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macabrebatz · 3 days ago

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CLUELESS

(Mark Hoffman/F!Reader)

Summary: You're a bit oblivious and miss every sign that Mark is hopelessly in love with you

Author’s Note: First time writing about Mark, let’s goooo! Fair warning, I haven’t watched the Saw movies in their entirety in a while. I’m still in the process of rewatching the movies so I’m not sure how in character Mark is here. But I tried, and I think this is sweet. I really enjoyed writing it. Also this is part of a request! @stygianoir requested that I do this same concept with Vincent Sinclair and Charles Lee Ray so they’ll be next.

Warnings/tags: Fluff, no use of y/n, fem reader, you don’t know Mark is Jigsaw’s apprentice, Mark gets sick (kind of), bro’s in love and you have no clue, Mark both hates and loves being in love, literally just 2000 words of Mark yearning hard

Word count: 2.2k

The first time Mark saw you at the bar, he didn’t say anything. Not at first. You had come in and sat at the end of the bar, ordering a drink for yourself. He had watched you from across the bar for almost an hour, unbeknownst to you. He wasn’t having a good day. To be fair, he wouldn’t describe most days as good days. But something in him perked up just a bit when you sat down at the bar.

He was practically a regular in the hole-in-the-wall bar the two of you sat in. He recognized all of the regulars when he would come in and ask for his usual drink. You were a new, fresh face. A pretty face.

He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or his ego but he eventually found himself sauntering over to you, sitting on the stool beside you. He offered to pay for your next drink, which you happily accepted. And before you knew it, you were deep into a conversation with him.

“So you’re investigating that Jigsaw killer they’re talking about? God, I can’t even watch the news without getting a little freaked out. Makes you always want to glance over your shoulder, you know?” you said.

The topic of conversation was sobering for him, for reasons that were beyond you. He couldn’t help but wonder how you’d react knowing his secrets. He wondered if you’d scream. If you’d turn him in to the police (as if he’d let you). But those thoughts were pushed to the side as he watched your face as you spoke.

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about. There’s more of a…pattern to these things,” he said.

And with that said, the conversation shifted to more lighthearted talk. Every time you smiled or laughed, Mark could feel something in him flutter. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but he welcomed it. He wanted to keep feeling whatever you were doing to him.

You kept coming to the bar after that, meeting up with Mark almost like he was a lifelong friend. He could’ve sworn he had never spent this much time just talking to someone before. And he wasn’t complaining, he loved every second of it.

Little did you know, you were driving the man crazy. He’d fall asleep at night thinking of you. Sometimes it felt like he was counting down the days until he’d see you.

A month had passed, and you and Mark had ventured out of the bar for your little get-togethers. The two of you would take walks in the park or sometimes you’d convince him to hang out at the mall.

You didn’t consider these dates. You didn’t think Mark liked you in that way. Another one of your friends had teased you when you told them about Mark. They poked you in your rib and asked when was the next time you were seeing your “boyfriend”. And you had immediately shut that down.

“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s just a friend. He doesn’t like me like that.”

To you, he was a really good friend. A really sweet one at that. And you were happy to be in his presence. You wouldn’t mind Mark liking you. You thought he was handsome and kind. He made you feel safe and sometimes there was a deep longing inside of you that was just calling for him. You often felt like he understood you in ways that others didn’t. But he would never be your boyfriend. You were sure of it. So you pushed those feelings down. You highly doubted Mark liked you the same way you liked him anyway.

But oh, you were so wrong. And you didn’t even know it. Mark may have not been your boyfriend, but he sure wanted to be. The only issue is that you weren’t that receptive to his flirting. A part of him wondered if it was him. Was he really that bad at flirting? Or did you just not find him attractive? He soon came to realize that it wasn’t either reason.

You seemed…clueless. Almost like you had never been flirted with before. He kind of thought it was cute. Mildly frustrating, but cute nonetheless. He just wasn’t sure how to make it clear that he was in love with you besides being extremely blunt about it. Not many things scared Hoffman, but love confessions were a new type of fear he hadn’t even realized he had. So he decided to not think about it, as hard as that was. He was head over heels for you but he was patient. Maybe all you needed was time. Maybe you’d realize that the detective was in love.

Mark had kept himself busy with work. It was the only way to distract himself from you. It didn’t always work though. Sometimes thoughts of you clouded his mind even when he was supposed to be thinking of other things. You had become a distraction. An irresistible one at that. There were a few times where he had tried to tell you how he felt but he could never get out what he wanted to say. No woman had ever made him feel this way. He was never nervous or shy around women. But when you were around he would get a lump in his throat. That fluttery feeling would rise within him and he didn’t know what to make of it.

Months passed and you were still unaware of Mark’s feelings about you. You had grown to consider him your best friend. He was a much-needed presence in your life. Unfortunately, that presence had been absent for several days. You hadn’t heard from Mark for almost a week. It was odd because he often called you every other day, or you would see each other in person. Your calls were going unanswered and when another week passed, you were riddled with worry.

You found yourself at his apartment, knocking on the door. There was no answer.

“Hey, Mark. It’s me. I just wanted to check on you,” you said, knocking once more.

And that did the trick. You heard shuffling on the other side of the door and then it opened. Mark stood there, looking rather exhausted. He was wearing slacks and a light grey button-down shirt, which was open, revealing a white tank top underneath. He didn’t look particularly happy. In fact, there was a bit of a scowl on his face.

Your eyes drifted over him, stopping at his neck. Across his skin was a line of stitches. You reached for him, almost instinctively, tracing the skin near the stitches. His face softened, the scowl fading away. If only you knew what your touch was doing to him.

“What happened? Where have you been?” you asked, quietly.

“Been a bit under the weather lately,” he said, gritting his teeth a bit.

Which wasn’t a lie. He felt like shit. His job and the added factor of being down bad for you wasn’t making matters any better.

“Sick for two weeks?” you asked.

“Mhm.”

“And what about this? Gonna explain it?”

You pressed down on the skin of his neck, which caused him to hiss a bit.

“Work-related accident,” he said.

You moved your hand further up, resting the back of your palm on Mark’s forehead. He was burning up.

“I think you have a fever,” you said, concerned.

“I’ll be fine,” Mark said.

“Can we take your temperature to ease my mind?” you asked, taking your hand off his forehead.

The sudden lack of contact could’ve made Hoffman cry, but you were none the wiser. He huffed and nodded his head. He didn’t like the idea of someone trying to take care of him, but for you, he would make the exception.

“Come in,” he said.

He moved out of the doorframe, letting you walk inside before closing the door.

“I can’t believe you came all this way to check on me,” he said as he sat down on the couch.

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re my friend,” you said.

Hoffman watched you from his place on the couch. Your back was facing away from him as you went through his medicine cabinet. You were familiar with his apartment from your previous visits. You pulled out a thermometer and a bottle of Tylenol almost absentmindedly. It was as if you had lived there for years and something about that drove Mark wild. Thoughts of you living with him flashed in his mind as you made your way to the couch.

“Open,” you said, as you sat down beside Mark.

Mark opened his mouth, letting you place the thermometer under his tongue. After a few seconds, the thermometer beeped and you pulled it out of his mouth, examining the temperature displayed on the tiny screen.

“Jesus, you do have a fever,” you mumbled.

“I’ll be fine,” Mark said.

“Sure, after we break your fever,” you said.

You stood up, going back into the kitchen. You grabbed a glass and filled it with water. You brought it back to him, placing it in his hand. You then too put two Tylenol pills into his other hand. Mark took the medicine and drank down the glass of water.

“It’s just a fever. I’ll be okay,” Mark said.

“I know, I know. I was just worried about you.”

You sat down beside him, placing your hand on his knee.

And there it was. That all too familiar fluttering was back. A part of Mark hated it. He wasn’t a soft man. He didn’t consider himself as such. But something about you made him melt. Every time you smiled. Every time you laughed. Every time you touched him. Moments like this where you showed that you genuinely cared about him. Everything you did seemed to chip away at him. You were molding him into something he didn’t recognize. Yes, a part of him hated it. But another part of him, the part that was swelling with love, welcomed the change with open arms. For you and only for you, he would be the softest man in the world. He needed you to know. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could go without laying his heart out in front of you.

About an hour passed. The two of you were watching TV. Occasionally a little conversation would spark up, but for the most part, the two of you sat quietly together. You had gotten comfortable, your head rested on Mark’s shoulders.

“Thank you,” Mark said, drawing your attention away from the screen.

Your head perked up, attention shifting towards him.

“For what?” you questioned.

“Checking on me. It was sweet of you to do that,” he said quietly.

“You’re welcome.”

You smiled up at him. Mark’s eyes drifted over your face, pausing at your lips for a second.

“I love you.”

It slipped out. He wasn’t sure if it had meant to say it out loud. He was definitely thinking it.

You went still for a moment before shifting in your seat, sitting up straight.

“Um, what did you just say?” you asked. Your voice was quiet, barely above a whisper.

“I love you,” he repeated.

That’s what you thought he had said. Your mouth parted a bit, trying to say something, but nothing would come out. Surely he just meant that in a friendly sense, right? Right?

Mark rested his hand on top of yours as he looked at you. Those beautiful blue eyes felt like they were staring into your soul, and you weren’t entirely sure how to react.

“I love you too. I mean, I don’t know what I would do without a friend like you,” you finally spoke.

“And I’m happy that you consider me a friend. But I love you more than just the friendly type of love,” he said.

“Wait, really?”

You were taken aback. You had gone months thinking this exact scenario was an impossibility. You had shoved your true feelings about Mark to the side for months, but suddenly they were rushing back to you. You were suddenly very hyper-aware of how handsome he was. He had always been so beautiful to you.

“You really are clueless, aren’t you? I hoped you would’ve caught on months ago but you’re really persistent about not noticing when someone is flirting with you,” he said with a laugh.

“I….wait. I-“

His hand went from on top of yours to holding it. Mark figured there was no turning back now.

“I love you. I love you so, so much. I never wanted to be with someone more than I want to be with you,” he said.

Your mind was racing. A million thoughts ran through your head. But those thoughts were silenced when you surprised yourself. You moved as if your body was on autopilot, moving forward and placing a kiss on Mark’s lips.

Mark was shocked. By you, by the sudden feeling of your body pressed against him, by the fact that he had finally told you how he felt.

His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him. The kiss was gentle and soft, much like you, which didn’t surprise Mark at all.

You pulled away, just enough to look him in his eyes. Mark’s heart ached a bit, not wanting the kiss to end. His arms were still wrapped firmly around you as you brought your hands up to his face, tracing over his skin with your thumb.

“I love you too,” you whispered.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, staring into each other’s eyes. Eventually, you found yourself falling asleep in Mark’s arms. He laid awake, holding you. He wanted to hold you until the end of his days.

