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pitlanepeach · 4 days ago

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Invisible String | Chapter One (1/5)

( MAX VERSTAPPEN x CELESTE S. PEREIRA )

SUMMARY — Born into a life of luxury, Celeste chose ambition over inheritance. Max buried his fame to have a chance at being known. Loving him might destroy them both.

WARNINGS — Sexually suggestive content. Chronic illness (Type 1 Diabetes). Lying and deception. Mentions of death of a parent. Emotional themes (grief, trust issues). Identity concealment. Angst + Fluff.

A new chapter will be posted every Monday.

WORD COUNT — 15k

A huge thank you to @emma-manuhpe for her assistance with this beast of a chapter!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

January 2021

Celeste was in a rush.

Lately, she was always in a rush.

No matter how fast she moved, it never seemed fast enough — and it was starting to piss her off.

She stood at the crosswalk, glaring at the slow, deliberate tick of the timed streetlight. Thirty seconds to stop traffic; she knew because she’d spent her whole life on these streets, one of the rare few actually born in Monaco. She could chart the whole of the Principality by heart, every shortcut, every back alley, and still, today, it felt like the whole place was against her.

This morning had been a disaster from the get-go.

Ripping out her old CGM sensor, fumbling to stick the new one into her arm with fingers that wouldn’t stop shaking. Trying not to cry when it peeled off the first time because she'd rushed the adhesive. Re-sticking it with a backup patch, already late before she even left the house.

Then sprinting from one side of the city to the other for a client who thought the world revolved around him — and he was a Saudi oligarch, so it probably did.

Contracts to be signed, outstanding documents that still needed to be chased down, blood sugar levels already threatening a nosedive that she could sense at the edges of her vision.

And on top of it all, she was going to be late. Again.

Plus, she was stuck walking across the city because her car had died on her the week before, right in the middle of Avenue Princesse Grace, at the worst possible time, because of course it had. And the garage, run bya group of men who had spoken to her like she was eight years old rather than twenty-six, still hadn’t given her a straight answer about when it would be fixed.

(“Next week, maybe. Parts delay. You know how it is, mademoiselle.”)

She ground her teeth every time she thought about it. Yeah. She knew exactly how it was.

They’d seen the Birkin, the dress, the heels.

They’d seen money.

Maybe she had it. Maybe, just maybe, she had too much of it to be allowed to complain about anything. She had a closet full of handbags she barely used, a jewellery case she forgot about half the time, and a collection of dresses that cost more than most people’s yearly salaries. She had a degree from the best university in Europe. She had a career people would kill for.

She was lucky.

She knew she was lucky.

It didn’t stop the bitterness from curling up in her chest anyway, thick and sour and stupid. It didn’t stop the part of her brain that wanted to scream every time someone smiled too slowly at her, talked down to her, or dragged their feet because they assumed she could afford to wait.

And it definitely didn’t stop the part of her that kept whispering, quietly, cruelly, that it was all about to fall apart; that she was balancing her life on a thread, that any second now, she’d lose her grip.

She knew she was being dramatic.

“Doom-thinking,” her therapist had called it.

Her brain’s worst party trick.

It didn’t matter.

Today, it felt real.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

She shifted her weight, feeling the CGM itch under her sleeve, the patch tugging against her skin with every impatient move.

She clenched her jaw and stared hard at the crossing signal, willing it to turn before she did something reckless — like scream, or cry, or tear the damn pole out of the sidewalk and hurl it into the street.

It would pass.

It always did.

But right now, the world was too slow, and she was too fast, and it felt like the whole damn thing was pulling itself apart at the seams.

Then her phone rang, vibrating sharp and sudden in the pocket of her coat, and in the split second it took her to pull it out and glance at the caller ID, she stepped off the curb without looking.

A flash of silver.

Screeching tires.

A horn blasting so loud it rattled her teeth.

She jerked back instinctively as a low-slung car, some sleek, priceless thing, slammed to a halt inches from her knees. For a moment, everything froze. Her heart felt like it had been punched clean out of her chest.

The driver's side door flew open, and a guy stumbled out, one hand up, his face wide with horror.

"I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you. Are you okay?!" He rushed out, his words tumbling over each other, voice rough with panic and an accent she didn’t have time to place.

Celeste barely looked at him.

She waved him off with the sharp, impatient flick of someone hanging on by a thread.

"I’m fine," she snapped, already thumbing her phone open as she answered the call. "Hello? Yes, hi — I’m just five minutes away," she said breathlessly, forcing her voice into something bright and professional even as she side-eyed the car like it might still lurch forward and finish the job.

(Which was a lie, anyway. She was twenty minutes away, minimum.)

The client barked something about urgency. She rushed through polite apologies and promises that she was just around the corner and had everything in hand.

When she finally hung up, the world came rushing back in: the noise, the heat, the lingering adrenaline still making her hands shake.

Only then did she properly look at the guy who had almost killed her.

He was standing there awkwardly, one hand braced on the roof of the car. Brown hair, messy like he’d been running his hands through it. Strong jaw, dark jeans, and a leather jacket that looked very out of place in Monaco’s usual parade of suits and loafers.

Dammit.

He was cute.

An almost-murderer. But cute.

Celeste glared at him anyway, because her heart was still jackhammering against her ribs, and being almost flattened wasn’t something you just got over because the reckless driver was handsome.

She shoved her phone into her pocket and started to step around him.

"Hey— Hold on a minute. Wait," he called out, jogging a few steps after her. "At least let me give you a ride. You seem like you're in a hurry. And... seriously, I’m sorry. I really didn’t see you."

She stopped, turning just enough to pin him with a look. Everything in her screamed no. Stranger. Car. Disaster.

But she was going to be late.

And late meant dead when it came to this client.

Her eyes flicked to the front of the car, a beautiful silver-grey Aston Martin, of course, and caught the license plate: MV333.

She hesitated for one breath, two.

Then yanked her phone back out, snapped a photo of the plate, and tucked it away again like a weapon.

He watched her do it without flinching, just sort of half-smiling.

"If you kill me," she said flatly, "everyone will know."

“Of course,” he said, holding his hands up. “But I am very non-murderous. Promise."

She gave him one last hard look, then yanked open the passenger door and slid inside.

"Rue Princesse Caroline," she said crisply, already fastening her seatbelt. "Avoid Boulevard Albert if you can. Construction’s a nightmare."

There was a beat of silence, him blinking at her sudden efficiency, before he scrambled around the car and dropped back behind the wheel. “Right. Of course. Got it," he said, throwing the car into gear.

Celeste leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, heart still pounding. She stared straight ahead, refusing to look at him.

—

What the hell am I doing? Celeste cursed in her head.

Getting into a car with a stranger was stupid. She was smarter than this.

Her mother would kill her if she found out. She’d say she was reckless, irresponsible—“just like your father.” Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind, but she shoved it aside.

"You're late to something?" The stranger’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

"Client meeting," she muttered, not offering more. She wasn’t late yet—she had at least ten minutes before that became an issue. Her phone buzzed again. Ignoring it, she turned to glance at the stranger. "So, you’re new to Monaco? Visiting or...?" He glanced at her, clearly caught off guard. She couldn't resist teasing. "Well, you clearly don’t know the roads."

He winced. "Ah. Right. I’m... relatively new. Moved here a few months ago."

"Impressive." She sized him up. Nice jacket, expensive leather. The jeans were probably from Zara. But those shoes? Expensive. She raised an eyebrow. "You’re in business?"

Might as well distract myself before I spiral, she thought bitterly.

He seemed unsure how to answer.

She smirked. "Trust fund kid?" she asked, half-playful. "Don’t be ashamed of it. I am too, technically, but I get bored. That’s the only reason I went to university, and then I fell in love with property law.” She shrugged.

He glanced at her, squinted slightly, then exhaled, seeming to relax. "Right. Yeah. I guess." His response was vague.

Her phone buzzed again. She rolled her eyes.

Damn oligarchs and their huge egos.

"Uh. You’ve lived here for a while, then?” He asked, his fingers tapping a steady rhythm on the steering wheel.

She glanced at him, her patience thinning. Maybe it was just the exhaustion creeping in or the frustration from the morning’s chaos. Whatever it was, she was clearly irritable. She needed to check her sugars; the near-collision had probably caused a dip. "Forever. I was born here. My mom’s Brazilian; my dad died before I was born — but she moved here while she was pregnant with me. We lived in Saint-Tropez for a few years when I was a teenager, but Monaco has always been home." She glanced at the centre console. "Do you have any gum?"

He nodded, waving a hand toward the slim glove compartment. She reached for the latch and pulled it open, sighing in relief at the sight of gum with real sugar—thank God, not the sugar-free kind that would do her no good. She unwrapped a stick, popped it into her mouth, and looked at him, matter-of-fact. "I’m stealing the rest of these. Payment for almost killing me." Then she eyed him curiously. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.” He said, then frowned at the road for a moment glancing at her. "Can you… I don’t know where I need to go from here. Give me directions?"

She blinked, but quickly gave him the rundown, pointing out the turns and landmarks as they navigated the winding streets. He took it all in with an efficient nod, his focus on the road sharp and steady.

In the meantime, she considered his answer. Twenty-three. Three years younger than her, then. Not a huge gap, but still… he looked older. She would’ve guessed twenty-five.

Adjusting her handbag on her lap, Celeste glanced around the interior of the car. She was looking for anything to distract her, and she found it.

She scoffed, lip curling in dissatisfaction. “You don’t have a girlfriend?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

His head snapped toward her, clearly thrown. "Uh— No. I don’t. Why?" He sounded a little defensive.

She sighed. “You don’t have a handbag hook. It’s annoying. I hate having it on my lap, but I’m not putting it in the footwell.” She made a face as she shifted the weight of her bag, trying to make it more comfortable.

He let out a huff of laughter. “You really leaned into the rich kid stereotype there.”

She shot him a quick, narrowed look. “Says you.” Hadn’t they established that they were both trust-fund kids? “You don’t have any female friends?” She asked, referring once again to the lack of a handbag hook.

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t look at her this time. “None that would care about that.”

She glared at him. “I’m allowed to not want my bag digging into my stomach every time you turn.”

He glanced at her again, a grin tugging at his lips. “Alright. My apologies. Next time, I’ll have a hook there for you.”

Next time, huh? She almost laughed. She’d probably never see him again.

He pulled into a spot outside the office building and stopped.

Celeste brushed down her skirt, giving him a cursory glance. “I won’t say thank you for almost flattening me, but… I appreciate the ride. I hate being late.”

He nodded.

She thought about the car, his outfit, and the networking potential. She dug around in her bag and handed him a business card.

Celeste S Pereira

Property and Asset Management

Cavallier Legal Services LLC

Tel: +377 93 123 456

Email: [email protected]

He glanced at it, then back at her.

She flashed him a charming smile. “If you ever decide to buy property in Monaco— or your father. Mother. Wherever your riches come from,” she shrugged.

He stared at her for a moment, his eyes sparkling. “I’ll keep this safe. Good luck with your meeting.”

She climbed out of the car and, after a quick glance back at him, disappeared into the building.

—

Her Valentino heels clicked against the polished stone floor as Celeste moved past the receptionist, offering the woman a polite nod. The lobby was pristine, all chrome and glass, as if it had been frozen in time, a mirror of Monaco’s glossy exterior. Her heart rate ticked up just slightly, a small, familiar flutter of nerves. She wasn’t sure if it was from the anticipation of the meeting, or the gnawing feeling in her stomach that told her something was off. She checked her watch; plenty of time to spare.

The elevator pinged, and she stepped in, alone with her thoughts. As the doors closed, she allowed herself to relax for a moment, taking a deep, steadying breath.

When the elevator doors slid open, she straightened her posture instinctively. The meeting with Khitfa Salim was only one of many, but it felt significant, a chance to prove herself. He stood by the window, his back to her, gazing out over the glittering Mediterranean. The blue water stretched out below the building, a calm contrast to the storm she expected to weather inside.

She recognized him immediately. Khitfa Salim, Saudi oligarch, notorious for his large wealth and sharp temper. She’d heard the rumours. Seen his name on the list of 100 Wealthiest Men in 2020.

Celeste squared her shoulders and walked into the room, her heels clicking with purpose. "Mr. Salim,” she greeted him, her voice smooth, confident. She extended her hand, maintaining eye contact as she did.

He turned toward her, his sharp eyes immediately taking in her appearance—tailored dress, perfect makeup, the kind of polished professionalism that made her hard to forget. His gaze lingered just a moment too long on her chest before he reached out, taking her hand with a firm grip.

"Ms. Pereira," he replied, his voice thick with accent, deep and commanding. "I trust it wasn’t too difficult for you to meet me here?”

"Not at all," she replied easily, keeping her expression neutral, offering a practiced smile. "Shall we get started?"

Khitfa nodded, gesturing to the polished walnut table where a set of documents lay neatly arranged. She had sent over the initial service contract she’d drafted for him ahead of time; there was no need to go over that again.

He settled into a chair, folding his hands in front of him. “Now, Monaco is attractive for its tax benefits; we all understand this. But I want more than just a place to park money. I require a property that will appreciate in value over time. Something unique and beautiful. My wife likes pretty things." He said, his voice cool and calculated.

Celeste leaned forward slightly, flipping through the papers she’d brought along. "Understood," she said, her fingers touching the edge of the listings she had prepared. "There are several properties on the market that fit your criteria. I’ve already drafted some preliminary options for you. What’s your timeline?" she asked, pulling a particular listing from the bottom of her pile. She glanced up and met his gaze.

"I need something within the next few months," he replied, his eyes narrowing just slightly. "I have capital that cannot stay where it is being kept for much longer without suffering for it.”

"Of course," she said, pursing her lips as she tapped her pen thoughtfully on the paper. "We can streamline the process, make it as quick as possible. I can facilitate that for you."

His expression remained unchanged. "I trust you will, Ms. Pereira."

"Now, you’re aware that there are no property taxes in the province," she continued smoothly, sliding a few more documents his way, "but you’ll still owe approximately six percent in closing fees. Nothing you need to concern yourself with. I’ll ensure it’s all structured properly as soon as we settle on a property."

“This!” Khitfa said, his voice sharp as a knife, slicing through the air. He nodded in approval as he thumbed through the mini property portfolio she had put together for him. "This is why I hired you. I don’t want to waste time, and I don’t want surprises."

Celeste laid out the details of the properties she had in mind: prime real estate, luxury developments, and discrete locations perfectly suited for someone of Khitfa’s stature. She watched as his sharp eyes flicked over the listings, taking in each option.

"I am fond of this one," Khitfa said, jamming his finger onto one of the properties, his voice taking on a more satisfied edge.

Celeste peered at the listing he’d singled out, recognising it immediately. Ah, just as she’d thought, the castle. A sprawling estate on the outskirts of Monaco, with its breathtaking views of the sea and its historic architecture. It was the kind of property that would fit a man like Khitfa.

She gave him a polite smile. “Of course.”

He nodded, his expression hardening slightly. "Prepare the final documents. I’ll need them ready to sign as soon as I’ve seen the property in person."

She nodded, agreeing easily. "I’ll arrange the viewing as soon as possible."

The meeting came to an easy close. He shook her hand, and she tried to ignore the way his gaze lingered on her chest again.

Rich or poor, men were all the same.

—

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, Celeste let out a quiet breath of relief. She moved away from the table, her posture stiff. Another deal was all but sealed, but her brain felt cloudy. The dizziness that she’d been ignoring was more pronounced now; almost like the room was tilting slightly. She rubbed her temples, hoping it would pass, but it didn’t.

Her stomach churned uncomfortably, a familiar feeling. She tried to ignore it, but the edge was there: the telltale signs of a blood sugar dip. She could feel the fog creeping into her mind, and she knew what it meant.

Dammit.

She quickly grabbed her phone, opened the app that synced with her CGM, and checked the numbers. Her heart sank. 3.1 mmol/L. She cursed under her breath. That was dangerously low.

"Shit." She whispered, pulling at the hem of her dress as she turned toward the bathroom.

Her hands were starting to shake. She moved toward the bathroom, her steps quicker than usual. The stall clicked shut behind her, and she fumbled through her handbag to retrieve her insulin pen and glucose tabs. She was always prepared for this, of course, but she hated the vulnerability of it.

It was different at home. In her apartment. In her bathroom.

The insulin pen was sleek, clinical—nothing fancy. Just a standard NovoPen 6, the one she used every day. No amount of money could buy premium insulin. It was all the same. She’d come to terms with that a long time ago; at a very young age, when she realised that no matter how rich her mother was, no amount of wealth would change her condition. It didn’t matter if you were a billionaire or someone barely getting by. Diabetes was equal-opportunity.

The numbers on the CGM still flashed in her mind, 3.1 mmol/L. Below 3.3, and she could easily lose concentration—and if it dropped any further, she was running the risk of losing consciousness, too.

