#Weight sensor

[tomsonelectronics-blog]

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[p1nkshield]

Jason: [waking with up with suspicious weight on chest] wha-? WHAT TF GET OFF OF ME YOU LITTLE RAT!

Damian: [literally standing on him] wake up Todd, I require your hulking, brutish frame.

Jason: You are really bad at asking for help.

Damian: Father has confiscated my Cheese Viking cartridge and, using my stature to his advantage has placed it on a shelf I cannot reach.

Jason: Climb up there yourself it’s the middle of the night, only Tim will notice.

Damian: You underestimate Father. He has implemented a system that will alarm him if any sort of abnormal weight is placed on the shelving.

Jason: Ask Dick or something.

Damian: he far is too short.

Jason: [snickers a little]

Damian: you are the only one who can do this Todd.

Jason: Fine! Fine! Get off of me first knife child.

[prodigaldaughteralice]

there’s a tv screen playing health PSAs here in the waiting room, and most of them are “if you’re having X symptoms, it could be Y, here’s steps to take”

the ONLY ones that are just addressed to Everyone Watching, no “if”, just assumed to be relevant to everyone

are stress (“You can say ‘no’ to stress! How? Write it down!”)

and “eat fewer calories to lose weight”

Because of course everyone on the fucking planet is trying to lose weight! That’s just the natural state of being for women isn’t it??? fuck this

[forevermore-lost-in-space]

Bus drivers don't break my chair challenge

[ask-time-loop-curly]

How does Pony enforce the five hour downtime rule if you are in space?

something to do with heat sensors and time allotment counters, and i think there's a pressure plate thing somewhere? swans'd be better to ask about it, honestly

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

wow not that i like. FORGOT. that driscoll is my Precision of Vocabulary character. but. damn they know WAY more terminology than i do lmao

[is-the-post-reliable]

(reposting as I am unable to reblog the original.)

requested by @kodicraft

🔶 Rating: Partially Reliable 🔶

The Devils Hole is home to the endangered Devils Hole Pupfish.

From the National Park Service's page on Devils Hole: 'Devils Hole--a detached unit of Death Valley National Park--is habitat for the only naturally occurring population of the endangered Devils Hole Pupfish (Cyprinodon diabolis).'

The existence of the pupfish does prevent the pumping of groundwater in the area, after a legal battle. I am not sure this would apply to all mining.

From a High Country News article on the pupfish: 'The Cappaert case went all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court, testing the power of the Antiquities Act and the weight of the new Endangered Species Act. In 1976, the High Court affirmed the federal government’s right to maintain water levels sufficient to support the pupfish, even at the expense of water rights held by nearby ranchers.'

The habitat of this fish is incredibly small. However, it is slightly larger than suggested, as the fish swim at least 20m deep; the rock shelf referenced is the only place where the fish feed and spawn in the wild.

From the same National Park Service page: 'Although pupfish have been found as deep as 66 feet (20 m), the fish forage and spawn exclusively on a shallow rock shelf near the surface, feeding on the algae and diatoms found there.'

It is true that multiple conservation attempts have failed. Previous attempts to breed or crossbreed the fish have not been successful.

From a National Park Foundation article on the pupfish: 'Despite past efforts to create a similar artificial platform for the pupfish, as well as attempts to breed Devils Hole pupfish and hybrids in captivity, this small ledge remains the sole spawning and feeding shelf for the fish.'

I have not been able to find any references to 'assassination attempts'. One individual did threaten to pour pesticide into Devil's Hole, but it seems this was never attemped. If anyone can find anything on this, please let me know, but in the mean time I have to say this claim is unsubstantiated.

From a High Country News article on an incident of tresspassing and the pupfish: 'A Pahrump newspaper editor even threatened to throw the pesticide Rotenone into the sunken cave to “make the pupfish a moot point.”'

The fencing was initially installed after two people drowned, not after an assassination attempt. Later, more fencing and security was installed after three men drunkenly tresspassed and killed a pupfish.

From the same National Park Service page: 'Subsequently, the Hole was fenced after two divers drowned in its water.'

From a High Country News article on the incident of tresspassing : 'Since the incident, Devils Hole has become an even more formidable fortress. The Park Service capped its towering fences with additional barbed wire. The public can only view the sunken cave from a distance now, more than 20 feet above it. And inside the fenced viewing area are even more cameras, motion sensors and “No Trespassing” signs.'

There is a breeding program at Ash Meadows Facility, where scientists have attempted to mimic the natural habitat of the pupfish.

From a National Geographic article on the breeding attempts: 'And when they built the Ash Meadows facility, the scientists tried to create a mirror image of Devil’s Hole, which meant bringing in water, substrate, and algae from the natural environment.'

It is possible that a different research/breeding facility is being referred to, but the Ash Meadows Facility does not seem to have a secret location. In fact, the facility is open to visitors, according to their website.

I wont attempt to fact check whether the cave is haunted, but I can confirm that at least two people drowned and were not recovered from Devils Hole. Whilst the cave is not truly bottomless, the bottom has not yet been found.

From an SFGATE article on Devils Hole: 'When the bottom of Devils Hole is one day found, the skeletons of two brothers-in-law may finally be recovered, fathoms below the frolicking pupfish.'

The breeding program has been more successful in recent years. This may be due to the discovery that diving beetles were eating the eggs and larvae, and the beetle population in the artificial environment being controlled. (This fact was not included in the original post, but I thought it was cool.)

From a National Geographic article on the breeding attempts: 'As Feuerbacher watched the infrared footage, which can visualize objects in the dark, a tiny pupfish larva smaller than a peppercorn flitted into the camera’s frame. This was big news. When a population gets as low as that of the pupfish, every animal—wild or captive, larva or adult—is critical to the species’ survival.

“I was pretty excited to see there was reproduction going on in the tank, and I just watched it for a little bit,” says Feuerbacher, a fish biologist with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. “Then I saw a beetle swim past.”

It began circling the fish, and closing in.

“Then it just dove in and basically tore the fish in half right while I was watching,” says Feuerbacher.

[...]

During the first beetle collection, facility manager Jennifer Gumm says they caught 500 beetles in three hours. And on the very next pupfish egg collection, which is done by leaving out pieces of carpet that the fish like to lay their eggs on, the team retrieved close to 40 pupfish eggs.

Before this, they had been lucky to find four or five pupfish eggs during a refuge collection. Usually, it was zero.'

[tomsonelectronics-blog]

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[fmsinternational]

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[runicarbiter02]

I’m sure this is a very common take, but I haven’t had any motivation to write fandom stuff lately, so I wanted to get this little bit down while I had the inspiration

—

Being the human partner of a Cybertronian, any Cybertronian really, and turning this huge, hulking, intimidating bot into a giant mechanical cat with some gentle touches, some kisses, and sweet words. Standing on your bot’s shoulder, gently stroking a hand over their cheekplate, and listening to that earthshaking rumble of their engine as they purr. Your bot gently nudging you with their cheek or nose when you stop, silently insisting the continued touch and affectionate words. Your bot mass displacing and crawling into your bed, arranging pillows on your lap before laying their head down and promptly falling into a well deserved recharge. (Let’s pretend that they wouldn’t shatter the bed frame just by putting a little weight on it, lmao-) Your bot trying to teach you chirolinguistics, not realizing that you don’t have the same kinds of sensors in your palm as they do, leaving you incredibly confused. Your bot relishing in the tiny flickers of unabashed emotion they get from your very weak organic EM field. Singing softly to your bot, only for them to croon one of their favorite Cybertronian tunes right back, and the both of you giggling over just how vastly different your music is from each other’s. Your bot trying to teach you the Cybertronian language, and you trying to teach them about human art/literature/philosophy/etc. You and your bot being soft and cute and fluffy. Send tweet 🏃‍♀️💨

—

I hope you don’t mind me tagging you, but you’re the one who motivated me to get back into writing!!! This lil drabble certainly isn’t my best work, but it’s the most I’ve done in awhile, haha @revelboo

[lemondoddle]

[I.D. a tweet by (@ LEMONBALMBABY) that reads "what does the washing machine gain by lying about how long the cycle has left, if u need more time just say it?" end I.D.]

[raqi-marr]

mech pilot who got separated from their mecha when their civilisation was domestication and their military got dissolved. despite all attempts to help them, they still have persistent phantom sensation from the limbs that they used to have but no longer do; constantly missing the feeling of a rifle in hands that don't feel the right size, feeling blind and deaf without all of the enhanced feedback from sensors capable of a hundred times greater acuity than their own body

eventually, however, one particular affini reads their medical file and comes up with an idea. she files a notice of intent on the pilot, then swiftly heads over to their hab and whisks them away the next morning. they don't even bother resisting; having long since given up hope that things will get better, and unable to imagine any way they could get worse

the affini takes them home and lays them down on a surgery table, promising them that soon, everything is going to feel right again. they expect nothing, presuming her to be lying to them, but they feel a great weight behind their eyes, and a moment later, they fall closed.

it feels like they've only blinked, but when they reopen them, everything is different. every sense that was missing is suddenly there again. they look down at their arms to find them just the right size; their body no longer one of flesh, but of gleaming white metal plates, pulsating with thin green lines of a material they don't recognise. it takes them a moment to realise what it is: under their metal skin are muscles and tendons made out of vines, their former optical sensors replaced with sight blossoms, and their rifle woven back together from a mixture of bark, chambered with rounds made of amber

most of all, they are no longer alone. they could feel their mech before, but it's different this time; as if the sensation surrounding them isn't quite their own, but a body that is both theirs and not. a faint, slow pulsing that shifts in time with every movement, guiding them to know exactly where to look, and what to do. moments later, they hear a voice whispering- not into their ear, but directly into their mind, just like their onboard AI used to:

"Good morning, my precious little Pilot."

[yeostinys]

Cry For Me

Pairing: DomCEO!Hongjoong x SubSecretary!Reader

Genre: Smut 18+, slight angst, PWP, Office!AU

Notes: Cheating (don’t do it yall. this is just fiction), Unprotected sex (wrap it up!!! do not try this irl, it is pure fantasy!), explicit language, dacryphilia kink, humiliation, degrading, power fixation, Hongjoong lowkey manipulates (but for the better ig lol)

Word Count: 13k (condensed some ideas to bring down the word count LOL)

Authors note: This is pure horny imagination and in NO WAY, reflects on the characters in real life! If you do not like this type of content pls ignore or block me.