#macabrebatz’s fanfiction #macabrebatz’s gifs #slashers #horror movie slashers #mark hoffman #horror #slashers x reader #mark hoffman x reader #saw fanfic #saw fanfiction #mark hoffman fanfiction #mark hoffman x you #mark hoffman x fem!reader #fem!reader #no use of y/n #fluff

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puppppppppy · 7 months ago

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learning abt friendship decay and "not reaching out to your friends for months at a time unprompted is not neurotypical behaviour" has me feeling a certain way

#experiencing some BIG FEELINGS OVER THIS REVELATION #listen i have never ever been bothered abt not seeing someone in a while or making time to talk to them bc in my mind its like not thst muc #time has passed. i mean it with every fibre of my being that when im like 'oh its ok even though we havent talked in a while and have our #own things going on it doesnt mean we're not friends anymore since we left things on a good note 8 months ago' i sincerely believe that #and for the longest time i just thought everybody makes peace with it at some point and not automatically assuming the other person doesnt #wanna talk to me anymore or smth. my longest lasting friendships are with ppl who work the same way i just thouhght that was normal #whatever organ everybody has that makes them reach out to their friends and plan hang outs i probably dont have it #i was already hesitant to ask out Alex bc i spend almost every waking hour doing smth that isnt talking to ppl unless they happen to be in #the vicinity. and at first it was bc i planned on making sure i had everything set up so i dont get stressed out and do it one at a time #but then i find out theres a friendship decay mechanic? and after dating and marrying someone you lose -10 friendship points for every #day u dont talk to them?? actually ive probably been losing friendship points this whole time without knowing bc of this?????#and i notice a lot of my own habits are also reflected in how i play bc ive been avoiding getting close to pierre and marnie since its more #of a professional relationship. like i know theyre npcs but im approaching it the way i would in real life its fucking nuts #i think its a little relieving im playing /as/ a character than myself bc as im playing im just making up little interactions in my head #than approaching things the way i would myself so it takes a bit of the stress off trying to put myself in there as a spectator. but well #being in a relationship demands a certain amount of energy even more so when theyre things that already take up energy on its own #like making time to talk to your partner and make sure they know theyre loved. i dont always have energy to put all my mental focus into it #and this is true for real life so im not really bothered by not dating anyone. but when its a game and i want my character to be with someo #and i know its fully optional and i know i could just apply the same logic to this i dont /want/ to. sometimes i want to experience #the same things other people do at least to a certain degree without the same emotional andmental stakes #no offense krobus #yapping #stardew #stardew valley #puppy plays sdv #sdv #this game has me by the ankles man

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scattered-winter · 25 days ago

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made the mistake of reading through the political discussions on my big family groupchat that I usually keep muted. you must never do such a thing.

#like i knew that a lot of them are conservatives or republicans or whatever but man. even the ones who lean left are still well. mormon.#ive been really back and forth on whether or not i should come out to them but tbh. i have started to lean more toward Not.#when i came out as a nonbinary lesbian they all collectively smiled and nodded and then swept it under the rug never to be seen again #and i let them do it bc i was too afraid to try and stand up for myself. and i was conditioned not to also.#but me being trans is a lot harder to ignore. both bc im fucking tired of being treated like a rug and bc i hope to get a legal name change #and surgery and all that good shit.#but i really dont know how to go about doing all that without having to come out Somehow.#i guess i could always just. cut contact or something. but idk im reluctant to do that bc i still rely on my dad for money/insurance/etc #i dunno.#i wouldnt want to cut off my siblings but i dont know if i want to come out to them either.#idk.#im just fucking scared man. like i knew that for the most part my familys politics suck donkey nuts #but it was just really insane reading thru the chat bc even the ones who i had always thought were Safer are. well. not.#theres only 2 people in my family i fully trust and would actually love to come out to and one of them is my gay uncle (<3)#and the other is my aunt who is the ONLY. other person in my ENTIRE extended family. who has left the church.#i barely see her too bc for obvious reasons she dont hang around much. lmao #but idk. im rambling and melancholic its 1130 pm #my problem here is that there are members of my family i do want to come out to #but thatll very quickly lead to Everyone knowing. and i know im not ready for that.#hrhrggh.#maybe ill come out to my brother next time we talk. as a sort of test run.#im already a lot braver than i used to be and hopefully maybe someday ill be brave enough to come out #and then immediately fuck off into the sunset with my friends <3 #sigh.#if im still wanting to come out to my brother by tomorrow when im of sound mind then i think i will.#we'll see how i feel after i sleep. lmao.#winter speaks #personal #we're entering Introspective Hours here at scattered winter dot com

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girl-bateman · 9 months ago

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Feeling a debilitating sense of dread and despair 🤨 Which probably means nothing😍👍

#girl help i cant get out of bed i feel so so awful for no reason at all #literally my soul is gone or something #i have no desires and no joys and no sense of being blessed #which is crazy bc i love life and im so blessed ! usually.#ig i should do something abt it tomorrow if it doesn't get better #alternatively get back into therapy bc tbh... after that horrible sex thing ive felt kinda off #like even after i was able to eat and sleep and function normally without the tremors and head jerks and whatnot #like its not dramatic anymore but i kinda feel drained of life and joy #moments of genuine happiness and fulfillment are ... ? idk. i did feel happy once this week and that was nice but it didnt last obviously #but like ! im not depressed in a depressed way. i take good care of myself and i read my books and eat food and hang out with friends #i just kinda dont recognise myself ig. i mean i know ill get my spark back but maybe i need some professional help #idk !! it kinda feels very silly tho #like ive been in and out of therapy for more than half of my life. and being one year therapy free was a big step for me !#so going back for this little ridiculous freakout feels like a setback #kinda like im making up things to be wrong with me just so that ill have someone to talk to ? or to have attention idk #it doesn't make sense bc i really was proud for getting bettter and i rly dont want to be in therapy anymore #but who knows 🤷‍♀️#there is also this slight risk. just clinically speaking by purely looking at symptoms of certain things. with no stake in the matter! lol #that there might be something bad and [lets not think too hard about it] that lies as a root cause of my little mental breakdown #like according to my sex having friends losing your virginity is awful but not THAT awful and not in THAT way #and my friend kinda said i scared her with how i was acting when i talked to her abt it. like my demeanour and body language and whatever #and i do trust her to know whats normal versus concerning when i dont have my own stable grip of reality #plus. if i was an outside party and applied my psych education on myself. i would say its not looking super good #but i cant really do that bc im not some random patient. im me myself and I 😩✋️ thank you #but whatever. itll be fine. tomorrow will be a better day ! yay !

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zemnarihah · 11 months ago

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my best friend has been very distant w me lately and i asked today if she wanted to hang out and she said she probably couldn't bc it's her brothers birthday but she would let me know if she could and i have her location and i just looked and she's at her boyfriends house rn....

#we have it bc we're roomates so we started sharing locations when we first moved in like in case someone doesn't come home at night or smth #she recently told me that she wants to move out bc she has always wanted to live alone and she can finally afford it. and i asked her #directly like is there an issue because she is so non confrontational so she has never ever mentioned me doing anything that bothers her #and i said please tell me if there's something wrong because it would really suck if there was and i never got a chance to fix it because #you never told me. and she said no it has nothing to do with that i really just feel like it's time for me to live on my own. and a couple #days ago she was like okay i'm next in line for my apartment i'll probably move out in april. and i try to get her to hang out still and #she always has something else going on and i swear every night this week she's been at her boyfriends.#and if i see her around our apartment and try to make conversation at all she's so like short about it and barely responds like will only #give one word answers. i feel like it kind of started when i started dating e but i realized that i was spending less time with her and i #didn't want to be the girl that loses all my friends bc of a boyfriend so i started specifically reaching out to hang out with her and she #says no most of the time and never asks me. like i don't know what else i can do.#i'm like maybe it's bc of her boyfriend? bc they've been on again off again for a long time and previously when they were together it was #really distant with her like i barely saw her EVER. and they were mostly broken up for the past couple years and have been together i think #for a while again... but she knows i don't approve of that relationship and so she would like not say when they were talking again. so maybe #since lately they've been hanging out or dating or WHATEVER she doesn't fucking tell me what's going on with him. maybe that's why.#i literally like try to think of ways it could be my fault and maybe i'm being crazy but i cannot even think to blame myself for more than a #fleeting second bc i'm like. i have ASKED HER directly if there is an issue or something i do that bothers her and she says no. so even if #i'm somehow pissing her off would i ever know to change anything?? i just feel so frustrated bc it's like she's an entirely different person #to me. like this is not the person i know. and i don't know what else i could possibly do like i feel like we need to sit down and have a #conversation about it but what good does that do if she just acts like nothing is wrong. but i don't want to lose my friend i have such a #hard time making friends. i've known her since i was 14 like i can't imagine my life without her. we were the only two in our whole friend #group in high school to get out of the church i still love those other girls but we have so little in common now.

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sunshinesalmon · 2 months ago

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why does everyone act like its weird that i actually enjoy spending time alone

#ss original #my mom is sooooo worried about me after they leave #cause shes like oh but your roommate is gone you’re gonna be all alone and you dont have work for two days what are you gonna do 🥺#uhhh play minecraft? work on my drawing wips? enjoy silence?#like. it has me questioning. am i weird. am i the problem #a lot of people seem to hate being alone but i look forward to it its great #love to just hang out and do whatever i want when i want without having to speak to anybody #its a beautiful thing #everyone like but thats lonely arent you lonely #… no? should i be 💀#it just feels normal #content even #sure i can appreiciate doing stuff with other people #and i occasionally miss friends and family when theyre not around #but when it comes down to it? with a choice? i prefer being alone lol #its just soooo annoying when my mom harps on it #shes a chronic problem fixer #you talk about anything anf if she sees a problem with it she tries to fix it #i constantly have to be like im fine im chillin. i literally love this #and shes like oh but you could text someone.. you could go to an event and meet people… you could invite people over #okay i could. i could also. not do that #and be completely fine. happy even

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leyiorr · 5 months ago

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i can't stop looking at her t-t-t-t, FACE!

mdni.

satoru gojo is doomed.

why is he doomed, you ask? well, put bluntly, you, his girlfriend of five months, are driving him absolutely crazy.

crazy is an understatement, actually. insane, mad, mental, unhinged, deranged, bonkers - whatever you want to call it. he's holding on by a thread; the thinly woven string known as sanity growing ever weaker as the days roll by and turn into weeks.

of course, he's only blaming you. you hadn't actually done anything wrong.

you're the first relationship satoru's had in his life, and he'd be damned if some inappropriate thoughts ruin his chances with the love of his life. he'd never been happier - dating you gave him the kind of happiness he thought only existed in movies; the kind of giddiness of a child in a candy store.

he was devoted to you in every way, shape and form - you are everything he's dreamed of and more.

more.

that's right, you were more.

recently, you were the devil's temptation personified.

surprisingly, even after twenty-odd years of being one of the most attractive guys around, and having women throw themselves at him like he's some kind of greek deity, satoru is a virgin. i'll repeat that, he is a virgin. a fact that only suguru knows. a fact that he's neglected to tell his girlfriend.

he may have a flirtatious personality and the ability to charm ninety percent of the human race with one of his thousand-kilowatt smiles, but in truth, he had never dated anyone. ever. let alone got his dick in a pussy.

so when he starts wanting to go further, he's not sure how to bring it up without sounding like a horndog.

it all started when you wore a sleek black dress to one of your dates. it clung to your figure, fabric wrapping shamelessly around your every curve and tickling your midthigh at its end. and if that wasn't bad enough, it had a plunging neckline, giving the world - satoru specifically - an eyeful of the assets god gifted you with. your boobs were practically spilling out of your dress, the light catching your cleavage as you held his arm. he could feel himself salivating like some sort of perv. how was he supposed to focus with aphrodite's personal creation hanging off his arm?

his eyes began to drift to the flesh of your chest more than he'd like to admit. all sorts of r-rated scenarios ran through his head and he dared to entertain every. single. one. he could do so much with them, tease them, spit on them, pinch them, suck on them, put his dick between them-

“satoru?”

his gaze snaps back to your face at record speed. you notice how he's chewing his bottom lip, flush creeping onto his cheekbones and the tips of his ears. his hands are clammy; there's suddenly too little oxygen in his room.