She cursed under her breath and opened the insulin pen’s cap with trembling fingers. Her usual dose was a long-acting insulin, but this wasn’t the time for that. She needed a quick-acting shot to correct the dip before it spiraled any further.

She adjusted the pen to deliver 2 units of the rapid-acting insulin. With her eyes closed, trying to push down the rising panic, she carefully administered the shot into her thigh. The scratch of the needle was a strangely familiar feeling, but one she never got used to.

It was always hard to predict how quickly she'd start to feel better. A low could reverse in minutes, but so could a high. Her last meal had been about three hours ago. A light salad with protein. She’d eaten enough carbs to stabilise her levels, but the stress of being late and then coming inches away from being hit by a car seemed to have thrown everything off track.

It would take time. But it would get better. It always did.

After the shot, she grabbed a glucose tab from her bag and quickly popped it into her mouth. As the sugary tablet dissolved on her tongue, she glanced at the CGM again. 3.1 mmol/L still blinked back at her. It was hard to believe the number hadn’t moved, even with the shot and glucose.

She was just going to have to wait it out.

She set the insulin pen aside, resting her back against the cool stall door. Her pulse was still erratic, but at least she had taken action. Within ten minutes, the insulin should start kicking in, and the glucose would help stabilise her. She took slow, deliberate breaths, willing the fog to lift. She could feel her hands still shaking, but her thoughts were slowly clearing.

Minutes passed, and she checked her CGM again. 4.5 mmol/L. It was slowly rising, but still below what she wanted for a baseline. She’d have to keep an eye on it, but for now, she felt the world around her shift from a dull blur to something sharper.

The dizziness began to recede, the cloudiness in her mind slowly lifting.

She gave herself a few more minutes to gather herself before standing up, adjusting her dress, and leaning over the sink to swipe a hand under her eye. She pulled her lipstick out of her handbag and reapplied the mauve pink, giving the mirror a performative pout that completely contrasted the way she was feeling.

Then she took one more steadying breath and squared her shoulders before she walked out, the faint taste of glucose on her tongue, and a hundred things to do before sunset.

—

Later that evening, Celeste stood at the large window of her mother’s sprawling villa, watching the golden hues of the setting sun dip beneath the horizon. The property was everything her mother adored: grand and opulent, yet still homely.

The marble floors gleamed under the soft glow of chandeliers, and the long hallway opened up into rooms filled with priceless pieces of furniture: heirlooms, gifts from old friends, and treasures from their travels. Outside, the garden stretched across the estate, lush and green, offering undisturbed views of the sparkling Mediterranean.

"Filha, you’re finally here," her mother’s voice broke through her thoughts, warm and soft, with that familiar Brazilian lilt that never failed to soothe her. Celeste turned, her lips curling into a smile. Her mother stood next to the dining table, gesturing for her to join her.

She crossed the room, the click of her heels against the stone floors echoing in the otherwise quiet house. She kissed her mother on both cheeks, inhaling the comforting mix of jasmine and roses from her perfume, a scent she could never forget.

"Mother," Celeste greeted, using mãe—the affectionate term for mom in Portuguese—as she always did when speaking to her. It felt natural, intimate. It was what she’d heard her mother call her grandmother, after all.

Her mother smiled warmly, her tanned skin glowing under the soft light of the chandelier. "You’re looking a bit pale, minha filha. Are you eating enough? You’re so thin," she said, concern in her eyes as she eyed Celeste critically.

Celeste settled into the chair across from her, glancing at the spread laid out on the table. Grilled fish, fresh salad, feijoada simmering on the stove, and a basket of warm pão de queijo. Her mother was an amazing cook; in a different life, Celeste was certain she could’ve made a career out of it.

"I’m fine, mãe," Celeste reassured her, her voice carrying a hint of affectionate amusement at the way her mother fussed. "Just a busy day."

Her mother’s gaze lingered on her, clearly unconvinced, before she sighed and sat down. "You’re always working," she muttered, lifting a glass of wine to her lips. "You should slow down. You’re young, filha, enjoy life. Monaco is a beautiful place to live—why not embrace it?"

Celeste bit her lip, stifling the sharp retort bubbling up. Her mother was content to live her life without a care, focusing only on the next pilates class or social event. She would never judge her for it; life had been hard enough on her, but Celeste just needed more. She needed purpose. "I enjoy it, just in my own way," she said finally. "I like keeping busy."

Her mother raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in her eye. "Keeping busy is one way of saying you hide behind your work, yes?" She teased, her smile softening the words.

Celeste couldn’t help it. She laughed, the sound escaping before she could think. "Maybe. But it’s better than hiding behind something else, isn’t it?"

Her mother swirled her wine, taking a sip. “Yes. There are worse things to hide behind than work, I suppose." She gave a soft sigh, then pointed her fork at Celeste. "But take care of yourself, querida. Get more sunshine. And please, start looking for a husband. I do not want to be waiting forever for—"

"Mãe!" Celeste interrupted, laughing in disbelief at the familiar jab. "I’m only twenty-six. I’ve got plenty of time to meet the right man. Don’t worry."

Her mother sighed but nodded, her eyes soft with a mixture of concern and love. "I will stop asking, then."

Celeste gave her a fond smile. "Thank you. I love you. I promise I’ll give you grandchildren, just…" She held up a hand as though to make a point. "Not yet, okay?"

Her mother shook her head, the smile tugging at her lips. "You say that now, but mark my words, one day you’ll be wishing you listened to your mother."

"Maybe," Celeste replied with a smile, the warmth of the moment settling between them like a quiet understanding. "But not today."

—

The week passed in a blur of meetings, endless email threads, and, thankfully, much more stable blood sugars.

By Thursday, Celeste had completed the sale of the twenty-million-dollar castle to Khitfa Salim. The deal had gone smoothly, even though his indifference toward everything except the numbers made her stomach twist. It wasn’t the money, or the property, that left her unsettled; it was the hollow feeling that came with the constant transactional nature of her work.

The property was beautiful. Grand, historical, something that might’ve taken her breath away had she been someone else, but instead, she’d simply signed the paperwork, her pen gliding across the documents with practiced ease. Another day, another sale. Another step further away from the person she thought she might be, beneath the layers of personality she’d crafted.

She’d had no time to process it. Instead, the next day, she stood in front of the garage, staring at her car.

She’d been hoping they’d finally managed to fix the issue.

But when she asked, the older technician shook his head and kissed his teeth sympathetically. “Nothing we can do. It’s a total loss. We recommend scrapping it.”

Her chest tightened, but she forced herself to breathe slowly, swallowing back the frustration. The car had been her father’s, once upon a time. It was, therefore, older than she was, and it hadn’t been in the best of conditions then, let alone now. But it had been hers. It represented the life she’d built, the legacy she was trying to escape, and now it was just… gone.

She managed a stiff nod, turning on her heel to leave. The world outside was loud, the traffic almost deafening, but Celeste didn’t feel it. She felt a quiet anger simmering under her skin, a frustration with the entire week, with everything that had seemed to fall apart in small, painful ways.

By Friday night, she was drained. She could barely bring herself to check her messages, but she did anyway.

Come out with us tonight!!! We’re going to Jimmy’z. You need a break.

She read the message twice, her finger hovering over the screen as she debated. Part of her wanted to decline, remain in the quiet comfort of her apartment, and wallow in self-pity.

But that was a stupid idea, and it would only make her feel worse.

I’ll meet you there at eight.

A distraction was exactly what she needed.

Celeste moved quickly through her routine—her version of quick. Two hours between the shower and the final spritz of perfume before stepping out the door.

She had chosen a dress that fit her mood: a limited edition Saint Laurent, black and sleek, hugging her curves in all the right ways. She swiped on her favourite red lipstick, the colour bold enough to make a statement without saying a word. Her freshly manicured feet slipped into a pair of black stiletto heels; tall enough to give her an edge.

She studied herself in the mirror, the reflection that always felt like it was missing something. A subtle, quiet thought nudged at her; the small white device on her arm, the one that monitored her blood glucose. It was attached right above her elbow.

She stared at it for a moment. It was visible, just there—uncovered, unhidden. But it didn’t matter. She didn’t feel the need to hide it. Too much pride to feel shame, she reminded herself. No, it wasn’t something she was ashamed of. It was part of her.

She took a breath and smiled, just a little, before stepping away from the mirror, feeling the sting of her plumping lip gloss against her lips as the familiar rush of confidence settled in.

—

When Celeste arrived at Jimmy’z, the pulsating beats of music mixed with the hum of conversation and bursts of laughter enveloped her the moment she stepped through the door. The lights were low, flashing in sync with the rhythm of the DJ’s set.

Her friends greeted her immediately, a wave of affection and light-hearted teasing.

"Finally!" Maria exclaimed, a cocktail already in her hand. "We thought you were going to stand us up again."

Celeste laughed, leaning in to kiss both of her friends on the cheeks. "I almost did," she confessed, "But here I am."

“And you look amazing," Clara added, her eyes taking in Celeste’s outfit with approval. "That dress? Wow. You're stealing all of the attention." She pouted.

Celeste chuckled, sipping her drink. “I like the attention,” she said with a wink, feeling a small, mischievous spark ignite within her.

As they made their way to their table (VIP with bottle service, of course), she took in the surroundings, allowing herself to get lost in the thrum of the music.

Her friends weren’t concerned with business deals, tax breaks, or property markets. Instead, they pulled her into conversations about boys, gossip, and the latest celebrity drama. They made her laugh until her stomach ached, joked about her love life (or lack thereof), and passed around a cocktail list that made her forget that she'd been living on a constant diet of stress for the last seven days.

She excused herself from the table after a few hours with a playful smile to her friends and made her way to the restroom, hoping to clear her head for a moment.

The bathroom was cool, offering a welcome reprieve from the heat of the club. She touched up her lipstick, running her fingers through her hair to smooth it down, and gave herself a brief glance in the mirror, her eyes lingering on the faint line of tiredness that had started to settle into her face.

With a quick sigh, she pushed the thoughts of the week’s pressure out of her mind. Tonight wasn’t about that.

As she stepped back into the club, the hum of conversation and laughter greeted her like an old friend. She wove her way through the crowd with ease, her heels clicking against the polished floors. The bar was busy, but there was a spot open at the far end, near where the bottles of top-shelf liquor were displayed like trophies.

She walked over, ordering a glass of water, already feeling the slight buzz from her previous drinks start to settle. As she waited for the bartender, she glanced around, taking in the people around her; some lost in conversations, and others caught in their own world, dancing and laughing.

But just as the bartender handed her a chilled glass of water, her gaze landed on… him.

He was leaning casually against the bar, a glass in hand, visibly more relaxed than the last time she’d seen him. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was just the fact that he hadn’t just almost murdered someone, but he seemed significantly more laid-back.

And he looked good.

Really, really good.

The way his white shirt fit across his broad shoulders made her stomach tighten in a way that was unexpected but not all that surprising. She liked arms, specifically men's arms, and she liked them even more when they were attached to broad shoulders and strong, muscular necks.

Check, check, and... check.

Their eyes locked across the bar. A flash of recognition passed on his face, followed by that lazy grin, full of something playful, something just a little daring.

Before she could look away, he was moving toward her, a slow, deliberate walk that didn't seem in a rush but still had purpose. His eyes never left hers, and as he stopped just a few feet away from her, his grin only deepened.

“So, let me guess,” he said, his voice low, but not too serious. “You’re stalking me now?”

Celeste raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes. She took a sip from her water, her lips curling into a smile before she answered. “Don’t flatter yourself,” she said, her tone teasing but with a touch of something sharper. “Do you really think I have time to stalk anybody?”

He chuckled. “I have no idea what you have time for.” He leaned a little closer, but not enough to invade her space. She narrowed her eyes at him. His presence was... oddly magnetic. A quiet tension simmered in the air between them, probably amplified by the fact that they were both very clearly more than three drinks deep.

“You’ve got a serious ego. Have you already forgotten that you almost killed me?” She asked, her eyebrows raised.

He laughed, the sound was rough, and she hated how much she liked it. “Guilty. But I did offer you a ride, didn’t I? And you stole my gum. I could’ve just left you on the sidewalk, but I didn’t.” His gaze flickered down to her lips, a brief glance before it shifted back to her eyes.

She caught the look, and her lower stomach clenched, a feeling she couldn’t quite ignore.

“You did,” she agreed, the playful edge in her voice matching his. “But I had to give you directions, and you didn’t have a hook for my handbag, so who really suffered, hm?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, intrigued. He wasn’t used to being challenged, and that only made her more amused. She wanted to smirk. “The handbag hook. I forgot about that,” he confessed, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

She tilted her head, her gaze steady on him, and hummed a little in mock disappointment. “You’ll need to fix that, of course, if you ever want me in your passenger seat again.”

He leaned in just a little closer, and for a moment, the air between them grew thick with something unspoken, something undeniably charged. His breath was warm against her ear, his voice lower now, smooth and slow. “And what else would I have to do to get you there? A little plaque with your name on it, declaring the seat as yours alone? Maybe I’ll get an upholsterer to stitch your name into the headrest, to make it clear exactly who belongs there.”

Her heart beat a little faster, the way his eyes held hers, the way his words hung in the air.

She couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow, a slow, seductive smile spreading across her face. “You think a silly little stitch will be enough?” She asked, her voice low, teasing, but with an edge that told him she was far from the kind of woman who could be won over by something as simple as that. “No. I would want something more obvious. When something is mine, I like everyone to know it.”

He let out a soft laugh, his lips curling into a smirk. “So, no upholstering, then?”

“No.” She smiled at him, her eyes flickering with something dangerous, something playful, but also… daring. “Something much more.”

With that, she leaned in close enough to brush her lips against his jaw, just a fleeting, barely-there touch. The warmth of his skin lingered, and for a second, everything else faded. When she pulled away, she could feel the pulse in her neck, the rapid thumping in her chest.

“Have a good night, stranger,” she teased, her voice almost a whisper, before she turned on her heel, heading back toward her table. She could feel his eyes on her, heavy, persistent, the entire time.

—

She was in her home office when her work phone started ringing.

After nursing a two-day hangover into remission, and getting her blood sugars back on track with her usual diet and routine, Celeste was finally feeling like herself again.

She answered the call, an unknown number flashing on the screen. “This is Celeste Pereira, who am I speaking to?”

“Max.”

The gentle lilt of his accent was unmistakable.

She straightened in her chair, eyes narrowing at the abstract painting across from her desk. Splashes of blues and whites.

“This is my work number,” she said sharply.

“I’m aware.” He paused, and she could practically hear the grin in his voice. “I’m interested in buying some property in Monaco. I’d like to start an investment portfolio.”

“Conflict of interest,” she replied flatly.

There was a beat of silence on the other end. Good. He hadn’t expected that.

“I—”

“Do you want to ask me about properties, Max?” She teased, letting his name linger in her mouth. It suited him. “Or do you want to ask me on a date?”

He barked out a laugh. “Wow. I— yes. Yes, I want to ask you on a date.” He said.

Celeste smirked, pursing her lips. “Okay. Plan something. I’ll text you my address.”

“That’s it?” His surprise was evident. “I thought I’d have to beg.”

She hummed, amused. “No begging. But just so you know, I judge first dates pretty harshly. But… no pressure.”

He laughed. “Text me your address.”

Huh. He was good at taking charge, then. Didn’t mind the fact that she could be too sharp, too quick, too cold.

She liked that a lot.

“I will.” She told him. Then she ended the call and set the phone down, her gaze flicking back to the incomplete stack of paperwork on her desk. She had hours of redlining to do, but now, at least, she had something to occupy her mind while she did so.

—

Saturday, 7pm. Black tie. Bring a jacket.

His instructions had been precise and clear.

She’d ignored them completely.

Wearing a floor-length gown, Celeste supposed she’d ticked the ‘black tie’ box. But it was already seven, and she hadn’t even started on her hair yet.

So, when Max texted to let her know he was outside, she sent him the code to her apartment without a second thought, then went back to running the Dyson through her hair.

She barely noticed the door opening as he stepped inside, but when she heard the soft thud of his footsteps, she glanced up from her vanity. And there he was. Max. Looking impossibly good. Black suit, crisp white shirt, and a grey tie that only accentuated his broad shoulders. A wave of sudden impulse struck her, the urge to walk over and adjust his collar.

Without thinking, she set the hairdryer down, switched it off, and moved towards him. She let her fingers slide along his collar, straightening it with the gentleness of a gesture that felt oddly intimate.

“You look handsome,” she said, her voice light, as she pulled back slightly.

He glanced down at her, his lips twitching into a half-smile. “You look beautiful. And also like you’re not ready. It’s past seven.” His tone was matter-of-fact, not a hint of impatience in his voice.

