her spine to the small of her back, “I am not most men.”

She sucked in a sharp breath at his touch, and when he went to remove his hand, she leaned into it, “No, I suppose you are not.”

The air between them was electric, thick with unspoken desire. There was much to say, much to do, but Max only planned to keep her from Ambrose, not the entirety of the marriage mart.

He straightened once more, clearing his throat, “My - my mother was incredibly involved in our upbringing. I learned a myriad of things my fellow bachelors did not.”

She seemed to think for a moment, cocking her head to the side, “Like…sewing?”

“...Yes,” He sighed, spinning them around, “But she said it was more with my unruly desire to be the best at…well, everything.”

His words pulled a laugh from her lips. It was not gentle nor polite, her laughter was bright and loud, pulling the attention of a few other dancers, but Max could not bring himself to care. He adored it.

He adored her.

“I am quite the same,” She mused, “I cannot stand to lose.”

Max smiled before he could stop himself, “Neither can I.”

He walked himself around her, holding his right hand to her waist and the other to her opposite hand. They locked eyes, Max’s blood rushing to his ears. The shy smile she offered him from across the room melted into a genuine smile, larger than the former.

Far more beautiful.

The music ended with a soft chord, the floor breaking apart to clap. Max slowly moved from her, unable to fight the need any longer, his eyes still trained on hers. They clapped, but the moment the applause died down, he took her hand in his. The walk back to the group was nearly a crawl.

He did not wish to leave her side.

They arrived sooner than he wished, but the words came just as quickly.

“May -” He nearly forgot himself, “May I call upon you? Perhaps…tomorrow?”

“Yes,” She breathed, still holding onto his hand, “I would like that very much.”

He looked down at their hands and waited for her to pull back from him. She did with a blush moving across her cheeks, and Max was unable to do anything but return it.

He felt like a boy, with his heart thundering within his chest, but - they locked eyes once more, the infinite land of understanding between them, surrounding them - nothing could ever feel more right.

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A/N:This work has been cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. All are under the name XDACTED. Thank you for reading and feel free to request fics about any of the drivers <3

also, yes, there are geographical inaccuracies, but let's all just have fun and ignore them kay??? and if you guys like this and want me to continue this with the rest of the drivers, let me know

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