“did you listen to anything i said?” your arms fold beneath your bosom and satoru almost implodes.

what do you expect him to do? the necklace around your neck has his initial on it, and it hovers over your tits almost mockingly. if it snapped, the letter would fall right between the valley of your breasts-

“satoru!”

he's choking on his saliva, apologizing profusely as he encourages you to continue your story - though he hasn't heard shit over the blood pumping loudly in his ears.

it's a battle no, a war between his rationality and his desires and he doesn't know which is winning. his rationality wins when he's around you - he just sucks in a breath and thugs it out, no matter how much his dick shouts at him. but in private, he's letting the desires win as his fists himself to the thought of you, your lips, your ass; your boobs.

the first time he sees you in a bikini he has to take a breather before he can get into a game of beach volleyball with you and the group.

(and even then he was struggling. every time you jumped for the ball the only thing he was looking at was your tits.)

he should be neutered. effective immediately.

it drags out for so long that you finally notice, and force him to talk to you about why he's avoiding you, and if you'd done anything wrong. but all you get is:

“baby, i'm so sorry- you're so pretty and i can't help myself. i didn't know how to bring up that i wanted to take our relationship to the next step, you mean the world to me and i'd hate to make you uncomfortable-” he trips and stumbles over his words-

“...is that it?”

and his eyes bug out of his head as he stares at you. weeks, months of agony over this and all you have to say is 'is that it'?

he doesn't even have chance to respond; to process your words before you're popping the top button of your blouse.

yeah, satoru gojo is doomed.

#ᯓᡣ𐭩 kiyara.#✎ᝰ.#i was bored once again.#satoru gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo smut #gojo imagine #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut

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rindreamery · 3 months ago

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out of breath, got me going like...

some of the attractive things that the blue lock men do. featuring: itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, michael kaiser, oliver aiku, yukimiya kenyu ─ content: fluff, suggestive

note. yukki debut on my acc ??? do we fw the casual, less poetic writing cuz there was really no way to make this poetic 👩‍🦯 just astronomically down bad writing all around

itoshi rin sends you gym pics without you having to ask.

it initially took a lot of convincing, at first, to get rin to send you a picture. in his eyes, it was embarrassing— the idea of pulling his phone out mid-workout, taking a picture, sending it to you, and then going back to whatever he was doing. his mind would drift off to the weird stares he would probably get from others, and the fact that he also wasn’t exactly known for knowing how to pose to begin with. as much as he loved making you happy, there were just some things he was not willing to do.

it took a lot of begging, and for the first few months, the answer was always, “no.”

the first picture came unexpectedly. your phone was thrown off to the side of the bed, not really anticipating any texts from rin for the next hour or so, given the fact that he was at the gym. so you were surprised when you heard a familiar tune come from your phone— one specifically assigned to his contact. you had no idea why he would be texting you.

you’re absolutely floored at what you see; jaw left hanging and eyes practically bulging out of their sockets, almost dropping the phone.

it's a gym picture. he's doing a normal pose, nothing too special. he’s standing in front of the mirror, one hand shoved into the pocket of his shorts, and the other holding onto his phone. his face was partly covered by his phone, but you could see the blush spread across his cheeks and the tips of his ears. but it wasn’t that that got your attention— no, it was something entirely different.

he was wearing a sleeveless compression shirt, giving you a full view of his arms. they were glistening in sweat and perfectly toned. the arm that was propping his phone up was slightly flexed, from the position it was in, adding to the bulk and definition in his biceps. and you could see the veins traveling up the arm of his hand, the one that was shoved into his pocket, crawling up from the back of his hand to his forearm. the bright overhead lighting, with a combination of the dim background lighting, served to emphasize every line and crevice of his exposed skin.

“this what you wanted?” came a message right after, “i know you’re reading this right now, respond.” you felt weak. he definitely researched how to do this.

words couldn't describe how you felt. so, your immediate response was to send him a flurry of incoherent texts; a mixture of randomly pressed keys and crying emojis. but that’s what feeds his ego— your reactions are what makes smile smugly to himself, covering his lips with his hands as he reads your texts over. he starts to send you gym pictures more consistently after that, patiently waiting for your response after each one. at this point, it’s become a part of his gym routine.

itoshi sae drapes his arm over the back of your seat while reversing.

driving with sae was a true test of control— specifically, yours. it had become increasingly hard to focus whenever he was driving, with every little motion of his body seeming to pull your attention away from the road. he was just so distracting, to the point that you had started offering to drive instead. yet to no avail, because he always insisted on being the driver, furthering your silent suffering in the passenger's seat. but, there was nothing more testing than whenever he was reversing the car.

it’s an internal battle; it takes everything in you not to ogle him so openly. and somehow, you’re losing a battle to yourself.

it’s as if your eyes instantly become magnetized to sae— the way he moves when he rests his arm so casually, yet so securely, on the back of your headrest’s frame. and it doesn’t help that this position gives such a perfect view of him. the way the muscles in his arm ripple and flex ever so slightly, but visibly, under his loose dress shirt. the way his folded sleeves ride up every time, and the exposed part of his forearm constantly taunts you to take a peek. you hate that you suddenly become hyperaware of everything he does in that moment. especially his fingers, and the way they tickle the back of your neck, almost touching you but not quite there.

you have to hold back the subtle shudder that sweeps over your body.

it feels like he’s taking up so much space, demanding you to notice him. the way the scent of his cologne wafts over to you, the bergamot and sandalwood notes of it slowly overwhelming your senses. the faint shift in his posture, emphasizing the subtle stretch of his neck, giving you a view of his collarbones and necklace. and the way his lips curve ever so slightly when he speaks, his voice in a low tone, with his eyes flitting over to you momentarily before they’re back on the road.

it has to be intentional, he has to be aware of what he’s doing. “you’re doing this on purpose,” you mutter under your breath, willing yourself to turn away and look out the window.

“doing what on purpose?” he asks, but the mirth in his tone is evident— you can practically hear the tiny smirk that’s splayed on his lips. you’ve concluded that he’s sick in the head, that he’s playing with you right in your face. “i’m just making sure we don’t get into a crash, you baby.” and you willingly fall for it, every time.

nagi seishiro becomes clingy when it's just the two of you.

laying in your lap, while you’re absorbed in your own hobby, is one of nagi’s favorite pastimes. it keeps him close to you, but allows you both to do your own thing. sometimes, he’d take a nap while you work, one hand loosely holding onto yours in his sleep. other times, he’d play video games on his phone, making sure his volume is turned all the way down to not distract you. but most of the time, he likes to just lay there and admire you, with a barely noticeable smile on his lips.

but he becomes somewhat miffed whenever your hair falls in front of your face, blocking his (initially) flawless view of you. and it annoys him more whenever you don’t push it out of the way.

so, he decided to take it upon himself to move it for you, arm lazily stretched up to reach for you. you barely noticed it at first, so absorbed in the book that you were reading. the sensation of his fingers ghosting over your cheeks doesn’t register in your mind, and his touch is barely there. and then you feel it. his fingers are in your hair, gathering the strands on the back of his hand before he’s brushing it out of the way. it’s so gentle, the way he locks your hair behind your ear, and the way his hand lingers a little longer on your skin after. his fingers then travel from your ear to your jawline, finger lightly tracing the side of your jaw, and it makes you curl in on yourself at the feeling. (it tickles, but also oddly comforting.) and then, he’s pulling his arm back down to reach for your wrist instead, fingers wrapping around it.

your skin is tingling, and the surface of your skin feels warm— taken aback by the sudden act of affection. you glance down at him with a curious look, only to see that he’s already staring attentively at you, and you feel his hold on you tighten. “you know,” you begin, “you could’ve just asked me to do it for you.”

"you always get so lost in whatever you're doing," he mumbles slowly, his voice sounding almost whiney at the fact. his hand, the one firmly holding onto your wrist, is traveling up until it’s wiggling the book out of your hand. (you don’t miss the small furrow of his brows when you jokingly grip onto the book, before giving in and letting it fall to the side.) he takes this chance to intertwine your fingers, his larger hands completely enveloping yours. "i don't mind it, but i hate when i can’t see you."

michael kaiser holds intense eye contact with you when you're talking.

at times, you found it hard to talk to kaiser. he's constantly exuding such an intense confidence, one that's often present in his gaze, that you could never truly hold face-to-face conversations with him. you're always shying away from it, crumbling under the intensity, and he finds twisted pleasure in how flustered it makes you. the way the words always die on the tip of your tongue whenever your eyes meet, when you see that his focus is locked on you

it makes you look away, because it's the only thing you can do to escape it. but kaiser doesn't like it when you're looking away from him— he wants your attention. he wants to see you when you talk excitedly about your day.

he’ll get that attention however way he can. from where you're seated on the couch gives him quick access to you. you can feel his tattooed hand crawling up the skin of your thighs, sliding up slowly, leaving a trail of goosebumps as he goes. he stops short of the hem of your shorts, planting his hand firmly on the spot. he gives it a firm squeeze, fingers digging into the plush of your thighs— trying to get you to cave into him. “why won’t you look at me when you talk?” he’s leaning into you, invading your personal space despite the spacious couch. you can feel his breath on the shell of your ear with each word, “mein liebling, i want to see you when you talk. look at me.”