Celeste gave a half-hearted shrug. “Sorry.” The word was polite, but her tone suggested she didn’t actually mean it.

Max just shrugged. “It’s fine. I can wait.” He walked to the other side of the room, settling into her chaise lounge with ease, crossing his ankle over his knee. The casualness of it, the way he made himself at home in her beauty room, was somehow disarming.

She couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips as she turned back to her vanity, picking up the Dyson again. Five more minutes. They’d be fashionably late, but that was exactly the point.

Celeste’s eyes flicked to him as she worked.

He had passed her test. With flying colours.

—

Celeste slid into the passenger seat of Max’s car, smoothing her dress over her thighs, her bag tucked carefully into her lap. She was reaching for the seatbelt when she noticed it. A small, silver hook installed neatly on the side of the centre console.

She froze, staring for a second.

Max shifted slightly behind the wheel, catching her look. “For your bag,” he said, a little awkward, a little smug. “You made it sound like a non-negotiable.”

For a beat, she could only blink at him, something warm and strange blooming low in her chest. She reached out and hooked the strap of her handbag over it with exaggerated care.

“My Birkin is very thankful," she said, voice tipping toward playfulness even as something deeper stirred inside her.

Max glanced over, and when he saw her smile, something in his face relaxed. He looked… pleased. Not smug anymore. More like he was genuinely happy that he’d managed to impress her.

He laughed under his breath, brushing a hand over his jaw. “Is that… an expensive bag?” He asked teasingly, but there was a boyish curiosity in it too, like he actually wanted to know.

Celeste tilted her head, feigning innocence. “No, not really.”

He gave her a look, skeptical, but amused.

She tightened her seatbelt, feeling a little reckless all of a sudden, her mouth curving into a slow, knowing smile. “Why? Are you thinking about buying me one?”

Max glanced at her sideways, and the look he gave her made her skin prickle with awareness. It was steady, a little heated, a little dangerous in a way that made her stomach flip.

“Maybe,” he said, voice low and lazy. “If you’re good.”

Celeste laughed, her heart picking up speed. She tipped her head back against the seat, feeling the easy pull between them, like a live wire stretched too tight.

Tonight was going to be fun.

—

The restaurant he’d chosen was nothing short of breathtaking.

Located on the top floor of a glamorous Monaco skyscraper, it boasted panoramic views of the city and the Mediterranean, the lights below twinkling like stars. The interior was a symphony of elegance, gleaming floors, sleek black and gold accents, and soft, intimate lighting.

Every table was draped in crisp white linens, silverware gleaming, and the air was filled with a delicate blend of rich, expensive perfumes and the soft hum of violin symphonies.

She let Max lead her, her arm tucked lightly into his elbow, enjoying the way the soft fabric of her dress brushed against her legs with each step.

“Ms. Pereira,” the maître d’ greeted her with a familiar smile as soon as he saw her, his French accent thick with professional warmth. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Celeste returned his smile with practised politeness, but as she did, her attention shifted to Max. She watched the exact moment his posture stiffened, his eyes darting between her and the maître d’ in subtle confusion. It was a fleeting moment, but it was there.

She caught the subtle tightening of his jaw, the faint crease in his brow, and she couldn’t help the slight smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. She had to admit, the moment was... entertaining.

Max cleared his throat, his voice tinged with a slight edge of discomfort. “You know him?” He asked, his tone more curious than accusatory.

Celeste offered him a reassuring squeeze on the arm before giving him a look. “Yes,” she said smoothly, making sure her voice was light and matter-of-fact. “I’ve been here before, a few times. It’s nice. You chose well.”

His gaze lingered on her for a heartbeat longer, and she could see the flicker of relief in his eyes.

—

They ordered far too much food. Max, apparently, had a big appetite.

He insisted on ordering three dishes; the exact ones Celeste had been torn between. When she raised an eyebrow, he gave her a sheepish grin. "Pure coincidence," he said with a shrug.

Then, in a move that would have been more fitting at a casual diner, he pushed all of the plates into the middle of the table. Celeste stared at him, her cheeks flushing ever so slightly. She should’ve been embarrassed by his lack of decorum, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Instead, she speared a piece of scampi with her fork, taking a bite. The taste was fantastic, and she couldn’t help the pleased hum that escaped her lips.

Max’s grin grew wider, his chest puffing out a little in self-satisfaction. It was a Neanderthal response to providing for her, but damn if it wasn’t cute.

The bill never came. He’d already paid before they even stepped foot in the restaurant. His card was on file. She’d assumed that he would pay, of course, and the lack of fumbling for a credit card at the end of the meal was a relief.

On the walk back to his car, Max reached for her hand. It was a step up from the elbow hold, and she couldn’t suppress the pleased hum that bubbled up. He glanced at her, grinning as if he’d just won something. And not for the first time that night, she thought to herself, God, I actually really like this guy.

The drive back was easy, quiet. He parked the car, turned it off, and then walked her all the way to her apartment. They stopped in front of her door, the air between them thick. Celeste looked at him for a beat before her hands found the collar of his shirt, tugging him down toward her. Their lips brushed together, just a feather-light touch, but it was enough.

She pulled away, a smile tugging at her lips as she saw the lipstick marks left on his mouth. She reached up, using her thumb to gently wipe them off.

"Do you like padel?" he asked, his voice low and warm.

"No," she said, honestly. "But I like golf."

—

Max was terrible at golf.

He had awful form. His swing was all wrong, and he had an unfortunate tendency to hold the club backwards. Celeste watched, barely suppressing a laugh, as he swung wildly at the ball, only for it to veer off in the completely wrong direction.

It was a disaster, but it was also the most fun she’d had in a long time.

They spent more time talking than actually hitting balls, but Celeste couldn’t bring herself to care. Max was fascinating, and his words flowed easily. There was never an awkward silence between them. He did all the talking, and she didn’t mind at all.

He told her about his family: his mom, his sisters, his nephews, and his dad. His stories were filled with warmth and laughter, and it was easy to picture the people he loved. Celeste shared stories about her own family, too. Her mother, grandmother, and the handful of aunts scattered around the world, each one adding a different layer to the patchwork of her childhood.

They didn’t talk about work. She’d concluded that he was just living off his trust fund, and honestly, who was she to judge? She had her own way of surviving. When he asked about her job once, the wince that followed her answer was enough to make him drop the subject entirely.

They fell into an easy rhythm, hit a ball, walked around the green, and laughed about something silly. It was simple and unhurried. The way it felt between them was… relaxed. Natural.

Then Max said, out of nowhere, “I have two cats. Jimmy and Sassy.”

Celeste froze, her lips trembling with something that felt a lot like amusement. "You named your cats after Monaco nightclubs?"

He looked entirely serious, nodding with complete sincerity.

She stared at him, not sure whether to laugh or be horrified. "I need to meet them."

Max’s grin widened. "You’d like them, I think. Jimmy’s a bit of a troublemaker, but Sassy… she's just the sweetest thing."

Celeste shook her head, a soft chuckle escaping her lips as she picked up her club again. “Take me to meet them after we eat dinner.” She tells him.

He smiles at her, and it’s something so soft and sweet that she feels it in her chest.

—

They were sitting on the low stone wall near the ninth hole, their golf clubs forgotten behind them, two half-finished bottles of water at their feet. The sun dipped lower, turning the world around them molten gold. For the first time all afternoon, the easy flow of conversation slowed.

Celeste pulled out her phone, flicking through her app without thinking. She felt his eyes on her. Steady, focused.

"Everything okay?" Max asked, his voice low and careful, like he was ready to act if it wasn’t.

She hesitated, then tilted the screen toward him briefly before letting it fall back into her lap. "It’s for my glucose monitor," she said. "I’m diabetic. This keeps track of my numbers."

Max didn’t flinch. No awkward glances, no false sympathy. Just a simple nod, like he was absorbing the information and tucking it somewhere important.

"Do you need anything?" he asked, after a beat. His tone was rougher, a little more serious than his baseline. "Snacks, juice, emergency stuff? I can keep whatever you need on me."

The way he said it, like it was already decided, like she wouldn’t ever need to ask; threw her off more than the question itself.

"I’m okay," she said, her voice softer now. "But if we keep seeing each other… maybe I could leave a travel kit in your car. Emergency insulin."

"Done," he said without hesitation.

His gaze on her was warm and steady, and there was something grounding about it. No pity. No big show. Just an easy protectiveness.

"You didn’t make it weird," she said, smiling at him, feeling something tug loose in her chest.

Max leaned back on his hands, a slow grin pulling at his mouth. "Good. Do people usually?"

"Yeah," she said, laughing lightly. "Either way too much sympathy or not enough. And the classic—'but you’re not fat'—as if that’s the only way you can be diabetic."

His jaw tightened, just slightly, like the thought alone pissed him off on her behalf. "Anyone who says shit like that around me, I’ll sort them out."

It was ridiculous, but it was sweet, and it made her feel something dangerous bloom in her chest.

She stared at him, her heart thudding a little harder. His hair was messy from the breeze, his shirt slightly wrinkled from sitting, and she had the sudden, absurd urge to lean over and kiss him right there.

Instead, she just smiled, slow and knowing, and bumped her shoulder lightly against his.

Maybe it was the sunset, or the soft murmur of music from the restaurant nearby. Maybe it was the way he looked at her like she wasn’t fragile at all—but still worth protecting.

Or maybe it was just him.

But Celeste couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so seen.

—

Celeste tugged her sweater tighter around herself as she followed Max down the quiet hallway.

He lived at the top of one of the newer buildings in Monte Carlo. Glass, steel, and sharp, deliberate lines.

She'd worked on a few contracts for these apartments before; she knew exactly what they sold for.

Even by her standards, it was an eye-watering number.

When he pushed open the door and let her step inside first, she stopped short, her mouth parting slightly.

“Oh,” she muttered under her breath.

The place was huge. Not just big, but huge. Wide open spaces, high ceilings, and entire walls of glass looking out over the glittering sea. The furniture was sleek but comfortable:, low couches and thick rugs. A little empty for her tastes, but it was… masculine, in a very deliberate, moneyed way.

Max chuckled behind her as he set his keys down. “You approve?”

She turned and gave him a look. “It’s very impressive.”

Before he could say anything else, a flash of grey and black came barreling toward her.

“Oh my God," Celeste gasped, laughing as a very fluffy cat wrapped around her ankles, purring loudly enough to fill the space. "Is this Jimmy or Sassy?"

"That’s Jimmy," Max said, smiling almost shyly as he crouched to scoop the cat into his arms. "Sassy’s probably plotting your murder from behind the couch."

Sure enough, a smaller, sleeker cat peered out suspiciously from under the coffee table, eyes narrowed into snake-like slits.

Celeste crouched down, holding out her hand, and after a few moments, Sassy slinked over and butted her head against Celeste’s fingers.

Betrayed by her own curiosity, Celeste thought, laughing softly.

“They’re perfect," she said, glancing up at Max, and her heart gave a weird little kick at the way he was looking at her:; soft, pleased, almost a little bashful.

As she straightened up, something else caught her eye across the room. A dark, tucked-away corner filled with sleek screens, a massive monitor, pedals on the floor, and — was that —?

“Is that a racing rig?” she asked, eyebrows furrowing as she wandered closer.

Max shoved a hand through his hair, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink.

"Uh, yeah. Sometimes. Just a hobby."

Celeste turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised, something complex flickering in her eyes. "A hobby?"

He gave her a crooked smile, leaning casually against the wall. "What? You think less of me now?"

She pursed her lips, picking up the steering wheel lightly and giving it a playful spin.

"No," she said. "It makes sense. You strike me as someone who needs hobbies." Her gaze swept the vast apartment. "You’ve got enough space for a golf simulator, you know."

She tossed him a teasing smile.

"If you ask nicely", Max said, his cheeks twitching, "I might just set one up."

She tossed him a look over her shoulder. "Is that your way of inviting me over again?"

"Maybe," Max said, voice low and casual. But there was that spark again — the same pull she felt every time he looked at her a little too long.

She dropped her bag onto his couch without a second thought and sank down onto the white fabric. Jimmy immediately jumped into her lap like he’d known her his whole life.

She scratched behind his ears and smiled up at Max. “Ah. I think your cats have already decided that for me."

—

They were curled up on Max’s couch, a half-empty tray of sushi between them, the low hum of a foreign film playing on the screen. Celeste popped a piece of salmon nigiri into her mouth and laughed as a Brazilian character butchered his Portuguese.

“God,” she said, grinning, “my grandmother would’ve thrown her slipper at the TV if she heard that accent.”

Max chuckled, stretching an arm lazily across the back of the couch behind her. “Did you live with her growing up? Your grandma?” He asked, his tone casual but curious.

Celeste nodded, picking at the rice with her chopsticks. “Yes. I was raised around lot of strong women. My mom raised me here in Monaco of course, my grandmother too, but I spent my summers in countries all over the world.” She smiled a little, thinking of sun-drenched afternoons and kitchen conversations that ran late into the night. “A lot of culture.”

He watched her with a soft sort of curiosity, like he was picturing it all. “Sounds nice.”

She tilted her head, looking at him. “What about you?” She asked. “Dutch upbringing?”

Max smiled a little, leaning back against the cushions. “Yes. Pretty normal. Bikes everywhere, strict schools, rainy afternoons. I travelled a lot, though. My mom’s Belgian, so I spent a lot of time between the Netherlands and Belgium.” His voice was easy, like he was glossing over something personal without really wanting to dive into it.

Celeste raised an eyebrow, sensing that Max had sidestepped the subject, but she wasn’t about to push. They were still figuring each other out, and she liked that he was reserved. He didn’t owe her every detail of his life, not yet.

“Ah, so lots of travel. That sounds… well, exhausting, really.”

Max nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Yeah, well. It was never boring.” He nudged her lightly, a teasing smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “But I think you’d like it. A lot of waffles in Belgium.”

“I do like waffles,” she said with a small laugh, then tilted her head, the glint in her eyes mischievous. “Bring me some next time?”

Max leaned a little closer, his lips just brushing against her ear as he murmured, “okay. Next time, I’ll bring you waffles.” His voice was warm, soft, and there was something in the way he looked at her now that made her pulse quicken.

She felt the heat of his proximity, the weight of his gaze as he watched her with an intensity that made the air around them feel charged. Her breath hitched slightly, but she smirked, trying to keep it light. “Expensive ones?” She teased, her lips curling into a playful smile.

Max laughed low, a sound that rumbled through his chest, and then his lips were on hers. The kiss was slow at first, gentle, like he was testing the waters, but Celeste didn’t hesitate. She leaned into him, her hands sliding up his chest, fingers grazing the fabric of his shirt, feeling the heat of his body through it. His hand moved to the back of her neck, drawing her closer, his thumb brushing against her skin in a way that made her breath catch.

Her lips parted slightly against his, and she felt the pull of something magnetic between them. He deepened the kiss just enough that the soft warmth of it turned into something more. Max’s hand moved from her neck to her side, his fingers skimming the curve of her waist in a touch that sent a shiver down her spine.

“You really want waffles now, don’t you?” He mumbled against her lips, his voice low, teasing, yet filled with an underlying desire.

Celeste smiled into the kiss, shaking her head slightly. “Not waffles,” she murmured, her hand slipping to his jaw, her thumb tracing the line of it. “Just you.”

Max pulled back just enough to look at her, his lips still ghosting over hers. “Yeah?” he whispered, his voice rough.

She nodded, her heart racing as she caught her breath. “Yeah. I’m done talking about waffles, Max.”

He chuckled softly, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes. Something that made her heart skip. Then, without warning, he kissed her again, deeper this time, his hand sliding to the back of her thigh, pulling her closer.

She slid her hands down to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palms. Her patience quickly wore thin. “Max,” she murmured against his lips, pulling back slightly, her voice breathless. “Take me to your bedroom.”

Max stilled for a moment, pulling away enough to look at her with that intense gaze of his. His chest rose and fell with each breath, his eyes searching hers for any hint of hesitation. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low and thick with desire.

She met his gaze, syrupy and full of want, and she saw something deeper in them; something protective, instinctual. Her heart hammered in her chest, and without having to think about it, she nodded. “I’m sure. More sure than anything.”

—

Max leaned against the doorframe of his bathroom, watching Celeste as she prepared to inject her insulin. It was early, and the soft morning light filtered through the blinds, casting gentle shadows across the room. Celeste had been quiet, almost hesitant, as she set everything up. She didn’t say anything as she reached for the vial, her fingers a little shaky, though she was clearly accustomed to the motion.

He watched her closely, sensing the tension in her posture. “You okay?” He asked softly, his voice breaking the stillness.

Celeste glanced at him, meeting his eyes briefly before focusing back on her hands. “Yeah, just… routine,” she said, her voice steady but guarded.

