#running with Type 1 Diabetes

[jamieroyjamieroy]

Damn straight I’m going to use my type 1 diabetes when I don’t want to do something. There are no other perks with this stupid lifelong condition!

[fallenrain40]

nobody ever seems to mention this. but low blood sugars to me are like getting an adrenaline rush. and not even in exactly a bad way. I suddenly feel extra hyper? probably becuase im low. it feels like getting on a roller coaster or something. its weird cause its not even that bad of a feeling, but considering how dangerous it is, it should be.

[diabeticthunderrr]

... I accidentally gave myself 14 units because I was distracted playing Cookie run Kingdom

I only needed 6

But I beat the dark level I guess?

On a real note I'm going to eat like my life depends on it (kinda does)

[paulblartlolcop2]

FUCKING HELL IF ITS NOT THE LIGHTNING ITS THE HEAT. IF ITS NOT THE HEAT ITS BEING INCONSISTENT. IF ITS NOT BEING INCONSISTENT ITS THE FUCKING DIABETES.

My diabetes ruined my last marathon. I WONT let it ruin this one.

[lizbethart-blog]

The Love of a Parent

Dressed as Spiderman for a Halloween party his sophomore year. My son Daniel, was a huge Marvel movie fan. Primarily, Dan’s high school wardrobe consisted of loose-fitting tees and cargo pants, so a close-fitting costume was telling. He was looking quite slender. By early November he had lost 20 lbs. with no clear explanation as to why. I feared my initial gut reaction. Worried and nervous we…

[sibrownphoto-tumbl]

Apparently engagement can be driven by photos of yourself* in posts. So, here I am atop Hindscarth a couple of days ago. Though I’m just a shadow of my former self after some pretty unpleasant health issues. Though I have been gifted an awesome abdominal scar**.

Decent test of my current fitness levels, properly fit I’d expect to get from Little Town car park to the top of Hindscarth in around 60 minutes***. Took me 90 by my watch; probably actually only about 80 given a nav cock-up in the valley, letting a very nervously descending group past on the scrambly bit group and stopping for photos. Diabetes behaved itself too, which recently is a surprise. I’ll take that given the first quarter of the year.

*not sure myself; I’ve a voice for mime and visually am best suited for radio …

**which a very inked friend suggests I have a little graffiti added to leave it looking like a snake - I’m a three score years old Jew, but very tempted.

***useless info unless you’re familiar with the northern lakeland fells, so - about 5km, 500m ascent up easy scrambling, farmland and steepish runnable ground

[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.

WORD COUNT — 15k

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

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

January 2021

Celeste was in a rush.

Lately, she was always in a rush.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They’d seen money.

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

She was lucky.

She knew she was lucky.

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

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

She knew she was being dramatic.

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

Her brain’s worst party trick.

It didn’t matter.

Today, it felt real.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

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

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

It would pass.

It always did.

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

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

A flash of silver.

Screeching tires.

A horn blasting so loud it rattled her teeth.

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

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

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

Celeste barely looked at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dammit.

He was cute.

An almost-murderer. But cute.

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

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

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

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

But she was going to be late.

And late meant dead when it came to this client.

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

She hesitated for one breath, two.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He seemed unsure how to answer. 

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

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

Her phone buzzed again. She rolled her eyes. 

Damn oligarchs and their huge egos.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded.

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

Celeste S Pereira

Property and Asset Management

Cavallier Legal Services LLC

Tel: +377 93 123 456

Email: 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

[dialovers-lover-xoxo]

One Shot:

X-Reader with Sakamaki Brothers, Reader is a type 1 diabetic and their blood sugar is so low they think they're going to die

DISCLAIMER: The person who requested this has type 1 diabetes. I asked them for their experiences before writing these one-shots because I wanted to be accurate. That being said, not all people with type 1 diabetes have the same experiences.

Shu

------

You stumbled, holding onto the couch's arm. You could feel your energy slipping away rapidly. "Shu..." you whispered quietly. Your lover, with his earbuds in, didn't hear you. "Shu." You said with as much strength as you could muster - which wasn't very much, but to your relief, one of his eyes opened. He sat up slowly and said your name.

"What's wrong?" You held onto your head and tried to steady yourself, but you ended up collapsing. Shu rushed to your side and cradled you in his arms, his eyes panicked. Your blood sugar had gotten low before...but it was never like this. Your vision was fading fast. You grasped for Shu's hand, holding it limply. "I feel like I'm dying."

Through your blurry vision, Shu's eyes flashed with a mix of anger, fear, and determination. "No." His voice came out form. "I love you." You told him weakly. He growled. "You're fine. You're not leaving me." He gently laid you down on the couch and ran to the kitchen, his long legs running as fast as he could. You could hear him opening a cupboard. His footsteps rushed back and he gently pushed a straw into your mouth.

You leaned up on your elbows and managed to drink. The cold, sweet apple juice didn't immediately bring your senses back to normal, but it would soon. Your vision cleared. Shu helped you into a sitting position and wiped your hair from your forehead. You made eye contact with him, his blues eyes soft. He leaned forward and kissed your forehead. Shu took your hand in his and pressed another small carton of juice into your palm. "Start keeping snacks with you. I won't let you die, ever, but don't scare me like that again."

Reiji

--------

One second you were fine. The next you were on your knees, barely holding yourself up. Reiji, who had been examining his vials, immediately rushed to your side. You gripped your head as your vision swam and your peripheral vision turned black. Never...it was never like this before. It was slower, you had time to grab something to get your sugar back up. This was different and it scared you to your core.

Reiji was talking by your side, but you could barely compute his voice. "My love, tell me!" "Blood..." you were only able to make out the beginning "sh" sound of sugar, but Reiji knew. He grabbed a syringe from his desk; his syringes were all around the house. He bent down next to you again. "Hold still, my love." He moved your hair to the side and injected the syringe into your neck carefully. Almost instantly you felt better. He had come up this serum almost as soon as you'd entered the mansion, first for convenience, later out of love.

He held your arms and gently lifted you to your feet. You swayed, but ultimately the strength returned to your limbs. He pressed his forehead to yours. "I should've realized what was happening when you collapsed." He lifted his headand cupped your cheek gently. "But it was never like that in the past." "I know." You leaned up and pressed a quick, gentle kiss to Reiji's lips. "But your serum really works. I'm thankful you made it for me." Reiji's eyes softened. "My love, I only regret I can't do more."

Ayato

---------

You swayed, holding onto the counter. "Oi, Titless! What's the hold up?" Ayato rounded the corner and entered the kitchen. His eyes zeroed in on you and he stepped forward carefully, saying your name.

"Hey...talk to me. What's wrong?" He was concerned but the words were forceful. You turned to him. It took you a moment to focus on his face; your eyesight wasn't right. You touched your head with one hand, the other still gripping the counter. "My head..." You got out. Ayato's eyes widened. "Shit. That diabetic thing again?" You nodded and the action was too much for you. The fingers holding onto the counter slipped and you fell straight into Ayato's arms, who had lunged at the speed only a vampire possessed to catch you.

"Fuck! This damn-" Ayato cut off, looking around the kitchen. He saw the cupboard full of the snacks to get your sugar up. His arm reached up until you weakly said, "Ayato...I feel like I'm dying" Ayato was shocked to the core for a brief second. "No, you're fucking not." He growled leaping up and opening the cupboard, then grabbing everything he could. Ayato joined you back on the floor and gently lifted your head in his lap. He slowly fed you some of your favorite jelly, not even bothering with a spoon in his hurry to make you well.

It took a while but you started to feel better. You opened your eyes to find your vision clear and focused. He looked down to you, his face concerned and his eyebrows furrowed. "You alright?" You smiled and he smiled in return, helping you get up on shaky legs. "I'm alright."

Kanato

----------

Though he hadn't understood - and originally threw a tantrum believing you just didn't like the same sweets he did - Kanato had eventually accepted that the cakes and cookies and desserts he ate weren't safe you. He actually ended up quite excited to shop with you and even tasted your desserts - and spitting them out and crying when they didn't taste how he expected.

Nevertheless, Kanato was being the loving boyfriend you were used to again. After putting you in his favorite dress and doing your hair, he kissed you sweetly and called you his prettiest doll. Today he led you to a table that was surprisingly already filled with sweets and hot chocolate. You stared at Kanato, confused. Normally he asked you to do it and you just assumed you always would. He noticed your staring and narrowed his eyes. "Stop staring at me. What, are you surprised that I'm a good boyfriend?" "Of course not! It just looks so good." Kanato smiled, satisfied. "Yes, it does, doesn't it?" He beamed and added, "Teddy helped me." hugging his beloved teddy bear.

You smiled and sat down. He sat down across from you and giggled, holding out one of your favorite pastries. You opened your mouth, but as you looked down you noticed your fingers were shaking - and pale. As if seeing your fingers accelerated how fast your blood sugar levels were dropping, you felt faint and soon - too soon - the corners of your vision were fading in and out of blackness.

You tried standing up, but your legs couldn't support your weight and you toppled over, holding your hand to your head like a maiden. Kanato cried out in surprise, rage, and concern. "Stupid! Why did you fall over?" You reached out a pallor hand to touch his vampire-pale cheek. Kanato's eyes hardened in realization and he growled. "How inconsiderate of you. Right after I set this all up!" Under his angry words, you saw the concerned tightness of his eyes.