“you can listen to me talk without needing me to look at you,” you swallow, and his grip tightens ever so slightly at your words.

you're shifting awkwardly, trying to ignore the way your heart beats a little faster at the proximity, at the fact that his voice has started to sound almost pleading. almost— because he would never admit to something as desperate as pleading. it’s hard to focus when he’s this close, when he’s right there. his fingers remain on your thigh, tracing deliberate lines over your skin, and despite the way you're trying to resist, you can feel your resolve crumbling.

it’s not every day that you see someone like kaiser be on the precipice of begging for your attention.

“i promise, i’ll stop teasing you. look—” his other hand is hooking under your chin, coaxing you to look at him. and you do— his eyes, once intense and teasing, now holds a softer and almost guilty looking gaze. “keep talking, yeah?”

oliver aiku likes to loosen his necktie with one hand after a formal event.

neckties are the worst, an opinion oliver will stand by ‘til the end of time. he absolutely despises having to put one on for formal events, and he’ll do his best to charm his way out of having to wear one. it never works, so the second he puts it on, he’s already thinking of the moment he gets to pull it off of himself. he doesn’t think much of it when he does it— one finger looping in the space between his neck and necktie, and he’s pulling at it without care.

but recently, he’s started to notice how intently you’d been staring each time he did it.

oliver’s got a keen-eye; not even the smallest thing can get past him. he drinks in the sight of you when he does it, eyes fixed on you, and taking joy in the fact that you don’t even seem to notice. you’re too busy being fixated on his hand, and the way the vein on his hand becomes prominent when he flexes it to pull, or the way his fingers seem to play around with the fabric. your eyes are so sharp, but somehow so unfocused, all at the same time. he loves how it gets you worked up.

it’s entertaining, so he takes it up a notch.

he drags his fingers, slowly, down to the first button of his shirt. and then he’s unbuttoning it with one hand, putting in extra effort in exposing his collarbones. he can’t fight the grin that makes its way to his lips, at your reaction— your eyes are widening, and he can visibly see you gulp at the sight. and then your eyes are shooting up to meet his, and his grin becomes impossibly wider.

“like what you see?” the teasing and flirtatious lilt in his voice is unmistakable, and you can’t help but draw your eyes back down to where his hand is twirling the tie around his fingers. he makes you tick, but he’s also so attractive, and you hate that he can easily make you blush with his words.

“you wish.” you choose to look away with a scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “it’s gonna take more than that.” that makes him oddly excited, brows raising in mild surprise, and you honestly should’ve known better. it’s like you’re offering up a new challenge to him, and he gladly accepts.

oliver still hates neckties; that’s an opinion that will never change. he still looks forward to the second he gets to pull it off. except now, he gets to play a little game with you while he does it.

yukimiya kenyu keeps a hand on your back at all times, in public.

it’s a habit formed purely from the fact that the streets of shibuya have the tendency to become really crowded, and yukimiya hates it when you get separated from him in such a crowd. he likes it when you’re right by his side— he can keep a close eye on you at all times and protect you from getting pushed around. and originally, it started off with holding your hands. it was fine during the colder seasons, providing the two of you with extra warmth. but you had both quickly realized that it could become quite uncomfortable during summer, making your hands all sweaty and sticky.

so he experimented. he let his arm drop from your shoulders to the small of your back, his palm hovering over your skin, initially unsure of how you would react.

“is this okay?” he would lean down to whisper in your ear, and his voice was so gentle and so concerned about you. even when he was the one getting shoved around by the crowd, with people constantly running into the sides of his shoulders, he was still only thinking about you. you and your comfort. “tell me if this is uncomfortable, and i’ll figure something else out. okay?”

it made you shiver— you felt a heat crawl up your spine, and your stomach was immediately fluttering with butterflies.

you nod, “no, this is okay.” more than okay, actually, but you keep that to yourself. “thank you for asking.” he flashes you one of his pretty smiles, and he leans up to look straight ahead in the crowd again. but this time, his touch is more present— his palm is now firmly planted onto your skin, and he’s actively weaving you through the crowded streets.

whenever someone would get too close to you, or if he anticipates that someone is about to crash into you, his hand would travel to the side of your waist. and yukimiya grips on it, pulling your body flush against his side, effectively pulling you out of the way. “sorry,” he’ll whisper an apology, not having intended to hold you so tightly. his hands will go right back to where they initially were, not without trailing his fingers on the way back, leaving sparks tingling across your skin where he touched. “did i hurt you?”

“no, i’m fine,” you can keep your hand there, you almost tell him. it drives you insane that everything he does is unintentional— but maybe, one day, you'll be able to tell him exactly what you’re thinking.

tags. @choccorin @mininji

#blue lock #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #itoshi rin #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi sae #itoshi sae x reader #nagi seishiro #nagi seishiro x reader #michael kaiser #michael kaiser x reader #oliver aiku #oliver aiku x reader #yukimiya kenyu #yukimiya kenyu x reader

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eclips-moon · 3 months ago

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The Batboys being clingy headcanon:

Including Duke and Bruce <3

Hope you guys like it!

Tim Drake Tim’s clinginess is low-key, but it’s also constant. He’s the type to text you “What’s up? I miss you <3” while you’re just sitting 5 feet away from him. If you so much as stand up to go get a snack, he’s immediately there, like, “Where are you going? Don’t leave me.” He’ll lean against you, his hand finding yours without him even realizing it. When you're watching TV or reading, he’s definitely leaning into your side, trying to get as close as possible without being too obvious. But if you move to shift positions? Nope, he’s following you. He’ll slip his arm around your waist, all like, “Don’t think I didn’t notice that.” He’s not a big PDA guy, but when it’s just the two of you? Prepare for cuddles, hand-holding, and small, random kisses. He’s gotta be touching you constantly.

Jason Todd Jason is obsessive, no doubt. He’s that partner who’ll try to act like he’s tough and independent, but the moment you show him any kind of affection, he’s all over you. Like, you can’t just hug him. No. He’ll climb into your lap and basically trap you there, rubbing his face into your neck like a cat. He’s gonna constantly ask for kisses, too, but not just little pecks—he wants full-on, deep kisses where he can pull you close and remind you that you’re his. If you’re doing something, like, working or even hanging out with friends, he’ll try to drag you away, be like, “Hey, come hang out with me, stop ignoring me for two seconds.” He’s possessive, but in the cutest way, constantly needing your attention. If you even talk to another person for too long, he’ll give them side-eye and pull you back to him like, “You good? You’re not gonna leave me for some random guy, are you?” He’s also the type to cling to you in bed, hogging the covers and curling up like a human koala.

Dick Grayson Dick’s clingy energy is pure gold. He’s the most affectionate of the bunch and doesn’t shy away from public displays of love. He loves hugging you from behind, nuzzling into your neck, and just randomly planting kisses all over your face. He’ll text you “miss you <3” every few hours when you’re apart, and when you’re together? It’s all about touch. He’s sitting on your lap, or leaning on your shoulder, or pulling you into his chest just because he needs to be close to you. If you’re watching a movie, he’s definitely going to have his head in your lap, just to be as close to you as humanly possible. He gets giddy when he gets attention from you, too. You could be playing with his hair, and he’ll melt. He’ll whine like, “I’m not clingy, you’re clingy. But also, I love it. So don’t stop.” Honestly, Dick doesn’t care if he’s acting like a bit of a puppy—he’s obsessed with you, and he makes sure you know it.

Damian Wayne Damian’s clingy moments are hilariously dramatic. He might start out cold, acting like he doesn’t need anyone, but as soon as you show him any affection? He’s all in. He’ll randomly grab your hand and hold it like it’s the most important thing in the world. If you try to walk away from him for whatever reason, he’ll growl and pull you back in, like, “Where are you going? You’re staying right here.” He has this whole vibe of “I don’t need anyone else, just you”, so if you’re talking to someone else or looking away from him for too long, he’ll wrap his arm around your waist and be like, “I don’t think you should be talking to them. They might steal you away from me.” In bed? He’s a hug monster, wrapping his arms around you like he’s never letting you go. He’s all about the intimacy, though—when it’s just the two of you, he’ll be soft and surprisingly vulnerable, making sure you know that he needs you more than he lets on.

Duke Thomas Duke is lowkey super clingy, but in the way that’s goofy and endearing. He loves to follow you around, like, just wherever you go, he’s tagging along. You’re going to the kitchen? He’s there. To grab something from the laundry room? He’s there. If you sit down, he’s sitting on the floor next to you, asking if you want to “cuddle and watch dumb shows together.” He’s always finding excuses to touch you—like, his hand will just casually rest on your knee or he’ll come up behind you and play with your hair. And if you don’t give him attention? He’ll pout, even if he’s trying to play it off, like, “Aren’t you gonna give me a kiss? C’mon, don’t leave me hanging.” He’s the type who’ll give you a silly smile, lean in for a kiss, and then pull you into a full-on hug like, “Don’t go. I’m not done with you yet.” He’s all about the hugs, especially after a long day. You’ll be just chilling, and suddenly he’s like, “Hug time, right? Let me get one.”

Bruce Wayne Now, Bruce is not the type to openly admit he’s clingy. He’s still the stoic, brooding billionaire who’s been through a lot, but when it’s just the two of you? He’s softer than anyone expects. He’ll always make sure you’re physically close—his hand on your lower back, your legs touching when you sit next to him, and if he’s standing near you, his hand will casually rest on your arm. When you’re working late or doing something serious, Bruce will occasionally pull you away for a few minutes just to kiss you or hold you close. He’s not great at asking for attention, but when he’s feeling clingy, he’ll show you through little gestures. You’ll find him just sitting beside you in silence, just content to be in your presence. He’s a man of few words, but when he’s clingy, it’s all about the touch—the way he holds your hand, how he presses his shoulder to yours, and how he’ll insist on driving you home or waiting up for you, just to make sure you’re safe.

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solxamber · 7 days ago

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Labor of Love with: Housewardens

Ways in which they show their devotion through actions.

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle is meticulous.

It’s something you’ve always known, but it hits you harder when you see the neatly organized stack of notes waiting for you on your desk. Every single day, without fail, he goes out of his way to make sure your materials are in order—sections color-coded, key points highlighted, and even definitions written in the margins in his precise, careful handwriting.

You never asked him to do it. He never mentioned it, either. But he does it anyway.

And that realization makes your heart swell.

So, when you walk in and find him seated at your desk, methodically sorting through your latest notes, red pen in hand, you don’t hesitate.

You step forward, wrap your arms around his shoulders from behind, and rest your chin against his head.

Riddle stills. You feel his heartbeat quicken ever so slightly.

Then, slowly, he leans into you.

You press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

His hand tightens around the pen. “…I want to.”

That’s when you know.

You squeeze him just a little tighter. “I love you too, Riddle.”

His ears turn red, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he simply exhales, tilting his head just enough that your cheek rests against his.

And just like that, he continues working, letting you hold him as long as you want.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona hates unnecessary work. Hates anything that requires more energy than necessary.

And yet, when you're around, you never have to lift a damn finger.