Max took a few steps into the room, a little unsure of how much space to give. He’d never been in this kind of situation before, never had to witness someone so casually manage something so intimate. “You don’t have to let me watch if you don’t want me to,” he said gently. “I just—well, I guess I don’t really understand it, and I don’t want to seem ignorant. If I’m going to be spending more time with you, I should at least… know.”

Celeste paused mid-action, her hand hovering over the syringe. She looked at him for a long moment, eyes softening as if she were gauging his sincerity. She didn’t pull away, but there was a subtle hesitancy in her movements. Finally, she nodded slowly, her lips curling into a faint smile.

“It’s not a big deal,” she said, a little quieter now. “I just… it's normal for me, you know?” She carefully injected the insulin, her eyes flicking over to him again, catching that earnest look in his eyes. “Do you really care about this?”

Max took another step closer, his presence calm, unassuming. “I want to learn,” he said softly. “I like you, Celeste. I’m planning on spending a lot more time with you, so... shouldn’t I be educated? I don’t want to be that guy who just stays clueless.”

She didn’t respond immediately, but the way her shoulders relaxed just a little told him everything he needed to know.

“Thank you,” she said after a beat, her voice a little quieter now, almost tender. “I’ll — I won’t hide it, then. If you’re okay with it. And I suppose, sometimes, it might be nice to have somebody help me replace this thing.” She nodded at the little device that sat above her elbow.

Max smiled, a little unsure but entirely sincere. “I’ll try to be good at it.”

Celeste chuckled softly, the tension easing. She finished up and cleaned the area with an antibacterial swab before turning to face him. There was something sweet about the way he was watching her now, as if it wasn’t just about understanding her condition but understanding her, too.

“You’ll need a sharps container in each bathroom.” She informed him, only a little hesitant to make such a demand.

Max just nodded, standing just a little closer than before. “Of course,” he said, after a long pause, “And an emergency kit for the car, yes? Which pharmacy can we get that from? I’d rather we have it sooner rather than later.” He told her.

Celeste studied him for a second, her smile soft but genuine. The morning light caught the edges of his features, making everything feel just a little more perfect. “We can get it later today,” she said quietly, stepping toward him. “Breakfast first?” She asked.

He leaned down and kissed her, a tender thing. “Of course, liefje.”

—

Celeste and Max walked through the sleek, well-lit aisles of the pharmacy, soft music playing overhead. She pushed the mini cart slowly, her gaze flicking from the shelves to Max, who had his hands tucked into his pockets as he shifted his gaze from side to side.

She picked up a bottle of prescription-strength hand cream, scanning the ingredients before tossing it into the cart. Lavender scented. It would be nice to use before bed — something she could leave on Max’s bedside table. A very quiet claim.

“Oh,” Max started, glancing over at her with a look that was earnest and hopeful. “Should we pick up some things for my apartment? Shampoo?”

Celeste blinked, taken aback by the suggestion. “Shampoo?” She repeated, a small laugh escaping her lips. “Max, I usually order my hair products online. The brand I like is a bit... niche, I guess you could say.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “Niche?”

She nodded. “Yes, it’s a special formula from a small Brazilian company. It’s not in stores.” She thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I can tell you the name, if you want to order some.”

Before she had even finished her sentence, Max pulled out his phone, his thumb already hovering above the screen. “Please,” he said with a smile that was almost too eager.

Celeste bit her lip, trying to suppress the smile tugging at her mouth. “I’ve only stayed at your apartment one time,” she teased, her stomach fluttering. “And you're willing to buy my ridiculously expensive shampoo to keep in your bathroom?”

Max’s expression shifted then, his gaze growing unexpectedly serious. He paused, considering her words, before meeting her eyes with complete sincerity. “Yes,” he said quietly, his voice soft but firm. “You’ll stay again, I hope. And when you do, I want you to be comfortable.” He shrugged as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Celeste’s breath caught for a moment, and she felt something warm unfurl in her chest. There was no joking, no light-hearted tone. He really meant it.

“Well, if you insist,” she said, her teasing tone softened by the unexpected sincerity of his words. She dictated the name of the shampoo, feeling oddly tender.

Max’s fingers moved swiftly across his screen as he typed it down. “Good,” he said, slipping his phone back into his pocket. His gaze softened when he looked at her again, unwavering and calm. “Do they sell sharps bins here? We’ll buy one for every room,” he said, clearly serious.

Celeste blinked, startled by his sudden practicality, then watched as he moved toward the medical section with purpose. “Max, we really only need them in the bathrooms!” She called after him, a hint of exasperated amusement in her voice as she pushed the cart after him.

He was already waving down a pharmacy technician, enquiring about diabetic kits, when she caught up to him.

She hung back, resting a hand on her hip, watching the way he interacted with the staff. It felt juvenile to call the feeling in her stomach butterflies, but that’s what it was.

—

March 2021

Celeste sat at the small café, morning sunlight spilling over the table, her coffee stirring absentmindedly as memories of the past few weeks drifted through her mind.

Lazy mornings with Max had become the highlight of her week. Breakfast in bed, delivered by him, warm and fresh, the hum of the city outside muted by the height of his penthouse.

The dates he took her on had also become a highlight. Between the exclusive restaurants and the small family-run diners by the harbour, he’d taken her to places she never would have considered otherwise. Somehow, he made her feel like she could belong anywhere.

Max’s thoughtfulness had taken her by surprise. The handbag hook in his car, the emergency insulin stored in his glove compartment in a temperature-controlled case, and the little things that now filled his apartment, like the Brazilian hair products crowding his shower shelves and the small Brazilian flag miniature figurine that she’d seen in a store window, thought was cute, and he’d insisted on buying for her.

He paid attention.

It wasn’t clear when things had shifted, from casual to something more serious. One moment she was keeping her distance; the next, she found herself looking forward to every moment they could spend together.

She hadn’t meant to get attached, but she had.

And she couldn’t help but wonder if the clench in her chest when she saw him meant that it was too late to turn back.

—

Celeste sat at her sleek, modern desk, the sound of her keyboard clicking punctuating the quiet in her spacious office. The walls were lined with shelves of law textbooks, client files, and architectural plans, all neatly organised in the way only someone like her could manage. It was just past noon, and the sunlight streamed in from the large windows that overlooked the Monte Carlo skyline, casting soft light over the papers spread before her.

She was deep in her work, going over a new development contract for a client who was planning to buy a luxury property in the heart of the city. The legal language was dense, full of clauses and contingencies, but she navigated it with ease, her attention fixed. She could feel the slight tension in her shoulders, the result of long hours spent reviewing the fine details, but this was the kind of work she excelled at. She thrived on the pressure.

Her phone buzzed, breaking her concentration. Glancing at the screen, she saw it was a text from Max.

Need a break later? Thought I’d bring you lunch.

A pleased smile tugged at her lips, but she didn’t immediately respond. She was knee-deep in another clause that seemed to contradict an earlier one, and it was taking her longer than usual to sort it out. She hadn’t had the luxury of taking a proper break in weeks; work was a constant.

Her mind wandered back to Max as she continued to redline the contract. She’d never had anyone take such an interest in the details of her day-to-day life as he did.

She tapped her pen against the desk as she reread a particularly convoluted clause. It didn’t seem to align with a provision in the client’s earlier contract, and she needed to figure out why before sending anything to the client. She shifted in her seat, pulling her thoughts back to the task at hand. This was what she was paid to do:, make sure nothing slipped through the cracks, make sure everything was legally sound.

Still, it was hard not to think of Max’s offer of lunch. She hadn’t eaten a very good breakfast, and the idea of spending a few hours not buried in contracts sounded... incredibly appealing.

With a small sigh, she decided to text him back.

Lunch sounds perfect. Take me somewhere with a nice view? I need to get out of my office.

She hit send, then turned back to her papers, already thinking of ways to address the issue she’d found in the contract.

—

Max sat across from Celeste at their usual spot, a small bistro tucked into a quiet corner of the café. Sunlight filtered through the awning above, casting a soft glow on their plates of food. Max usually insisted on getting their favourite salads and sandwiches, but today, his usual enthusiasm was absent. He poked at his food, clearly distracted.

Celeste’s gaze flicked from her own plate to Max, noting the tension in his posture, the unease that had crept into his expression. Something was off.

"What's going on, Max?" She asked, the words slipping out before she could stop them. Her voice was more pointed than she meant it to be. "You're acting strange.”

Max hesitated, his fork hovering in the air before he set it down. He looked at her for a beat, eyes searching for the right words, but he seemed to struggle with them. Finally, he sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I’ve got some travel coming up," he told her. "I’ll be gone a lot over the next couple of months."

Celeste blinked, confusion pulling at her. "Travel?” She asked, her stomach tightening with unease. They hadn’t talked about this, not once.

Max nodded, avoiding her eyes. "It’s a regular thing. Every year. Just... long trips. I’ve had a bit of a break over the winter, obviously.”

Her brow furrowed. "A regular thing?" She repeated it, feeling a knot form in her chest. "Why didn’t you mention this before now?"

He didn’t look at her, instead fiddling with the water glass in front of him. "It didn’t seem important," he muttered, the words not quite matching the guilt in his eyes. “At the time.”

"Of course it was important," Celeste said, her voice sharp now. "We’ve been spending every single day together, and now you’re just leaving? And you didn’t think I deserved to know about it sooner?”

Max shifted uncomfortably in his chair, clearly thrown off by her reaction. "I’m sorry. I’ll be back in Monaco more than you think, every few weeks, probably. But between then, we can FaceTime. Call. It won’t be so bad."

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Is this, like, a work thing?" She asked, her eyebrows drawn together. She was trying to make sense of this, trying to decode everything he wasn’t saying. "Something you're doing for your father?" She clarified.

He hesitated, just for a second, but long enough for Celeste to catch it. Finally, he nodded, his gaze flickering briefly to hers. "Yeah. Yeah. It is."

Celeste’s chest tightened, her heart sinking. She felt a sudden coldness creep over her. Intentionally or not, he’d put up a wall between them, and she hated it. "You could’ve told me," she said quietly, her voice betraying the hurt she felt. "I’ll miss you. I can’t believe you didn’t… warn me about this. I feel like I’m just an afterthought right now, Max."

Max’s jaw jumped. "You’re not. I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to make it a big thing," he said, his tone low. "I didn’t want to complicate things when things between us were so new.”

Celeste shook her head, frustration bubbling to the surface. "Max, I’m not a convenience to slot in when it’s easy. I deserve to know what’s going on in your life."

She could see the guilt flicker across his face, but it wasn’t enough to ease the tightness in her chest. "I’m sorry," he said softly, his hand reaching out to brush against hers. "I don’t want you to feel like that. I just... I’m not good at letting people in, and I’ve loved getting to know you like this, you know? Just Max and Celeste.”

Her breath caught in her throat, the warmth of his touch only deepening her frustration. She stared at him for a long moment, her heart beating painfully in her chest, but it didn’t erase the feeling of abandonment gnawing at her.

"You should have told me about the travelling sooner," she said finally, her voice tight. "But I’ll be here when you get back, I suppose."

Max nodded slowly, his hand lingering on hers, the weight of his unspoken words pressing between them. "I’ll make it up to you. I promise."

Celeste exhaled a shaky breath, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "Start with another coffee," she muttered, her voice betraying none of the anger swirling inside her. "I’m parched."

—

Celeste sat on the couch, her legs tucked under her, with a glass of wine in one hand and a half-empty bottle on the coffee table in front of her. Her two closest friends, Lila and Sophie, were sprawled out on the other side of the living room, taking turns offering words of comfort between sips of their own drinks.

It had been a long day, and the frustration of the conversation with Max still simmered in her chest. She’d avoided texting him after their lunch, unsure of what to say. Part of her felt silly for letting it bother her so much, but another part of her was hurt. Hurt by the way he’d decided to keep her at arm’s length when she’d genuinely believed that they’d been growing closer.

Lila, always the direct one in their little trio, leaned forward and set her glass down on the table. “Celeste,” she started, her voice a little softer than usual, “you said he’s a trust fund kid, right?”

Celeste looked at her, her gaze wary. “Yeah. He hasn’t mentioned work once since we met, so I mean, I’m just assuming, so…” She shrugged.

“Well, trust fund kids—” Lila rolled her eyes dramatically “—they’re all the same. They get used to living in their own bubble, never really having to deal with real life consequences, and they pull this ‘I’m too busy to explain myself’ crap. You should know that by now, we grew up around them. We were them.”

Celeste leaned back against the couch, sighing heavily as she stared at the ceiling. “It’s just… he’s been so available since we met, Lila. I thought that meant something.”

Sophie, who had been quiet until now, offered a reassuring smile from across the room. “He might be genuinely just… bad at feelings. He’s obviously a terrible communicator.”

“Yeah,” Lila agreed. “I get it. I was the same way before I went to uni. I thought the entire world would bend to my will, you know?”

Celeste exhaled a shaky breath, shaking her head. “I want him to be real with me, though. I don’t like all this mystery.” She met their eyes, the vulnerability creeping into her voice. “I just… I don't know if I’m overthinking it. He was so vague about the details. He’s always vague.”

Sophie stood and walked over to her, sitting down beside her on the couch. “Trust your gut. If he’s keeping you in the dark, that’s not fair. I know it’s only been, what, three months since you met? But you guys were basically living together at one point. He can’t just expect you to be oky with him just disappearing on you.”

Celeste managed a weak smile. “Thanks, you guys. I just don’t know what to say to him.”

“Take your time, babe,” Lila said with a shrug. “If he’s really a good guy, he’ll come crawling back to explain himself. If not… well, he can stay the fuck away.”

Celeste laughed softly, the weight in her chest easing just a little. “Yeah. Thanks. I think I needed to hear that.”

“You’re welcome,” Sophie said with a wink. “And we’ve got your back. No matter what happens with him.”

Celeste glanced at her phone and frowned.

“It’s a regular thing. Every year. Just... long trips,” he’d said.

It had sounded like a half-truth then; and it felt even more like one now as she replayed it in her mind.

—

“All rich boys are liars,” her mother declared from across the table.

Celeste blinked, almost choking on the sip of wine she’d just taken. She let out a small laugh, trying to mask her surprise. “Mãe!”

Her mother lowered her glass, her amused gaze softening as she met Celeste’s eyes. “Your father was the same,” she said quietly. “He could charm anyone, and he had his secrets. I knew that, even when we were teenagers. But I loved him. Loved him deeply. I knew all of his flaws, but I still chose him.” She sighed, a wistful smile tugging at her lips. “We always think we can fix things, especially when we’re young. But some things can’t be changed.”

Celeste’s heart fluttered, and she found herself stunned by the rare openness. “You loved him, even then?” She asked softly, almost uncertainty. ”As teenagers?”

Her mother’s eyes grew distant, lost in the past. “I did. In a way that no one else could understand. Even when I knew he wasn’t being honest with me, I loved him. I thought love could fix everything. But when you’re young, you don’t realise how much control you don’t have.” Her voice softened, tinged with sadness. “I loved him through it all. And I should’ve told him sooner that I was pregnant with you, but by the time I was ready, it was too late. The chance was taken from me.”

Celeste’s throat tightened, the weight of her mother’s words sinking deep inside. She had always known how painful her father’s death had been for her mother, but hearing the quiet regret now felt like a punch to the gut.

“You never resented him?” Celeste asked, her voice small. “For how it ended?”

Her mother met her gaze, her smile knowing but gentle. “No, darling. I never resented him. How could I? He was complicated, yes, but I loved him for who he was, flaws and all. I think... I think we make mistakes, and we hold on to things we shouldn’t. But I don’t regret loving him. I just... regret losing him before I could give him what he wanted most: you.”

Celeste’s eyes burned with sudden tears. She hastily reached for a napkin to dab at her eyes before they ruined her makeup.

“I guess I’m just trying to understand him. Max,” Celeste clarified, her voice quieter. “Sometimes he’s so guarded. And then sometimes it feels like I’ve known him forever.”

Her mother studied her for a long moment, her expression softening with understanding. “Love makes us vulnerable, darling,” she said gently. “It’s not easy. You can only love them as they are. And you can only hope that they’re ready to love you back.”

Celeste met her mother’s gaze, searching for any answers. “So, what do I do?” She asked desperately. “How do I know what’s real? When he’s hiding something from me?”

Her mother reached across the table, her hand covering Celeste’s with warmth and certainty. “You trust yourself, baby. Trust your gut, your heart. If this ‘Max’ truly wants to be with you, he’ll give you all of himself—eventually.”

Celeste nodded slowly, the weight of her mother’s words settling in. “I’m impatient,” she admitted, her voice a little less certain than before.

Her mother’s lips quirked into a soft smile. “I know. I raised you.”