But...this happened so fast. Normally your blood sugar dropped at a much slower rate...now it had only taken a matter of moments for you to collapse, for your vision to turn dark. There had to be something wrong. You felt beyond light-headed, you felt like you were slipping away...

"Kanato...I love you, even in death..." your voice trailed off and your eyes closed. "No, no, no!" Kanato screamed, standing up. With great effort you opened your eyes to see him stamp his foot. "Stupid, stupid! Don't say that! I won't let you leave me!" Kanato stormed back to the table and filled up your hot chocolate with sugar and creamer, so much so that the brown liquid had turned porcelain white. "Drink." Kanato commanded. When your shaking nearly knocked the cup out of Kanato's hand, he batted your hand away, tilted your head, and dripped the incredibly sweet liquid down your throat. All at once. You spluttered, but your vision cleared and you felt your blood sugar skyrocket.

He hadn't exactly done it right, but for now it was good enough a fix as any. You wrapped your arms around his neck and hugged him. "Thank you, Kanato." "Stupid..." he muttered against your neck, and you felt his tears on your skin. "I can't lose you."

Laito

--------

Laito's nimble fingers were touching the keys, his eyes closed as he created gentle music, so experienced he need not even open his eyes to make such a beautiful sound.

It was one of his softer tunes, the music you'd hear during a lullaby. It wouldn't be the first time you've fallen asleep to the sweet sounds your lover played. You'd always wake up in his bed, safe and sound. He was so gentle when carrying you that it never woke you up.

But this time was different, instead of your head rolling forward and your eyelids drooping, your vision was turning black. It was so different than what you expected that it took you a second to realize what was actually happening. "Uhh..." you groaned in discomfort. Laito stopped playing the piano and turned to the couch you were laying on. You felt yourself slipping off and your vision went almost entirely black. Then you were back and Laito was there, gently putting you on the floor. "Laito..." Oh God, this was bad. Your head was already swimming so badly you could barely make a coherent thought.

What was this? Were you dying? "Laito. I love you...I love you..." for you it seemed like an eternity passed, but apparently it was only a few seconds. Laito had already come to the conclusion on his own and, to your surprise, or as surprised as you could be in that state, he pulled a pack of special gummies from his pocket.

"Open wide, Little Bitch." Laito said, his voice sing-songy and playful, but from his shaking hands and the slight quiver of his voice, you knew he was fearful. You managed to eat the gummies. You weren't sure how long it would took, but eventually you gained the strength to push yourself up on your arms.

Laito looked at you sadly. "I hate that you suffer from this." He pressed his forehead to yours. "But it's okay, right? You're always here." Your eyes met his and you saw the steely determination, his playful green eyes turned to hardened emeralds.

"I am. I will be."

Subaru

----------

"Oi!" Subaru called. You whirled around. "Why are ya rockin' 'round like that?" You were rocking? You looked down and your legs weren't steady. You touched your hand to your forehead. You were almost as cold as Subaru. Mortals weren't supposed to be that cold.

"Uh...". You groaned. Your head had felt foggy for a while, but that was normal for you. "I'm fine..." you muttered. "No you fucking ain't!" Subaru growled. You barely reacted to his harsh tone but you saw the regret in his red eyes immediately. "You're not...just let me have a look at ya, alright?" Subaru asked softly.

You nodded and he gently took your arm and pulled to him. "You're way too fucking pale." Subaru told you, and this time it wasn't anger that made his voice sharp. You leaned your head against his chest, first simply seeking to rest your head on something, but out of nowhere fatigue hit you hard and you crumpled against your lover.

Subaru cried out in alarm. He gripped your forearms and lifted you up. "Fuck! That damn mortal thing!" His fangs bared. He scooped you up. "Where are your fucking sweets? If Kanato ate them himself I'll fucking kill him!"

You barely registered Subaru gently putting you on a soft surface. You swayed and fell against a pillow, the sides of your vision turning completely black. You felt like you were dying. "No! No, you aren't." Subaru snarled, and you realized you had said that aloud.

Subaru gently lifted your head. "Stay with me, please." He slowly fed you something sweet and soft. He kissed the side of your head and stroked your hair. "You'll be okay. Just work with me." It took a while until your vision cleared. You groaned and he gently lowered you to lay completely on the bed. You blinked and leaned up, feeling better, but he pushed you back down and then stretched out on the bed. He gathered you close.

"I ain't losin' ya, ya hear? Not even some stupid mortal problem can take ya."

[catiuskaa]

missed me, missed me, now you gotta...

SUMMARY: minho wasn’t grumpy, nor he was jealous. but he hasn’t been the same ever since he fell in love with you.

REQUESTED! by a sweet annonie right here. pookie, your idea was lovely to write! lil grumpy minho, im melting… it’s a bit short, but I hope you like it! <3

CW: use of (crack) text messages to convey the plot, starring: han quokka as cupid + reader’s bsf, clingy minho as king of my heart, and ngl, type 1 diabetes fluff ahead. keep insulin shots close just in case! lol

WC: 1.1k

A/N: i love how i’m slowly turning into a minho blog/page lmaoo, only minho: the man, the myth, the legend!

[🪻☆🌫️☆🪻]

The same ringtone buzzed again during rehearsals. Its ding had sounded so many times already that it had started to get repetitive really quickly.

Minho frowned as he looked in the mirror, retouching his rolled sleeves just once more for what he secretly knew it had been more than twenty times. In the span of ten minutes. Maybe even less.

But Minho wasn’t ‘grumpy’.

He so wasn’t.

His day had been normal so far. He had no reason to be grumpy. Not one what-so-ever.

He had woken up in between your arms, and even if he had ‘complained’ about it, he loved being the little spoon. And also, his cats jumped on the bed and, just for once, none of them landed on his face.

There had been just one thing.

…

Well. Technically more than one.

You had rushed outside this morning. You claimed you didn’t have time to have breakfast with him, because you were late for something he didn’t really get. Because of that, you hadn’t come over to the JYP building with him. He had to drive over alone. And you hadn’t pecked him goodbye at the entrance like always.

But he. Wasn’t. Grumpy.

Not. At. All.

> sunggie: girl, did you hide his cats or smth?

< minho’s owner: lol, wdym dude?

> sunggie: he looks like he’s going to kill me.

> sunggie: And he loves me! Wtf??

“Jisung-ah.”

Han shrieked in his place in the sofa, his phone almost falling off his hands. He quickly turned it off, hoping that the grumpy dancer hadn’t seen the old or new messages.

“Who were you texting?” Minho frowned, deeper this time.

“Oh.” Jisung chuckled. “Just checking in on noona.”

“My girlfriend?” The way Minho enunciated the title felt a bit possesive. Jisung eyed at him weirdly for a second. Even he felt weird himself.

Jisung nodded sheepishly, turning his phone back on but quickly opening a random app.

“Yeah. I owed her a call back.” He shrugged, nonchalantly accepting that he had opened Subway Surfers, and started to play.

As the catchy music came from Han’s phone, Minho shook his head.

Not grumpy.

Not at all.

But the thought that you had been texting Han and didn’t text him —instead of him— did funny things in his chest.

Now, keep in mind that Minho would never describe himself as a jealous man.

He trusted you with his cats, of course he trusted you regarding your relationship. But he had barely got a hold of you all day. And Han had. By call and text. Like he was doing now.

Not grumpy.

Sure.

< minho’s owner: you dead yet?

Jisung groaned.

> sunggie: no! you made me lose my score!

> sunggie: and I don’t have any keys! ㅠㅠ

< minho’s owner: sucks to suck, lol

< minho’s owner: but what’s wrong with my future husband? did you do something?

> sunggie: he’s moody since he came in this morning.

> sunggie: you weren’t here tho. smth wrong between ya?

< minho’s owner: no…? just had to run to work early…

And then, something in Jisung’s paboracha brain connected. Probably because of how he had named your contact in his phone.

> sunggie: omg

< minho’s owner: what?

> sunggie: that corny dumbass

> sunggie: he’s so stupid

< minho’s owner: bitch what is it???

> sunggie: he’s moody bc u didn’t come in with him today!

You hesitated. Could that be it?

< minho’s owner: really? u think so?

> sunggie: bitch I know so!

> sunggie: imma go get boba for the boys, get your ass here and come w/ me

Jisung’s brain started to work at cupid’s speed.

< minho’s owner: omw. be there in 5’

“Guys, I’m gonna go get boba. Do any of you want something?”

The rest of the gang blabbered something while some kept going over the steps of the choreography and the others rested on the couch, doozing off or on their phones. Han quickly noted down everyone’s orders, not before being squinted down by Minho. He held back a shiver.

“Clingy prick…” Jisung mumbled, leaving quickly.

He walked out of the JYP building, waiving and half bowing to the staff members and other artists in the building.

< minho’s owner: just parked! ^^

Jisung entered the boba place next to the building, smiling at the cashier as he read down the orders on his note app, and stood aside, waiting for the drinks.

“Hey!” You smiled widely at him, taking off your scarf, merely leaving it hanging on your shoulders. He clapped your hand, playfully slapping your back.

“Working hard?” Jisung snickered, pointing at the bag on your other hand.

You side-eyed at him, giggling softly.

“Took some snacks before heading off.” You shrugged. “We can sneak these in, right?”

Jisung scratched the back of his neck. “We’ll… come up with something.”

You both struggled carrying the drinks, teasing each other and betting who’d make a mess first. But all giggles came to an end when the security guard stared at you.

“Name and business?” He asked in a low huff.

Your body stiffened.