You don’t even think about it most days—the way your bag just disappears from your shoulder, the weight suddenly gone as you walk beside him. He never makes a show of it, never announces it. One second, it’s there; the next, it’s slung over his own shoulder like it belongs to him.

Today, though, you notice.

You glance at him, watching the way he strides forward like he’s done nothing at all, green eyes lazy and indifferent. He’s grumbling under his breath about class, about professors, about how this is exactly why he doesn’t bother showing up half the time.

A grin spreads across your face. Without warning, you loop your arms around his and lean into him as you walk, practically hanging off of him.

Leona scoffs. “The hell are you doin’?”

“You’re cute,” you say simply.

His ears twitch. He clicks his tongue, looking away. “Whatever, herbivore.”

But he doesn’t shake you off. And when your fingers intertwine with his, his grip tightens, holding on just a little firmer than before.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul Ashengrotto is, first and foremost, a businessman. A professional. A shark in the waters of commerce, always calculating, always scheming.

And yet, somehow, Mostro Lounge always seems to have a convenient couple’s discount whenever you’re craving something.

Today, it’s that seasonal dessert you offhandedly mentioned a few days ago. Suspiciously, the lounge is now offering a limited-time deal—50% off for couples! Azul, ever the shrewd entrepreneur (liar), insists that it would be financially irresponsible not to take advantage of such an incredible offer.

“We are a couple,” he says, adjusting his glasses with a perfectly straight face. “And our deals are, as always, unmatched. It would be a waste not to dine here.”

You can’t help but smile. He’s so transparent, pretending this wasn’t orchestrated specifically for you. But you don’t call him out on it—you just squeeze his hand a little tighter, warmth spreading through your chest as you sip your drink.

Azul coughs lightly, looking away, but his fingers tighten around yours.

For all his talk of profit, it’s moments like this that prove the truth: when it comes to you, he’d rather give than take.

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim always, always walks you back.

It doesn’t matter if the sky is clear or if the rain is coming down in sheets. If he’s exhausted from a long day or if a million other things are demanding his attention—he will be there, right by your side.

And, of course, he insists on holding hands.

“What if a rogue cat attacks us?” he says earnestly, fingers lacing through yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

It makes no sense. At all. But who are you to question him when he looks at you like that? When his smile is so bright, so genuine, just because you took his hand?

You huff a laugh, squeeze his fingers, and lean in to press a kiss to his cheek. He beams, delighted, and tugs you forward with even more enthusiasm.

You let him lead the way—because, really, how could you not?

Vil Schoenheit

Vil never lets you run on empty.

It doesn’t matter how busy he is, how many rehearsals, photoshoots, or brand meetings he has lined up—he will make time to ensure you’ve eaten properly. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, all balanced, all nutritious, all approved by him.

So when he strides into the lunchroom, posture perfect despite the exhaustion clinging to his frame, you already know what’s coming. He gracefully sets down a container in front of you—a salad, curated to perfection, each ingredient placed with care.

“You need more greens in your diet,” he says, tone firm but eyes softer than usual. “And before you protest, this has everything your body requires for optimal function.”

You don’t protest. You just watch him as he picks at his own food, launching into a detailed explanation of the health benefits of each ingredient. His voice is smooth, poised, but there’s a faint weariness beneath it, the telltale signs of a long morning.

And yet, he still came.

Still made sure you were taken care of.

Your heart clenches, full to the brim with adoration. You lean forward, resting your chin on your hand as you gaze at him, utterly enamored.

Vil pauses mid-sentence, eyes flicking up to meet yours. He exhales, a faint smile curling at the corners of his lips.

“What?” he asks, almost amused.

You just shake your head, spearing a piece of lettuce with your fork. “Nothing,” you say, smile warm. “I just really, really love you.”

He scoffs, cheeks faintly pink. “At least finish your meal before getting sentimental.”

But when you take your first bite, he looks pleased.

Idia Shroud

Idia has his own way of looking out for you.

It’s not grand gestures or flowery words—no, he’s far too awkward for that. But when you’re struggling with a game level, you mysteriously find it cleared the next day, your inventory suddenly stocked with rare loot.

When your gacha pulls are unlucky, an absurd amount of in-game currency finds its way to your account, no explanation given (but you know exactly who’s responsible).

Even when he’s too anxious to come out, Ortho arrives with care packages—snacks, drinks, even a plushie once (“Big Brother said you might need a comfort buff,” Ortho had cheerfully reported).

Right now, you’re sitting on his bed, watching as he games. The glow of his monitors reflects off his hair, his fingers moving quickly over his keyboard. Despite being engrossed, he still glances over at you every so often.

“Are you comfortable?” he mumbles, barely above a whisper.

Your heart clenches. You shift closer, pressing against his side as you smile.

“I really, really love you,” you say softly.

Idia fumbles, missing a crucial input, and his character dies instantly.

“…Y-you just had to say that mid-boss fight,” he groans, hair flaring pink.

You just laugh, leaning into him as he frantically tries to respawn.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus always listens.

You could be rambling about the most mundane thing—a pebble you saw on the side of the road, the weirdly shaped cloud that looked like a potato—and he’d listen like you were reciting sacred text. His emerald eyes stay fixed on you, unwavering, as if every word you speak is precious.

Malleus always makes sure you’re safe, too. If it rains when you’re together, you’ve noticed something peculiar—lightning never strikes near you. Not once. As if the storm itself knows better than to disturb you.

Right now, you’re recounting Grim’s latest kitchen disaster, hands gesturing wildly as you describe the flames, the shrieking, the very near death experience of your breakfast. And there he is, watching, listening, completely enraptured by you like you’re the only thing in the world.

You can’t help yourself. You lean in and kiss him, a quick, impulsive press of your lips against his.

Malleus blinks, surprised, before his expression softens into something warm, something yours.

“…Please continue,” he says, voice gentle.

You laugh, your heart full, and keep talking.

Masterlist

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itneverendshere · 3 months ago

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LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - SEVEN

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of pregnancy, abortion, alcohol, drug consumption.

MASTERLIST

You never spent much time on The Cut, unless you were being dragged by duty, mostly charity events for the local populations, fundraisers for their schools usually.

You always showed up in something tasteful but subtly expensive—pearls, understated Louboutin heels, and a blazer that whispered wealth without screaming it.

Your mother taught you that.

Now, you sat in Poguelandia, doing god knows what.

The name alone sounded like some bad beach-themed party game. But you kept the snark to yourself—mostly. Sarah swore to you this was her new "thing," her big redemption arc, and who were you to judge? It wasn’t where you pictured spending any afternoon, yet there you were.

Pregnant. On The Cut. Drinking—well, holding—a very flat ginger ale out of a plastic cup.

You smoothed your dress for the hundredth time, light linen in a neutral tone that looked effortless but cost more than most people’s rent, while pretending not to notice Pope and Cleo staring like you were a rare bird that had wandered into the wrong habitat.

Were they always this... intense? Did people on this side of the island not know how to look away when someone made eye contact? Your mother’s voice echoed in your head. They’re not staring at you, dear; they’re staring at themselves in relation to you.

Whatever that meant.

To their credit, they weren’t mean about it. Just... curious, as if you’d wandered in from a wildlife documentary called Kooks in the Wild.

You moved your weight around in your seat, hyper-aware of every grain of sand sticking to your hérmes sandals. Every time you shifted, you felt the grains grinding between the straps and your skin.

Should’ve worn the espadrilles, you thought ruefully, but even then, this wasn’t the world’s most glamorous venue. Sarah had begged you to stop by, though, and you owed her. It was also good for you to leave the house instead of being cupped up inside all alone.

“Okay, seriously, what’s with the staring? Do I have something on my face? Is my makeup smudged? Be honest.”

Cleo snorted. “No, you’re fine, princess. We’re just surprised to see you.”

You were still holding your sad little plastic cup. “Just thought I’d participate in—whatever this is.” You gestured vaguely at the mismatched chairs and string lights that looked like they’d been stolen from someone’s backyard wedding. “Community service?”

It was supposed to come off as witty. You weren’t sure it did.

Pope choked on his drink—sweet tea? soda?—and Cleo chuckled outright. “You’re funny,” she said, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if she meant it.

“Thanks?” It came out like a question, and you wanted to die just a little bit inside.

Pope grinned, leaning forward with a chip in his hand. “You don’t seem like the kind of person who hangs out in The Cut, that’s all.”

You blinked, feigning shock. “You don’t think I spend my weekends in—what is this, a glorified surf shack? I’m crushed.”

Cleo laughed again, which—fine—made you feel a little better.

“Nah, it’s just... you’re different up close. Not like, scary kook different. Just human. Y’know?”

“Great. That’s exactly what I was going for today.”

Pope gestured to the bar. “You want a snack? Chips? Cookies? We have...three options.”

You straightened, eyes narrowing like a hawk zeroing in on prey.

Food. Your stomach growled loudly, as if it had been cued by a stage director. “What kind of cookies?”

He blinked, not expecting you to care. “Uh... chocolate chip? Maybe oatmeal raisin?”

“And the chips?” You pressed, leaning forward now.

“Salt and vinegar,” Cleo piped up, eyeing you curiously. “Barbecue too, I think. Why?”

“Okay, shit, great.” You clapped your hands together decisively. “I’ll have all of it. All the chips, both kinds of cookies. Do you have anything else? Pretzels? Popcorn? Random condiments? I’m not picky.”

Cleo stared at you, her mouth slightly open. “Everything?”

“Yes, everything. Is that a problem?”

She blinked, her eyes darting to Pope like he had an explanation. He shrugged helplessly.

“Woman” she muttered under her breath. “Did you not eat for a week, or...?”

The salt and vinegar chips were divine, borderline transcendent, as you shoved another handful into your mouth. The truth was, you weren’t just hungry—you were still terrified. Every bite, every easy conversation with other people that weren’t Sarah, was a game of jenga to you. One wrong move, one offhand comment, and your secret could be out in the open.

Six more days until this would all be... over. Until the secret growing inside you—the one you’d barely admitted to yourself most mornings—would be gone.

The past three days had been the best you’d felt in ages, cravings and all, thanks to Sarah. She’d slept over, stayed up late talking with you, making you laugh, distracting you from the endless pit what-ifs and why-mes.

It was the longest you’d gone without crying in three months. The longest you’d lived without feeling like you could suffocate at any given moment. With her help, it had been easier to forget—to pretend that things were still okay.

But Sarah wasn’t there, she’d left earlier with John B, something about helping him with a tour.

“You good, princess?” Cleo’s voice cut through your thoughts.

You blinked at her, realizing you’d been crushing the chip bag in your hands like a stress ball. “What? Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You look like you’re about to fight that bag of chips,” Pope said, grinning.

You forced a laugh, leaning back and tossing the bag onto the table. “No fighting. Just... intense snacking."