—

April 2021

Celeste had been wandering the dealership for almost an hour, pacing between sleek, polished models, unsure which one would suit her. She hadn’t expected it to feel so... intimidating. Choosing her first car felt monumental, a symbol of independence and a shift in her life. She’d been driving her father’s old car for so long that she’d never considered having to drive anything else.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the salesman, whose voice seemed to echo too loudly in the otherwise quiet showroom. “This one’s a beauty,” he said, stepping closer and gesturing to a sleek silver coupe. “The interior’s top-notch, and it’s got a V6 engine for power. All the safety features Monaco streets demand. I’d say it’s perfect for you.”

Celeste felt her skin prickle as his gaze lingered just a little too long. She could handle it; she’d been getting this kind of attention for years, but it didn’t make it any less uncomfortable. She’d seen enough of this to know exactly how it worked. Men like him thought they could get away with treating women like they were part of the display, not the customer. She smiled politely and nodded, though her mind was already elsewhere.

The buzz of her phone in her pocket caught her attention. When she saw the caller ID, a flicker of irritation bubbled up. Max. She hadn’t heard from him much over the last few days, nothing substantial, anyway. He’d been vague, disappearing with little more than a few texts here and there. She didn’t want to admit it, but it was starting to wear on her. She missed him.

With a sigh, she swiped to answer. “Hey,” she greeted, trying to keep the edge of frustration from her voice. As soon as his face appeared on the screen, though, a small smile tugged at her lips. He looked a little out of breath, sweat glistening on his forehead, and his usually perfect hair was a wild mess. “Did you just finish at the gym?” She asked, a small laugh escaping her.

He smiled back, though it was a little lopsided, and his eyes were sparkling with something. Adrenaline, maybe.. “Something like that.” He said. Celeste raised an eyebrow, but before she could ask more, he glanced at her surroundings. “You’re at a car dealership?” He asked.

“Yeah,” she said, looking back at the cars around her. “I can’t decide what to go for.”

She panned the phone toward the sleek black coupe the salesman had pointed out. “What do you think of this one?”

Max squinted at the phone. “It’s nice,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “Solid. The engine’s reliable. That model’s been on the market for a while, so it’s got a good track record. You won’t be disappointed.”

Her stomach did a little flip. There was something about the way he spoke, like he knew what he was talking about, like he cared. For a split second, she forgot the distance that had been building between them over the last few weeks.

“It’s 85k,” she said, her voice tinged with uncertainty. Of course, she had the money in spades, but looking at the car, it just felt… too high.

Max’s smile faltered, his brow furrowing slightly. His gaze darkened, and for a brief moment, Celeste could almost feel the weight of the tension in the air. “Let me speak to the salesman,” he said, his tone firm but calm.

Celeste blinked, her confusion creeping in. “What? Max, are you serious?”

“I am.” He replied, his voice quiet but with an underlying sense of control. “Hand him the phone, schat. Please.” He added, after a beat.

She stared at him for a moment, taken aback. The nickname had slipped through, soft and affectionate.

Reluctantly, she handed the phone over to the salesman. He took it with a strange, wary glance at her, stepping aside to speak quietly.

Celeste watched him from a distance and noticed how his posture stiffened almost immediately. No more smug smiles, no more lingering looks.

It was subtle, but it was there — the shift in how he held himself, the way he nodded along to whatever Max was saying.

She wandered back to the silver coupe, running her fingers lightly over the polished hood. It was a beautiful car. Maybe a little flashy. Maybe a little reckless. But it was hers — or it would be, if she said yes.

When the salesman returned, he thrust her phone back into her hand, the call had already ended.

She frowned at the screen, annoyed that Max hadn’t even said goodbye.

“All set?” she asked, glancing up.

The salesman cleared his throat. “Yes, ma’am. We can offer it at 65k. Premium package waived. Complimentary service included.”

Celeste blinked. “Wait— really?”

He nodded stiffly, avoiding her eyes.

Confused but unwilling to argue, she reached for her bag. “Okay, I’ll just get my—”

“No need, ma’am.” He cut her off quickly. “Your, uh... Max. He’s already taken care of it. Wired the full amount. The car is yours. The title will be in your name.”

She froze, staring at him.

“He— he what?” She asked, her voice thin.

The salesman flushed, fumbling with the paperwork. “Yes, ma’am. Oh, and, uh...” He hesitated, seeming uncertain whether she was even listening. “Tell him we wish him luck this season.”

But Celeste didn’t really hear him. She barely registered anything as she numbly took the keys he pressed into her hand, muttering something about emailing her the deed and just needing an electronic signature.

She stepped outside into the sharp sunshine, the weight of the keyfob in her palm unfamiliar and heavy.

Max had bought her a fucking car.

A beautiful, brand new car.

Her mind reeled as she slid into the drivers seat, the leather still smelling factory-new. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to cry, or scream, or call him and ask him what the hell he thought he was doing.

Instead, she just sat there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel, heart hammering against her ribs.

—

She sat there for a long time, fingers clenched around the steering wheel, staring out at the glittering street beyond the dealership.

Eventually, her phone buzzed in her lap.

Max.

She answered without thinking. “What the hell?” She snapped, her voice cracking sharp in the quiet car.

There was a pause, then his voice, low and hoarse. “Celeste—”

“No.” Her throat tightened, but she forced the words out. “You can’t do this, Max. You can’t disappear, hide things from me, and then just—buy me a car and expect everything to be fine.”

She hated how her voice broke at the end, and hated the stupid hot sting behind her eyes.

“I’m not trying to buy you,” he said softly, like he could hear the tears she was fighting.

“Oh, really?” she snapped. “Because that’s exactly what it feels like. You’ve shut me out, Max. Completely.” He tried to interrupt, but she steamrolled over him, voice shaking. “You have! It genuinely feels like I have no idea who you are. You feel like a stranger, and I hate it.” Her breath hitched. “I hate it so much.”

Silence stretched out between them. She could hear background noise wherever he was – distant voices, the hum of an engine – but he said nothing. Finally, quietly, he said, “You’re right. I’ve not been fair to you. I’m sorry.”

The words hit her like a punch. She blinked hard against the burning in her eyes, pressing her forehead against the steering wheel.

"I just..." Her voice came out in a whisper. "I miss you. I hate not knowing where you are and what you’re doing. I feel like the other woman in my own relationship. And this—" She gestured helplessly at the car around her. "This doesn’t fix anything, Max. It just makes it all so much worse."

There was a heavy exhale on the other end of the line.

“Okay,” he started, his voice steady. “Go to my apartment, yes? See the cats.”

She lifted her head, confused. “What? No— I don't want to be at your place without you.”

But his voice only softened, warm and sure. “I’m coming home. Just for a few nights.” Her heart twisted painfully, hope flaring sharp and hot. “I miss you too, schatje,” he said, all tender and honest and earnest. “I’m sorry.”

Somewhere deep inside her soul, the anger cracked.

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revelboo · 23 days ago

Note

Could I get the constructicons caring for a sick human? I’m sick sobbing through uni assignments right now and wishing I had a possy of mechs to take care of me :(((

make sure to keep your immune system strong- don’t make my mistake ☠️

Oh, no! Hope you feel better soon!

Scenario-Sick

Constructicons x Reader

• Hearing the little noise you’d called a sneeze, Scavenger tenses as Bonecrusher heads right for him. “Bonecrusher, I don’t fragging bend that way,” Scavenger hisses as his brother grabs the edge of his scoop and tugs him down so he’s bent backwards. All so Bonecrusher can check on you in your nest of blankets and pillows curled up in his scoop. While he’s honored you’d chosen him as your default comfortable place to nap, it’s less flattering with Bonecrusher constantly mauling him to get to you. Especially with you sick, because hearing Hook say he couldn’t help has them all on edge.

• Head lifting tiredly as you suppress another sneeze, you blink up at Bonecrusher as he offers you a bottle of warm ginger ale and a can of chicken noodle soup. Well. He’s trying at least. “Thank you, sweetheart,” you manage amid a coughing fit, taking the stuff from him so you don’t hurt his feelings and adding it to the pile. Though if he brings you any more stuff, you’re not going to be able to lay down. Don’t know where they’re getting this stuff and honestly, you probably don’t want to know. Boxes of Kleenex, bags of lozenges, advil, DayQuil and who knew what else is piled up around you. It looks like one of them kicked a wall down in a pharmacy and just grabbed whatever they could reach. Which probably isn’t too far off.

• Holding Scavenger still, Bonecrusher reaches in to rub a servo against your jaw. Spark aching when you sneeze again, little frame jerking with it and he hates this. Hates not being able to fix this. Rumbling when you reach up to lay a hand on his servo, eyes closing. Maybe he should get you more stuff? Hook had researched human illnesses after you’d insisted it was just a cold. Said this stuff would help, but you look so pale and exhausted still. “Need anything?” Something for him to do to help? Anything?

• Hears you tiredly telling Bonecrusher that you just need rest and Hook nudges Scrapper. Their leader shooting him a tired look that he completely understands. How many times have they had to gently coax Bonecrusher into letting you sleep already? “Come on, big guy,” Scrapper growls, grabbing Bonecrusher’s elbow. ‘Let them sleep,’ Hook adds, tone annoyed and impatient. And Bonecrusher protests as they patiently lead him away knowing it won’t be a breem before the big mech thinks of something else you desperately need and goes to pester you again. Long Haul and Mixmaster just as bad as he spots the latter headed your way with more pillows to dump in on you. For Primus’s sake they’re worse than sparklings, though he understands their worry. Feels it twisting through him, too.

• Going to intercept Mixmaster before he can try to bury you alive in pillows, Hook glances at Scavenger and his scoop. Knows you’re fine. That this just needs to run its course, but right now he hates your messy organic immune system. Hates not being able to help you when you’re so miserable and they’re all looking to him even though he’s told them there’s nothing he can do. But when you’re better? He’s going to lay you down among all those pillows and fill you over and over. Let his nanites have a chance to get established and bolster your immune system so he doesn’t have to go through this again.

#transformers x reader #constructicons x reader #bonecrusher #tf hook #tf scrapper #tf scavenger

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strwbrychffoncke · 3 months ago

Text

"so go and tell everyone you know that you're all mine, mine, mine, mine, mine,, 2.7k words ⸺ event masterlist synopsis: when your pretty hunter boyfriend receives too much attention ,you decide to take a page from his book contains: nsfw! lnds xavier x afab!reader ,miminal plot tbh ,reader wears a dress ,feelings of jealousy (reader) ,hugging ,kissing ,marking ,you push xav onto the bed ,teasing ,switch!reader ,fellatio ,cum eating ,unprotected sex ,riding ,reader kinda possessive but just kinda ,switch!xav kinda ,creampie ,brief overstimulation ,fluff afterglow ,reassurance ,mention of aftercare ,i think thats it note: (mostly edited!) loosely based on this one twt ab his nightly rendezvous card w an ss ab mc saying she also has a temper & the tweet saying how excited he was at the thought of her getting jealous/doing the same to him that he did in his card.... i hope it came out well...? (og had top!xav in mind but wanted to try smth i dont usually lean into... maybe ill write him another time i <3 when he gets freaky lol)

xavier was the jealous type.

that much you knew.

you'd seen the more subtle moves of his possession over you, namely telling others off in a roundabout way or making it know that he was your partner.

other times, his temper escalated, and the night was filled with passion and the reassurance that you were his.

though, you had a temper as well.

and you had just about reached your limit today.

xavier sensed that you were... off today, to say the least.

honestly, he could guess why, but he was curious about this side of you, and wanted to see how you got during this time since you were usually the one quelling his feelings.

you're not as chatty on the way back to the apartment, and when you both slip inside of his, door clicking shut behind you, you immediately lean your weight against your partner before you, ear pressed against his chest, cheek squished against the hardness, arms snaking around his middle and holding him tightly in place.

he laughs at the sudden affection, wrapping his own arms around you. at his reaction, he feels you pout against him.

"what's wrong, love?"

you don't respond right away, squeezing him a little bit tighter.

"mine," you mumble against his shirt.

a giggle escapes him again.

ah, so it really did get to you.

on your date earlier, xavier had been approached by some lady when you had left to buy some snacks at a nearby stall. she was chatting him up very enthusiastically, and you couldn't help the feelings stirring within you.

when she asked for his number and he politely declined was when you finally closed the distance, bright smile as you latched onto your boyfriends arm, politely asking who the guest was.

xavier casually began explaining while the girl in question scurried away at the sight of your closeness. you were satisfied at that, at least, dragging him away elsewhere.

though, there were still brief instances of your boyfriend being marveled at by strangers and passerby's alike— much to your chagrin.

you begin sliding your hands up xavier's larger ones, up his arms and across his chest as you kiss at his neck, reveling in the surprised, airy noises he releases into the room, hands reaching forward to grip onto your waist.

in the midst of your kissing and sucking of the pretty skin of his neck, you push at him lightly, signaling him towards his bedroom. xavier follows your lead, excitement growing at your lead.

by the time you get there, you're growing impatient, need steadily growing as you push him back onto the bed, quickly moving to straddle his lap. you don't give him time to question, kissing his lips fervently, hands trailing down and pulling at the hem of his sweatshirt, breaking the kiss to tug it over his head before you're back on him, hands now slipping beneath his shirt to feel up his toned torso.

he moans into the kiss at your touches, wandering hands sending sparks through his sensitive skin, growing harder and harder as you grind against his crotch. he lets you finally tug his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere before you're leaning up again, kissing him hard and leading him to lay completely on his back, soft fabric of your pretty dress an annoying barrier against his bare chest wanting nothing more than to feel your warm boobs instead, completely at your mercy as you continue grinding your clothed heat against him.

you break the kiss and pull back, looking down at him, satisfied at the state you brought him to, relishing in the way that no one else would have the privilege of doing the same.

"you're so pretty, xav...." you mumble, eyes clouded in need.

xavier's breath hitches as you slide your hands tantalizingly slow down his torso, past his waist until you reach his hips and go a little lower, stopping right before the confined bulge.

your deft hands quickly unbutton and unzip them, pushing them down past his hips, mouth watering at the hard-on pressing through the thin fabric of his grey boxers, small wet patch forming from the leaking head— a show of how much he liked you like this.

he's panting now, anticipating your next move, nerves aflame at your initiative and more than happy to let you do as you please to him— maybe, he thought, he should be a little embarrassed at how turned on he was from this but honestly, he couldn't bring himself to be, not when all he felt was pride that you loved him so much to feel so strongly about him this way.

the same way he felt about you.

he watches as you make brief eye contact with him, head lowering toward his covered cock, watching your tongue dip out and lap at the wet spot of the cloth.

he can't help but moan at the sight, body on fire as he watches you tease him through his boxers for a little longer before he can't take it anymore.

"please, love," he almost begs, wanting nothing more than for you to seat yourself on him and take exactly what you want.

a little grin creeps up your lips and you sit back up, grabbing the hem of his boxers and tugging them down, taking your time and watching as his cock spring to life.

once those are discarded and he's laid bare for you, one hand reaches out to stroke his pretty length, leaning forward and kissing him deeply as you do so.

both of your eyes are fluttered shut and he's humming into the kiss, letting you set the pace, more and more precum leaking from the tip as your speed increases, swallowing his sounds all the while.

you break the kiss suddenly, saliva connecting your lips when you break the string, moving back down and taking the head of his cock between your lips instead, swirling your tongue around the head a few times before slowly fitting more and more of him into your mouth. you gag slightly when you reach your limit, one hand continuing to stroke what you can't fit while the other gives attention to his swollen balls, all while the man below you can't help the moans that are released into the quiet of his apartment.

the wet sounds of his shaft, your sucking, and his moans fill the space, feeling yourself getting wetter by the second. you speed up your ministrations while subconsciously grinding your damp panties against his thigh, knowing he's close and wanting nothing more than to swallow his seed before finally riding his cock.

"love, love, ah- so cl-ose, ah!"

you peek up at xavier's pleasure-filled expression, eyes shut and head thrown back into the pillows, one hand splaying over your head to grip your hair and the other clenched as he tosses it across his mouth, trying his best to muffle the growing volume of his moans at his approaching orgasm.

and with a few more quick strokes and precise sucking he reaches that peak, groaning loud with your name on his lips as his flavor fills your mouth, hips needily bucking against his thigh in need. you continue stroking and squeezing at him, trying your best to swallow all that he gives to you, some inevitably dribbling past your lips as you release the head with a pop, letting the remaining ropes decorate your chin and the lacy fabric of the dress covering your chest.