“She’s my sister,” Han chimed back. You were in fact far from being his sister, but that didn’t matter when the guard seemed to nod. “She’s just helping me carry the drinks inside.”

“And the bag? What’s inside?”

You cleared your throat, smiling. “Clothes for him to change once he finishes training.” You lied.

Thank God for his imagination. And for his stupid idea of shoving your scarf and his hoodie into the bag of snacks.

“Ok. You may come in.” The guard smiled politely.

Only after the both of you had gotten into the elevator you allowed yourselves to let out a sight full of relief. You two then smirked, high-fiving.

“Thank you, bro.” You teased in a snicker.

He cackled. “You’re welcome, sis.”

You both laughed and joked until you reached the training room.

“The person you dream of is back!” Han cackled.

“Noona!” Felix grinned happily.

“Yeah, that’s me!” You cackled at Jisung’s faked frown.

You smiled and greeted everyone as you entered, leaving a certain bunny boy for last.

You sat next to him on the couch, and without missing a beat, he took your legs and layed them on his lap.

You took a sip of his drink, and he stared at you, almost with a squint.

“You’ve made me jealous of fucking Han Jisung.” He stated matter-o-factly, making you practically choke on the tapioka pearls.

You coughed. “What?”

“You texted him all evening. And me? Not even a good luck kiss this morning.”

“Aw, are you grumpy, kitten?” You grinned teasingly, speaking only towards him in a soft tone to his ear. You pecked his cheek.

He needed more of those.

Grumpy, huh?

“Yes. Very.” He mumbled, hiding his blushed and pleased grin in the crook of your neck. “Need more kisses.”

“Well, you know how it goes.” You mumbled in a snicker. He hummed at you, waiting for you to explain.

You kissed his forehead softly, his hands stroking your thighs.

“Missed me, missed me, now you gotta kiss me.”

~Kats, who can write this in one sit, but can’t figure out how chemistry works (yes have exams, why did I choose this for myself, help)

[fallenrain40]

why does!!! no website at all!!! talk about the fact that low blood sugar feels like an adrenaline rush sometimes?? actually it does this. pretty often. and cause I likely have adhd, it's kind of hard to tell when i'm just V HYPERACTIVE or going low. becuase I've had times where I'm not low at all and im like shaking and. think i'm going low but im just extreamly hyper. and then i've had times where i feel really hyper and shakey BECUASE i am going low. it doesn't alwayss feel this way but pretty often it does. yet when i look it up? i find nothing? it makes me wonder if diabetics are actually understood well or not cause sometimes hhhh idrk. sometimes it feels like. they don't really care about us tbh.

[moonstruckme]

What if you wrote something with like... Poly EMT marauders or poly doctor marauders.. with a reader who is a type 1 diabetic, but is horrible at managing it. So like... Their omnipod or dexcom expires and they just don't realize it. As to why? Idk, like they're forgetful or maybe they were just diagnosed with it recently? Whatever sounds more interesting to you lmao

Thanks for requesting! Funnily enough I got this request the same week my uncle was in the icu with a blood sugar of over 1000 (the highest the paramedics said they'd ever seen!) so this was one of the only emt marauders drabbles I've ever done where I didn't actually have to do a bunch of research because I already knew about it haha

cw: diabetes, reader is impaired/faint, mention of needle

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 628 words

The television blurs in front of you. You have the vague impression that you used to know what was happening in this show, but now you can hardly tell one character from another. A hand touches your face, sweeping hair away from your eyes and scratching nicely at your scalp. 

“Getting tired, dove?” 

You hum. 

“Want to go to bed early?” 

“I think I could sleep here on the couch,” you admit. 

For a moment, there’s no reply. You feel the couch shift, and then a hand is gently turning your chin, directing you towards three concerned faces. It always makes you shy, being at the center of their combined attention, but right now the usual effects don’t feel as intense. 

“Are you feeling okay?” James asks you. 

“Yeah, I’m just tired.”

Later, you’ll learn you’d been slurring terribly. 

“Where’s your phone, baby?” Sirius starts looking for it as you try to recall. He finds it before you can, clicking it open and tapping at the screen until he finds what he’s looking for. “Her blood sugar’s at 300.” 

Remus’ brows push close together. “How’d that happen, hm?” he asks you. The sleeve of your pajama top gets pushed down. “Where’s your pod?” 

You blink, working hard to remember. Sirius gets up from the couch. “It’s…I don’t know. It expired,” you say. 

You hear the sound of the freezer opening, and a shrill beeping fills your kitchen. “Found it,” says Sirius. 

“Fucking hell, you’ve got to stop putting it in there.” Remus sighs, though you don’t think he’s really angry with you. “I heard it earlier, but I thought I was going mental.” 

“Sweetheart, why didn’t you get a new one when that one expired?” James asks. He rubs your calf from further down the couch, infinite in both sweetness and patience. 

“I was going to. I forgot.” You’d gotten distracted with something or other, dishes that needed to be done or something outside the window or an attention-deprived Sirius calling you from the next room. 

“You can’t just forget, silly girl.” Sirius gives your knee a mean (loving) squeeze as he sits down again. He sets a new omnipod on the table, filling it expertly with a syringe of insulin. 

“Do you have a swab?” Remus asks, and Sirius hums, passing him one. “Thanks.” 

Remus cleans off your arm, using one hand to ensure you’re still while Sirius gently presses the new omnipod to your skin. He runs his fingers around the adhesive a few times for good measure. 

“4 units, yeah?” James asks, thumbing something into your app after the others agree. You wince when you feel the needle, still not used to it, and he makes a sorry sound. Presses a conciliatory kiss to your knee. 

“There you go, babylove.” Remus sits back against the couch cushions, a tension you hadn’t noticed before dissipating from him. His hand finds your hair, carding through the strands close to your scalp. “You’ve gotta start taking better care of yourself. We can help if you want us to, but this is important, yeah?” 

“I know,” you sigh, leaning against his shoulder. “Sorry, I just forget.” 

“We’ll help you remember,” James offers in his easy way. 

Sirius nudges both you and Remus over so he can squish in on your other side. “Can’t believe we were about to go to bed with you sky high.” He pokes your thigh. “That wouldn’t have been very nice to wake up to tomorrow.” 

Your heart heavies, thinking of your boyfriends panicking and you nearly comatose in bed the next morning. “I’m sorry,” you say again, meaning it. 

“It’s alright, dove.” Remus drops a kiss to your hair. “We don’t mind taking care of you. We’ll help you get the hang of it.”

[clancycatears]

/SPECGRU INTELLIGENCE - GAZ MASTERLIST

CONFIDENTIAL PERSONNEL FILE — KYLE "GAZ" GARRICK THIS IS AN IMPORTANT RECORD. SAFEGUARD IT.

SPECGRU OPERATOR AFFILIATIONS: BRITISH ARMY (FORMERLY), SPECIAL AIR SERVICE CTSFO, TASK FORCE 141, GHOST TEAM, SPECGRU

NAME (LAST, FIRST, MIDDLE): GARRICK, KYLE, J. SERVICE NUMBER: 63438703 RANK: SERGEANT (EST. 2020) ALIASES: GAZ, SABRE 2-6, BRAVO 0-5, BRAVO 2-6, BRAVO 6-2, BRAVO 6-1 STATUS: ALIVE D.O.B: JANUARY 7TH, 1993 GENDER: MALE NATIONALITY: BRITISH ETHNICITY: BLACK BRITISH LATERALITY: RIGHT HEIGHT: 6'2"ft (1.88m / 187.96cm) WEIGHT: 182lbs (82.2kg) VISION: 20/20 BLOOD TYPE: B- EYE COLOR: BROWN HAIR COLOR: DARK BROWN LANGUAGES: ENGLISH (FLUENT), RUSSIAN (MINIMAL), ARABIC (MINIMAL), GERMAN (MINIMAL)

HOME ADDRESS: XXXXX XXXXX XXXXX, LONDON, UNITED KINGDOM BIRTHPLACE: LONDON, UNITED KINGDOM — CITIZEN — NON-CITIZEN RELATIVES: CHARLOTTE GARRICK (MOTHER), RICHARD GARRICK (FATHER - DECEASED), STEPHANIE GARRICK (SISTER), ALLISON GARRICK (SISTER) MARITAL STATUS: SINGLE CHILDREN: N/A

SPECIALIST FIELDS: - PRIME TARGET ELIMINATION - DEMOLITIONS, COVERT SURVEILLANCE - VIP PROTECTION - WEAPON HANDLING (M13) - WEAPONS TACTICS

SKILLS AND SPECIALIZATIONS: - ORGAN DONOR - PHYSICALLY ACTIVE (RUNS AND SWIMS) - MEDALS (QUEEN'S GALLANTRY AND GENERAL SERVICE)

TECHNICAL RECORD BRANCH OF SERVICE: - BRITISH ARMY (2008) - SPECIAL AIR SERVICE (2012) - TASK FORCE 141 (2020) - GHOST TEAM (2022)

DATE ENLISTED: 2014 DATE DISCHARGED: N/A

MEDICAL RECORD INJURIES AND HOSPITALIZATIONS: - STAB WOUND (2012 - 1X, 2015 - 1X, 2021 - 1X) - BROKEN FEMUR (2009 - 1X, 2018 - 1X) - BROKEN COLLAR BONE (2018 - 1X) - CONCUSSION (2019 - 1X)

MEDICATION LIST: - PARACETAMOL (PAIN - 2018)

PERTINENT MEDICAL HISTORY: - SEASONAL ALLERGIES - (+) FH FOR CANCER AND DIABETES - (-) FH FOR HTN AND HYPERTENSION

SAS FITNESS TEST PUSH-UPS: YES SIT-UPS: YES JUMP FROM 10M TOWER: YES 2.5KM TIME: 6MINS 45SECS 25M WATER SWIM: YES 200M SWIM/TREAD: YES UNDERWATER OBJECT RETRIEVAL AND DIVE TEST: YES 13KM HILL RUN TIME: 44MINS 38SECS — HIGHLY PROFICIENT. RECORD TIMES.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: working on a lil project for the 141 and ghost team!!! sorry for any inaccuracies, i know nothing about the military. anyways, this file is 85% headcanons alone so please please please don't make these your own gaz assumptions unless you want to lolz!!!