Pt. 2 | Pt. 3

———————————————————————

As you stepped into your apartment, the night sky cast a deep blue glow through the windows, shimmering like a vast ocean. The warm glow of the sensor lights flickered on, illuminating the entryway and casting soft shadows on the walls. You paused for a moment, a frustrated sigh escaping your lips, echoing in the stillness of the room.

It was the fifth time this month that your boyfriend had canceled on you, and each time felt like another nail in the coffin of what once seemed like a blossoming romance. The disappointment settled heavily in your chest, making each step toward the kitchen feel more burdensome than the last.

With a determined resolve, you made your way to the fridge, the familiar chill greeting you as you opened the door. Your fingers closed around a half-filled bottle of wine, the label slightly crumpled from the many times it had been hastily put back. You pulled it out, and reached for a glass. You stare blankly as you poured the wine, watching as the dark liquid rose to the rim, glistening in the soft light. Without hesitation, you brought it to your lips, taking a few deep gulps, each swallow both comforting and numbing. As the warmth spread through you, tears began to prick at the corners of your eyes, a familiar sensation that you had tried so hard to push away.

The memories of the past 2 years flooded back—Siwoo’s laughter, the shared moments that now felt like distant echoes. But lately, he had become a stranger, his warmth replaced by an impenetrable distance. You had tried to reach out, to bridge the growing gap, but each time ended in disappointment. Now, standing in your quiet apartment, you felt a profound sense of loss that had settled deep within you, leaving you feeling numb, as if you were merely going through the motions of life without truly living it.

You quickly wiped your tears away, the salty tracks on your cheeks feeling foreign yet familiar. With each brush of your fingers, the sadness that had threatened to overwhelm you twisted into something sharper—anger.

*Ding.*

The sudden sound pulled your attention away from your thoughts. You turned your head toward your phone, its screen lighting up with a notification. The sight of Siwoo's name, accompanied by a little heart, made your heart sink further.

Siwoo <3: I’m sorry I cancelled again. Please don’t hate me. I’ll see you on your lunch tomorrow.

You stared at the message, the words blurring momentarily as your vision wavered. Another empty promise. With a shaky hand, you raised your glass to your lips, the bitter taste of the wine filling your mouth as you took another long gulp. It was a poor substitute for the warmth you once felt from Siwoo's presence.

You couldn't bring yourself to respond—not now. You needed a few moments to gather your swirling emotions, to avoid lashing out with the hurt and anger that simmered just beneath the surface. The silence of the apartment enveloped you, amplifying your racing thoughts and making the weight of his message all the more suffocating.

Once you finished the rest of the wine bottle, you felt the tension in your shoulders ease just a fraction. You turned away from your phone, not wanting to see another message or another reminder of the chasm that seemed to grow between you. With heavy steps, you made your way to the bedroom.

You plopped down onto the bed, the soft sheets cradling you in their embrace. As your body sank into the mattress, fatigue overtook you, pulling you into a deep slumber. In the quiet darkness, you hoped for dreams that could somehow soothe the ache in your heart, if only for a little while.

———

The next day dawned with a muted light filtering through the curtains, the world outside still waking up. You rolled over, disoriented for a moment, before the reality of the day ahead crashed over you. With a groan, you pushed yourself up, the remnants of last night’s indulgence weighing heavily in your mind.

As you shuffled to the bathroom, the headache from downing that last glass of wine throbbed at your temples, a persistent reminder of your restless night. You cursed under your breath, regretting the decision to finish the bottle in a moment of vulnerability.

You quickly went through the motions of your morning routine. Your job as the secretary for one of the most well-known CEOs in the Creative Arts Institution required precision and poise, a stark contrast to the emotional turmoil that had kept you up late. You dressed in a tailored blouse and a pencil skirt, the fabric smoothing against your skin as you adjusted the collar. The mirror reflected a professional exterior, yet you felt anything but composed inside.

After applying a touch of makeup to mask the fatigue in your eyes, you gathered your things—laptop, planner, and the ever-essential cup of coffee that awaited you in the kitchen.

———

As you step into the tall building, the morning sun filters through the glass façade, casting geometric shadows across the polished marble lobby. The familiar bustle of your colleagues greets you, their voices merging with the gentle hum of fluorescent lights. You nod and smile as you greet in response. You make your way to the elevator, its silver doors glinting in the light. Pressing the button for the top floor, you mentally prepare for the day ahead, trying not to show your exhausted emotions, mentally and physically. When the doors slide open, you step into the expansive hallway lined with art. At the end of the corridor, you enter the grand office door. You walk to the enormous desk adorned with a gold plaque that reads “CEO Kim Hongjoong” and set down the iced Americano you picked up on your way in. You reach into your tote bag and retrieve a neatly organized file folder. Flipping it open, you scan through today’s itinerary, noting the key meetings and tasks that lie ahead. Once satisfied with your briefing, you close the folder and return it to your bag. You head to the front desk positioned just outside the CEO's office, and begin your morning tasks. Every day in the office has settled into a rhythm, a familiar routine that feels almost automatic.

“Good morning, Mr. Kim!” “Hello, Mr. Kim!” The greetings echo as your colleagues bow slightly, their respect palpable.

You rise from your chair, straightening your blouse, and offer a nonchalant nod, masking the exhaustion lingering just beneath the surface.

“Good morning, Mr. Kim,” you say as you bow, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Hongjoong approaches, his expression warm yet focused.

“Hello, Y/N. Have you prepared everything for today’s schedule?” he asks, moving past you toward his office.

“Yes, you have a meeting in an hour with a client…” you begin to relay the itinerary, following him inside. He settles into his chair, taking a sip of the Americano and nods in response.

“Also, I dealt with the complaints from the last exhibition. Everything’s been taken care of, just like you wanted,” you add, your tone casual, though the weight of your own issues tugs at your thoughts. Hongjoong looks up, a smile breaking across his face.

“That’s why I have you as my secretary, Miss Y/N. Thank you so much.”

You nod, the compliment momentarily brightening your mood, but it’s fleeting. You bow again before slipping out of the office. As the door closes behind you, you take a deep breath, pushing the worries from your relationship to the back of your mind, ready to tackle the day ahead with practiced indifference.

Throughout the morning, you flit in and out of meetings, accompanying Hongjoong as he navigates a flurry of tasks. The office is a hive of activity, and you move seamlessly between conversations, taking notes and organizing files, but the weight of your personal life hangs heavy in the back of your mind.

You glance at the clock on your desk: just thirty minutes until your hour break. A sigh escapes your lips, and you reach for your phone, hesitating. Siwoo’s message sits unread, a lingering question mark in your thoughts. You know you should respond, but the uncertainty of his invitation makes you hesitate. Is it pettiness that keeps you from reaching out, or a defense mechanism to shield your heart from further pain? You shake off the intrusive thoughts, forcing yourself to focus on the tasks at hand.

*Ding.* Your phone buzzes, drawing your attention. It’s another message from Siwoo.

Siwoo <3: I won’t be able to make it today. Something came up at work. Sorry.

You scoff under your breath, a bitter taste filling your mouth. His absence stings, but you’ve braced yourself for this—after all, it’s become a pattern.

Just then, Hongjoong’s voice crackles through the telephone intercom on your desk, interrupting your spiraling thoughts. “Miss Y/N, please come to my office.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, rising from your seat with a practiced smile as you make your way into his office.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Kim?” you ask, your tone polite, carefully masking the frustration beneath the surface from Siwoo’s message.

Hongjoong leans back in his chair, his expression serious.

“I know you have your hour break in twenty minutes, but I just got off the phone with a potential client. They want to meet over lunch in a few minutes, and I need you to tag along to take notes. If you can wait on your break for another hour, I’ll cover your meal if you accompany me now.”

His words feel more like an instruction than a request, and you nod in response, pushing your personal frustrations aside.

“Of course, sir. Shall I call the chauffeur now?”

“No need,” he replies, grabbing his briefcase. “We’ll take my vehicle. I’ll drive.”

You nod and follow Hongjoong out of the building.

You settled into the passenger seat next to Hongjoong, the sleek interior of the car enveloping you. The rhythmic clicking of the turn signal punctuated the silence, while the soft murmur of the news on the radio served as a gentle backdrop.

“Miss Y/N, is everything alright?” Hongjoong's voice cut through the quiet, steady and attentive. You turned to him, slightly taken aback by his directness.

“Y-Yes, sir. What makes you concerned?” you replied, a hint of surprise coloring your voice. His eyes remained fixed on the road, focused yet perceptive.

“My top employee—my secretary—has been unusually quiet lately. You seem a bit off,” he remarked, expertly navigating the car into a parking lot. His concern was genuine, and you felt a flutter of warmth at his attention.

“I apologize if I gave that impression today, sir. I assure you, I’m alright,” you replied, straightening in your seat, trying to project confidence. Hongjoong parked the car and turned to face you, his expression serious.

“Y/N, I’m not just talking about today. You’ve been like this for a few days now. I don’t want to pry, but if something is bothering you, please let me know. You never slack off—well, not that I’ve noticed—but you’re a vital part of our team. If you’re not at your best, it affects us all, especially me. Let’s tackle any issues together, professionally.” His words carried a weight of understanding that took you by surprise.

You hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal.

“I… I apologize, sir. It’s just some personal issues in my relationship. I promise I won’t let it interfere with my work,” you said softly, your gaze dropping to your hands in your lap. You feared that honesty might blur the lines of your professional relationship.

Hongjoong regarded you with a thoughtful expression, his brow slightly furrowing. “Problems in your relationship?” he asked gently. You nodded, keeping your head bowed.

“Yes. I appreciate you asking,” you replied, feeling a rush of gratitude mixed with apprehension.

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” he said, his tone shifting back to his usual professional demeanor. “Let’s get to work.”

The next hour unfolded at a high-end restaurant, its luxurious ambiance creating the perfect setting for a business meeting. You sat next to Hongjoong, across from two potential clients, the atmosphere charged with opportunity. As they discussed plans for an upcoming exhibition, you diligently took notes, your mind sharpening as you transitioned into your role.

Hongjoong exuded charisma, ordering champagne and an array of exquisite appetizers while skillfully guiding the conversation. You admired the way he balanced authority with approachability, creating an atmosphere of collaboration.