"always so much," you smile to yourself, always pleased to be marked in his essence.

you're both panting into the air, catching your breath for awhile after. when xavier manages to crack his eyes open, the sight is enough to make him hard again.

you, panting softly, eyes glazed over, sitting on top of him with his cum staining the neckline of your dress and chest, dripping past your wet lips.

god, were you ethereal.

he watches you sit on your knees, reaching under the short skirt of your dress, slowly tugging down your soaked panties, and he can't help the rumble in his chest at the sight of the pretty pearlescent-colored pair practically soaked through— a sign that you were enjoying this just as much as him.

he can't tear his gaze away from you as you position yourself right above him, hand reaching down to stroke at his sensitive cock a couple times, aligning him with your slick entrance.

you look up at his face, giving him a chance to stop or tell you to keep going.

"take what's yours, love."

and with that, you sink yourself down onto his length.

you can never get used to his length no matter how many times you've taken him or had him bully himself into you, a moan ripping from your throat at the first intrusion. you steady yourself, hands flat on his torso and more sounds escaping you as you impale yourself on his cock, bit by bit.

xavier is always aroused by the sight. he can feel himself leaking more, your shared slick dripping down his cock as you continue making your descent.

once you finally take him to the hilt, sitting flat against him, you breathe a sigh of relief, rolling your hips and feeling how full he is within your snug walls. xavier groans at the movement.

"so full, always so full," you mumble almost incoherently, xavier humming in pleasure at the comment.

"it's all for you, love, all for you," and only for you; the underlying message in the sentiment.

satisfied, you begin lifting your hips up enough to keep his head sheathed before slamming back down, a shared sound of pleasure between you both reverberating through the bedroom. in no time, you begin setting a steady pace, hips rising and falling rhythmically, panting out into the air at the pleasure that fills you.

"xavier, hah, feels good," you pant.

"only.. i get to do this... you're mine, ah—"

while your words held promise, xavier couldn't help but think how cute it was of you, saying that while using him like this.

his heart thrums in his chest, hands gripping your waist and pulling you closer towards him.

"all for you, only you, angel," he reassures, relishing in your moans as he makes you grind on his cock before letting you continue bouncing on him.

you arch your back as you bounce, his hands slipping to your thighs and moaning with you, watching as your breasts bounce behind the fabric of your dress.

thats... not right.

lost in the pleasure, you don't fully register the quick motion xavier makes as he grips the hem of your dress, resting at the tops of your thighs, before quickly tugging it over your head and unclipping your bra, tossing them somewhere on the floor as his hands reach up to knead at your bare tits.

you moan is response, hands firmer on his abs at the new stimulation fueling your arousal. you feel your movements ceasing, legs slowly growing tired, but you're determined, wanting nothing more than to feel his warmth invade your insides.

"need some help?"

you let out a surprised moan at the sudden thrust from below— xavier's doing.

"let me help you, angel."

he's gazing at you in that way that leaves no room for argument, his voice darker, a little hushed but with underlying need, and you can't help but to accept his offer.

"please, xavier."

he grips your hips again, planting himself firmly into the mattress before he immediately begins relentlessly thrusting into you from below.

you grip onto his abs tighter, anything to stabilize yourself against his brutal thrusts (how he was able to give such perfect, punctuated thrusts from this position, you had no idea, but no complaints either), moving your hips just enough to meet them, pleased sounds intermingling at the full feeling where you needed him the most.

you throw your head back at one particular thrust, mewling and moaning in response and moving your hips in tandem with xavier's, feeling yourself approaching your high.

"there, xavier! close, hah, im-"

"yeah? feel good, angel? ah-a—"

his thrusts grow sharper somehow, more calculated, one hand moving from your waist down to your clit, playing with the button to increase your pleasure tenfold. you're beginning to see stars, gripping onto him tighter.

"xavi— ah!"

you make me feel so good, angel— only one, hah, who makes me feel this way—"

his words, his thrusts, the stimulation on your clit, the overwhelming sensation of pleasure courses through you, and you lean down to capture his lips with yours in a needy, loving kiss. with a couple more weak plaps against his lap and upwards thrusts from him, you're gushing all over his cock.

"cumming! xavier—"

"m' close, angel, m' close—"

you're laying on top of him as he continues slamming his hips into yours from below, your pretty moans right next to his ear sending even more pleasure through his body.

"too.. much, xavier, too much—"

you're whining in overstimulation against him, tears pricking at your eyes from not being given a chance to come down from your first high before he begins beckoning you into another. one of his hands spreads flat against your back as the other still holds your hip, sinking his teeth into the flesh of your neck as he reaches the peak.

you cry out at the feel of his teeth, arms wrapping around his head and fingers digging into his hair, mewling both at the feeling of his mouth leaving his mark and the warmth that slowly fills you up, the excess remnants of your mixed essence dripping down his spent cock.

you're breathing hard against his ear, hugging him close to your chest for awhile, only letting out pleased hums and small sounds as xavier continues to litter your exposed neck and collarbones in bites and kisses. he can feel your rapidly beating heart like this, smiling against your chest before leaving kisses on the bare mounds.

you pull back after you finally manage to come down, looking into his bright eyes, offering a small smile and leaning forward to kiss him again, this time slow and sweet, full of gratitude and appreciation.

you're the one to break the kiss, cupping his face in your hands and peppering it with kisses all over, prompting the man below to giggle at the sensation.

"so," his hands rub up and down the expanse of your back. "do you feel better, now?"

you tap the corner of your lips with an index finger, feigning a thoughtful expression as you look elsewhere in the room.

"hmmm..."

"because i'm always ready to give you all the reassurance you need, lovely."

his words are sweet, but there's a teasing, almost dark look in his eyes when he shifts his hips just slightly underneath you, causing your body to jolt immediately.

"i'm fine, i'm fine, all better!"

he laughs at your hasty response, arms circling your waist.

"good. if you ever feel that way again, you can do the same thing," his eyes hold mischief before he grows a little serious.

"i'm yours. i always have been."

your heart flutters, and you can't help the urge to kiss him again.

"and i'm yours, always."

"always," he smiles at you.

despite the occasional feelings of jealousy, you both knew that you belonged to the other, forever.

epilogue:

"you were so rough with me today," xavier jests, teasing smile playing on his lips.

embarrassed, you can't help to stumble over your words.

"sorry, it was— i just—"

xavier silences you with a peck to your lips.

"its not a bad thing," he reassures, leaning forward so his nose touches yours. "i like when you get that way."

you hum, relaxing against him again.

"though, i'll need a long rest after that," he says, shutting his eyes.

you lightly hit at his chest.

"xavier, we can't just sleep like this!"

"of course we can."

"come on, let's get cleaned up."

when he pretends to doze off under you, you try slowly pulling back to at least clean yourself up, only to be held down by the strong hunter's arms.

"xavier!"

"don't leave me."

"then come with me," you laugh.

he sighs.

eventually, you manage to get him up to take a shower, washing each other off before slipping into some cozy clothes. then, and only then, do you allow him to succumb to sleep, using your chest as a pillow.

you brush your fingers through his hair, planting a fleeting kiss on his forehead.

"all mine," you smile, shutting your own eyes and allowing yourself to drift off.

a/n: came out a little differently than i imagined but hope its still ok? havent written for xavier since december so pls be kind.... ill write more for him in the future i promise....

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #l&ds #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x you #lads x reader #lads x you #lnds x reader #lnds x you #l&ds x reader #l&ds x you #love and deepspace xavier #lads xavier x reader #lads xavier x you #lnds xavier x reader #lnds xavier x you #l&ds xavier x reader #l&ds xavier x you

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kuniihoonii · 9 months ago

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what about aventurine who’s bratty, selfish and demanding in bed…. just laying in bed with spread legs making u do everything, and u better do a good job fucking his brains out or he’ll get bored 🙂‍↕️ he’ll suck ur dick but only bc he likes doing it and even then he’ll finger himself… aventurine who is a bossy bottom at first but then gets put in his place perhaps crying and whimpering and bent in half 🤔🤔🤔🤔

This!! Honestly I think at first he will act all bossy but once he's getting dicked down so good to the point he's going dumb, he won't be as bossy anymore <3.

A thought I did have was him riding reader and acting like he's the one in charge but as soon as reader starts fucking up into him he'll break.. like he's about to say something bratty and then you give him a harsh thrust <3 having him collapse on you from how rough your thrust is <3. BUT since we're talking about Aventurine who'd make you do all the work, Ill focus on that <3.

He'd be laying on the bed with his legs spread telling you to hurry up already. Threatening that he'll just leave if you don't fuck him. So when you finish prepping him, thrust into him with one move, he'll get taken aback for a second but he'll put his facade back on. "Oh finally, I thought you'd never do it" he'd roll his eyes while saying that.. it's almost as if he's trying to get in your nerves just to get you to be rough with him.

Maybe you should just gag him if he keeps talking back. Or flip him over with his ass up and face in the pillow, pushing his face into the pillows by tugging his hair which would end up with his moans being muffled <3. He loves it all so fucking much. He'll finally start shutting up as he goes dumb. He might try throwing some more bratty comments so just give him a harsh thrust and he'll shut up. Oh and maybe edge him a bit <3 ruin his orgasm a couple times too as a punishment for being so impatient and selfish <3. He might (will) just end up crying and begging you to let him cum, maybe even apologise <3.

Nowww if he's sucking your cock he will tease you. Giving you kitten licks and not sucking you off properly because he finds it entertaining how you get annoyed with him. Tie his hands behind his back so he can't touch himself <3. He'll act like it doesn't affect him but it does, it turns him on even more.

Pull on his hair and have him take your dick all the way down his throat <3. He loves it so much when you handle him like this, fucking his throat so deep. And even though his hands are tied behind his back he trusts you enough that you won't actually harm him. He trusts you know his limits, how far to push him with the deepthroating.

Push him down more so his nose is touching your lower abdomen <3 hold him there for a bit before releasing his head. He'll pull back panting for air and looking up at you with teary eyes, his tongue sticking out to show that he's ready for more <3. Oh and cumming down his throat <333 he'll take it all so well, moaning at the taste and the feeling of your hot cum shooting into his mouth <3.

Do keep fucking him until he's a begging, crying mess. Then go to aftercare and clean him up <3. Give him so much love please 🙁.

#《🫐》 anon asks 💌#i may have gotten a little carried away #i want to write aven sucking dick now 😭😭#sub aventurine #sub hsr #aventurine smut

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potatomountain · 7 months ago

Text

CIY- CH 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

📍Pairing: detective ateez ot8 x detective afab reader 📍Summary: "Turning Point" 📍WC: 3.3k 📍AU: detective/mafia 📍Genre: action, dark themes, poly romance 📍Warning(s): 18+ rating, some angst, dark themes implied, oral (male receiving), body piercings, cum-eating, semi-public sex, slight voyeurism/exhibitionism 📍Nets: @pirateeznet | @mirohs-aurora-society 📍Beta readers (and sole motivation): @flurrys-creativity , @candypop1611 , @yourfatherlucifer , @skteezcursed and edited(usually) by the amazing: @daemour 📍dividers made by: @cafekitsune 📍AN: As a birthday gift to me (9-24) I am posting this hecka early. But also annoucing that there will not be another CIY posting until after October (most likely. who knows, i might get impatient myself) as ill be focusing on Kinktober and some fics i have planned for October! There are 6 chapters left (roughly) so please enjoy <3

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Three weeks. Three weeks had gone by and you had to admit, you missed them. Well, some of them. Wooyoung’s incessant need for you. San and his flirting- his dimples. Yeosang’s cute little lisp and the sound of him tapping away on his keyboard. Hell you even missed hearing Mingi fuck others and keeping you awake at night. You might even miss Jongho’s constant scowl in your presence.

Seonghwa had been taking you to and from the club every night, five nights a week, and would tell you to rest the other two. You wouldn’t come into the office but now you wanted to. Maybe then you could do something about this odd bundle of emotions in your stomach. Yeosang sent you instructions on how to fill out a report of your undercover work on the program he installed in your laptop, which automatically stored the vital information and categorized and compared it with the rest. So in short, now you couldn’t even tell them about the new rumors you’ve picked up at the club.

At least now you knew why they were so busy, far too busy for you. The Vipers and the Wolves were still at each other’s throat, fucking up cash grabs, stealing product, or raiding known businesses of the other. San told you he was cleared to head back to fighting soon, and it worried you that the Wolves would hit the fighting ring while he was there.

But, what could you do about it? Undercover work was something that took months to years to gain enough influence to make a difference. You were nothing more than a fly on the wall gathering information, searching for weaknesses to use against the big players. A slip up that could get them behind bars.

Once more you thought of the dead boy in the alley. Once more you pictured someone else as that dead body. And once more you realized that, as a detective, there was nothing you could do to prevent that. It was a frustrating feeling.

And that’s why you found yourself heading to the gym on your next free day, ready to punch the frustration out or work up enough of a sweat that your muscles would be screaming at you until tomorrow.

It was a nice sweet surprise to find Hongjoong there, working on one of the machines, a thin sheen of sweat coating his bare arms and calves. He was wearing a hat, black tank and black gym shorts with an airpod in as he was chatting with someone. He didn’t notice you at first, but when you got close enough to hear his conversation, you frowned at how quick he hung up when he did notice you. “I’ll call you back later.” The weights dropped as he let go of the handles to turn the call off, shifting to look up at you with a bright and charming smile despite your deepening frown. “Firecracker, lovely to see you here.”

“Cut the bullshit” you weren’t having it today. Had the three weeks away changed something? Had your observations just been wishful thinking? Why was he hiding things from you? They still didn’t trust you fully did they? Ah, that hurt. Hongjoong seemed to catch on by your tone and stance, the smile softening to something more genuinely welcoming. “It was San, he was giving me an update on the Vipers I-” “Am I not allowed to hear what you had to say?” You cut him off, still staring him down. You shouldn’t be getting so worked up, you really shouldn’t.

But Hongjoong seemed good at reading you, reaching out and holding his hand palm up. “Would it ease your mind to know what is going on? What he was telling me? Or can I ask you to trust me on this, and you can learn all about it later?” You stared at his hand for a moment, eyes running up his arm to the tattoos that covered his bicep. Briefly you glanced at the ink before meeting his eyes. “It’s a delicate matter?” You decided to ask, arms uncrossing to rest at your sides. “Yes. The war they have going on is turning into a bloodbath.” He didn’t elaborate, just smiled wider when you did take his hand finally. Gently he pulled you closer.

Relaxing a bit further, you let him. He didn’t need to explain, because you realized what he meant. The Vipers were losing everything, and the Wolves would take what they could from them. Killing, maiming, or selling off each member or even associate. “I see… what are we doing about it?” He lifted a brow at your choice of words, pulling you right between his knees and holding both of your hands. You don’t know why he insisted on this sort of touch, but you didn’t mind one bit. “Nothing we can do. We can’t pull San out safely, but there isn’t a way we can stop the Wolves either. Not without risking more. Did you come here to blow off some steam? Worried about him?” Slowly you nodded, staring at your joined hands. “I don’t want to punch anything, just not think. The Boas don’t care much for either, but I hear how ruthless the Wolves are. They’re scared of them much more than the Vipers and-” Your words were cut off as he pulled you onto his lap. “Captain?” “How do you think San can get out of this unscathed? I’m worried too, Firecracker, and even if we can’t do much, it’s better to have some hope that something can happen to save him. Right?” He was comforting you, wasn’t he? The notion had your cheeks warming, mind shifting to the question. With everything you knew, what needed to happen for San to be truly safe from the Wolves? “I… well the Vipers are no match for the Wolves alone but if they had help… then San’s chances of- well you know. The Guardians are the only ones who can stop the Wolves, but I don’t see how they would get involved. Not unless this war causes significantly more damage, or they believe it will.” Your original thought was the Guardians getting rid of the Wolves anyways. After all, the more you learned about them, the more you realized that the biggest, scariest monster out there was the Wolves. The Vipers would be easier to take down, same with the Goblins. The Golden Circle could just be bought out, most of them just greedy cowards. And the Guardians and Pirates? They cared more for regulation to an extent than chaos.

The Wolves enjoy being cruel for cruelty’s sake. Sadists, killers, men who wanted to see the world burn and wanted to be the hands responsible for it. People were toys to them. Ones they wanted to break and use any way they saw fit.

You’d rather see San with his busted lip and black eye from a fight in the ring rather than the possible torture the Wolves would put him through. “The Wolves won’t stop until every last Viper is dead or turned to them or sold. I’d rather the Vipers win, and that can't happen without the Guardians. Either working together or the Guardians step in to apply pressure to the Wolves to back them off.” Hongjoong’s sudden bright smile threw you off and you were on your feet in a second. “What?” He chuckled, just to pull you back down with enough force you tumbled into him, hands on his chest and lips suddenly on his. He swallowed up your squeak, pulling you fully onto his lap as his tongue sought yours. You hadn’t expected it, but he tasted so good that you didn’t want to pull away. Yet as soon as melted into him, he was separating your mouths. “You really are a genius, I think. That’s something we never thought of.” You blushed at his compliment, staring up at him as his fingers carded through your hair. “What ideas did you have?” “Ones that involved what the Vipers alone could do, or we as detectives. Sometimes we forget to take a step back and see all this from a different angle.” “I see… but can we really do anything like that?” He shrugged. “We could have Wooyoung or San suggest it. If the Vipers are smart, and want to survive, they’ll latch onto that idea hopefully before it’s too late.” Pride swelled through you, as well as respect. Hongjoong did respect you, to go from easing your worries, to turning your thoughts into something productive, and then backing your idea as an equal. All while he was kissing you, touching you, melting you in his arms like you were his lover.