GAZ MODEL: @661ave

INSPIRATION: @shadow0-1 & @mistydeyes (pulled some info from here too!!!)

[alotofpockets]

Highs and lows | Lia Wälti x Sister!Reader

Warnings: Reader is a type 1 diabetic and experiences both hypo- and hyperglycemic events. I hope all the medical talk is right!

Woso masterlist | Words: 1.3k

-----

One of the things you loved to do outside of football, was going on walks with some of the girls on your team. When you and your sister Lia made the move to London, you had found a second family in your Arsenal teammates. The friendships you made here went beyond the pitch, and you were forever grateful to have gotten a place amongst them.

Today you were joined by Lia, Steph, Viv, Beth, and Leah. As well as Myle and Calvin, the dogs were both running around the park as the rest of you were talking. 

“Oh hi Myle girl, do you want me to throw the ball?” The dog had dropped the tennis ball into your lap, so you got up to play with her. You made a quick stop to grab your water bottle before you ran back to the dogs. Myle had so much energy, so she kept running up and down the field, while Calvin stayed closer to your side. You throw the ball for Myle again, but your vision goes blurry right after. You knew the feeling all too well, and sat down slowly. Calvin moved closer to you and started barking. Steph looked up at the sudden loudness from her dog, who usually is rather quiet, and notices you on the grass. 

“Hey Lia”, Steph didn’t even have to finish her sentence, the tone of her voice told Lia enough, she looked over to you and rushed to your side when she saw you were on the ground.

“I'm here.” She reaches for your hand, while reaching for her phone with the other. She taps the device to the patch on your arm, letting it read your glucose levels. You had been diagnosed with diabetes type 1 when you were a kid, so the symptoms were very familiar to your sister, and to the team now as well. “It’s low.” By now she didn't even have to tell you what she was going to do, as she was with you for a lot of your highs and lows. She grabs a juice box out of her bag, and tells you to drink up.

“Here, lean into me.” You heard Leah's voice behind you. Her hands on your shoulders guided you into her. The girls knew that there was nothing they could do for you, and that they would just have to wait for your glucose levels to get back up, but that didn't mean that they wouldn't try to make it as comfortable for you as possible. 

Slowly but surely you started feeling better, the blurred vision faded, and you felt a little stronger again. While you had gotten used to the hypo- and hyperglycemic events, they were still a little scary to experience, because you'd never know when one would be more severe.

“Come on, let's get you home.” Lia extends her hands to you, after you let her know you were ready to get up. Once you were up, she hugged you tight, always a little scared of the events herself. 

“Why don't you come to our place?” Beth offers, “We live closer, you can rest there.” You agreed instantly, the less you had to walk right now the better. Back at Beth and Viv’s place you find yourself slowly drifting to sleep cuddled into Viv’s side, with Myle on your chest. 

You’re woken up by the smell of one of your favourite dishes lingering in the air. “Hey, how are you feeling?” Viv asks when she notices that you were awake again. “Good enough for that delicious meal Lia is cooking up.” The girl you’re still laying against chuckles, “Ah good, you’re back.”

You looked around the room to find Leah, Steph, and Calvin had left the home, while Lia was in the kitchen with Beth. Though, you knew your sister did all the cooking, because Viv always loved to tell you how bad of a chef Beth really was. You got up and joined the rest for dinner.

The next few days your blood sugar levels didn’t have any major spikes, there was the occasional high and low, but nothing that wasn’t quickly fixed. 

On game day you were rushing out of the house, cause you forgot to put your alarm. You rolled out of bed, hopped in the shower, and quickly changed into your match day outfit, before you headed to your car. 

You knew it was stupid to skip meals, because it would most likely influence your blood sugar levels later on, but right now the only thought on your mind was getting to the stadium on time. Which luckily you managed to do, you headed into the locker room where everyone was about ready to start warming up. After quickly putting on your cleats, and your training kit, you followed the team out.

“Everything alright?” Your sister asked as she put her arm on your shoulder to warm up her legs. You nod, “I overslept. Forgot to set my alarm, but I’m all good.” You continue warming up together, before running some drills with the rest of the girls. 

On the pitch everything was going great until it wasn’t. You felt very shaky, and were sweating more than during a regular game. Trying to push the feelings aside only worked for a few minutes, with one tackle you were on the ground, and your body fully gave into the high blood sugar. Both Lia and the medics came rushing your way.

“You need to check her glucose levels.” Your sister instructed. The medic already had a phone in their hand to tap it to your patch. “We’ve got her Lia, don’t worry.” The phone quickly gave the glucose levels, and showed they were very high. 

“I’m going to give you an insuline shot, to get your levels down quickly.” You simply nodded, not caring how they would lower your blood sugar, as long as you would stop feeling this way. After the shot, your body started slowly feeling stronger again. The medics walked you off the field, and sat you down on the bench. Steph sat down next to you, and you leaned into her side. She took the bag of nuts the medical assistant handed over, and opened the bag for you. 

When the halftime whistle blew you headed into the locker room, while Steph went to warm up with the rest of the bench. 

“What happened?” Your sister’s worried voice rang out the moment you sat down. She didn’t even let you answer the first question, before she continued. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? You know how bad it can get if you don’t treat your highs and lows on time.” 

“Since I was in a hurry this morning I kind of forgot to have breakfast. I swear I was going to eat something when I got here, but you were all ready to warm up, so I forgot in the rush again.” You knew that skipping meals wasn’t good for your glucose levels, and you really didn’t do it on purpose, and you needed Lia to know that. “I should’ve said it sooner, but it was almost half time. I thought I would be alright until then.”

Lia uncrossed her arms, and the angry facade fell. “Please don’t ever scare me like that again!” She sat down and put her arm around you, happy to know that you were alright again. You listened to Kim and Leah discuss the tactics for the second half of the game, and made your way back to the bench when it was time to head back again. 

The team ended up winning the match. After the second half you felt a lot better again, so you walked the victory round next to your sister, who was happy to have you properly on your feet again.

-----

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[wlwsoccerfics]

An unexpected Diagnosis(BethMeadXVivMiedemaXTeenReader)

A/N: Viv is back at Arsenal again for this.

Warning: Reader has Diabetes Type 1

Summary: your moms find you unconcious and nothing will ever be the same.

Your moms were waiting by the front door at 8:25am. You Guys had to leave for practice but you appearently forgot about the time.

"liefje! We have to leave!" Your Mama Viv yelled upstairs.

"she is probably on her Phone again, texting Thea." Your Mom Beth stated. Thea was Kerstins & Ruths daughter and your girlfriend.

"let me Go and check on her." Your Mama said. Walking upstairs. Seeing your door was Open and you were lying on the floor. Unconcious. She ran over to you. Trying to wake you up.

"liefje, sweet Girl please wake up!" She yelled out. "Beth call an ambulance! Our daughter is unconcious!" Your Mama yelled out. Your Mom was already on her way to your room as soon as she heard your Mama yell.

"oh my god!" She stated, quickly calling an ambulance, explaining what had happened. "No i am sure she didn't take anything!" Your Mom replied to the question.

"Can you please hurry?!" Your Mama yelled from her Position next to you. She didn't want them to waste any time.

Five minutes later you were loaded into an ambulance. Your Mama went in the ambulance with you while your Mom took the Car, calling your aunt steffy to let her know what was going on. She also called Renée to excuse the three of you for missing practice. Renée was more worried about you not being okay then anything else.

You were checked over and they were running tests. Finding out what had happened. Your moms sat with you while the doctor told you and them what was going on.

"you have type one diabetes. but i can promise you that we can show you how to manage this. You have to stay for a few days! So we can show you what to do. And we gonna also explain things to your moms so the two of them know how to help you." The doctor explained. You Mama and your Mom both stand by your bed. Each holding a Hand of yours. Which was really helpful. Cause this was alot to stomach.

An hour later your Mama was outside to call Renée to let her know what was going on. Your Mom sat on the bed next to you, so you cuddled into her.

"i still have to tell Thea!" You told your Mom.

"she is gonna be there for you. I know that cause the two of you look at one another like i look at your Mama and Vice versa." Your Mom stated. Kissing your head gently. You smiled a little. Looking really tired. So you cuddled up to your Mom as much as possible.

As soon as you told Thea she made her moms Drive down to London from Manchester to see you. Walking into the room with them. Handing you a stuffed elephant cause they were your favorite animal. The elephant was pink cause that was your favorite color.

"Hoi schatje, hoe gaat het met je?" Thea wanted to know. ( hey beautiful. how are you? )

"Ik ben oké, engel." You replied. Kissing her cheek. ( i am okay, angel. )

"this one here was really concerend. We were as well. But Thea was a mess. She loves you so much. It's cute!" Ruth answered and looked at you. Pointing to her daughter. You smiled when she blushed.