———

As promised, Hongjoong granted you your hour break once you both returned to the office. The day had been packed with meetings and conversations, but you had already eaten at the restaurant, so instead of lingering in the bustling atmosphere of the office, you decided to find solace on the rooftop.

Ascending to the rooftop, you pushed open the heavy door, the cool air hitting your face like a refreshing wave. You walked over to one of the bistro tables, the metal surface gleaming under the midday sun. You sank into one of the chairs, letting out a deep sigh that released the pent-up stress from the morning. In your left hand, you cradled an iced Americano to keep you alert. In your right, you held your phone, its screen illuminating your face as you contemplated the text messages from Siwoo.

He should be off work by now, you thought, scrolling through the thread of messages. You hesitated, biting your lip, unsure of how to approach him. The uncertainty had lingered in your mind for days, and it felt like a weight on your chest. After a moment’s deliberation, you resolved to take initiative and give him a call.

You tapped his name, and set the phone on speaker. As the phone rang, the sound echoed in the serene space around you. It rang for what felt like an eternity until finally, you heard his voice on the other end, slightly breathless.

“H-hello? Y/N?” Siwoo stuttered, his tone hesitant.

“Siwoo, what are you doing?” you asked, trying to sound calm, though your heart raced with anticipation.

“Mmm, n-nothing much, just working out. I-I went to the gym after work,” he replied, punctuating his words with a grunt that surprised you. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. Since when did he ever work out?

You decided to push forward, hoping to reconnect. “Do you want to come over tonight? I’ll make dinner,” you offered, softening your voice as if trying to coax him back into your world.

“A-ahh, probably not tonight. I have to finish some work at h-home,” he stuttered again, his voice strained, as though he were struggling for breath.

Disappointment settled in your stomach, but you pressed on. “I can come over then, yeah? I’ll make you your favorite dish?” You mentally kicked yourself for even suggesting it, a flicker of doubt reminding you of all the times he had flaked out before.

“N-no, Y/N. I-It’s okay. A-ahh!” Siwoo grunted loudly, and a chill ran through you at the sound.

“Siwoo, what’s going on?!” You raised your voice slightly, urgency creeping in.

“I told you, Y/N. I’m working out. We can’t see each other tonight; I’m busy. I have to go,” he snapped, the finality in his tone cutting through the air like a knife. The line went dead, leaving you with only the echo of his voice. Your heart sank, a familiar ache running within you.

You stared at the phone in disbelief, the cool metal suddenly feeling heavy in your hand. How could he do this again? A mix of frustration and sadness swirled in your chest, and you felt a lump form in your throat. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but it did little to quell the rising tide of emotions.

——

You glance at the small digits on your screen, the glowing numbers reading 8:00 PM. Your shift officially ended thirty minutes ago, but here you sat, a blend of dedication and denial keeping you tethered to your desk. Guilt washed over you, a stark reminder of Hongjoong’s earlier words. There was no point in heading home, not when the weight of unfinished tasks bore down on you. The quiet of your apartment would only invite sorrow, while the office, though nearly deserted, offered a comforting distraction.

The atmosphere had shifted; the energy of the day had given way to silence as colleagues trickled out, exchanging soft goodbyes. Each farewell came with a gentle reminder not to work too hard, and you managed a smile, masking the turmoil brewing inside you. Once they departed, you returned your focus to the glowing screen, rifling through files and diligently noting necessary information, your fingers a blur over the keyboard.

A flicker of light caught your eye—a warm streaming light from Hongjoong’s office. You raised an eyebrow in curiosity; you’d assumed he had left an hour ago. Shaking off the thoughts that threatened to wander, you turned back to your work.

“Y/N?” Hongjoong’s voice broke through your concentration. You looked up at him through your rectangular glasses that rested on your face. He cut an impressive figure, dressed in a fitted black dress shirt and a black vest that accentuated his shoulders.(What the fuck Y/N; he’s your boss.) You mentally scolded yourself, attempting to dismiss any inappropriate thoughts.

“O-Oh, yes sir?” you replied, setting your pen down on the desk.

“Your shift ended an hour ago. Why are you still here?” His brow arched in genuine curiosity, his tone both commanding and concerned.

“I’m just catching up on some work, sir. I apologize. I’ll be heading home soon,” you replied, striving for composure even as nerves danced in your stomach.

“Y/N, come to my office,” he said, his calm demeanor masking the authority in his request. You hesitated, uncertainty creeping in. Why did he want to speak in private, especially when the office was nearly empty?

Despite your reservations, you take off your glasses frames, place them on your desk and follow him into his office. The door clicking shut behind you, a sound that felt like a declaration. The dim light cast long shadows, enveloping the room. He sits at the edge of his desk with his arms crossed.

“What’s going on in your relationship?” Hongjoong asked, his tone direct yet oddly informal. The question hung in the air, leaving you momentarily stunned. Your eyes widened, and you felt a flush creeping up your neck.

“Sir, I don’t think it’s appropriate to talk about personal matters at work…” you managed to reply, your fingers fidgeting nervously as you avoided his gaze.

“It’s after work hours, Y/N. You can speak comfortably,” he said, his voice calm and soothing, yet imbued with a sharpness that conveyed he was not one to be easily dismissed. “I can tell something is wrong.”

You hesitated, the weight of his gaze making it difficult to formulate a response. A swirl of emotions crashed over you—fear of crossing professional boundaries mixed with the realization that perhaps he genuinely wanted to connect with you on a deeper level. Colleagues had often joked about how you and Hongjoong were like a married couple at work, a notion you had always brushed aside. The title felt cliché, almost childish, and you had preferred to maintain a strictly professional atmosphere.

But as you looked at him, a flicker of understanding passed between you. Maybe he wasn’t just playing the role of the CEO tonight. Perhaps he truly wanted to understand what you were going through. You took a deep breath, your heart racing as you considered opening up.

“We have… just been distant lately,” you say hesitantly, the words slipping out with reluctance. “Our schedules don’t seem to be aligning, and our communication is off. That is all, sir.” You glance at him, searching for a response.

He hums thoughtfully, nodding in acknowledgment. “Shall I… cut your hours? Maybe find a second secretary to fill in while you get to spend more time with your significant other?” His voice carried a teasing lilt, yet there was an undercurrent of seriousness that sent a rush of heat to your cheeks.

“N-no, sir!” The words escaped your lips almost too hastily, an instinctive reaction that made you feel slightly embarrassed. Hongjoong chuckled, his head lowering momentarily before he lifted it again, locking eyes with you.

“So, is it his schedule that’s not cooperating with yours?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. You nodded in silence, the weight of your emotions pressing down as you considered the truth behind your answer.

“Mm… interesting.” Hongjoong tapped his chin thoughtfully, the wheels of his mind clearly turning. Curiosity prickled at you; what was going through his head? You couldn’t help but wonder about the direction this conversation was taking.

“Y/N, if you don’t mind me asking, what does your partner do for a living?” he asked, his tone calm and inviting.

“He’s a professor at the university located downtown,” you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper, as if sharing a secret.

“A professor?” Hongjoong mused, a hint of skepticism coloring his tone. “I doubt their schedules are that busy compared to yours—a full-time secretary for a well-known company.” He dropped his hands into his pockets, his gaze intent and probing.

“Are you sure you should be concerned about his schedule? Maybe… it’s something more?” Hongjoong added nonchalantly, his casual demeanor contrasting sharply with the seriousness of his implication.

You felt a wave of confusion wash over you. What was he suggesting? Your mind raced, trying to decipher his words. Was he implying that the distance in your relationship could be rooted in something deeper than just busy schedules? The thought unsettled you, but a part of you was intrigued by his concern. You hesitated, caught in a web of uncertainty as you considered how to respond.

“I—I’m not sure what you mean, sir…” you murmured, your gaze dropping to your black heels, the polished tips reflecting the dim light of the office.

“Come here, Y/N,” Hongjoong said, his voice a blend of softness and authority that sent a shiver down your spine. Almost instinctively, you found your feet moving toward him, the rhythmic click of your pumps echoing softly against the floor as you approached. You stopped just in front of his black loafers, your heart racing in your chest.

“Closer,” he instructed, his voice lowering, deepening with an intensity that made you catch your breath. You stepped forward, positioning yourself between his slightly parted legs, the air thick with unspoken tension.

His hand reached out, a gentle yet firm grasp settling on your waist. You gasped in shock, the unexpected warmth of his touch flooding through you. This is wrong, you thought, panic stirring within, but something deeper held you in place, a pull that made it difficult to consider pulling away. Instead, you stood there, caught in a moment that felt both exhilarating and terrifying.

“Maybe…” Hongjoong began, his thumb rubbing softly against the fabric of your blouse, the gentle motion both soothing and unsettling.

“your partner is being unfaithful…?” The words hung heavy in the air, a sentence that felt like a blade slicing through your gut.

A part of you recoiled at the thought, refusing to believe it. Yet, as you stood there, something nagged at you, a whisper of doubt that you couldn’t shake. The realization that he might be right crept in like a shadow, darkening your thoughts. Stupidly, your heart leaped to defend Siwoo, the man you cared for, even as uncertainty gnawed at you.

“Mr. Kim, I don’t appreciate you assuming that,” you replied quietly, your voice barely above a whisper as you stared between the gap of Hongjoong’s legs that revealed the floor, refusing to meet his gaze.

“You don’t know our relationship, so please do not accuse him of such acts…” you added, your tone a fragile mixture of firmness and vulnerability. As the words left your lips, you felt your eyes begin to well with tears, confusion and anger swirling within you. You trusted Siwoo; you had to. But the doubts Hongjoong had planted took root, and you didn’t understand why he was suddenly acting like this.

You wanted to leave, to escape the charged atmosphere and the unsettling intimacy of the moment, but your feet remained stuck to the floor. Deep down, beneath the rising tide of panic, you recognized that you craved the odd comfort Hongjoong provided, a warmth that felt so different from the turmoil in your heart.

Suddenly, a whimper escaped your lips, a sound that surprised you as tears began to cascade down your cheeks, dropping onto Hongjoong’s lap.

“Oh, baby…” Hongjoong cooed, his voice laced with a tenderness. You gasped at the sudden pet name. With a gentle yet deliberate movement, his unoccupied hand reached toward your face, lifting your chin slightly so that he could wipe away the tears that streamed relentlessly down. Your eyes however, still refusing to look at him. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you, and your heart raced at the intimacy of the moment.