You reached for the chocolate chip cookies he had offered earlier, focusing on the sweetness, the comfort of food that tasted good for once. Sweet, crumbly, safe. If only the rest of you life felt like that.

Pope and Cleo knew something was up, they all did, probably.

Sarah had been glued to your side, and it wasn’t exactly subtle.

Her sudden move to “stay over” at your place had obviously raised eyebrows, especially since you two hadn’t had a proper conversation in months before all this. And there was the beach clean-up, Kie and JJ had been there when you felt ill, and while you’d been too disoriented to keep up with the cover story once Rafe drove you away, Sarah had stepped in later to handle it.

Heat exhaustion. Overworked. Totally fine.

Still, to your relief, neither Pope nor Cleo seemed inclined to pry, perhaps it was pity, or maybe they were just decent enough to let you keep the little shred of privacy you had left. Either way, you were grateful.

“So,” Pope said, leaning back on his elbows and flashing you an easy grin, “How are you finding our place? I mean, other than our fine selection of snacks.”

You swallowed a bite of cookie, forcing a smile. “It’s...charming. Rustic. A real je ne sais quoi vibe.” You waved your hand vaguely, trying to mimic the way your mother used to describe terrible restaurants we’d never go back to.

Cleo snorted. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

“It’s cute,” You offered, looking around, “I can tell you guys put your heart into it.”

Pope smirked, lifting a brow. "That's nice of you to say."

You gave a small shrug, feigning nonchalance, but you meant it.

For all the mismatched chairs and questionable decoration, there was something undeniably warm about the place. You weren't used to that—spaces filled with love instead of decorators and florists, it wasn’t bad. Just different.

“I mean it,” you said, brushing crumbs from your lap. “It’s very authentic. ‘Pogue Chic’ or something.”

Cleo laughed, loud and genuine, her grin lighting up her face. “Pogue Chic?"

Pope chimed in, “Hey, don’t knock it. We’re trendsetters. Ahead of its time.”

You smiled, but your mind was already falling back to the sand clinging to your dress and the ginger ale that tasted like disappointment. You’d never say it out loud, but you admired them, that ability to make joy out of scraps. It was something you didn’t quite know how to do. Not yet, anyway.

Cleo leaned forward, her elbows resting on the makeshift table. “So, are we going to see you around more? Or is this just a one-time royal visit?”

You hesitated, twirling the rim of your cup between your fingers. “I don’t know. Maybe. If Sarah keeps dragging me here, I guess I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice.”

You didn't know if it was the way he said it, the tone he used, or just your hormones fucking you up, but suddenly there were tears in your eye sockets. You blinked rapidly, tilting your head back slightly and praying that the tears stayed put.

These kids, all of them, sitting here like they hadn’t spent their lives scraping by, like they hadn’t been hurt or abandoned or let down a hundred times over by people they loved and trusted. Yet somehow, they were still full of hope, full of life.

You envied that.

You wished you could bottle it, whatever it was that kept them laughing and fighting and welcoming someone like you—a result of privilege and mistakes and heartbreak—into their home. It was humbling in a way that made your chest hurt.

“Does that mean I can choose to order better snacks next time? Maybe some sparkling water? Flat ginger ale is a crime against humanity.”

Cleo snorted, still not fooled by your deflection, but she let it slide.

“Good luck with that, princess. Our snack budget’s about three bucks and whatever we can steal from Kie’s pantry.”

Pope chuckled, tossing a chip in his mouth. “And you’re welcome to contribute if you’re so concerned about the menu.”

It surprised you, how easy it was to talk to them.

On paper, you had nothing in common. They were younger, grew up in a completely different world, and you were used to the polished conversations of country club luncheons and charity galas.

Here, things were different.

They didn’t seem to care if you stumbled over your words, if your jokes were awkward or if you occasionally sounded like a walking trust fund catalog. They didn’t care about your last name, your family’s money, or any other things that had weighed you down for years.

That was disarming.

You’d spent your entire life around people who mirrored your upbringing—kids who summered in the Hamptons or Barbados, adults who measured their worth in stock portfolios and vacation homes. Now, you were here, in this cobbled-together haven with salt-stained cushions, sitting with people who’d grown up struggling for things you took for granted.

You thought it would feel more awkward or forced, but it didn’t.

It was easy.

Pope sat on the counter, gesturing with a half-eaten chip. “Serious question. How do you even survive on Figure Eight? Do they hand you iced lattes and designer handbags when you’re born, or do you have to work your way up to that?”

You raised a brow, smirking. “Oh, absolutely. The moment you’re born, they issue you a monogrammed diaper bag and a gold-plated pacifier. It’s very exclusive.”

Cleo nearly choked on her drink. “See, this is why we can’t take you seriously.”

Your phone buzzed on the table, lighting up with your cousins name, interrupting the fun. You sighed, rolling your eyes before picking it up. “Yes, Top?”

Topper’s slightly whiny tone spilled into your ear. “Can you believe Mom’s threatening to rent out the beach house for the summer? Actual strangers, staying there. What’s next? Turning it into a hostel?”

“Tragic,” you deadpanned, resting your chin in your hand. “Truly, a devastating blow for humanity.”

Pope fake-coughed, mumbling “white rich privilege problems,” while Cleo mouthed, “Hostel!” and shook her head, laughing silently.

“I know. Anyway, I’m coming over later.”

“Where’s your invitation?”

You heard him scoffing, “I’m family, I don’t need one.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “Top, you can’t just announce you’re coming over. I might have plans.”

“Yeah, and I’m your family, so those plans now include me,” Topper said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. “Besides, I’ll bring food.”

Across from you, Pope was already gagging dramatically, holding his stomach as if the mere sound of Topper’s voice made him physically ill.

“I don’t know if—”

“See you at noon,” he interrupted. “Later!”

The call ended before you could even argue, and you set your phone down with a resigned sigh.

“Looks like I’m hosting a one-man Topper pity party,” you said, crossing your arms and slumping back in your chair.

Pope clutched his chest. “Will you survive?”

You only left once the sun dipped lower into the horizon, you gathered your things promising Sarah you’d drive safely and talk to her tomorrow.

Cleo, Pope and John B were mid-argument about the best way to fix something in the shack. You felt lighter than you had in weeks.

With a few more quips exchanged and goodbyes said, you walked back to your car. That night, the ache in your chest wasn’t completly unbearable. You weren’t okay, but you weren’t drowning, either.

You’d been terrified of this afternoon all day, worried you’d stick out like a sore thumb or say the wrong thing.

But the Pogues hadn’t cared about your awkwardness, your polished self, or even the giant invisible cloud you carried everywhere these days. They let you just be.

The drive home was quiet, but this time you even hummed along to a song on the radio, which was strange because you couldn’t remember the last time you cared about music or even turning on that thing. When you pulled into the driveway and stepped into your house, it didn’t feel as cold and empty as it did last week.

You set your bag down on the entryway table and kick off your sandals, the floors cool beneath your feet. Heading to the kitchen, you decided to see if there was anything decent for tonight’s impromptu early dinner with Topper. The fridge greeted you with a sad bag of lettuce, half a bottle of sparkling water, and a single container of leftover pasta you weren’t sure was still edible.

“Great,” you muttered, closing the door and moving to the pantry.

The situation there wasn’t much better. Sarah’s latest health-kick contributions—a bag of chia seeds and some organic trail mix—laughed at you from the top shelf. You frowned, pushing them aside to reveal a dusty box of crackers and a jar of Nutella.

“Guess we’re going shopping tomorrow,” you murmured, grabbing the crackers and Nutella to snack on now.

You placed them on the counter and glanced around. The sink held a few dishes from earlier —a couple of coffee mugs, a bowl, a plate.

You sighed, rolling up your sleeves, might as well get this out of the way.

Normally, you’d have had someone else to take care of this—stocking the pantry, cleaning the dishes, even deciding on the menu for your lunches. But lately, you’d been scaling back. You hadn’t let anyone go, of course. You could never do that; the staff had been with your family for years, and many of them felt more like extended family than employees. Still, you’d quietly rearranged their schedules, giving them more time off.

They didn’t question it—probably thought it was some new phase, another eccentricity of a bored, privileged young woman.

Truth was, you liked doing these things.

Focusing on something small, tangible, gave your brain a break from drilling itself into a million dark corners. Folding laundry, washing dishes, even the routine of chopping vegetables—it kept your hands busy and your thoughts manageable enough. It wasn’t that you’d suddenly become a domestic goddess or anything. Most of the time, you’d forget to pick up groceries or burn whatever you tried to cook.

It wasn’t about being good at it. It was about doing something.

You looked around the kitchen, noting the little imperfections you wouldn’t have noticed before. A small water stain on the counter from where your glass had sat too long, the scuff marks on the cabinets where your chair scraped when you leaned back. They weren’t problems to be fixed—they were just signs of life.

And right now at that very moment, life felt…okay.

The house didn’t seem as cold or empty when you were doing things for yourself, even if it was mundane work. You finish up wiping down the counters, glance at the time—definitely cutting it close—and head toward the dining room to tidy up a bit.

Topper was not the type to notice if the place is spotless, but you always liked things to look... presentable, yourself included.

You heard the doorbell ring in the distance, he was early as usual, probably checking his watch just to make sure he wasn't a second late.

"Of course he’s early," you muttered to yourself, a little smirk pulling at your lips.

You walked towards the front door, ready to greet him, but when you opened it, your eyes immediately locked onto the large takeout bag in his hand. It smelled... amazing.

Topper grinned at you, an exaggerated flourish as he held up the bag.

“Guess what I brought?”

“You brought... Korean chicken wings? Really?”

“Hell yeah, I did!” He stepped inside, completely ignoring any formalities and heading straight toward the kitchen, “They just opened.”

He placed the bag on the counter with the confidence of a man who knew he’s just won “Best Dinner Host” without even trying. You peeked inside, the crispy wings drenched in a glossy, sweet-spicy sauce that looked downright delicious.

Topper laughed and took a seat, pulling out the wings, not even bothering with plates. “You’re welcome.”

You rolled your eyes but sat next to him, picking up a wing, the heat of it still making your fingers tingle. The crispy exterior cracked open with a satisfying crunch as you bit into it. It was everything you'd hoped for—tangy, spicy, perfectly cooked. You nearly moaned in pleasure, not even caring that your cousin was watching you with that cocky grin on his face.

“You look like you’ve seen the light,” He teased, leaning back in his chair as he grabbed a wing of his own.

“I mean,” you said, savoring another bite, “this might make up for you barging in uninvited.”

“Barging?” He clutched his chest dramatically, mock offense radiating from every inch of him. “I'm saving you from a night of sad dinners, and this is the thanks I get?”

You gave him a pointed look, but the corner of your mouth tugged upward despite yourself.

“Fine. Thank you, Topper. You’re the hero of the day. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” he said, grinning as he reached for another wing. “What’s new? Still slumming it with my ex and the Pogues?”