“Captain-” “Please call me Hongjoong, or something like that outside the office. Especially when you’re in my arms like this.” He stopped you, arm tightening on your waist while his other hand massaged your scalp a bit. He chuckled at the pleased sound you made at the touch.

“H-Hongjoong… did Seonghwa- ah Hwa- tell you about…” You trailed off, eyelids getting heavy the more you relaxed in his embrace. He nodded. “S-so you know how much this means to me?” “I do, Firecracker. And he told you how things work, and his unofficial invitation?” When you nodded, his hand tightened in your hair enough to pull an unexpected moan from your lips. “I’m going to take how pliant you are in my arms as an acceptance of that if you keep this up. Wooyoung might be the most vocal about his desire for you, but I feel it just as intensely.” Your hands gripped his tank tightly, lips parted as you enjoyed the way he was getting a bit rough with your hair. Massage, then tug. Smooth then tug harder. “Then why pull me onto your lap?” “To treasure you, though I didn’t think you would let me.” He admitted, shifting you on his thighs a bit until you could feel his hard on against the side of your thigh. “Yeosang is going to get another show at this rate.” Laughing under your breath softly, you shifted on his lap. “Good. I’m not too happy about him telling you all about San and Chan. He likes to watch and then run his mouth to you all? I should show him what he’s going to miss because he’s always hiding behind those screens.” Detaching yourself from Hongjoong, you stood back up between his legs, wrapping your arms loosely around his shoulders to card your fingers through his hair at the base of his neck, just under the cap. Latching your lips onto his to keep him from questioning you, your mind wandered to Yeosang and the expressions he made when he had been watching you and Wooyoung. Would he make those now? Better yet… What expressions would Hongjoong make?

With your lips still attached, brushing over his soft ones, letting him chase yours with each stroke, your hands ran down his chest. His shirt stuck to him with damp sweat, muscles tensing under your fingertips: first over his pecs, which had a nice curve to them, and then over his stomach. The lower they got, the more desperate his lips on yours.

The sound he made, the breathy whine as you cupped his sizable bulge in his shorts, turned you on even more. So eager to see just how far you could push him.

In a way, this was your first time initiating with them. As you slipped down onto your knees, palming at his hardening cock through the material of his shorts, you acknowledged the fact he hadn’t asked for this, or done much to make you want him: you just wanted him, and wanted to do this. Wooyoung had begged and begged. And Mingi had wanted to prove to you how much he wanted you. You just let them have the opportunity, reaping the ecstasy they gave you. And as much as you loved taking what they had to offer, you wanted to give back as well. In particular to the man before you. The man who was trying so hard not to pull your hair too much. Who was gripping the seat beneath him as his hips rolled up into your hands, pretty lips parted and swallowed from your kisses.

If Hongjoong had turned you away, or tried to block you at every turn like you had expected him to do before meeting him, you wouldn’t have this growing warmth in your heart at every thought of them. The swell of pride at your ongoing work. You wouldn’t have a confidant in San and Seonghwa. Wouldn’t have the eager lovers Wooyoung and Mingi. The witty banter of Yunho and Yeosang.

And perhaps, pressing your lips to where you could feel his tip twitching beneath the material, you wanted to convince them that they had to have you, just as you had to have them.

Selfish, greedy, maybe a little manipulative: that’s what you thought of yourself as you pulled his shorts down enough to expose his cock, staring up at him with a question in your eyes.

Maybe you were all those things, but it was worth it as he tightened his hold on your strands significantly and pulled you against his cock, smearing the bit of precum and sweat on your lips and cheek, pleading with you. “Take what you want, gorgeous, I’m yours to use.”

How could you deny him- deny yourself- when he looked so delectable like this?

Taking the invitation for what it was, your tongue ran up his length as your hands worked his pants down further. His words rang in your head, the adoration mixed with lust in his expression adding to the pit of emotions coursing through you.

With your lips wrapping around his tip, eyes focused on his expression, you marveled at the warm metal now clicking against your teeth. Quickly you pulled away and glanced down, breath hitching at the metal bar on the underside of his tip, right through the soft flesh in between the twi curves of his hood. “Oh fuck-” Mingi and him? Different places but you could remember how the piercing felt… if you took Hongjoong inside, you’d feel the metal scraping against your walls and the thought had you dripping in your underwear.

Wanting him to want that just as much, you took him back in your mouth, humming as you quickly took as much of him as you could. His eyes rolled back momentarily, breath hitching and fingers curling in your hair. He could fuck your mouth right now and you’d let him.

You’d let him do a lot of things if he continued to let out sweet whines like the one that just fell from his pretty lips. He wasn’t small, but definitely not Mingi’s size. But Hongjoong never needed size to get his point across, or for you to notice him- there was much more about him and the man utilized that to command a room and gain a grip on anyone he wished.

Right now you were the one in his grip, both figuratively and literally, as you pushed his shorts down and spread his thighs wider. Shuffling a bit closer, you took more of him in, humming around his cock once more as it hit the back of your throat, nose so close to his pelvis, but you managed. The sweat didn’t bother you, neither did the feel of the hard floor under your knees, not when he seemed to be unraveling at your touch. You were enjoying him so much you swore you could suck him off for hours without a reprieve. So what if your throat was sore? If you were tasting his cum and sweat for hours after with every drink and food you devoured? Pressing your tongue up as you pulled off his length, sure to add even more pressure to the piercing and was rewarded with a whiny moan as his body reacted: hips bucking and hand tightening in your hair to hold you still.

Oh so it made him sensitive?

Bobbing your head back down, taking as much of his length as you felt comfortable with, you focused more attention on his tip. Every time you pulled away you added pressure, letting your teeth scrape against it or twisting your head just enough as you pushed back down.

Hongjoong was noisy, between high pitched pants, to low curses under his breath, his fingers in your hair a give away to what he liked best. You used that to your advantage, nails digging into the inside of his thighs when you realized he liked that.

“Ah- fuck- gorgeous- Gunna make me- mmm fuck fuck~” His head kept rolling back but he would push forward to watch you as much as he could, mouth hanging open, teeth clenching in little hisses of pleasure. You hummed and moaned around his cock, picking up pace and pressure as your own need was clouding your thoughts. Have him cum first then maybe you could convince him to fuck you in the showers.

Your nails dug into his thighs more when he started pushing you, just slightly as if guiding, down on his cock. His head rolled back again, moans gaining volume as your name and praise joined the sweet sounds.

In awe of him you nearly choked when his thick cum hit the back of your throat in spurts. You pushed away a bit, lips still latched onto his twitching tip as he emptied his pretty balls on your tongue.

He lifted his head once he was spent, panting heavily and meeting your gaze. He slipped out of your mouth with a loud pop, your tongue lolling out to show the bit of cum still pooled there before you made a show of swallowing it.

“Fuck, Firecracker… I didn’t expect you to do this.” He smoothed out your hair, your scalp a little sensitive from how hard his grip had been.

Smiling, you rested your head on the inside of his knee, smoothing over the crescent marks you had made with your nails and admiring the piercing on his softening cock. “I wanted to. Wanted to show I want you too. I know I wasn’t as… vocal about it. Maybe with work but not in this way.” You tilted your head to look up at him, licking your lips and still tasting him on them. “If you have time… would the showers be private enough? I think Yeosang got enough of a show.” He chuckled, pushing the hair out of your face before gently tapping your cheek. “I should. Stand up for me?”

Once you did you watched as he pulled up his underwear and shorts. Now you had a moment to admire the work on his arm, you liked learning about them and most people got tattoos that represented a part of them. Plus, tattoos were big in the underworld, often a way to show your rank or who you belonged to.

You noted a few portraits, black rimmed hats and masks, the eyes sharp. There were eight, you counted, surrounded by waves with… with a pirate boat detailed on the upper part of his arm.

He called your name, moving just as you took note of a few letters on his arm. Sex was no longer on your mind, your brow furrowed as your mouth fell open to speak the first question that formed instead.

But the words were overshadowed by an alarm ringing through the gym and Hongjoong cursing. “Fuck- there’s an emergency.” He quickly pecked your cheek. “Head back to your apartment and wait for a call? I’ll let you know when everything’s okay.” He started grabbing his other things, but you were in shock.

The alarm turned off once he was gone but you were still rooted in place.

From the letters you had been able to make out, two of them had been “B” and “P”, just like Mingi had.

Were they part of the Black Pirates? Were they… the enemy?

Taglist (Capped): @mingsolo | @wowie-hockey | @crispybaguettes | @tiny-apocalypse

Taglist will be continued in a reblog!!

#pirateeznet #mirohsaurorasociety #ateez fanfic #ateez ot8 #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez fanfiction #ateez fic #ateez x y/n #ateez x you #poly ateez x reader #ateez hongjoong fanfic #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong smut #ateez hongjoong smut #hongjoong fanfic

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cyberm4n · 1 year ago

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could you pls do lucifers' oldest daughter x adam, and lucifer disapproves of it and adam rubs it in his face and the reader is innocent and has no idea whats going in between them and is absolutely in love with adam, and smut and possibly daddy kink if possible??♡♡

combined these two cause they work together really well! im so glad i got adam requests cause i am in LOVE with his man rn

cw: daddy kink, smut, readers first time, reader doesn't know of the history between lucifer and adam and i don't explain how, mentions of past tense bad father lucifer, adam is a little shit, not proofread

adam with lucifers oldest daughter reader!

■ OKAY FOR STARTERS

■ if Adam is genuinely interested in a relationship with you, like it's not just to get at lucifer then he's the biggest softy

■ im a firm believer he is a sweetheart in private moments in a relationship

■ to everyone else he's a total jackass but when you two are alone?

■ he's so respectful and loving to you

■ but if you're innocent

■ this man has the biggest corruption kink in the fucking world and the fact he gets to have his way with the daughter of his "enemy" satisfies him more

■ but it does make him feel a bit warm when it becomes obvious just how in love you are with him

■ and anytime you tell your dad about your boyfriend he lights up! so happy his daughter has found someone :)

■ but shit goes down when he asks to finally meet him, he figures if his daughter is in love he should definitely know him

quick recess from that train of thought

■ adam! who's got you laid out on his bed, working his shirt off

■ adam! who hears your little murmur about being a virgin

■ adam! who is immediately rock fucking hard at the fact he gets to take that innocence from you

■ adam! who hovers over you, kissing your neck as he helps you out of your pants, his other hand tugging impatiently at your shirt

■ adam! who can't get over how fucking beautiful you are, all other motives thrown out the window, he just wants to make this good for you

■ adam! who growls when he works a finger into you, feeling how tight you are and hearing you whimper

■ "princess you gotta relax, gonna stretch you out. i know baby, i know. just let me make you feel good"

■ adam! who scissors his fingers in you, desperately trying to make this easier for you

■ adam! whose cock makes you tremble when you see it finally, he's big. i think he'd be above average, 7-8.5ish inches, girthy too.

■ "baby don't worry ill make it fit, daddy's gonna take care of you, okay?"

■ adam! who audibly groans after you don't even bat an eye at his slip up

■ ugh he'd be so sweet as he's guiding it in you, kissing your face, maybe even rubbing your clit to try and get you to relax

■ but just as he's about to bottom out hears a little "s'too much daddy" from you and he swears he could have cum right there

■ if this wasn't your first time he'd be pounding the shit out of you now

■ but he's gentle, at least at first

■ "okay sweetheart, i need more, can you do that?" he'd murmur, so sweet.

■ and then he fucking rails you

■ HEAVY BELIEVER he's gonna try and go atleast 2 rounds with you, maybe more

■ you're just too perfect he can't help it

ANYWAYS

■ so like, you're really oblvious to the beef between your dad and adam

■ like it's just never been expressed

■ plus lucifer doesn't have a great relationship with his kids!! so the fact you've even told him about your boyfriend makes him happy

■ so you go out for dinner! it's a classic! you have no idea why you're boyfriend is acting so weird!

■ what does NOT make lucifer happy is seeing you walk in with adam, his arm slung around your waist

■ he's in denial for a moment, standing from his spot as he meets you halfway

■ "dad, meet my boyfriend, adam!"

■ there's a beat of silence, and you're not sure why

■ but lucifer extends a hand "adam, it's so nice to meet you" he says through gritted teeth

■ tbh both are pretty quiet, only exchanging niceties until you leave for the bathroom

■ adam squeezes your hand as you stand up, watching you walk off.

■ then he turns back to face lucifer, a smug smirk plastered on his face

■ "you motherfucker" "well actually technically im a d—" "shut up, shut up, shut the fuck up"

■ lucifer genuinely has to convince himself not to fucking kill adam right here. reminding himself that his daughter is in love with him.

■ lucifer decides he doesn't have to like adam for him to support you

■ but adam is such a little shit, once you get back to the table he will not shut the fuck up

■ but you seem so happy, lucifer sees the way you look at adam. he sighs.

■ even when adam tugs at your collar a little "fixing it" supposedly but lucifer knows it's definitely just to flash that little love bite he left there

■ and to you it seems like your boyfriend and dad are getting along great! you're so happy

■ at the end of the night your dad pulls you aside, doing the whole dad talk thing.

■ "if he breaks your heart.."

■ but you hug him for the first time in a long time, and he decides he can tolerate this for as long as im happy.

■ your dad loves you, maybe not your boyfriend, but you.

■ and adam.. deep down knows there's a little bit more to his facade. he cares about you, how could he not? this started out as just a way to get under lucifers skin but he's found himself genuinely hoping your dad doesn't try to sour the relationship

■ so when you take his hand as you part ways with your dad he sighs in relief

■ you're all his, and he wouldn't want it any other way <3

taglist: @reaper-of-light-12 @mxxny-lupin @wisteria-songs @t3llas

#hazbin hotel adam #adam smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin adam #hazbin hotel smut #smut #dad lucifer #lucifer morningstar

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morinuu · 1 year ago

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LISTWN TO ME I JUST READ YOUR TAMAKI ANGST AND YOU KNOW WHAT WOULD BE SO FICKING GOOD??

A she falls but he falls harder

Reader finally gets over it and stops coming, moving on and focusing on herself, and he notices and starts realizing how he took her for granted

And then its him that's loosing his mind and shit like that. Dude. Dude. I'm loosing my MIND you write so well

first of all ty for the compliment >< so glad u liked it im blushing and giggling!! secondly im not sure abt the reader completely abandoning tamaki's side (i love being delulu), but i do have smth else in mind that's kinda similiar n i hope its satisfactory :3 i changed only a minor part from the og :P i wanna make this a small series..... maybe like 3-4 parts.. anw this is pt 1

☀︎｜tamaki x female reader. almost 4k words. continuation of this. ure sick, yamada hinata & aoko r just some ppl i made up for the plot, tamaki's pretty stupid n emotionally unintelligent, lots of feelings and background information, y'all r childhood friends, there's like one 4th wall break but i thought it was kinda funny so i kept it

you weren't a fan of february.

allergy season was your absolute worst, the wheezing and coughing sucking the life out of you as you struggled to change out of your clothes to get the day started. you didn't sleep much, interrupted constantly by your sore throat aching and squeezing.

sure, it's just hay fever to everyone else, but for a young woman who carried around an inhaler, it's hell. well, almost hell.

what was truly hellish wasn't the fatigue or the sneezing, but your mum dragging you back in the house and forbidding you from going to school until you're well enough to study again. how were you supposed to keep up with chemistry class if you skip?

not that your parents cared for your grades; they knew you could just enter whatever field you wanted with the connections your family held, but it felt nice to be awarded for working hard.

after your personal maid let out a small "pardon me, miss" and carried you back to bed, you realised that the feeling your soft quilt hugging your cold limbs would never be beaten by the jacket you desperately clung on to warm yourself in p.e - which just so happened to be your first period that day and you were dreading it.

"i'll be making you some tea, miss. would you like to breakfast now?" your maid's quiet voice addressed you, hoping you'd just sleep the illness off as you usually did so she could rest too.

to be fair, you weren't a very easy master to please, so could you blame her?

"i'll breakfast la-" a cough and some wheezing "-i'll breakfast later, bring some english breakfast with a slice of lemon." you said nothing else, instead focusing on calming your throat that seemed to intensify in soreness. "a pastille too."