"i love her as well! With all of my heart!" You admitted.

"you two are cute!" Kerstin said and smiled.

"the cutest!" Your Mom replied.

"truely." Your Mama agreed.

Thea and her moms stayed for a few hours before driving back to Manchester. You had to stay at the hospital for a week and someone from the Team always was there to visit you. On your last day at the hospital your aunt Steph came with your Mom to pick you up, because your Mama had a physio appointment.

"are you excited to go home, finally?" She asked and you smiled at her.

"really excited. and i am even more excited to get back on the field and to See Myle of course." You answered.

"well Myle is waiting for you at home." Your Mom replied and kissed the top of your head.

"let's go home then!" You told them in excitement. Steph chuckled softly and grabbed your hospital bag.

"yes let's get you Home!" She replied.

"are you feeling ready? Do you know what to do now when your blood sugar is acting up?" Your Mom wanted to know.

"i am. The nurses said i am a fast learner and did very well! I also appreciate you and Mama going to a Workshop about Diabetes to learn more about it." You told her. The Team also promised to learn how to help you. And learn all about it.

"we would do anything for you, Sweetheart!" Your Mom admitted.

At Home you were cuddling with Myle on the Couch. Enjoying this Moment very much. You knew things would all be just fine with the amazing support system you had.

[megalony]

Watch Your Back- Part 2

Thank you all for the lovely feedback on the first part of this Dark Evan Buckley imagine.

I hope you will all like and comment on this next part.

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Dark! Evan Buckley Masterlist

Part 1

Part 3

Summary: Being type one diabetic, (Y/n) relies on Evan for a lot of things, and it makes him very controlling over her. Especially when they are around other people.

Enjoy.

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Tears of indignation burned in (Y/n)'s eyes and trickled down her face as she started to pace up and down the living room.

Her left hand tangled in her hair but her other hand was practically shaking as she held the phone closer to her ear, as if that would make her hear her mother's cruel words any clearer.

This wasn't right. It wasn't fair.

There was only one clear side to be on and right now, her mother was backing the wrong side. She wasn't listening. She wasn't taking (Y/n) seriously and this wasn't what (Y/n) expected when she answered the phone. she was suddenly glad that they were having this conversation over the phone as opposed to being at her parent's house and seeing them face to face.

How could they blindly listen to what Cathy had said to them yet completely ignore everything (Y/n) had been saying for the last two weeks?

"Y-you're not being fair." (Y/n) couldn't help the way she snapped the words down the phone at her mother and her voice hitched in her throat as she tried to stop it from wobbling or breaking.

Her mother was being unjust.

After the God awful meal at her parent's house two weeks ago, during the night when she and Evan were at home, he explained. He told her why she had gone into that hypo and that her sister had been adding alcohol to her drinks. Cathy had plainly told (Y/n) the cocktails she drank had no alcohol in them, that was why she had been so dismissive when (Y/n) had her low blood sugar and went into a hypo.

(Y/n) couldn't believe her sister would be that vindictive and she had told her parents the next day.

They had been arguing about it ever since.

Tipping her head back, (Y/n) willed the tears to stop falling but it didn't seem to be happening anytime soon. Her eyes were starting to sting with the need to burst into fits of tears and her nose scrunched with that familiar tingling sensation that happened when she felt like crying.

Each breath seemed to run away without her and she moved to stand near the far window at the end of the living room. The turquoise sky looked calming compared to the storm that was raging in (Y/n)'s chest and dwelling in her mind. She wanted to disappear. She wanted her mother to understand and listen to her and not be so cold-hearted.

It didn't matter that Cathy was the favourite child, the first born. All that mattered was how spiteful she had been towards (Y/n) and how she had treated her that night.

"I told you what she did! Why won't you take me seriously?" The well-kept temper within (Y/n) started to rise to the surface and she knew as bad as her anxiety would get, this would be easier face to face. Shouting down the phone wasn't as satisfying as raging at her mother in person. But then again, it was the aftermath of an argument, the come down, where (Y/n) would have a panic attack.

"Honey, she made a mistake with the drinks-"

"She did it on purpose! She admitted it to Evan."

"She didn't mean to hurt you. And she's concerned about him, honey you haven't known him all that long and you're already engaged and moved in after less than a year. It's a bit sudden, Cathy is very suspicious of him, she wonders if he's the right one for you."

That was low.

That was a harsh blow, turning this whole situation around and casting doubt on Evan simply because he knew what Cathy had done. She couldn't go around saying spiteful things about Evan and making their parents concerned about him because she was a sad, angry person who had been caught out.

"He knows me better than you do." Her tone was harsh and she hoped it cut deep into her mother, as deep as her words had about Evan.

(Y/n) knotted her fingers tighter into her hair and started to pull until she felt her scalp start to burn and a few hairs came loose between her fingers. But when she turned to face away from the window, a bolt of lightning shot down her spine right to her toes.

Her eyes blew wide and her hand turned into a fist around her hair when she looked towards the stairs.

Evan.

She hadn't heard him exit the bathroom. How long had he been standing there? How much of this conversation had he pieced together? Had he heard her mother's voiced concerns about him?

He looked very casual. He was stood just beneath the stairs in the corner of the room, his elbow leant on the unit propped up against the wall and one leg crossed over the other. His right hand was clamped down on his hip and his head was tilted to one side, one brow arched up and that slanted smile on his face.

The way his damp curls were crimping and flopping around his temple showed he hadn't long gotten out the shower and he was dressed in his slacks, a cotton shirt and matching black shorts.

"(Y/n), honey-"

"You're wrong, you're all wrong." (Y/n) snapped viciously and pulled the phone away from her ear so she could barely make out her mother's next words. She didn't want to hear them. She didn't want to be told her relationship was wrong or had grounds for concern when before now, her parents didn't seem so worried.

(Y/n) moved in with Evan so soon after getting into a relationship because she loved him. He took care of her, he helped her with her anxiety and it was so much better than living alone. She loved being with him and how he looked after her and loved her and lavished her with affection; she didn't deserve the amount of love Evan had for her.

And they were the happiest they had ever been together, so why shouldn't they get married?

None of Evan's friends or his team had a problem with their engagement or their plans to get married next year. They were all happy and eager for the wedding to take place.

(Y/n)'s eyes locked on Evan and she took a deep breath, and her eyes followed him as he pushed off the unit and took slow steps towards her. He seemed to stalk closer like a predator getting ready to capture its prey and it made (Y/n) shiver.

Her arm tightened around her waist and her knees almost buckled when Evan was stood less than an inch away from her. He was close enough that their chests were touching and he had to tilt his chin down so he could look at her properly. The same, stoic expression remained on his face and he felt the way (Y/n) jumped when he placed one hand on her hip tight enough that it felt like he was claiming her. He didn't need to; she was already his.

Evan cast his eyes towards the phone and took a moment to listen to what her mother was babbling about.

He had gathered the gist of the situation when he heard (Y/n)'s panicked responses and the fury in her voice. He had been hanging around for about five minutes, listening to her defend him and their relationship.

It made him smile. No matter what her parents tried to say to her, clearly nothing was going to change (Y/n)'s mind and that was what Evan wanted. He wanted her to be clear on their relationship because she was his girl.

He had already made sure that Cathy wasn't going to be a problem; he would hate to have to try and keep his in-laws in line too.

"Hang up."

His words surprised (Y/n) and she found herself narrowing her eyes and tilting her head to one side as she stared up at him. What good would that do? She would only have to have this argument another day when she eventually talked to her parents again, it may as well be now.

"But-" Whatever rebuttal she tried to make faded on her tongue when Evan's free hand moved to press beneath her chin and his lips ghosted over hers. So close, almost touching, but not quite there.

"Hang up." He spoke each word slowly, whispering them into her mouth with that same smile and sugary sweet tone as when he fed her sweets during a hypo. His tone was almost hypnotic and (Y/n) found herself nodding as if she was bargaining that she would hang up if he kissed her.

She didn't know why he didn't just want to take the phone from her to argue with her mother himself or why he wasn't telling her what to say. He was usually rather good at firing back during arguments or challenging people and if (Y/n) ever needed pointers for arguments, Evan was always telling her what to say. He was good like that.

She pressed her thumb against the button, ending her mother's distant, chirping voice trying to gage her back into conversation. The phone almost dropped from her hand when Evan smiled that beautiful smile that had his lips turning a blushing shade of red before they consumed her.

He kissed her like the notion was going out of fashion and he wanted to make the most of it. He stole the air from her lungs and swiped his tongue across her lower lip, leaving her breathless and begging for more when Evan finally pulled away and tilted his forehead down against hers.

"Mum doesn't understand," (Y/n) didn't know how else to explain or summarise the awful, one-sided conversation she'd just had with her mother. But she knew Evan would understand. She knew by that strange smile on his lips and the look in his eyes that he got the gist of the conversation and he knew (Y/n) didn't agree with the rest of her family.

"They're about as loving as my parents." The way Evan tutted and rolled his eyes made (Y/n) nod as she lowered her arms until they were resting on Evan's arms, since his hands were now clutching at her hips. "You don't need them in your life, you know."

He spoke as if it was the most natural thing in the world, as if it was something obvious and for a moment, (Y/n) was stunned by his claim.

Her head angled to the right and she narrowed her eyes as she stared up at him like she was trying to see the wheels turning in his mind.