“You defend him, yet you’re crying,” he observed, his voice low and soothing, but his words only added to the turmoil within you. It was as if he could see right through the facade you had tried to maintain. As his hand, previously resting on your waist, moved to the other side of your face, you felt the weight of his palms cupping your cheeks, an act of reassurance that both calmed and stirred your emotions.

“Look at me, Y/N” Hongjoong softly demands. Your pretty eyes look at him. Sparkling from the tears that are still streaming down your face slowly. Hongjoong bit his lip, fighting to maintain his composure, though he couldn’t help but think how fucken pretty you look when you cried… how vulnerable.

“I’m sorry for assuming,” he continued, his tone tender yet firm. “It was unprofessional of me. I was just trying to express my concerns.” His fingers brushed against your skin as he gently cupped your face, his thumbs softly stroking away the remnants of your tears. “I don’t want to see you cry anymore, okay?”

Confusion swirled within you, a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. What was Hongjoong doing? His touch sent conflicting signals through your mind, making it hard to decipher the intentions behind his kindness. You felt your heart race as he held your gaze, searching for answers that remained elusive.

“Let me take you home. It’s getting late.” He reluctantly withdrew his hands, the warmth of his touch lingering on your skin. Hongjoong lightly tapped your waist,

“Okay?” he asked again, his voice softening as he sought your approval. You nodded, your heart fluttering as you looked into his eyes, those doe-like orbs filled with an innocence that belied the complexities of your situation. The air between you was thick with unspoken words, each moment stretching out as you found solace in his presence, even amidst the confusion.

———

The car glided smoothly along the quiet streets, the only sounds breaking the stillness were the gentle notes floating from the radio and the rhythmic tapping of Hongjoong’s fingers on the steering wheel. Each beat resonated with the unspoken tension lingering between you, a subtle backdrop to the whirlwind of thoughts spinning in your mind.

As the car pulled up in front of your apartment building, you felt a mix of relief and reluctance. The evening air was cool against your skin as you unbuckled your seatbelt and gathered your bags, the weight of the day still heavy on your shoulders.

“Thank you for the ride, Mr. Kim,” you said, bowing your head slightly, unable to meet his gaze. It was a gesture of politeness, but it felt more like a shield, protecting you from the warmth of his soft smile that you could sense even without looking.

“No worries, Miss Y/N. I’ll see you Monday,” he replied, his voice soft but filled with an unshakeable confidence. You heard the warmth in his tone, even as you turned away and walked towards the entrance of your apartment building, his farewell echoing in your ears.

The elevator ride felt interminable as you ascended to your floor, each ding of the buttons amplifying the heaviness in your chest. Finally, you stepped into your small apartment, the familiar space offering little comfort. You dragged your feet toward your room, exhaustion pulling you down, both physically and emotionally.

Once inside, you kicked off your heels, the sharp clack against the floor a welcome relief. You stripped off your clothes with a mindless haste, leaving only your undergarments as you collapsed onto your bed. The cool sheets enveloped you, but they couldn’t ease the confusion swirling in your thoughts.

With a deep, resigned sigh, you sank into the mattress, your mind replaying fragments of your conversation with Hongjoong.

In a moment of desperation, you reached for your phone, dialing Siwoo’s number. The ringing felt like an eternity, and when it went to voicemail, a knot tightened in your stomach. You glanced at the clock—10 PM. Another attempt led to the same unyielding voicemail. Frustration filled within you, mixing with a pang of anxiety that settled in your chest.

You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breathing. The coolness of the room contrasted sharply with the heat of your thoughts. Slowly, memories of Hongjoong flooded your mind—his perfect figure leaning casually against the desk, his strong hand lingering on your arm, the gentle caress of his fingers against your face.

Your heart ached, not for Siwoo, but for Hongjoong. You suddenly craved his comforting and reassuring voice. His lingering touch on your skin. Your legs close together as you feel a wave of warmth between your thighs. Your hands moved down your soft skin, reaching towards your heat…

You gasp softly, shaking your head, trying to dismiss these feelings. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. You shouldn’t be thinking about him like this. Hongjoong is your Boss. And plus you have Siwoo. Your… loving boyfriend.

The weight of silence wraps around you like a thick fog, pressing down on your chest as you lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. You can’t shake the feeling that these spiraling thoughts. In frustration you convince yourself that you’re probably just deprived of touch from your significant other.

With sudden resolve, you push yourself up from the tangled sheets, the cool air sending a shiver down your spine, and head towards the bathroom. Turning on the water, you let your thoughts drown in the hot water. Making your way back to your room, you slowly dry off and change into pajamas.

As your head hits the pillow, a sense of calm envelops you, pulling you into a deep slumber. The world outside fades, and for the first time in ages, you allow yourself to drift away, hoping that tomorrow will bring a spark of connection back into your life.

———

The first rays of sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting soft stripes across your home office. You’re working from home today, since Hongjoong isn’t in office on the weekends. You sat your desk with a steaming cup of coffee cradled in your hands, you let the aroma fill your senses, the rich, dark liquid fueling your focus as your fingers typing across the keyboard.

The rhythmic sound of your typing created a serene atmosphere until it was interrupted by a sharp buzz from the apartment door.

Setting your coffee down, you pushed back your chair and stood, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and dread as you approached the door. Taking a deep breath, you swung it open, and your heart dropped. Standing there, looking both sheepish and regretful, was Siwoo, clutching a bouquet of flowers.

“Y/N, honey, I’m so sorry for flaking out on you so many times,” he said with a fake pout.

A year ago, you would have melted at this display. You might have accepted his half-assed apology with a smile, the flowers a token of his remorse. But today, your mind raced with reminders of all the times he had done this before. The constant stand-ups, the empty promises, the fleeting moments of connection overshadowed by disappointment.

Your heart ached, not with the sweet pang of love but with the heavy weight of frustration. You stood there, staring at him, emotions swirling within you like a storm. Hurt and upset battled against the tenderness that still lingered for him. You could feel the walls you had carefully built in the past months tightening around you, whispering that this was a cycle you were tired of repeating.

But your heart, foolishly hopeful, betrayed you. Before you could think it through, you found yourself reaching for the bouquet, inhaling the sweet scent of fresh blooms. Then, without a second thought, you pulled him into a tight embrace. As his arms wrapped around you, the familiar warmth flooded back, and you felt your resolve waver.

In that moment, you wanted to believe that this time would be different. Yet beneath the surface, a deeper ache throbbed—a desperate question lingered in your mind: why do you keep doing this to me?

As the hours unfolded, Siwoo settled into a chair across from your desk, his laptop open and papers scattered around him. The familiar hum of shared work surrounded you, a scene that once brought you joy. He would glance up occasionally, flashing you a smile that was meant to soothe the tension in the air. Yet, despite the comforting proximity, your heart was locked in a battle against the memories of hurt he had inflicted upon you.

You tried to push those thoughts aside, forcing yourself to focus on the tasks at hand. Still, they lingered like unwelcome shadows, flitting in and out of your consciousness. Each time Siwoo laughed at something on his screen or leaned back with a satisfied sigh, a part of you wanted to bask in the moment, to let yourself feel the happiness he once brought. But the other part—a weary, wiser part—reminded you of the countless times he had let you down.

Your mind already flooded with so many issues, decided to remind you of last night’s conversation with Hongjoong—the way he spoke to you, his touch… The longing for deeper connections hung heavily on your mind, teasing you with confusion.

You caught Siwoo watching you, a flicker of concern crossing his face. “Hey, you okay?” he asked, his voice breaking through your reverie.

You forced a smile, nodding slightly. “Yeah, just thinking about work.”

———

Throughout the day, with Siwoo at your side, a disquieting realization settled in your chest: you felt less like his girlfriend and more like a maid. He moved to lounge in your living room, casually asking for snacks and drinks while you sat at your desk, trying to concentrate on your work. Each request chipped away at your patience, drawing a line between the intimate moments you once cherished and the mundane reality of this interaction.

Glancing over, you caught sight of him: relaxed, almost carefree, tapping away on his phone with a soft laugh escaping his lips. Maybe it was Hongjoong’s words playing tricks on you, but a knot twisted in your stomach as you watched Siwoo, feeling an unfamiliar ick wash over you. It felt as though he was taking advantage of your hospitality, oblivious to the growing frustration bubbling within you.

“Oh, Y/N, can I borrow some money?” Siwoo asked, his voice casual, his eyes glued to the screen as he continued to chuckle at whatever amused him.

“May I ask why?” You replied softly, a frown creasing your brow as confusion settled in.

“I need to buy new materials for work. It’s required for all professors, and I’m just short by a few bucks,” he explained, his gaze still firmly fixed on his phone.

You raised an eyebrow, skepticism creeping in. “Doesn’t the university cover materials for professors?”

“Mmm, not this time. Please?” he said, finally looking up at you, his irritating smile brightening his face as if he expected you to fold under the charm.

Taking a deep breath, you felt the tension in your chest tighten, but you nodded anyway, wiring him a sum that was likely more than he needed. Maybe it was an act of guilt or an old habit of wanting to keep the peace.

“Thanks, honey. You’re the best!” he said, standing up and slinging his bag over his shoulder. The grin on his face widened as he returned to his phone, engrossed once more in whatever had captured his attention.

“Y—you’re leaving so soon?” The words spilled out before you could stop them, a mix of desperation and disappointment. “I’m almost done with work. Let’s have dinner…”

He turned to you, his expression unchanged. “Maybe another day, Y/N. I have to head back to the campus.”

With that, he walked out without a backward glance, leaving you standing there, a swirl of emotions crashing against one another. As the door clicked shut, the weight of his absence pressed heavily on your heart, mingling with the irritation that had been building all day.

——

The weekend slipped away in a blur, its fleeting hours vanishing like sand through fingers. As you stepped into the office on Monday morning, you glanced around the workspace, filled with the scent of fresh coffee and the faint rustle of papers, and realized you wanted to be here. The thought of Hongjoong entered your mind unbidden. You couldn’t help but remember the conversations that had left you feeling confused but wanting more.

But you quickly pushed those thoughts aside, chastising yourself. This wasn’t the time for daydreams. You were his secretary, bound by professional decorum. It was crucial to maintain composure, to focus on your tasks and responsibilities. After all, any semblance of personal feelings could only complicate matters.

“Good morning, Mr. Kim,” you said, bowing slightly from your desk as he entered his office, and you follow behind him. The air felt charged with unspoken tension, a remnant of the incident that had unfolded just days prior, a moment you both seemed to ignore.