"understood my lady, i'll be right back." she bowed and excused herself from your room, ignoring your groans of annoyance as you buried your face into the pillow.

"damn it." you muttered and extended your hand to grab your phone from your bedside table. unlocking it with the passcode (because you weren't in the mood to lift your head and let your phone scan your face) you squinted as the light mode of a social media app hit your eyes harshly, forcing you to use muscle memory to lower the brightness to its minimum.

you scrolled through, liking your friends' private posts and decided to message one of them.

yn.spam: gm dude, i cant come to school today cus im sick. can u do me a favour n tell aoko to give me her notes? she never looks at her messages.

with your phone back on the table to wait for a response, you lied back comfortably and closed your eyes, because as much as you wanted to watch something on netflix or play a video game, you didn't want to make things worse for yourself.

you grew impatient for the cup of tea your maid was brewing, rotating between wheezing, checking your phone and staring at the ceiling. it seemed like the seconds weren't passing by at all.

soon enough, your maid comes back with some fancy tray carrying a kettle, your favourite mug (the one your daddy drank from when you were a little girl before your parents divorced), a tiny plate with some lemon slices and a small box of pastilles as throat medicine.

you didn't thank the woman when she helped you sit up, nor when she stayed by your side to make sure you didn't choke between coughs and burnt yourself with the hot liquid. just as you took your first sip, your phone lit up to show your friend's response.

thatguyhinata: Ayooo gppd morning. Sry to hear tht. Sure if I see her I'll telm her.

the irises in your eyes rolled upwards at the boy's typos that irked you every time, completely ignoring how he didn't wish for your recovery.

yn.spam: thanks yamada

you never used any of your circle's first names, which your mum always found weird.

'you sure these are your friends, darling?' she would ask often, and your response would always be the same:

'yeah mum. leave me be.'

only tamaki had ever felt close enough to be called by his first name.

after swallowing your medicine, you dismissed the older woman standing over you and pulled your quilt over your quivering form again.

"gods, please let this be over soon."

...

well.

...turns out, you gotta be much more specific with what you ask of gods, because they might not have the same understanding of the word 'soon'.

here you are, three days later, with your allergy having been combined with a virus that'd been going around, intensifying your asthma symptoms and raising a high fever, making your mother and doctor ban you from walking into ouran.

halfway throughout the day, you realise what had been completely slipping your mind while your lungs were occupied inhaling abnormally.

"i have an appointment today!" you exclaimed with wide eyes, raising from the bed like lazarus from his grave.

"...?" the new maid next to you didn't say anything, she was clearly concerned. after some seconds of you overthinking something, she spoke up. "you have no other doctor's appointment today, my lady. he just left 10 minutes ago."

you shook your head quickly, ignoring the dizziness brought by your fever "bring me my phone," the girl was puzzled "now!"

bowing a quick apology, she rushed to your desk and handed you your phone with both hands, not daring to look up. you disliked new maids; they were inexperienced and annoying, but scolding her would have to wait.

"damn it, damn it, damn it!" you murmured under your breath and tapped furiously on your phone, trying to find where the hell you'd written kyouya's business e-mail address.

you had it saved as every other client of the host club had, but you had never actually used it, not once.

you never missed an appointment, and always booked the next one tete-a-tete with the black-haired manager. if you became a no-show without prior notice, wouldn't that look bad? would it annoy kyouya and he wouldn't accept you in the club again?

well no, but you had the habit of overthinki-

'would it annoy tamaki?'

you groaned and murmured to yourself - had you deleted it? maybe it was in your notes app and you erased it? was it on your old phone from a month ago?

"find an e-mail for me." you ordered the maid who looked up at you perplexed, but carried out the order nonetheless.

the girl was embarrassed when she found out her master was asking for a host's email, wanting the earth to swallow her when she dialed the ouran academy's number. 'the stuff i do for money..' she thought and prayed her family never found out.

it wasn't a long process to retrieve the address, but what was, was the rant hitting the maid's ears when your overthinking about what to write left your mouth at incredible speeds.

"should i say i'm sick? but he already knows that- he's in my class! maybe tell him to give my time to another girl? no wait, he would do that anyway... or after i apologise, i'll say that, like, something came up- but that's not believable enough... ugh!" you buried your face in your pillow and, unbeknownst to you, your new maid's eye was twitching in annoyance.

she understood now why your personal maid took the week off just when you got sick - not that she understood how and why your mum allowed it though.

(it's because you can be insufferable and she gets it.)

"my lady, may i help?" the girl let out, clearing her throat when you lifted your head from the pillow. "i can write the e-mail myself, please focus on resting."

after some convincing, you gave in.

and so 10 minutes later, back at ouran, kyouya's phone let out a ting! with your full name on the notification. he'd already guessed you wouldn't show up to your appointment considering you hadn't come to school in three days, and already had someone to fill your place but left it for the last moment in case you did show up.

why? well you were ln yn, and it was painfully obvious you were smitten with his best friend, though he could say it was a bit different from the rest of the clientele.

probably due to the fact that you'd known tamaki for much longer than kyouya had. and yet tamaki didn't seem to have the same fascination with you.

he remembers when he first met you, when he'd heard that you were spoiled rotten and weren't even planning to enroll in ouran until tamaki did. you simply transferred to be with the boy.

literally everyone knew of ln yn's almost freakish obsession with suoh tamaki, except for the victim himself.

so imagine his surprise at the strictly professional e-mail he'd received from you, where not a single mention of your host was included. weird.

after glancing at the french boy in the seat next to him eating his bowl of some-sort-of-commoner-convenience-store lunch, kyouya quickly typed a response and informed the next girl in line that a spot was open 'for tamaki's hosting services at 15:35'.

"one of your appointments cancelled due to a personal issue. we'll have someone else fill it." kyouya told tamaki, just as stated in the e-mail, even though it was pretty clear you were sick, and he couldn't figure out why you'd lie.

"hm? oh, okay!" the brunet smiled and went back to devouring his meal, not thinking much of kyouya's words.

kyouya pondered if he should tell him the client was his loyal friend yn, who would never skip out on seeing tamaki, but he stopped himself, curious as to how it would all play out.

eh, if the twins could have fun, so could he.

"oh! haruhii! daddy's here!"

the hours passed so slow you were almost convinced time was frozen when you weren't glancing at the clock on your laptop.

the drama you'd been watching started to lose its interest after presenting the third plot twist in a row, annoying you with all the plot holes it left gaping.

sipping on your green tea (you'd been drinking tamaki's recommendation, pomegranate, only to throw all of it in the trash when you heard he gave the same advice to haruhi), you paused the show and sighed in absolute, tyrannical boredom.

by now you'd normally have finished your classes and walked to music room #3, your favourite among them all.

you'd be welcomed by a host and walked to a sofa to wait for your appointment, ignoring any other girl in the waiting area trying to pick a conversation with the middle child of the ln family.

and soon enough you'd be approached by your one and only taking your hand in his and kissing it to greet you, with his blue eyes staring up at you innocently like a man in love; a look he gave to any woman nowadays, it was second nature to him.

you got lost in them so often, he sometimes dared to ask you if you didn't enjoy his company and that's why you spaced out so much.

preposterous.

you? disliking tamaki? how could he think that after all these years you spent playing together, with you transferring to his school for his sake, swallowing your pride and becoming the client of a host for him?

truly an absurd notion.

currently, however, you weren't in the host club. you were just a girl with a bunch of germs crawling everywhere around her room, unable to go out and see the man of her dreams kiss her cheek and tell her to 'get well soon'.

speaking of, your mum grew increasingly concerned when she noticed the lack of communication between you and tamaki. you were always attached to his hip like some sort of koala, and the fact that you hadn't reached out to him to inform him of your illness personally so he could visit you made her worry.

but it was only natural that you'd suspect you were being an annoyance to tamaki once you began to notice his eyes shift from you to the newest host a couple of months prior. he'd been a petit brunet boy. a first year who was friendly and of lowly origin. you didn't think much of it.

at least not until the day hikaru asked if you could fetch something he forgot in the back room, completely ignorant to the fact that haruhi had come to the club early that day to ask for another uniform because she'd been accidentally thrown water at by two classmates of hers being stupid.

so when you opened the curtain and saw a small-sized girl with only her panties on desperately trying to hide herself from you, it didn't take more than a couple of seconds to put two and two together.

tamaki wasn't fascinated by the commoner errand 'boy' turnt host.

he wanted her.

you closed the curtain, giving the girl her privacy back and muttering an curt apology, "sorry." before deciding that hikaru would have to get his things himself.

neither haruhi nor you spoke about it again, and she never snitched to the host club about your discovery of her sex.

you liked to pretend it never happened, and that it never changed anything. but just like with tamaki, pretending doesn't go anywhere. the hints were there. his furiously blushed face when he stared at her, his protection of her when the twins teased her, his demands for kyouya to do things for haruhi because she'd like it, not even because she'd asked - well, the stage of denial didn't last long.

shortly after came anger. pure, unexplainable rage and envy. the fourth of the deadly sins was soon rushing through your veins like a drug you couldn't get clean from. 'why her?' you would ask in your rampages.

you couldn't figure it out, and you couldn't ask anyone either, because as infuriated as you were, hurting haruhi by revealing her identity wasn't on your to-do list.

not because you were a good person, god no.

rather, if tamaki knew you hurt his precious daughter - you barfed - like that, who knows if you'd see him again?

and so came the bargaining stage, with your rage never leaving your blood stream, of course. being petty was always one of your main personality traits, one that tamaki would often point out.

what did fujioka haruhi have that ln yn didn't?

'nothing.' you muttered to yourself.

nothing.

nothing?

could you be absolutely sure?

you didn't see her much outside of the club, and there were a couple of times you'd heard the hosts hung out together.

maybe they had a moment? or two, three?

perhaps it was high time you stopped bothering him. perhaps then he'd realise you were the one.

that's why your texts to him had much lessened, coming to a complete stop after roughly two months of your self-doubt and insecurities getting the best of you. so did your occasional visits to his house for studying. you'd even stopped wearing the perfume he got you as a birthday present last year, even though you couldn't find another scent that fit your tastes the same way.

despite your attempts at catching his attention, the bubbling fury in your chest rose once again when you realised that maybe tamaki didn't care about you at all.

he texted you as much as you texted him, he hung out with you only when you asked, and when he came closer to you and noticed the change in your scent, he went: "different perfume, princess?"

and while normally you'd be ecstatic at him noticing, your happiness was immediately destroyed when "the other one was a little old fashioned, good thing you moved to something more fresh."

why couldn't he say what he would have said had he been in an otome game, something among the lines of: 'did you wish to match mine?' or something cheesy like that? ...was your scent not to his tastes?

'did he forget his skills from hosting or what?' you whined.

consequently, now that you were sitting around doing nothing to reach out to tamaki or any of your 'friends', your mum couldn't help but take her phone in her hands to call her friend hitachiin yuzuha.

back in the pink room that is the host club, today's rendezvouses seemed to be going by awfully quickly for tamaki.

in the couple of minutes of break he had between the end of this rendezvous and next the one to come, he quickly found his phone from his back pocket and went over his schedule sent by kyouya.

your name had been crossed out and replaced with another one he recognised, another regular guest of his. he raised his eyebrow at that.

he lifted his head and looked for the shadow king.

"hey, kyouya?"

"hm?" kyouya didn't bother to look up from his laptop, furiously typing god-knows-what.

"why's yn's time gone?" he asked innocently in a curious voice that had you heard, you'd be swooning over.

"i told you, she cancelled due to personal business," his answer was straight-forward "although it's probably because she's ill."

ah, that makes sense, you were the one that cancelled.

wait, huh?

"what do you mean she's ill?" his eyebrows furrow a bit and he cocks his head to the side like a cute dog who doesn't understand anything its owner says.

"what do you mean, 'what do i mean'? she's been absent since monday because she's not feeling well, and she won't come today either. pretty simple." kyouya finally looked up at tamaki with a strange expression on his face. "has she not told you?"

tamaki shook his head a bit, "uhm.. no, not really." and tapped his phone again to check his messages on multiple social media apps to make sure he wasn't missing anything. his emails were empty too, only some spam from a newsletter page that he never bothered to cancel his subscription from.

"how do you know?" he questioned kyouya, but before he could answer, "no wait, don't answer that, you creep. of course you know." he sighed.

after some seconds of quiet thinking, "why didn't you tell me?" tamaki continued his questioning.

"everyone already knows, my lord." an awfully familiar voice butt in making the french boy turn his head around, resting his hand on his waist.

the voice belonged to kaoru, who had his arm wrapped around his twin's shoulders. seems like they also just finished with an appointment.

"what does that mean? who's 'everyone' and why am i not included?" tamaki crossed his arms, feeling kind of left out.

"that guy hayato or whatever who hangs out with yn and her friends was telling someone and we overheard." hikaru shrugged in unison with his doppelganger.

honey's soft voice entered the chat. "you mean hinata-kun? yn-chan's friend? yeah, he told me when i asked where yn-chan is because i thought she forgot to bring the candy she promised." he quickly grabbed a piece of cake from the fridge near where kyouya had been sitting and left the room swiftly.

huh, how convenient for him to enter for the plot.

"and why's it that you two evil bastards didn't bother to tell me?" tamaki exclaimed in disbelief, pointing a finger at the both of them. how could they? his precious childhood friend was sick at home and he didn't know?!

"sorry milord-" kaoru announced with his shoulders still raised, "-but you're always talking to yn-" hikaru joined, "-how were we supposed to know you're not asking her about her well-being?" they delivered the finishing blow together.

what were these lame jerks insinuating? 'not asking about her well-being'? what did they know? just as he went to respond with his usual barking, he stopped himself to instead text you on his own for the first time in a while. not that he noticed.

the twins looked at their king with a confused and weirded-out expression on both their faces, before glancing at each other and shrugging again, already disinterested. kyouya had long gone back to his work and so the twins walked to an empty sofa in an almost isolated area of the club, lying on top of one another to give a nice view to whichever client was into it.

about six minutes of pure silence passed between the two before kaoru's phone buzzed; a text from his mum.

the twins read the text simultaneously, with hikaru raising an eyebrow at its contents. they looked back at the slender boy texting you on his phone at the other end of the club, confused about his behaviour.

"seriously...?" hikaru quietly asked kaoru, referring to the text, only to be met with the other's puzzled expression.

as for the half-and-half boy, his fingers were anxiously tapping kyouya's table and awaiting your response to his message.

tamakiii ♥♥♥♥: Hey darling! Is everything alright? I heard you didn't come to school because you're sick. I thought you just didn't feel like coming. Why didn't you tell me?

he didn't know you let out a deep sigh at his text, even if it was three days late. it gave you hope - false hope. that he'd started to pay attention to you again. maybe being distant worked-

tamakiii ♥♥♥♥: want me to come over?

the question felt natural to him, you always visited his home but seldom did he ever visit yours. since you were sick, it made sense that you wouldn't come over this time.

yn>.< : arent u busy rn tho lol

your name on his phone had obviously been put there by you, his choice of emoji had been party hat for some reason.

"be serious, what does that even mean, tamaki?" you'd asked him one day during a break from your studying in his room.

"you don't like it..?" he pouted like usual and you rolled your eyes.

"here. that's better." you handed him his phone back with a new 'yn >.<' as your contact name.

tamakiii ♥♥♥♥: I can just come after club activities.

wait, he was actually coming? after two months of your only contact being through your rendezvous? it worked?! it actually worked?!

you thought of how to answer him.

at your lack of fast response, tamaki thought of ways to help you feel better through your illness.

'aha! eureka!' tamaki's head echoed.

tamakiii ♥♥♥♥: I'll bring some commoner snacks we can enjoy too! Commoners have incredible food to help alleviate illness!

tamakiii ♥♥♥♥: What are you even sick with, anyway?

of course.

commoner food, of course.

haruhi's food.

yn>.< : lol no its fine i dont want u to get sick. ill just c u at sxhool yn>.< : school* yn>.< : doc said its just a cold but yk w my asthma n shit

tamaki was thoroughly disappointed with your response, what did you mean 'you didn't want him to get sick'? you'd never cared if you caught his cold.

his heart raced with worry, and he decided he would stop by anyway. knowing his next appointment was approaching, he speed walked over to the newest host.

"haaaaruuhiiiiii!" he waved his hand to her and her two clients, smiling widely with all of them smiling back at him.

"yeah? what is it, senpai?" haruhi looked up at him from her armchair.

"sorry to intrude-" he runs his hair through his locks - an action that you told him the ladies would swoon over, "-but i was wondering, do you have any recommendations for commoner food that sick people can eat?"

"...are you serious?"

#ohshc #ohshc fanfic #ohshc x reader #fanfiction #ouran high school host club #ouran host club #tamaki x reader #tamaki suoh x reader #tamaki suoh #light angst #x reader #suoh tamaki

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