What was he talking about?

They were her parents. As much as (Y/n) didn't get along with them or how often she argued or felt left out by them, they were her family. Her parents may favouritise Cathy, but that didn't mean they didn't love (Y/n). It wasn't so much about (Y/n) needing them in her life, they weren't there because she needed them. They were family, (Y/n) couldn't just cut them off like Evan did with his own parents.

"Wh- I, I know they're wrong, but they'll come round eventually. I do need them," She knew her voice didn't sound as strong and convincing as she wanted it to and it fuelled the fire within Evan's eyes and ignited the smile on his lips.

His hands pulled her closer until her chest bashed into his and he dipped his head down to steal another kiss.

"I didn't see your parents rushing to your aid when you had that hypo, they didn't bother to help you at all, did they?"

He was being truthful, even if he was twisting the situation to his advantage. Evan didn't see her parents panicking or worrying about (Y/n) in the way that he did. He was the one who noticed the signs that she was going into a hypo. He was the one who got her sugar levels back up to where they should be and who sat with her and made sure she was okay. Evan was the one who cared and fawned over her in that situation. Her parents didn't bat an eyelid.

They weren't proper parents, not in Evan's eyes. They didn't care about (Y/n) in the way that they ought to, the way nature intended them to. They favoured Cathy and doted on her and (Y/n) was left on the sidelines when she was the favourable one. She was the kinder, sweeter, docile sister who needed to be looked after and protected.

Well, Evan would do that now. He would protect her. He would look after her and make sure she was okay and not in any danger and he would make sure her health didn't decline. If her parents couldn't be bothered, then they didn't deserve to be in her life.

"Well, no but-"

"And they don't care that Cathy could have put you in hospital. Baby, you're better off without them, any of them. No one's gonna take better care of you than me."

He felt the way (Y/n) shuddered and how her breathing hitched when his hands let go of her waist in favour of cupping her face. He smoothed his thumbs across her cheekbones like he was moulding clay and he peppered a few delicate kisses to her lips and the corner of her mouth until (Y/n) closed her eyes.

If they were going to become a problem, then Evan had to solve that and get them out the picture. He thought that her parents would be fine, they didn't have an issue with (Y/n) living with him or becoming engaged, at least not until Cathy started poking her nose in where it didn't belong.

Evan might have to bump into Cathy at some point and make sure that she got the message. She wasn't allowed to mess with (Y/n) anymore. She wasn't allowed within ten feet of her little sister, curtesy of Evan. He wouldn't let her try and mess with (Y/n)'s health or make her feel belittled. He wouldn't have her poisoning her parent's mind against him either.

For now, cutting her parents out of the picture was gong to be the easiest solution. Keeping distant from them would stop them from poisoning (Y/n)'s mind against Evan and it would make her see that he was the only person who could and should be looking out for her and looking after her.

And he would make sure to deal with Cathy properly if she dared to put one toe out of line.

"But-"

"So forget them. If they can't be bothered to care, then neither should you." Evan knew he was making sense to (Y/n) because he could see the deliberation happening in her eyes.

She wanted to protest, but every point he made was accurate and rung true in her ears. If her parents were going to put her down and cast doubt on her relationship with the one person who truly loved and looked after her, then (Y/n) didn't need them in her life. She didn't need them upsetting her and causing problems and making waves when they shouldn't.

(Y/n) made a small noise when Evan slid his right hand around from her cheek to cup the back of her neck. The feeling of his fingertips pressing into the back of her neck was acting as a button, about to turn her legs to jelly.

And he moved his left hand, trailing his fingers down her shoulder and along her arm until he suddenly plucked the phone from her hand.

(Y/n) didn't have the nerve or the willpower to ask what Evan was doing, especially not when he brushed his nose against hers and started stroking his thumb along her neck.

She managed to tear her eyes away from studying Evan's features to see what he was doing. She thought he might be writing out a text to her parents, he always had a way of wording things so they sounded sophisticated or in a sense that no one would dare argue with him. But her eyes widened and she clutched her hands on his forearms when she saw what he was doing.

He deleted them.

Cathy's contact number; her dad; her mum, and the house phone. Each one was deleted from her phone and with a click, Evan turned it off and tossed the phone somewhere on the sofa before (Y/n) could protest or reach out to stop him.

Could she really cut all contact with her family?

With Cathy, it wouldn't be so hard. They never really got along and they didn't communicate all that often. Not texting or calling her sister wasn't going to be hard. But (Y/n) tried to keep in touch with her parents, she was often calling her mum to have a chat. She wasn't sure she could just cut them out of her life.

But she had Evan now. He was with her every day. He looked after her, he made sure she was okay and that she worked from home so she wasn't anxious. And if anything ever worried (Y/n), she told Evan and he sorted it without question. He went out with her so she didn't have to leave the apartment alone. He had her Dexcom app on his phone so he could keep track of her health and make sure she was okay. Their phones were connected so if Evan needed to know her location, he could find her and make sure she wasn't in danger.

Evan did everything for (Y/n), she didn't need her parents who only seemed to upset her and cast doubt upon her life.

Whatever protest had been forming in her mind was quenched when Evan's lips were on hers and (Y/n) felt his fingers tightening around the back of her neck so he could pull her closer. He began carefully walking her back and (Y/n)'s numb feet moved of their own will, or maybe of Evan's will, as he guided her backwards until she sank down into the sofa.

He hovered over her, kneeling between her thighs on the edge of the sofa with one hand on her neck and the other gripping the back of the sofa so he didn't press all of his weight down onto her and crush her beneath him.

"It's for the best. I'll never let anyone upset or harm you like that again, I promise."

(Y/n) looped her arms around his neck so she could glue her chest up against his. His promises always made her stomach go fuzzy and had her head spinning in circles. She knew she could always count on Evan, for anything.

"You don't need anyone else but me."

***

"Who's gonna be there?" (Y/n) looped her hands around Evan's arm and pressed herself up into his side like she was trying to make herself disappear.

She meshed her cheek up against his shoulder and tilted her head back so she could look up at Evan properly while he guided them towards the station.

They were having a Christmas Fayre.

From what (Y/n) could gather, this was going to be different from the Christmas party that would be taking place the week leading up to Christmas. Bobby was getting a few probies and new recruits to cover so all the core team could go on for a meal together and then out for drinks afterwards.

The fayre today was for some of the public and most of the other stations to attend. There were a few trinkets on sale, a lot of drinks and food being put out, a table to give donation presents that could be passed out to the public on Christmas. And there would be a raffle too.

A smile formed on Evan's lips as he looked down at his girl, tucked up against his arm like a bird seeking shelter.

"All the team will be here, and probably people from about three other stations nearby. Don't worry, I won't leave you alone with anyone."

Evan wasn't sure exactly who would be here, but he knew a lot of the other station recruits were invited over. Some of whom he would know, and others he probably didn't know more than a mere face he would have bumped into on one or two large call outs.

But he wasn't going to stray from (Y/n)'s side, he had to be next to her at events like these. He had to make sure she didn't get panicked or uncertain or too overwhelmed. And he wanted to keep an eye on her drinks this time. He wasn't having a repeat of her family dinner. Evan knew no one from his station would spike the drinks or make mistakes, but he didn't trust everyone else.

He wasn't taking any risks, not where (Y/n) was concerned.

(Y/n) slowed her steps when they walked into the station. It was lively, and busy. There were lots of tables set up all around the middle of the station since the trucks and the ambulance had been moved out into the car park to be out the way and create more space.

People were filtering about in all directions, music was playing through the speakers and a few decorations had been hung around the beams and rafters and on the stairs.

"Hey, there you are. You both okay?" A grin lit up Eddie's face when he noticed them both and he headed their way.

"We're good, did you bring Chris?" Evan peered around to try and find the kid he thought of as his nephew. He didn't see that mop of familiar brown curls until Eddie pointed in the direction of the raffle table. And there he was, Chris was stood front and centre, going through a few raffle tickets to see if he had won anything new.

"If you want a go, you'd better get in there now before he wins every prize. He's took all my change."

A grin wormed its way onto (Y/n)'s face when she looked between Eddie and his boy. He wasn't annoyed that he had been raided for about ten pound in change, but he was a bit concerned that Chris might come away with almost every prize from that table. He loved things like raffles and bingo and rather than the second hand, boring prizes that they had at the church fayres, there were actually some good Christmas prizes here.

It enticed him more to want to win them all.

And when (Y/n) glanced up at Evan and saw the light in his eyes as he smiled over at Chris, she felt something warming up in her heart and sending adrenaline coursing through her stomach. He loved looking after Chris, sometimes when (Y/n) watched them both interact, it gave her an insight into what Evan would be like if they had a child together. Or more specifically, when they had a child together.

She knew Evan was eager to have a baby, almost as eager as he was to get married as soon as possible. (Y/n) had a feeling it wouldn't be long after they set a date and got married that they would have a baby.

She had been thinking a lot recently and she knew that if they got a bit too eager and somehow (Y/n) got pregnant before the wedding, they might have to bring the date forward. (Y/n) didn't want to be visibly showing when she walked down the aisle.

"You guys want a drink?" Eddie held out the two plastic cups in his hands towards them. He had only just grabbed them from the drinks table, he was fine to go back and fetch another two for him and Chris.

His brows furrowed slightly when (Y/n) shook her head and a nervous expression flooded her face.

"No, thanks." She winced until she felt Evan slide his arm out of her hold so he could loop it around her waist instead.