“First of all,” you said, wiping your fingers on a napkin, “slumming it implies I’m suffering, which I’m not. And second, Sarah’s not a pogue. She’s pogue-adjacent.”

“Pogue-adjacent?” He snorted. “You’ve been spending too much time over there.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” you shot back. “You basically live at Kildare Brewing these days. That’s like, one pogue away from full assimilation.”

He opened his mouth to argue but then stopped, realizing you had a point. “Okay, fair. But only because they have good beer."

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you should even bring it up, but curiosity got the better of you. You hadn’t heard about her in a while, and you knew by experience, that was never a good thing.

“So... Ruthie,” you started, watching him over the rim of your glass as you took a sip.

Topper paused mid-chew, looking up at you like he wasn’t sure he wanted to have this conversation. “What about her?”

“I mean, you two are still together, aren’t you?”

He wiped his hands on a napkin. “We’re… not talking right now.”

You tried not to look pleased, but a rush of vindication bloomed in your chest. You'd grown to hate her, plain and simple. Her recent proximity to your cousin had always baffled you. He wasn’t perfect, but surely, he could do better.

“I’m surprised.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, reaching for another wing. But then he stopped, like whatever he was thinking was messing with his head.

“What happened?” You asked, trying to sound more curious, concerned, than nosy.

You weren’t sure if he’d tell you, but the look on his face made it clear something big had gone down.

He hesitated, debating whether to answer. Finally, he sighed. “She... started a rumor about you.”

Your head jerked back in surprise. “About me?”

“Yeah,” he grimaced like he’d swallowed something sour. “She said you passed out at the beach cleanup and decided to spread some bullshit about you doing drugs.”

You just stared at him. “She what?”

You weren’t sure why you were so surprised.

You knew what she was capable better than anyone, especially when she was bored out of her mind.

“I didn’t believe it,” he added quickly, his tone defensive, as if that made it better. “I told her to shut the fuck up about it, but you know how she is. She thought it was funny.”

“Funny?” Your voice was sharp now, “She thought it was funny to spread lies about me? About drugs? What the fuck?”

“Yeah, it’s so messed up. That’s why I’m not talking to her. I told her if she couldn’t act like a fucking decent human being, we were done.”

You blinked, stunned.

You weren’t sure what shocked you more—the fact that Ruthie had stooped so low or that Topper had finally stood up to her. You shook your head, biting back another nasty comment about how awful she was. You’d been saying it for months, and he hadn’t listened.

No point in beating a dead horse now.

“It’s about time you saw what she’s really like. She’s really bad fuckin’ news, Top. Always has been.”

He gave a low grunt, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the counter. “Yeah. Took me long enough, huh?”

You didn’t answer, just raised an eyebrow and sipped your water.

“She’s always been weird about Sarah,” Topper muttered, almost to himself. “Even when we were together, she’d find these ways to dig at her. Like that one time at Midsummers—”

“—When she ‘accidentally’ spilled her drink on Sarah’s dress,” you finished, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, I remember. She’s always had this thing about trying to one-up her. Honestly, it’s so pathetic. But you never listen to me, so.”

“Okay, ouch.” He threw a crumpled napkin at you, which you easily dodged. “I listen to you sometimes.”

“Do you, though?” You gave him a pointed look.

“Yeah, I do!” Topper protested, though the whine in his voice made him sound more like the teenager he used to be, back when he’d follow you around during family holidays like a puppy. “Just… selectively.”

“Selective listening isn’t listening, dumbass. You’re just proving my point.”

He narrowed his eyes at you but didn’t answer, reaching for another wing instead. He took a bite, chewing dramatically, as if the exaggerated crunch would somehow end the conversation.

“Look, I’ve been saying for months that Ruthie’s bad news. Since she showed up at last year’s Christmas party wearing a dress identical to Sarah’s, just in a different color. You thought that was a coincidence?”

Topper groaned, dropping the wing. “Okay, fine, you’re right. Are you happy now? Can you stop rubbing it in?”

You grinned, propping your chin on your hand.

“Oh, I could. But what kind of older cousin would I be if I didn’t remind you how often you’re wrong?”

“You’re not that much older than me.”

You shrugged. “Old enough to know better than to date someone that awful.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a genius. I get it.” He looked over at you again, his gaze softer, this time, “But seriously, you’ve been off lately. If there’s something going on, you can tell me, y’know? We’re family, even if I don’t listen to you half the time,” he added with a small smile, though his eyes were searching, hoping you’d let him in.

It would be so easy to tell him the truth—that you were pregnant, scheduled for an abortion in six days, and drowning in uncertainty and dread.

But he was still Rafe’s best friend, and the risk of this ever reaching him was too high. Instead, you forced a lightness into your voice.

“Nothing I can’t handle. And right now, I desperately need the bathroom.”

He looked at you skeptically, not fooled for a second.

“You’re really okay?” he pressed, his voice dropping to a level that told you he wasn’t going to let this go easily, "I texted and called before, you didn't answer. Thought you were resting from the scare."

You’d been having such a calm, easy time with Sarah, you almost forgot about everything else. The thought of picking up the phone, letting all that anxiety and worry back in, just wasn’t appealing—so you’d ignored his calls, but not on purpose. You were doing him a favor.

You plastered on a smile and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder as you passed. “I promise, I’m fine. Just felt a little light-headed and needed some peace."

His eyes narrowed slightly, unconvinced. “That’s all?”

You forced a giggle, hoping it would sound more genuine than it felt. “Yes, Dr. Thornton. Just needed to eat more or drink water or whatever the fuck it is you’re always telling me to do.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, crossing his arms, watching you closely. “Because you’ve never just fainted before.”

“I guess there’s a first time for everything. Besides, don’t you think I’d tell you if something serious was wrong?”

It took everything to maintain eye contact, your stomach twisting at the lie. He was family, and you wanted to trust him, to let him help you. But you couldn’t. He hadn’t even told you about Rafe and Sofia until you found out by yourself.

Topper tilted his head, considering you, then sighed and gave a reluctant nod. “Alright, fine.”

“Okay, if you’re done being weird,” You pushed back from the counter, grabbing your glass. “I gotta pee,” you announced casually, as if this was the most normal interjection in the world. The wings were good, but running away was tempting. And also, the pregnancy had made your bladder a ticking time bomb, and you really didn’t want to risk any accidents. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

You offered him one last smile, hoping it was convincing enough. He whined some sarcastic comment about your water consumption as you hurried away, but you barely heard him.

All you thought about was the blessed relief that awaited on the other side of that door.

You didn’t usually spend this much time with Top nowadays—your own tendency to avoid “close” family drama—but tonight had been oddly… nice.

Even if you wanted to wrap your hands around his neck half the time. Even if you hated lying to him. If he’d just pushed a little harder, maybe you would’ve folded, let it all spill right there in the kitchen.

Every time you thought you’d come to a decision, another doubt would take over you, leaving you back at square one. You knew what you wanted, so why was this so hard?

Topper had looked at you with such genuine concern back there. The “if you need me, I’m here” sentiment was the same one you’d grown up with, the kind of care only a cousin, practically a sibling, could have.

This was hard.

When you came back into the kitchen after taking your sweet time in the bathroom you immediately noticed something was off.

Topper was by the counter, staring at the half-eaten pile of wings by the table like they’d personally offended him. He looked paler, too—almost like he’d seen a ghost.

“Uh…” You stopped mid-step, furrowing your brow. “What’s with the stupid face? Did the wings betray you or something?”

He jolted slightly, as if he hadn’t even heard you come in. “What? No. No, the wings are fine. Great. Amazing, even.”

“Okay…” You gave him a skeptical look, setting your glass down and crossing your arms.

Topper laughed, but it was this oddly nervous, stilted sound. He glanced at his phone, tapping the screen for no real reason, then shoved it into his pocket.

“You know what, though? I totally forgot—I have something planned. Like, super important. In about… ten minutes.”

You stared at him, unimpressed. “You forgot you had plans? Sounds fake, but okay.”

“So unlike me!” He got up from his chair with such sudden energy that it made you take a step back. “Anyway, I should really get going. Don’t want to be late. Uh, thanks for… hanging out. And for, uh, letting me use your wings as a form of therapy. Yeah. Later!”

And with that, he was sprinting for the door.

“Topper!” you called after him, confused and mildly annoyed. “What the hell is going on? You’re acting fuckin’ weird!”

“Nope, not weird! Just busy!” he shot back over his shoulder, not even looking at you as he opened the door.

You didn’t have time to yell at him before he disappeared out the door, the sound of his Jeep starting up echoing from the driveway a moment later. You stood there bewildered, staring at the now-empty doorway.

Something was definitely up. He was many things—dramatic, stubborn, occasionally insufferable—but shifty wasn’t usually one of them.

You went back to the kitchen, glancing at the counter, ready to brush off his weird exit as just another of his dramatics, when your eyes landed on a random envelope— the one you’d been using to scribble down everything lately.

Extra small grocery lists, reminders, and, unfortunately, the number for the abortion clinic.

Rafe’s fingers curled loosely around the tumbler of bourbon, eyes set on nothing in particular. The lunch rush was winding down, country club regulars filing out.

He’d been there for over an hour—first, the meeting, listening to those finance guys ramble on about numbers, projections, all that bullshit he usually liked to hear.

He’d faked his interest well enough, but his mind had been miles away. Mostly thinking about you. And the company, of course, because that was his priority right now. Or, it should be.

The whole thing with you, three days ago, it was a slow-mind-burning headache he couldn’t ignore, even if he wanted to. And he had wanted to, tried to, in fact.

He took another slow sip, hardly tasting the bourbon. Across the room, Sofia was working between tables, balancing trays and forcing her best country club smile.

All he saw when he looked at her was you, it only made him force down another swallow, running his thumb over the rim of the glass, mind somewhere between the company projections and the mess he’d made of things with you.

It was ridiculous that you were still in his head. He should be thinking about that deal, about locking down his place in the Cameron empire.

Rafe pushed the glass aside, signaling for the check when something caught his ear—a conversation from a nearby table.

“Yeah, she actually passed out the other day. Pathetic.” The voice was loud, sneering.

A dude’s voice followed, fake sympathy dripping from his tone. “I heard she was a fuckin’ mess after the whole breakup.”

“Oh, totally.” A different girl laughed, high-pitched and cruel. “She’s probably on something. Can you blame her? I’d be desperate too if he dumped me.”

It didn’t take a fucking genius to know who they were talking about. Small town and all, of course, things got around, mostly turning into half-truths and petty rumors.

He stopped all his movements, jaw clenching. His fingers tightened around the edge of the table, the only thing keeping him from breaking something, preferably bones.

They were talking about you.

About some made-up version of you, the fact that these spoiled, airheaded brats thought they could shit talk about you like that, rip you apart for fun just because you weren’t there to defend yourself made him sick.