“Good morning, Miss Y/N,” Hongjoong replied, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he settled into his chair behind the desk. His eyes flickered momentarily to the iced Americano you had picked up for him earlier, the cool condensation glistening against the glass.

“What is the schedule for today?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, his posture relaxed, but you could sense the sharpness in his gaze as it remained fixed on you.

Clearing your throat, you began to relay the day’s itinerary, focusing intently on your notes. “We have the marketing meeting at ten, followed by the conference call with the investors at noon.” You spoke steadily, but your heart raced, memories of that night creeping back into your mind—a fleeting brush of his hands, the way his gaze had pierced through the façade of professionalism.

Hongjoong listened, nodding occasionally, but there was an air of distraction about him, too. He was acting as if nothing had happened, and you were determined to do the same, though it felt like walking a tightrope. You maintained your composure, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady and professional as you continued.

His expression remained neutral, but there was an undercurrent of something unspoken between you. You stole a glance at him, noting how the light caught the edges of his features, the way he effortlessly commanded the space around him.

“And finally,” you added, pushing the memories further down, “we have a team meeting at four to discuss the new project timeline.”

As you finished, a heavy silence settled in the room, punctuated only by the soft sound of his drink being set down on the desk. You met his gaze, feeling the weight of the unacknowledged moment hanging in the air. “Thank you, Y/N,” Hongjoong said, his voice smooth as he rose from his chair. The brief moment of gratitude hung in the air between you, creating a small, intimate space in an otherwise professional atmosphere. You bowed slightly in acknowledgment, the familiar gesture a part of your daily routine, before you turned on your heels, ready to leave the room.

“Wait a moment,” he called out just as you reached the door. You paused, your heart skipping a beat, then turned back to face him.

“Yes, sir?” you replied, your voice steady but your mind racing.

“How are you doing?” he asked, the question casual yet layered with an unexpected warmth. The simplicity of it took you aback, a small flicker of surprise igniting within you.

“I—I’m well, sir. Thank you for asking.” You stumbled over your words slightly, an involuntary shyness creeping in. “How about you?” You returned the question out of politeness.

“That’s good to hear, Y/N,” he replied, his soft smile breaking through the formalities and lighting up the room. “I’m doing fine as well.”

You nodded, the warmth of his expression lingering in the air as you took in the moment. “I’ll get back to my work then,” you said, turning once more to leave.

As you stepped out of his office, the door closing softly behind you, you made your way back to your desk, the echo of his words and that fleeting smile still resonating within you.

——

Once you stepped out of Hongjoong’s office, he sank back into his chair, the weight of the world settling on his shoulders as his thoughts turned inward, swirling around you. He couldn’t deny the fondness he felt. From the moment you had started working as his secretary, you had made it clear that you were in a serious relationship. He respected your loyalty, admired it even, but it didn’t erase the growing complexity of his own feelings for you.

As he gazed out the window, memories flooded back, particularly the recent lunch meeting on Friday. You had accompanied him at the last minute, and during the drive, when you admitted to him about your relationship struggles. The admission struck him deeply—he felt a flicker of triumph at your honesty, a selfish part of him celebrating. Yet, mingled with that spark was a simmering anger; the man you were with was clearly causing you distress.

After returning to the office, you took your promised hour break, and Hongjoong found himself drawn to the rooftop. He hadn’t intended to pry; he simply wanted to offer words of encouragement, to lift your spirits. But as he approached, he overheard your phone ring and the familiar cadence of your voice pick up the call. A sinking feeling took root in his stomach when he recognized the voice on the other end—Siwoo, your boyfriend.

He paused at the steel door, unable to resist the urge to listen. Siwoo’s breathless tone was unmistakable, the hurried speech revealing more than mere exertion from a workout. Hongjoong's heart raced as he deduced the truth— Any man would know, this was not the voice of a faithful partner. The realization struck him like a punch; this man had the audacity to take your call while clearly entangled in something inappropriate.

A rush of guilt washed over him as he retreated to his office, grappling with the anger that grew beneath the surface. How could someone hurt you, an innocent, kind, and beautiful person? He felt torn, wanting to protect you while recognizing the boundaries he had vowed to uphold.

In the hours that followed, a storm of thoughts brewed within him. It was reckless, perhaps, but the idea of bringing you into his office after hours began to take root. He wanted to voice his concerns casually. But when you began to softly cry, that’s when he felt the line blur. The sight of your flushed cheeks, your pretty doe-like eyes glistening with unshed tears— (fuck, he shouldn’t be thinking like that).

Hongjoong pulled back from his reminiscent thoughts, deciding it was best to let you navigate this situation on your own. Maybe you would uncover the truth about Siwoo, perhaps the pieces would fall into place. But the uncertainty gnawed at him, and as he sat in his office, he couldn’t help but wonder how much longer he could contain his feelings, how much longer he could remain a silent observer to your heartache.

Fuck it? Hongjoong thought to himself. Siwoo deserves a taste of his own medicine.

Hongjoong scoffed to himself at his idea as he sipped on his coffee.

———

The workday unfolded in its usual rhythm, a blur of emails, calls, and the occasional paperwork that seemed to multiply by the hour. You navigated through the tasks with a practiced efficiency, though your mind occasionally drifted to the flurry of messages buzzing on your phone. Each notification from Siwoo felt like a weight pressing down on you, filled with meaningless apologies, and pleads to wire money for some other things, god knows what he needed it for.

With a deep breath, you made the decision to ignore his messages for now. You turned your focus back to your work, fingers typing over the keyboard, pouring your energy into the tasks at hand.

As you typed, the sound of footsteps drew your attention. You looked up to find Hongjoong standing before your desk, his presence commanding yet familiar. He had a way of drawing you in, and for a moment, the chaos of your personal life faded into the background.

“Miss Y/N, please come to my office after work hours,” he said, his tone smooth yet imbued with a seriousness that piqued your curiosity. He turned and strode into his office, leaving you with a flurry of thoughts.

“Yes, sir,” you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you watched him go.

With a sigh, you returned to your work, the clock ticking steadily toward the end of the day. Each keystroke felt heavier as the minutes dragged on, and the anticipation of your meeting with Hongjoong lingered like a sweet ache in your heart.

———

As the final colleagues trickled out of the building, the quiet hum of the office began to settle into an echo of solitude. You sighed as you recalled Hongjoong’s instructions. Straightening your buttoned blouse and smoothing down your skirt, you prepared yourself for whatever awaited you in his office.

You knocked softly, the sound barely breaking the silence.

“Come in,” Hongjoong’s voice resonated through the door. You opened it slowly and stepped inside, closing it behind you with a soft click.

Hongjoong was seated at his desk, his white dress shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing strong forearms accentuated by a dark tie. The sight of him brought a swirl of emotions; he exuded an effortless charisma that both intimidated and drew you in.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” you said, your gaze fixed on the floor, an attempt to hide the mix of anxiety and curiosity swelling inside you.

“Yes, please come here, Y/N,” he replied, his voice calm and low. As you approached him, the familiar sound of your heels clicking against the polished floor echoed in your mind, reminding you of the similar situation a few days ago in this very spot.

“Please, sit,” he gestured toward the chair in front of his desk. You took a seat, positioning yourself at the edge, an instinctive reaction born from uncertainty.

Hongjoong rose from his chair and began to circle around the desk, a pen spinning effortlessly between his slender fingers. The movement was fluid, almost hypnotic, and it pulled your attention as you tried to read his expression.

“Miss Y/N,” he began, pausing for a moment, “you’re one of my smartest employees, correct?” His gaze remained focused elsewhere, a slight distance in his eyes.

“Th—thank you, sir. I—” you started, but his voice cut through your response.

“A person with an important job like yours requires a lot of skill, attentiveness… and have the ability assess the environment around the office, Correct?”

“Yes… that is correct, sir,” you replied quietly, maintaining eye contact,

“Would you agree that you have been lacking some of these skills, Y/N?” Hongjoong stopped infront of you, sitting at the edge of his desk. His arms crossed over his chest, revealing the strong veins that ran along his forearms, an unconscious display of his physicality that made your heart race.

“I—I haven’t noticed, sir. I apologize if I haven’t been performing well…” The words tumbled out, anxiety creeping in. Were you about to get fired? The thought sent a chill through you, and you mentally recoiled at the prospect of your life spiraling further down.

“I’m not going to fire you, Y/N,” he said, and your eyes widened in surprise; it was as if he had plucked the thought straight from your mind.

“I’m not really following this conversation, sir…” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper as you began to fidget with your fingers in your lap, seeking any distraction from the mounting tension.

Hongjoong released a frustrated sigh, and suddenly he pushed himself off the edge of the desk, stepping toward you slowly. His strong arms landed on the armrests of your chair, effectively trapping you in place. He leaned in closer, the proximity forcing you to lean back into the seat, a gasp escaping your lips at the sudden intimacy of the moment.

The air between you thickened. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the sharpness of his gaze holding you captive.

He scoffed, the corner of his lip turning into a smirk as he looked down. His eyes landed on the unbuttoned opening of your shirt. He sees your chest breathing up and down in anticipation. He looks up, gazes at your lips quickly before looking into your eyes.

“For someone so pretty and smart, you’re quite naive” He chuckles. A rush of heat seeps into your cheeks. You’re at a loss for words. You don’t know how to respond, so you opt to stay silent.

“Miss Y/N” Hongjoong says sternly in a soft voice.

“Yes, Sir?” You quietly reply back.

“Can you assess the environment in this office right now?” His voice is a whisper.

“U—Uhm…” you stutter, not knowing what to say. Hongjoong chuckles at your flustered expression.

“Let me give you a hint, Y/N” Hongjoong whispers and leans in closer, his presence enveloping you like a warm wave. Then, in a moment that felt both thrilling and terrifying, his lips brushed against yours. Your eyes widened in shock. This is wrong, a voice in your mind screamed. You shouldn’t be doing this. But as much as you tried to summon the strength to pull away, your body betrayed you.

His lips were soft, warm, and surprisingly gentle as they molded against yours, igniting a fire that swept through you. The worries around you faded, leaving only the two of you suspended in this unexpected moment. It felt as if time had stopped, your heartbeat loud in your ears, drowning out the rational thoughts that screamed for you to stop.