"We just ate before we came out. Tell Chris I'll beat him when Bobby starts the games."

Eddie nodded, chuckling to himself as he headed towards Chris to see how much he had won and if he had used all of the change yet. There would be a few games going on in a while and Evan had promised Chris the other day that he would join in and go against him in the games. Evan had a love for winning, but when it came to Chris, he was always willing to lose every now and then.

(Y/n) murmured a small 'thank you' into Evan's arm before she turned so her chest was meshed up against his and her arms looped around the back of his neck.

He knew why she declined the drink.

Since the incident at her parent's house three weeks ago, (Y/n) hadn't been out to any social event. She hadn't met up with any of her few friends, she hadn't seen the team in over a month and she hadn't left the house unless Evan went with her.

The incident had undoubtedly set (Y/n)'s social anxiety at a peak and she didn't want to go out and risk any other embarrassing incidents happening. Not to mention she was checking every drink and bit of food she had and Evan was keeping an eye on her Dexcom app to make sure her sugar levels were okay.

She hadn't wanted to leave the house much since that night with Cathy's antics. Staying home had made (Y/n) feel better, she was at ease and when Evan was home with her, he attached himself to her in more ways than one and made her forget why she would ever want to leave the apartment at all.

"I'll grab us a drink in a bit, let's have a look round, hm?" Evan nudged his nose against hers and stole a kiss from her warm lips.

He had told (Y/n) how to stay safe, that it was better to only accept or have drinks that were either from a bottle or a can or which she had seen be made in front of her. That way, no one would have chance to spike her drink or trick her into having alcohol and risk spiking her sugar levels and making her sick.

(Y/n) wasn't going to accept drinks from anyone unless Evan thought it was okay. This was his team, his friends and close family, if he trusted them then so would (Y/n).

His hands moved down to her hips and (Y/n) grinned when he spun her around in his arms and glued his back down against her chest. He merged his lips with the top of her head and squeezed her hips every few seconds while they walked around slowly to take in all the different stalls and activities.

They did a loop around the station, taking a look at different things, chatting with the team when they passed.

After a while, (Y/n) leaned her cheek on Evan's arm which gave him cause to attach his lips to the side of her temple rather than the back of her head. He started murmuring into her skin, pointing out the few people he knew from other stations and saying which station house they came from. But there were a few people around here that he didn't know.

When they approached the drinks table, (Y/n) glanced up at Evan before she took one of the flavoured water bottles. It seemed the safest bet, it wasn't tampered with and wasn't too high in sugar. They had both eaten lunch before they came out and Evan had given (Y/n) her daily insulin injection, she didn't want to unbalance her levels.

Evan opted for the same drink and they floated about the room for a while longer. They moved towards the crafts table where a few young kids were scrawling and scribbling on print out pages of Santa and trees and creating their own elves. After a few minutes, Evan hovered his lips over (Y/n)'s ear, pressing a delicate kiss there before he murmured in her ear.

"Just heading to the bathroom."

His fingers squeezed her hips and when (Y/n) turned her head to look up at him, he stole a sweet kiss that left (Y/n) gasping and her lips following after his touch.

(Y/n) suddenly felt at odds with herself when Evan unravelled from her and drifted off down the corridor near the locker room to head to the toilets. She knew he was only going to be a minute or two, but standing around on her own wasn't something (Y/n) enjoyed.

She didn't know whether to wander off and try and find Hen or Eddie or even Bobby to try and strike up a conversation and be around someone. She knew she couldn't get her phone out and start scrolling, that would make her look very unsociable and people might think she was being rude or stuck up.

She set her water bottle down on the table behind her and started to ring her hands together in front of her to try and rid some of her excess, anxious energy.

Her eyes set on the raffle table and she took a few steps closer to see what was left. There were still quite a few different gifts to be won. She knew Chris had won a craft box, a large chocolate bar, a smelly gift set, and one of his tickets had won him a bottle of wine which Eddie had quickly confiscated.

"I haven't seen you here before."

Her head turned to the left and she watched as a man about her height, probably a few years older than her, walked up beside her. He stood with one hand ticked into his trouser pocket and the other curled around a plastic cup.

He smiled across at (Y/n) and looked her up and down before he glanced around the station. He wasn't one of the 118, he had to be from one of the other stations because he was in the same uniform as Evan always wore when he was on shift. This guy didn't wear the uniform as well as Evan.

The shirt was hanging off this man's frame like it was a little too big; whatever shirt Evan wore, whether it was cotton or button up, he seemed to fill them to the max until he was almost bursting out of them. And it always made (Y/n) smile how he pulled the trousers right up to his tummy rather than resting them over his hips.

"Oh, I- I haven't been to one of these before." It was true. (Y/n) knew the team well as if she were one of them, but she hadn't been to the station very often. And she hadn't been to one of their fayres or parties yet. Although Evan was certain that he was going to be bringing (Y/n) along to all their parties.

"I'm Arthur. Want to go get a drink? I can introduce you to a few people if you like."

If it weren't for how anxious (Y/n) was, Arthur's smile would have been inviting and warming. But (Y/n) wasn't a social person and smiles didn't always calm her down and make her feel relaxed.

And when Arthur stepped closer and rested his hand on her upper arm, (Y/n) didn't know what to do. It felt like she couldn't breathe. Her lungs felt like they were seizing up and horrible pins and needles clawed beneath her skin and rattled down to her feet.

She tried to step back and shrink away from his touch without seeming rude or snotty. She didn't want anyone here to think she was being rude but she didn't want strangers getting close to her and talking to her and reaching out for her. (Y/n) would rather be ignored than be embroiled into conversation like this.

A look of confusion plastered across Evan's face when he walked down the corridor back towards the music and the festivities.

His brows furrowed and his head tilted to one side like his world was spinning off-kilter.

Who was that talking to (Y/n), and why did he have his hand on her?

If Evan didn't know that guy, then there was very little chance that (Y/n) knew him either. She only knew Evan's team, she shouldn't know anybody else here, even Evan didn't know all the other workers from different stations.

Who did that guy think he was? Why was he reaching out and holding onto (Y/n) like he had any right to touch her or like she was his property? She was Evan's partner, his fiancee. Whoever that guy was, he had no claim on (Y/n) and therefore he had no right to be so close to her, especially when Evan had disappeared for less than five minutes. This person had timed it just right to catch (Y/n) when she was alone, Evan didn't like that.

A jolt surged through (Y/n)'s system when she felt a hand on her waist and a stern chest suddenly pushing into her back.

"Wanna remove that arm before I break it?" Evan's voice sounded so casual and innocent that it didn't match with the words he spoke, but the violent look in his eyes was terrifying.

He pushed Arthur's arm with just a little too much force and nudged him back so his he had no choice but to drop his hand from (Y/n)'s arm and step back from her personal space. He hadn't been too close, too intimate or intimidating but he had been close enough to rattle something deep within Evan.

"Take it easy, we're all friends here, I was just making conversation." Arthur held his hands up and narrowed his eyes. The way he angled his head and pursed his lips showed he wasn't too comfortable in this situation. He had no idea who Evan was or why he was suddenly appearing out of nowhere, so rattled and tense.

"Funny. Now back off."

"Hey, I think she can speak for herself and talk to whoever she likes. I haven't done anything wrong here." A spark of courage seemed to roll through Arthur for he stepped closer to (Y/n) to try and prove his point.

The motion made (Y/n) shrink back. The last thing she wanted was to cause a scene or be caught in the middle of this. She stepped to the side until she was almost stood behind Evan who had taken her place, less than a foot away from the other fireman he didn't know.

"Oh really? You go around touching everyone you don't know? I won't tell you again; step away." Evan reached out and gave Arthur's shoulder a rough shove until he was stumbling on his back foot.

Evan didn't care who he thought he was or that he thought he had any rights to come over here and start bothering (Y/n). He couldn't do that. He couldn't walk over here and make her uncomfortable and start touching her the moment Evan walked out the room. He wouldn't stand for that.

He wasn't having anyone coming over and getting too close when she was his girl.

He felt the way (Y/n) curled her hands around his bicep and pressed up into his side. And he felt her whispering his name against his arm. That timid tone did something to flood Evan's system with adrenaline and he spared her a glance. He didn't like the panic he could see plastered across her face.

"Or what?"

Arthur's retaliation made Evan growl and his shoulders hunched up while his hands balled into fists.

He stepped forward, one arm pulled back, ready to send a punch to get the message through to this idiot that he couldn't get away with this. He wouldn't let this guy hustle in and try and get too close to (Y/n) and mess with her. Evan was her partner. He was the one who looked after her and protected her and that included from anyone who tried to get too close to her. Like this guy.

Before Evan could ram his fist into the guy's face and cause a scene, he felt (Y/n) gasping into his other arm. And he shuddered, pausing when Eddie was suddenly stepping in front of him.

There wasn't a lot of space for Eddie to wedge himself between Arthur and his best friend, but he managed it. He clamped his hand around Evan's wrist and lowered his arm before anyone realised that he was about to throw a punch at someone. He might not be on shift, but he could still get reprimanded for this.

Once he lowered his arm, Eddie placed both hands on Evan's shoulders and tilted his head forward, giving him a warning look. He didn't need to do this here, he needed to calm down and go wander around the station for a while. Starting a fight wasn't a good idea, it wouldn't help anyone.

"Hey, hey, Buck now's not the place to start a brawl." Eddie took a deep breath to try and get Evan to copy him and calm down a little. "Come on."