He pushed his chair back and stood, crossing the room with long strides. He didn’t care about the eyes following him as he walked up to their table, the laughter stopping the moment they looked up and saw the look on his face.

“What did you just say?”

The girl who’d been laughing, a petite brunette with too much makeup and a self-satisfied smirk, blinked up at him, her smile faltering.

“Oh, Rafe! We didn’t see you there. We were just…joking around,” she stammered, trying to backpedal.

“Joking?” He laughed, the sound making them flinch. “That what you call it? Spreading some bullshit rumor because it’s all your pathetic little lives have to offer?”

The brunette’s face went red. “I mean, we all heard about it. I’m just saying what everyone’s already thinking—”

His fists clenched and his patience, already thin, snapped the second he heard the guy—one of those trust fund preps with an overdone tan and a too-tight polo—chime in.

“Oh, come on, dude,” the guy smirked, leaning back in his chair, feigning nonchalance. “It’s not like she’s worth all that trouble, is she?”

His entire body went rigid, and before he registered it, he was leaning down, letting them feel the weight of his glare.

“Say that shit again,” Rafe taunted him, something almost amused twisting at the edge of his mouth, daring him to keep talking. “I’d love to hear you repeat yourself.”

“Relax, man—”

He didn’t even let him finish, eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a near whisper, more dangerous than shouting ever could be.

“You think it’s funny? Talking about someone who’s not even here to defend herself?”

The guy’s face paled, and Rafe swore he was seconds away from landing a punch, from wiping that smug grin off his face. Just as he prepared his fist, ready to make good on his threat, he felt a hand on his arm, a small, insistent tug.

“Rafe,” a soft voice hissed. Sofia. He barely glanced at her, shrugging off her grip.

“Don’t,” he snapped, his voice sharp, dismissive.

He kept his eyes on the guy, who looked more uncomfortable by the second, squirming in his seat.

Sofia’s hand still hovering near his arm, cautious now. “Rafe, come on, this isn’t worth it. You’re better than this.”

She looked scared. Scared of him, scared of the situation. He wasn’t better than this.

He’d never been, and he’d been good enough at lying and pretending for her even to think that.

You would’ve known better.

Fuck, you wouldn’t have wasted time talking.

You would’ve yanked him back by his collar, shoved yourself between him and the guy, shot him that warning glare, daring him to keep pushing you so you’d have to drag him out by force. You always knew when he’d get like this, that edge in his voice, that look in his eye that told you he was seconds away from snapping. You knew better than anyone how to pull him back when he hit that switch.

But you’d never bothered with gentle.

Sofia’s eyes darted around the room, clearly embarrassed, maybe even afraid of drawing attention. He knew this wasn’t fair to her, that she hadn’t signed up for this part of him—the anger, the unpredictability. It wasn’t in his nature to stay silent, to ignore things and walk away.

He could almost see it—feel it, like a familiar bruise under his skin. You’d shove him hard enough that he’d stumble back, half-pissed and half-shocked. You’d get in his face, not even close to scared, cutting through his spiral. “What the hell is wrong with you, Rafe? You wanna end up in jail over some loser? Grow up.”

If you’d been here, you wouldn’t have given him a choice. You’d have grabbed his arm and dragged him away, kept a grip on him until he’d snapped out of whatever dark place he’d dropped into. You’d push him until he finally let go, forced him to come down from that blinding fury and face the mess he’d just caused. It was the only way he’d ever been able to listen—when you pushed him to wake up, forced him to look at himself and see just how reckless, just how stupid he was about to be.

But Sofia? She had no idea.

She thought saying “you’re better than this” was going to do anything, that with a light touch and some empty words, he’d suddenly be calm, reasonable, soft.

But he’d never been that way, never with you, never with anyone.

She hadn’t done anything wrong; she’d just seen the version of him he’d wanted her to see. The version he’d put together, patched up and polished, all so he could convince himself he was something he wasn’t.

With her, it was easy to pretend. He could smooth his sharp edges, show her just enough of himself to keep her interested without letting her close enough to see the mess underneath.

He’d let her believe he was the kind of guy who could just calm down, let things slide. The kind of guy who’d listen. He’d wanted her to believe he was controlled, calm. Sofia’s softness had appealed to him, but now, it only highlighted the differences between them.

With you, he’d never had the luxury of pretending.

You’d seen through him from the start, never let him get away with putting on some act.

You hadn’t let him pretend to be better than he was, hadn’t let him off easy when he’d tried to brush things off or shut down. You knew every side of him, even the ones he’d rather ignore. You’d always known exactly who he was, who he wasn’t, and you’d never been afraid to remind him.

He didn’t want to let it go, didn’t want to give the guy an inch of leeway to think he’d won this. Rafe sighed and released his grip, his hand falling from the table as he finally stepped back. Sofia relaxed, giving him a relieved smile, but it only made him feel emptier.

“You talk about her again and I’ll fucking kill you, you hear me?”

The guy sputtered, looking down, embarrassed and shaken. He muttered something under his breath that sounded like an apology, but Rafe didn’t care enough to hear it.

Sofia’s hand was still on his tail when he left, and as soon as he walked out of earshot of the table, she followed him, crossing her arms. Her eyes narrowed with an expression he’d never seen from her —disbelief.

“What was that?”

Everything.

Rafe didn’t speak. He was staring past her, back at the group, mind far from the confrontation and miles away with thoughts of you. She seemed to notice, her lips pressing together.

“I can’t believe you did that. You threatened to kill him, Rafe. Over what, a stupid rumor?”

A stupid rumor? She was making him feel like he was out of control, irrational—even though he couldn’t explain why this mattered so much.

“You wouldn’t get it. It’s not your problem.”

She flinched a little, her face falling, but to her credit, she didn’t look away. “You’re right. I don’t get it. Tell me.”

He wanted to believe that it could work with Sofia.

Nice girl, pretty too. She laughed at his jokes, and she didn’t call him out on his bullshit, because she didn’t even know that side of him existed. On paper, she was perfect. But she wasn't you.

He looked back at her, her worried eyes scanning his face.

It was frustrating—seeing the fear, feeling her judgment when she didn’t even know what she was judging.

To her, this was just some meaningless outburst, something he could turn on and off at will. This wasn’t her fault. He knew that. He hated how this wasn’t something he couldn't put into words, not in any way that would make sense to her.

“Forget it, alright?” his tone was harsher than he meant.

Sofia shook her head, clearly not willing to let it drop this time.

“Why would you get so worked up over something like this?"

To her, that’s all this was—just noise, harmless, inconsequential.

She looked up at him expectantly, her brows furrowed in confusion, waiting for some reasonable answer.

And it pissed him off, how she kept waiting, expecting him to offer some calm, measured response when he didn’t even understand it himself.

Sofia’s eyes softened, but it only irritated him further.

“She’s nice,” Her words drifted out casually like she didn’t know she’d just cracked him open. “She defended me, last week, when I was serving brunch.”

He couldn’t stop the self-loathing.

You had always been that way—ready to defend anyone, even when you were the one hurting. Rafe winced, hating himself for it, hating that you could still be so good even after everything. He swallowed hard, keeping his expression blank.

“Did she?” he muttered, trying to sound indifferent.

“Yeah,” Sofia replied, watching his reaction with mild curiosity. “Guess I wouldn’t have expected that.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched, that familiar hurt in his chest.

His mind was already conjuring all the times you’d jumped in, backed people up, and called out anyone who crossed a line. Even when it came to people you barely knew.

It made him feel like the worst person in the world, knowing that you’d been there for Sofia of all people, that you’d shown her that same loyalty. It made him hate himself even more.

His phone buzzed, saving him from the inevitable conversation, his hand brushed the side of his face as he glanced down at the unknown number flashing across the screen. He didn’t hesitate, before swiping the answer button.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Cameron, this is Dr. Harris from the hospital,” the voice on the other end said. “We’ve been trying to reach Miss Thornton about the blood work results from her visit three days ago. Unfortunately, there’s been an issue with our system and a few patient’s data has been deleted, except for the emergency contact information.”

Rafe’s stomach dropped.

He was still your emergency contact, not by choice probably. The hospital was calling about your blood work.

Was something wrong?

His blood ran cold. “Is she okay? Did something happen?” The urgency in his tone made Sofia’s eyes widen again, her confusion growing.

“We’re concerned about a possible infection. We need to run more tests to rule it out, but the symptoms suggest it could be more complicated. We must check thoroughly to be sure.”

“An infection?”

“Yes, but it could be nothing serious. We just need her to come in as soon as possible for a follow-up,” Dr. Harris explained.

There was a pause as if he expected Rafe to say something reassuring or offer to pass on the message.

Sofia’s brows knitted together as she watched him. “Rafe?”

“I’ll tell her,” he said, the words cracked in his throat. The doctor thanked him and hung up.

He stared at the phone waiting for it to ring again with more news, a reassurance that this wasn’t as serious as it sounded.

You probably hadn’t changed your emergency contact because it slipped your mind.

He couldn’t stand the idea that something could be wrong, and he was not the one you called when you needed someone. All he’d ever done was mess things up between you.

“What’s going on?”

How the fuck was he going to tell you when you'd blocked him everywhere?

He couldn’t call, couldn’t text, couldn’t even show up unannounced without risking the usual argument that would end with you screaming at him to get out, or worse, you looking at him with that unforgiving stare.

He knew you’d locked every door, bolted every window to keep him out, and he deserved it.

“It’s nothing,” he said, the lie slipping out automatically. He could feel her studying him, waiting for another explanation he also didn’t have the patience to give.

Maybe Topper could help.

The irony wasn’t lost on him—he’d given your cousin the mission of checking in on you, playing the careful messenger while Rafe kept his distance. That was supposed to be him.

But the reality was you hated him now, hated him enough that Topper was a safer option and yet, the private information still landed on his lap. As if he still had the right to be in your orbit, let alone the person trusted with this kind of news.

It felt wrong.

He knew you were going to hate him even more for still having access to your private details. It wasn’t really his fault—the hospital called him. He should have hung up the moment the hospital mentioned your name, told them they had the wrong guy. But he didn’t. He listened.

“If you need to go—” she started, trailing off when he didn’t answer. Her voice softened, tentative. “It’s about her, isn’t it?”

Rafe’s jaw ticked, and he looked away, out at the horizon where the sun was setting. “Yeah,” he muttered, not bothering to lie this time.

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard. He typed something out, then deleted it, then typed again.

Finally, he just went with the simplest thing he could think of and hit send.

Can we meet up? Tannyhill in 30. I think I know what’s wrong.

He half-expected some lame excuse or joke from Topper. Instead, the text he got made the deep lines across his forehead make an appearance.

Shit, you do???

Did the fucker already know?

Did he suspect? Or was this just the kind of baited question someone asked when they thought they were the last to know something big?

He frowned, gripping the phone tighter.

If Topper did know, why hadn’t he said anything?

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