As he finally pulled away, the distance felt electric, charged with a lingering intimacy. His gaze searched yours, earnest and intense. “Do you understand now?” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. You nod slowly.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks softly as he looks at your plush lips. You hesitate, unsure of what to say. All you know is that you want whatever lingering feelings Hongjoong has bestowed on you. As much as you know it’s wrong, you can’t help but crave him.

In response to his question, You shake your head in protest. His thumb caresses your chin tilting your head to look up at him.

“Use your words baby.” Hongjoong’s voice is low as he stares into your eyes, searching for an answer.

“Please… don’t stop sir.” You say quietly. Hongjoong smirks and pulls way from you. You look at him confused. His position is sat back onto the edge of his desk.

“Show me you want it too Y/N” He’s teasing you. Wanting to see how far you’re willing to go. Knowing that deep inside, as much as you want this you still feel a tiny ounce of guilt from being unfaithful to your partner. Regardless, You rise from the chair and make your way to Hongjoong. You position yourself between his legs that are slightly spread and place both your arms on his shoulders. You lean forward and kiss him. Hongjoong returns the kiss almost immediately. He can feel himself already growing hard as his lips move against yours. His hands are securely gripped onto your waist bringing you closer to him. He deepens the kiss and swipes his tongue over the bottom of your lip. In response your mouth opens as you release a whimper. Both of your tongues now move together skillfully, resulting in a moan from both of you. As the heated make-out session continues, you notice Hongjoong’s arm pushing away some papers and other items on the desk behind him.

Smoothly, Hongjoong moves your position, his strong arms swiftly carry your body onto the desk. You are now sat on top of the cold wood, arms wrapped around his neck, as he continued to devour your lips. You slightly pull back in attempt to catch your breath. You’re a panting mess, and so is he. Hongjoong however doesn’t want to stop. He pecks your lips, before leaving a trail kisses from the corner of your mouth, to your soft cheek, and finally to your slender neck. Shivers were sent throughout your body as Hongjoong left soft warm kisses on your neck.

“A—ah Sir…” you whimpered quietly. Hongjoong hummed in response as he began to leave opened mouth kisses on your skin.

Hongjoong pushed your legs apart, your skirt already slightly hiked up from him placing you on the desk moments ago. Revealing your exposed thighs, Hongjoong’s hands moved from knees, and traveled up your soft plush thighs, causing you to close them in an instinct, but his strong arms prevent you, keeping them open.

His lips trails up to your ear nibbles on your lobe before whispering softly, “I want you to say my name okay?” You nod in response.

His hands moved dangerously closer to your heat that was radiating from your exposed thighs, but he stops, he was teasing you. His hands caressed your inner thighs, not daring to move closer as he continued to kiss your neck and face. His lips found his way back to yours and takes it in softly.

You whimper against his mouth and he slowly pulls away.

“What’s wrong baby?” His voice is so soft, sending another heat wave down your body.

“Please… touch me, sir” you say sheepishly.

“I told you Y/N, I want you to say my name.” Hongjoong’s grip on your thighs tighten, causing you to whimper in pain and pleasure.

“H—Hongjoong…” your soft, angelic voice echoed in his ears as his name rolled off your tongue.

“Yeah baby?” He tries to hold back a groan, already so turned on by you calling his name.

“Hongjoong, touch me… please?” You plead with your doe eyes staring at him. Hongjoong bites his lip as he looks at your pretty, desperate face.

“Fuck, Y/N… you make me do stupid shit” He curses under his breath before devouring your lips once again.

This time, his hands finally touch your warm clothed pussy. You moan at his touch. His fingers slowly rub against your clit, creating a friction against the fabric of your underwear. Instinctively, you wrap your arms around his neck tighter. Moaning into his lips as he continues to rub you.

Unexpectedly, tears began to well up in the corner of your eyes. Not in pain, not in discomfort, but in a frustrating pleasure.

“Hong—j-joong, stop teasing please” You whimper as he slightly pulls away. He looks at your face, tears slowly falling down. He smirks, “Mm such a dirty brat, crying for me…” He degrades you in a low tone.

His hands find the hem of your underwear, and he skillfully pulls them down. They rest at the ankles of your legs, stopped by your heels that restricted them from falling to the floor. Hongjoong’s left arm cradles your back, as his right hand pushes up your skirt more to reveal your bare wet pussy.

“Fuck… so wet already just from me kissing you, and barely touching you?” He teases you, even though he too is already so rock hard in his slacks, from just kissing and touching you.

His hand makes his way to your clit. The soft bud of his middle and ring finger gently rubs circles, causing you to hold back a moan. Skillfully, his fingers dip down to your entrance, not fully going inside you, just enough to collect your wet fluids, and bring them back up to your clit. He rubs it again, slowly picking up the pace.

Your right hand drops behind you as it land on the desk, supporting your weight. You slightly throw your head back and cover your mouth with your unoccupied arm trying to hide your moans.

“Let me fucken hear you moan baby. No one is here. Just you and me” Hongjoong groans in your ear. His voice turned you on so much, resulting in a soft moan slipping from your lips.

Hongjoong’s fingers make their way to your entrance. Slipping in your tight folds. You gasp and grab onto his shoulder. He pumps his fingers slowly, as he studies your facial expressions. Your eyes are sparkling from the previous tears you shed. Your glossy lips slightly parted as you released soft moans.

“So fucken pretty” Hongjoong moans as he leans down to kiss your forehead. The gentle gesture, mixed with his lewd actions makes your stomach turn in a good way. He begins to pick up the pace. The office room is silent, with only the sounds of your mixed moans, pants, and the wetness of your folds fapping against Hongjoong’s hand.

Your mind begins to get fuzzy as you feel an orgasm near by. Hongjoong feels your pussy tighten around his digits, he chuckles before he slowly pulls his fingers out of you. You whine in protest, frustration builds up in you, you were so close. Your arm around his neck tugs him closer, reaching for his lips, wanting to feel some sort of physical contact. But he pulls away from you. Completely. He steps back and looks at your figure.

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, an unsettling knot tightening in your stomach. Why did he stop? Just moments ago, the air had felt charged with lust, and now it hung heavy with an unspoken tension. A flood of negative thoughts surged through your mind, drowning out any remnants of clarity. Embarrassment crept in, a heat rising to your cheeks, making you feel exposed and vulnerable. Guilt wrapped around you like a heavy cloak, its weight almost suffocating. You could feel the sting of tears pooling in your eyes, the familiar ache of despair threatening to spill over. In a swift, instinctive motion, you cast your gaze downward, as if to shield yourself from the world around you. Your heart raced as quiet whimpers escaped your lips.

Hongjoong watches you as you softly cry. He tries not to loose his composure. The cute look of confusion on your face makes him feral.

“Aww baby… why are you crying hm?” Hongjoong’s voice is raspy. He tilts his head, trying to get a good look at your flushed face. You can’t find yourself to respond, only sniffles and soft whimpers can be heard.

“You know… to be completely honest Y/N…” the sound of Hongjoong’s belt unbuckling fills the air. You glance at him with your doe eyes.

“When I told you… I don’t want to see you cry anymore…” He slings his belt off his pants and drops it to the floor. His hands moving towards the button of his slacks. He shifts towards your body, and leans close to your face.

“I actually meant… I don’t want to see you cry for anyone else but me.” Your eyes widen at his statement. He chuckles at your expression and grabs your hands. He brings them towards his hard mound covered by the soft fabric of his pants.

“You look so fucken pretty when you cry. It turns me on so much. Knowing that you feel so good, you can’t help but shed a few tears” He moans as you begin to instinctively rub your hands on his huge hard on.

“Help me out baby. Be a good girl” Hongjoong whispers to you, and you nod. He smiles at your response. You make your way off the desk, and position yourself on your knees. You slowly unzip Hongjoong’s pants and pull them down along with his trousers. His hard, long cock springs out and softly hits your face. You gasp at the sudden sight. Earning a chuckle from him.

“Open your mouth.” He demands softly. Your lips part, tongue slightly sticking out, as you take Hongjoong’s length in. He releases a loud groan. Cursing under his breath as you begin to slowly bob your head up and down. You twirl your tongue a few times over his tip, causing him to tightly grip onto your soft hair.

“F—Fuck baby…” Hongjoong throws his head back.

“… damn, your boyfriend is this lucky and can’t even fucken appreciate you” You freeze at the sudden statement, and Hongjoong smirks as he scoffs. In response, he begins to thrust into your mouth slowly. You moan on his cock as he begins to shove himself deeper into your mouth. You tap Hongjoong’s leg, and he pulls you off him instantly. You gasp for air, a string of saliva connecting from your lip to his cock, as you begin to cough. Hongjoong chuckles, caressing your hair.

“Stand up” He demands. And in an instant you’re on your feet. Hongjoong swiftly lifts you up and places you back onto the desk. His hands are hastily unbuttoning your blouse as he kisses your lips. You moan, furrowing your brows, still thinking about the humiliating statement Hongjoong said. Something about his touch is so intoxicating, making you want more. Making you not care about anything in your reality.

As Hongjoong releases the last button on your blouse, he quickly pushes your shirt off, revealing your black lacy bra filled by your perfect plush breasts. His hands grace over your chest, sending shivers down your spine. He kisses the exposed skin of your breast. His hands moving towards the straps, as he pulls them off. He reaches behind you and skillfully releases the clasps of your bra. The black lace drops swiftly revealing your perfect boobs.

“So fucken perfect for me baby.” Hongjoong whispers as he gropes them with his hands. You moan at his touch. He takes one in his mouth and laps at your nipples, resulting in you throwing your head back in pleasure.

“H—Hongjoong” you moan his name, he hums in response, still working on your breasts.

“Want.. m—more” you stutter under his touch.

He pulls away from you and pants, trying to calm himself down.

“Want more what?” He cocks an eyebrow at you. You pout, too embarrassed to verbally say what you want from him.

“Tell me now, or I’ll leave you here” Hongjoong threatens as he begins to pump himself, already knowing what you want. But he still wants to hear the words from your mouth.

“I want… you inside me… please?” You whimper in embarrassment. You look at him and you see a spark of excitement in his eyes as he smirks at you.

“Atta girl. Wasn’t so hard to say right?” He teases you as he brings himself closer to your pussy. Your breath increases as he places his tip right at the entrance. He only inserts his head before pulling out, repeating the gesture a few times. You whine as a tear falls from your eyes.