When Evan nodded, Eddie carefully turned him round and started walking him towards the back of the station. a few heads had turned in their direction and one or two murmurs were floating around, but when people started to notice that a fight hadn't taken place and no raised voices could be heard, the tension simmered down. Everyone seemed to go back to what they were doing and paid no attention to Eddie practically pushing Evan towards the locker room.

When Evan muttered "I'm fine," and shrugged Eddie's hands off his shoulders, Eddie nodded with a sigh and stepped to the side.

(Y/n) spared him a relieved, thankful look before she scurried to follow after Evan when he headed towards the side door. He was heading outside. He knew no one would be standing around out there, he could have a few minutes to calm down outside without anyone glancing or watching him or muttering, wondering what that commotion had been about.

Once they were outside, (Y/n) let the door shut behind them. She bound her arms around her middle, digging her fingers into her waist to try and calm herself down and encourage herself to take slow breaths so she didn't start to panic.

She didn't like how tense Evan looked. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, his shoulders were tensed up and his back looked very taut and hunched like he was halfway through evolving into a whole other being.

The way he kept his back to her made (Y/n) wonder if he was angry with her. She hadn't meant to upset him. She hadn't wanted to talk to that guy, he had been the one who approached her and struck up a conversation with her. (Y/n) hadn't encouraged or enticed him in any way.

"Evan?" She wasn't quite sure what to say to him, she couldn't gage how upset he was about this. Whether he was just starting to calm down or whether he was angry with her too and about to blow a fuse.

(Y/n) didn't like it when Evan was angry with her. He hardly ever got annoyed at or with her and they didn't argue often, it was one of the reasons (Y/n) felt they were so great together. They could always agree and sort anything out before it became a problem. But right now, thinking Evan was upset with her, it made (Y/n)'s stomach clench and had her heart suffering palpitations.

When he turned around to face her, (Y/n) couldn't help but take a step back as she winced. He looked fuming. His eyes that were usually so warm and inviting looked angry and violent. His jaw was tense and clicking from side to side and his hands were still balled up into fists at his sides.

"Why did you even talk to him?" Evan huffed the accusation with an air of indignation and a curled upper lip. His expression made (Y/n) feel like she had done something wrong and she could feel tears welling up in her eyes.

"Wh- Evan, he- he approached me, I didn't want to be rude." Her hands knitted together in front of her out of nervous habit.

She hadn't gone over to Arthur, whoever he was and whatever his intentions had been. He was the one who came over to (Y/n) and started up a conversation. It would have made (Y/n) seem like a rude, snotty cow if she point blank ignored him or walked away or told him she didn't want to make polite conversation.

There hadn't been any choice for (Y/n) but to try and have a conversation with him. That was the polite thing to do and it wasn't as if she had gone and flirted with him and he technically hadn't flirted or overstepped the mark with her, so (Y/n) hadn't done anything wrong. She didn't lead him on or encourage him and Evan must realise that.

He had to know how much (Y/n) adored him and that she would never do anything like that. Evan was the one for her, he was the only person she had eyes for and (Y/n) would never do anything to jeopardise that.

"He's not part of our team, I don't know him and neither do you. You shouldn't go around talking to every stranger in the room you know."

The way Evan inclined his head to the side and stared down at her made (Y/n) wince.

It felt like he'd insulted her.

Evan hated the look of hurt pooling within her eyes when she stared up at him and it made something burn within his chest and a tightening sensation to contract around his heart.

But he needed her to understand. If Evan didn't know that guy, then he could have been a snarky or pushy kind of person. He might not have taken no for an answer. If Evan didn't know him, then (Y/n) couldn't trust him. She was an anxious person, she shouldn't be striking up a conversation with a pushy person like that, at least not without Evan there to help and make sure everything was okay.

"He's one of the department, I didn't- I didn't think he would be dangerous o-or it would be unsafe, in a room full of your friends. Baby please-"

"That doesn't count for much when your own sister spiked your drinks. You can't trust anyone except me. I'm the one who looks out for you baby, I'm the only one who can actually take care of you and watch out for you. Who else makes sure you don't get hurt?"

(Y/n) instantly felt bad. Her arms coiled around her waist and she shrunk in on herself as she nodded.

He was right.

Evan was always right. He was the only one who was looking out for her, who properly took care of her and made sure she was safe. He took care of her when she was ill, he looked after her when Cathy had spiked her drinks and when her parents didn't care, at least (Y/n) knew she had Evan in her corner.

He was the only person in her life who (Y/n) could rely on without a doubt; the only person who loved her unconditionally. (Y/n) couldn't trust anybody else and she needed to have Evan by her side if she was going to try and talk to new people in case they turned out to be as conniving as Cathy.

When Evan stepped closer, (Y/n) backed up a little and darted her eyes down to the floor. She didn't want him to get angry with her, she didn't want to upset Evan or make him think she didn't love him as much as he loved her.

She took another step back until she realised she had backed herself up against the wall. And Evan stalked closer until he was towering over her, his head angled down in her direction. His hands were no longer balled up into fists at his sides, instead, he looked a little calmer than before.

"Look how anxious you got, I was gone for two minutes and you're worrying. Baby that says something, it means you should just wait for me when we're out like this. Don't talk to anyone if I'm not there if it'll make you anxious."

Evan had to spin this situation and get (Y/n) to see it through his eyes. How could he protect her if she went talking to strangers when he had his back turned?

He couldn't protect her or keep her safe from everyone else if he wasn't there when she was talking to new people and in different and possibly dangerous situations without him.

It was in (Y/n)'s best interests to be by Evan's side in situations like this. She needed him to be there when she talked to other people, he could look after her that way and if anything seemed off then he could protect (Y/n). And if people tried to take advantage or they turned out to be as deceiving as Cathy, Evan could take control.

He had taken care of Cathy, he was willing to do that to anyone who posed a threat to (Y/n) or his relationship with her.

"I know… I'm sorry." (Y/n) dared to reach her arms up and hook them around Evan's neck so she could pull him down into a hug. She pressed herself up against him, tucking her face into his neck to stop herself from crying. He wasn't angry with her, he was just trying to look out for her.

She smiled into his neck when his hands moved down to hold her hips and he nudged her until her back was pressing into the wall again and she was trapped between him and the wall. The feeling of Evan's lips peppering against the side of her temple made (Y/n) smile and she tightened her arms around him which made him grin.

"I just love you, so much." Each word was murmured softly and quietly into the side of her temple and (Y/n) could physically feel Evan thawing out in front of her.

She tilted her head back and caught him in a kiss, hoping he would feel and sense how much she loved him too. She never wanted Evan to think she was ungrateful or that she didn't appreciate how much he did for her and how he took care of her. (Y/n) knew she couldn't hope to find anyone else half as loving and concerned about her as Evan was.

"I'm the only one who can protect you." His words made her stomach flutter, especially when he pressed down against her, pinning one knee between her thighs while he stole another kiss.

He took each ounce of breath from her lungs and grazed his teeth against her lower lip and tugged until (Y/n) whined into his mouth.

"I know." She whispered, still breathless as Evan barely let his lips move from hers, practically kissing her as she spoke. "You're the only person I trust."

He grinned against her mouth, tightening his hands around her waist until his fingers were almost puncturing through her sides and the weight of his chest pushing down on her was oddly comforting. It was secure, a sensation that told her she was protected and embraced and safe.

And when Evan kissed her so tightly it felt like her lips were starting to bruise, (Y/n) tilted her head back and gave in to the lightheaded feeling he was creating.

Those were just the words he wanted to hear.

[littlemagicalstardust]

November is Diabetes Awareness Month A few years ago during his days in WWE, The Conglomeration's Kyle O'Reilly opened up about having diabetes. Here's what he said: "I’ve never been super candid or vocal about living with type 1 diabetes but since November is Diabetes awareness month I figured it was my responsibility to share some things that may help somebody else. This device on my arm is a continuous glucose monitor and it is basically my life line. I know how hard it can be living with diabetes. Injecting insulin or constantly stabbing your finger to test your blood at what always seems to be the prime inopportune moment. There are so many variables that make living with this disease difficult and every day is a struggle to maintain healthy blood sugars. I’ve been inspired recently by Chris Ruden and Kyle Kondoff two guys who are very comfortable in their skin and are very open about living with type 1 diabetes. I’ve been reminded that nobody has to travel this road on their own and having a support system is critical in diabetes management. Although there is no cure, medical technology continues to advance and having the EversenseCGM become a part of my life has really changed the game for me. I know how self conscious one can be with pump wires hanging out of your shirt or having to draw and inject insulin in the middle of a crowded restaurant, but that’s life. And having this device makes me feel like a cyborg which is cool too. If you or somebody you know struggles with this disease you’ve got someone cheering you on. If you care for a child with diabetes let them know they can achieve anything. Doctors told me a career in pro-wrestling would be impossible. I’m an NXT tag-team champion now. This is a mental grind as much as it is a physical grind and take each day with a new perspective and chance to be better than you were yesterday." As well, from a different interview, if you're curious about how he manages things: "On days where I’m on TV it seems like my insulin doesn’t really work. I think that’s cortisol and stress doing its thing. As soon as I’m done and I can settle back down it works again. Typically before matches I tend to run pretty high, but I think that beats the alternative of having a low. We all know what can happen there. So I have to be a little comfortable being high going into the ring. I might get a little more tired at the time, but I can manage that. As soon as I come back through the curtain, I take insulin."