“Quit being a fucken brat” Hongjoong hisses at you bringing a gentle hand to your face as he wipes the tear away. Finally, He pushes his whole length inside you, earning a loud yelp from you. His cock instantly hits your sensitive spot and you cling onto his arms. He pauses inside of you, letting you adjust to his size. You’re definitely not used to his large length and thick girth, he’s stretching you out so good.

“Damn baby, you’re so tight? Your boyfriend isn’t big enough huh?” Hongjoong snickers at you. You whine at the sudden mention of your boyfriend again. It’s like he wants to remind you of him on purpose. To humiliate you. Hongjoong begins a slow pace inside you. Grunting as he moves against you.

“Answer me…” he demands, his hand cups your chin to force your gaze on him.

“H—he isn’t big enough. Y—you’re bigger Hongjoong…” You moan as he thrusts deeper.

“You… make me feel s—so good” You close your eyes as you take in the pleasure running through your body. Hongjoong manically smiles. Ecstatic at your response.

“Yeah?” He teases. Picking up his pace. The sound of your sweet moans heighten, the wet sounds of you two slapping against each other fill the room along with Hongjoong’s dirty words.

“Bet you, he doesn’t fuck you this good huh? Look at you. A fucken mess on my cock.”

“N-no! He doesn’t.” You whine, another wave of tears begin to fall from your eyes. The overstimulation of Hongjoong pumping into you along with his degrading words overwhelms you. You don’t want to admit it, but you fucken love this. Your body is enjoying every fucken moment of this dirty, lewd affair.

“F-Fuucckk” Hongjoong moans loudly. “Look at me while you cry, baby. Let me see that pretty face” you listen to him without hesitation. Your eyes locking with his. You feel yourself closer to reaching your high. Until you’re both interrupted with a sudden ringing.

You both turn your heads to the chair you sat on when you first entered Hongjoong’s office. The sight of your bright phone screen illuminates the dim room.

*Siwoo <3 is Calling*

Your heart drops at the name. Anxiety suddenly filling your body, replacing the pleasure you felt before. Hongjoong notices and smirks at you. He reaches over and grabs your phone.

“Answer it.” He demands. You shake your head no.

“I said fucken answer it. Your boyfriend is waiting for you. Don’t be a fucken brat now. Do you want me to stop?” Hongjoong’s words are harsh. You instantly shake your head in protest of him stopping.

“Then fucken answer it” Hongjoong shoves the phone towards you.

You hesitate as you grab the phone from his hands and click the green button. You bring the phone to your ear, but Hongjoong pulls your wrist, and clicks on the speaker button. He cocks his head at you, signaling you to continue,

“H-Hello? Siwoo?” You begin. Hongjoong resumes his pace. Fucking you in and out.

“Hey Honey. What are you doing?” Siwoo’s voice is calm, in contrast to what you’re feeling right now.

“A-Ah.. I’m j-just finishing up some w-work” You stutter as you try to keep your composure. Hongjoong makes it harder for you as he begins to lick your neck.

“You’re still at work?” Siwoo questions.

“M—mm, Yeah. Don’t worry. I—I’ll be home soon” You bite your lip trying to contain a moan.

“You okay Y/N? why do you keep stuttering?” Siwoo’s voices a concern.

“I—i’m okay. I-I just don’t feel too well. I think it’s a stomach tic” You bluff, trying to find an excuse.

“You don’t feel well? Shall I come pick you up from work-?” Siwoo suggests

“No!” You cut him off. You curse to yourself. Hongjoong smiles against a your neck and softly bites it as he continues fucking you senseless.

“Oh- okay then. Just be careful. take some medicine” You roll your eyes. (why the fuck does Siwoo decide to be sweet right now out of all days?) You mentally say to yourself.

“Y-yes I will…” You reply softly.

“Anyways, did you see my text? can you wire me some money?” Siwoo asks nonchalantly. You scoff, earning a vocalized chuckle from Hongjoong. Your eyes widen as you pull him closer to your neck, trying to muffle his laughter. You bite your lip, in hopes Siwoo didn’t hear anything.

“S—sorry, Siwoo. I don’t get paid till this Friday.” you manage to get out.

“Aww please? just a few bucks” Siwoo whines. In annoyance, you roll your eyes once again.

“Siwoo, I—I can’t. I have to go” You quickly hang up the call and throw your phone down. Hongjoong detaches from your neck and chuckles before attacking your lips. His pace begins to pick up. He holds onto your waist for support and you hold him closer. Hongjoong pulls away from your lips and rests his forehead against yours.

“Does he take care of you? or do you take care of him?” He teases as he tries to hold back a laugh.

“S—Shut up” You moan in response. Hongjoong thrusts hard into you, earning a loud yelp from you.

“Someone’s suddenly mouthy?” Hongjoong’s hand grips onto your chin as he lightly taps your cheek.

“F—Fuck” You moan as he shoves himself inside you, with long and deep strokes.

Hongjoong then suddenly pulls out of you. Not wanting to waste any time, he lifts you off the desk and flips you over. Your front is pushed onto the cold wood, and he pulls your hips higher. Your forearms hoist yourself for support as you feel Hongjoong enter you once again. His hands grip under your skirt pushing them up towards your waist, giving him a perfect view of your ass. He mentally curses to himself as he watches your butt bounce on his cock at a constant pace. He brings his hand down to caress it before raising it and bringing it back down in a hard, but pleasurable slap. You yelp in response, eyes widen at the sudden contact.

“Such a fucken naughty girl. Fucking your boss, when you have a boyfriend” Hongjoong degrades you as his hand makes contact with your ass again. You whimper at the stinging sensation. Your tears fall onto the papers infront of you.

“Who fucks you better baby?” Hongjoong pants as his speed increases. “Me or Siwoo? Hm?” He asks again taking you in deeper.

“A—Ahhhh~ You, Hongjoong.” You sniffle your tears , “Hongjoong fucks me better!” You scream as his pace becomes sloppy. Hongjoong hears your crying whimpers and quickly turns you around to face him. Your body now lays flat on his desk as he pumps into you.

“Yeah? bet I can be better lover than him too” Hongjoong confesses as he smashes his lips onto yours. Your heart clenches at his statement. A sudden wave of orgasm hits you. Your pussy tightens around him as you come undone. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you release a loud moan. Your face buried in his chest, as he continues to fuck you and chase his high. Hongjoong’s thrust become sloppy, and quickly pulls out of you.

“Let me cum on your pretty face” He hastily demands. You quickly move towards his lower body and he pumps himself quickly on you. Hongjoong looks at your sparkly doe eyes, and bites his lips. His warm thick load releases into your face, along with a loud grunt from his mouth. You gasp as the feeling of the strings of cum landing on your soft skin. Your mouth instinctively opens,

“F—Fuckkk baby” Hongjoong hisses as he continues to pump more of his load onto your tongue.

The office room is filled with the sounds of you and Hongjoong panting, trying to catch your breath. The room reeks of sex. Your eyes are still locked on his. His white cum painted on your face and mouth. Without any other choice, you close your mouth and swallow his bittersweet cum.

“Fuck” Hongjoong whispers under his breath. He caresses your hair and reaches over his desk to grab a few tissue papers. Hongjoong wipes your face gently and kisses your forehead.

"Let me clean you up down there,"

Hongjoong whispered, his voice a soft, intimate murmur that seemed to linger in

the air between you. The earlier intensity of steamy sex had left a palpable tension, but now, a gentle calm enveloped the room. His eyes, once aflame with desire, were now filled with a warmth that reassured you, reminding you of the caring side he often showed.

After the whirlwind of passion, Hongjoong's demeanor had transformed completely. The fire that had ignited between you both settled into a tender glow as he moved closer, his presence both comforting and protective. With a steady hand, he reached for another tissue, his fingers brushing your skin lightly as he began to clean you up. The touch was careful and deliberate, as if he were trying to convey his affection through each gentle motion.

You felt a mix of vulnerability and warmth wash over you, grateful for the way he approached this moment. It was as though he understood the importance of transitioning from the intensity of physical connection to something more nurturing and intimate. You appreciated how he took his time, ensuring that you felt cared for, both emotionally and physically. As you two began to help each other back into your clothing, you couldn’t ignore the lingering feelings.

“I’ll take you home” Hongjoong smiles gently at you and brushes a strand of your hair out of your face. You nod and follow behind him out of his office. As he approached your desk, Hongjoong gathered your bags. You instinctively reached out to grab them, but he gently shook his head, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“Let me handle this,” he said, his voice warm and reassuring. With that, he took the lead, guiding you toward his car.

As you followed behind, your legs felt wobbly, you could sense him glancing back occasionally, ensuring you were still keeping up.

At the car, he paused, opening the passenger door, gesturing for you to get in. You slid into the seat. He placed your bags in the back with care, then turned to you, his demeanor softening as he reached for his spare coat. With a fluid motion, he draped it over your shoulders, its warmth enveloping you like a comforting hug.

“Hongjoong—” you started, the silence stretching between you, but he raised a hand to quiet you.

“Shh, it’s okay, Y/N. You don’t have to say anything. Just rest,” he said gently. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

The drive home was silent. The hum of the engine a lullaby in the stillness of the night. You fought to keep your eyes open, fatigue clawing at you, but each passing moment, tried to invite you to surrender to the drowsiness. Suddenly, the car came to a stop, signaling at you from your drowsy haze. You turned to look at Hongjoong, who was already gazing at you.

“Y/N…” Hongjoong’s voice was barely above a whisper, yet it carried an undeniable weight. “I meant what I said when I told you I can be a better lover than Siwoo.” The sincerity in his tone sent a shiver down your spine. “He doesn’t treat you well. You deserve someone who truly values you.” His eyes held a raw intensity as he continued, “I don’t think I can go on without you knowing that I’ve always wanted you for myself.”

His sudden confession took you by surprise, leaving you momentarily speechless. The air around you felt charged, and you could hardly process the emotions swirling within you.

“Let me prove to you that I will love you better. Please, Y/N,” he urged, his gaze earnest and imploring. The vulnerability he displayed was a stark contrast to what he portrayed in the office just moments ago. This was a side of him that revealed his deep feelings, and it struck a chord within you.

Your heart raced as you absorbed his words, the truth of them resonating deep inside. You had long felt the magnetic pull toward him, the warmth in his presence that made you feel seen in a way Siwoo never had. You realized in that moment that you, too, wanted to love him—fully and unreservedly.

Compelled by a rush of emotion, you leaned in closer, the space between you evaporating. Your lips met his in a tender kiss, a hesitant exploration that quickly deepened as he responded. His hands found their way to your face, cradling it gently as he pulled you in, his touch igniting a warmth that spread through your entire being.

“Fuck- if you kiss me like that I might take you right here again” Hongjoong chuckles against your lips. And you giggle in response. However, his expression falls down.

“Y/N… I should tell you that Siwoo has been cheating on you.” Hongjoong sighs as he rests his forehead against yours.

“Who’s Siwoo?” You joke trying to mask your disappointment of him mentioning your now ex. “Y/N, I know I initiated an affair while you are dating him too but, you needed to know.” Hongjoong states in a serious tone.

“I know, Hongjoong.” You say softly. “I figured after our conversation we had on Friday, when he came over to my house the next day. I guess my naive self chose to ignore it… I messaged him earlier when we got to the car that I’m over with him. I’m no longer his.” You look at Hongjoong as he studies your face.

“So… does this mean you’re mine?” Hongjoong raises an eyebrow. You softly smile and shrug your shoulders. Hongjoong smirks at you and in an instant unbuckles his seat belt and exits the car. He makes his way to the passenger door and opens it. Swiftly, he lifts your body and throws you over his shoulder. You yelp in response and he carries you towards his house.

“You drove us to your house?!” You exclaim as you giggle over his shoulder.

“Let me remind you again who you really belong to” Hongjoong chuckles as he playfully slaps your ass and quickly makes his way through the doors of his home.

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Pt. 2 (updated 10/21)

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Author’s commentary: Should I do a sequel? 👀. I had way more ideas for this story but decided to cut it short LOLLL. Anyways, I hope yall enjoy😝 feel free to fangirl in my comment section/ ask box🤭.

[nasa]

Athletes Go for the Gold with NASA Spinoffs

NASA technology tends to find its way into the sporting world more often than you’d expect. Fitness is important to the space program because astronauts must undergo the extreme g-forces of getting into space and endure the long-term effects of weightlessness on the human body. The agency’s engineering expertise also means that items like shoes and swimsuits can be improved with NASA know-how.

As the 2024 Olympics are in full swing in Paris, here are some of the many NASA-derived technologies that have helped competitive athletes train for the games and made sure they’re properly equipped to win.

The LZR Racer reduces skin friction drag by covering more skin than traditional swimsuits. Multiple pieces of the water-resistant and extremely lightweight LZR Pulse fabric connect at ultrasonically welded seams and incorporate extremely low-profile zippers to keep viscous drag to a minimum.

Swimsuits That Don’t Drag

When the swimsuit manufacturer Speedo wanted its LZR Racer suit to have as little drag as possible, the company turned to the experts at Langley Research Center to test its materials and design. The end result was that the new suit reduced drag by 24 percent compared to the prior generation of Speedo racing suit and broke 13 world records in 2008. While the original LZR Racer is no longer used in competition due to the advantage it gave wearers, its legacy lives on in derivatives still produced to this day.

Trilion Quality Systems worked with NASA’s Glenn Research Center to adapt existing stereo photogrammetry software to work with high-speed cameras. Now the company sells the package widely, and it is used to analyze stress and strain in everything from knee implants to running shoes and more.

High-Speed Cameras for High-Speed Shoes

After space shuttle Columbia, investigators needed to see how materials reacted during recreation tests with high-speed cameras, which involved working with industry to create a system that could analyze footage filmed at 30,000 frames per second. Engineers at Adidas used this system to analyze the behavior of Olympic marathoners' feet as they hit the ground and adjusted the design of the company’s high-performance footwear based on these observations.

Martial artist Barry French holds an Impax Body Shield while former European middle-weight kickboxing champion Daryl Tyler delivers an explosive jump side kick; the force of the impact is registered precisely and shown on the display panel of the electronic box French is wearing on his belt.

One-Thousandth-of-an-Inch Punch

In the 1980s, Olympic martial artists needed a way to measure the impact of their strikes to improve training for competition. Impulse Technology reached out to Glenn Research Center to create the Impax sensor, an ultra-thin film sensor which creates a small amount of voltage when struck. The more force applied, the more voltage it generates, enabling a computerized display to show how powerful a punch or kick was.

Astronaut Sunita Williams poses while using the Interim Resistive Exercise Device on the ISS. The cylinders at the base of each side house the SpiraFlex FlexPacks that inventor Paul Francis honed under NASA contracts. They would go on to power the Bowflex Revolution and other commercial exercise equipment.

Weight Training Without the Weight

Astronauts spending long periods of time in space needed a way to maintain muscle mass without the effect of gravity, but lifting free weights doesn’t work when you’re practically weightless. An exercise machine that uses elastic resistance to provide the same benefits as weightlifting went to the space station in the year 2000. That resistance technology was commercialized into the Bowflex Revolution home exercise equipment shortly afterwards.

Want to learn more about technologies made for space and used on Earth? Check out NASA Spinoff to find products and services that wouldn’t exist without space exploration.   

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[pitlanepeach]

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.

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: CelesteSPereira@cavallierlegal.mc

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 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.

She didn’t need her insulin pen this time—this wasn’t about bringing her sugars down. This was survival mode. A glucose tab, fast-acting sugar, something—anything—to get her numbers back up.

She popped two tabs into her mouth, the chalky texture familiar and unpleasant. It didn’t matter. They worked fast, and that was what mattered.

Diabetes was equal-opportunity.

It didn’t care how much money you had, how prepared you thought you were, or how many backup plans you had in place.

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 again and grabbed a juice box from the bottom of her bag, one of those emergency ones she’d stuffed in there months ago. Warm, slightly squished—but full of sugar. She took a few sips, forcing herself to breathe slowly between each one.

Her pulse was erratic, her vision still slightly off. But she’d done what she needed to. Now it was just the waiting.

She rested her back against the cool stall door. Her fingers still trembled slightly as she refreshed the CGM screen. 3.1. Still. But she knew how this worked. It was frustratingly slow, but the sugar would kick in soon.

Ten minutes. That’s what they always said—ten to fifteen to feel it.

Her last meal had been about three hours ago. A light salad with protein. Enough carbs to keep her stable, in theory. But stress had a way of messing with the numbers. The near miss on the street probably spiked her adrenaline—and now, here she was.

Minutes passed. She checked again. 4.5 mmol/L.

It was rising. Not perfect, not where she wanted—but better.

The fog started to lift, just slightly. The world around her shifted from a dull blur to something sharper, more navigable.

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.

NEXT CHAPTER

[rosemaryhoney27]

Catnip, Kleptos, and Chaos Nephews

aka: Danny and Selina Go ‘Shopping,’ Vlad Contemplates Early Retirement

It was supposed to be a quiet evening. Bruce had just finished cleaning up after Killer Croc tried to take a swim in the Batcave’s underground river. Jason was pretending not to be feeding said crocodile marshmallows. Damian was finally asleep. Vlad had finally stopped twitching.

And then the manor security pinged. Selina Kyle had entered the building.

“She let herself in?” Vlad asked, panic creeping up his spine.

“She has a key,” Bruce said, like that was normal.

In the Foyer

Selina swept in like a thunderstorm wearing a designer coat and nine lives of attitude. Danny peeked around the corner with a cookie in hand, blinked, and whispered, “Whoa, you’re pretty.”

Selina paused, blinked, and slowly turned her full attention to the glowing teenager in pajama pants and an oversized “I ♥️ Goth Dad” hoodie.

“…Bruce,” she called out. “When were you going to tell me you adopted the cutest haunted Muppet in the multiverse?”

Danny smiled, then phased through the banister to greet her properly.

Selina raised a brow. “Oh. You’re that kind of weird. I like it.”

Fifteen Minutes Later

Bruce came downstairs to find Danny and Selina curled up on the couch, looking through jewel heist magazines.

“You know,” Selina said, sipping tea, “if you’re going to ghost into vaults, you need a better eye for sparkle. See this? That’s a decoy ruby. Always check for weight.”

Danny nodded like he was in school. “Ohhh. So you taste test them?”

Selina: “Only if they’re cursed. Or chocolate.”

Bruce: “What is happening.”

Danny: “Auntie Selina’s teaching me jewel ethics.”

Selina: “You don’t steal from orphans, old ladies, or drag queens. Everyone else is fair game.”

Bruce: “Selina.”

Danny: “She said I have ‘klepto potential with a conscience.’ Is that good?”

Vlad—who had just entered—froze mid-step like he’d walked into a live wire.

“You—NO. You do not get to take the ghost child on a crime internship!”

Selina: “I’m just saying if he happens to pass through a high-security vault and happens to see an unguarded emerald—”

“SE-LI-NA!”

She winked. Danny grinned. Bruce gave up and left the room.

The Shopping Trip (aka “Field Study”)

Selina took Danny out in the evening with Bruce’s very reluctant permission and a tracker.

They visited:

A high-end gallery (“Just browsing,” she said. Danny later ‘accidentally’ phased the security guard into a closet so Selina could critique the fake Fabergé eggs.)

A black market fence with a secret greenhouse out back (“For the vibes,” Danny claimed. He gifted the fence a ghost orchid. The man cried.)

A hidden thrift shop with literal cursed rings (Danny picked one up, sneezed, and the ring de-cursed itself. Selina clapped.)

They returned three hours later, with:

One vintage cat brooch that now purrs

A cursed diamond that is now a mildly annoyed diamond

Danny wearing eyeliner and a leather jacket

Back at the Manor

Jason: “You gave the haunted child a fashion upgrade. I respect it.”

Damian: “That’s my eyeliner.”

Cass: thumbs up

Vlad: “You. Let. Selina. Kyle. Take. Him. Shopping.”

Bruce: “He came back with everything accounted for and an enchanted purse that bites pickpockets. That’s more than most of us can say.”

Selina ruffled Danny’s hair. “He’s got potential. Chaos with a heart of gold. Reminds me of me at that age. But cuter.”

Danny: “She said if I ever want to become a cat burglar, I already have the purr-sonality.”

Bruce sighed so hard it activated the Batcomputer’s wind sensor.

Vlad, deadpan: “I’m going to scream.”

Danny patted his arm gently. “Auntie Selina says I’m the ghost that haunts the wealthy. Isn’t that nice?”

Vlad screamed.