warning(s) : physical abuse (not actively, but mentioned), alcohol use
w. c. : 1.8k
INTRO | CH. 3 | CH. 4 | CH. 5
JJ Maybank found himself asleep in a tree once again. To others it may be uncomfortable, but the scratchy material of the bark through his raggedy teeth would always beat the feeling of his father’s anger fists. For some reason he had thought he’d end up in your bed tonight.
That’d always beat out any other place to lay his head.
But he hadn’t. JJ was in a tree, draped over it like a numbed koala. The only other creature awake this early was a chipmunk, likely mad he had repeatedly taken over the animal’s home. He didn’t care about the wrath of a few woodland creatures, especially ones that tiny. They were harmless.
Just as he had been before his father’s punches molded him into something he didn’t recognize in the mirror. A boy that didn’t accept comfort, that didn’t show vulnerability even with those closest to him. Even when he should.
That was why you had left early. He had tried to drive you home, but you argued that he was drunk. He chose not to point out that you hadn’t exactly been sober yourself. It was a losing battle, whenever he was arguing about intoxication. He’d always be seen as the alcoholic son of an alcoholic father.
He thought he was used to it, until you saw him that way too. Then it gutted him all over again. Just like he got used to the ghosts that haunted his home, until you were trying to help him get past it instead of shoving it down.
Then you left, and he shoved down the hurt and anger that brought up as well. Though he couldn’t deny the pure yearning that drew him to you as soon as you returned. He was glad you chose to hangout with the Pogues rather than Rafe’s group. He’d rather have only some of you than let Rafe get any.
He forced himself off the tree, wincing as the bark dug into his skin.
It never used to hurt him. Nothing did when you were around. It was like he became invincible, all because of you. He missed it. Sure, you guys were still friends and had texted while you were away, but it wasn’t the same. Your relationship, which had dwindled into something that could barely even be called a friendship now, was never the same. Even though you were back.
He ran his fingers over the indents of the tree’s exterior; ‘P4L’ ‘J+S’ and a smaller, shallower one. As if the maker had been scared to hurt the tree, or just scared to commit. Your initials paired together.
He swallowed the lump rising in his throat. He wouldn’t cry. He never cried anymore, and he wasn’t about to start now. He shoved his hair back and adjusted his red cap before grabbing a cigarette from his pocket and walking out to the rickety old dock.
The sun was barely coming up from where it rest for the night, and he felt like it was one of the only beautiful things left. Everything else was ruined. All he saw on the fock was the two of you sharing both of your first kisses, all he saw on the hammock was you trying to read while he pestered you, and the way you never yelled at him for it.
Even John B shouted at him before, but not you. Never you. Not after he had told you how he used to hide in the closet of his home, back before Luke had broken the door right off its hinges. You knew the nitty-gritty of everything, things he didn’t utter to another soul, not even hid closest friends.
He remembered making you cross your heart, swearing to tell no other. Then you’d take turns pushing each other on the tire swing as if nothing happened.
He stubbed iut his cigarette soon after he lit it. He couldn’t tell why, he just had a feeling. One of those weighted, undeniable feelings that needed to be dealt with rather than shoved down. Like the ones that led his hand to his crotch whenever your photos came up, or the ones he felt whenever he’d see you with Rafe.
Little did he know, that’d be happening much less after last night.
His phone vibrated in the picket of his cargo shorts, taking him by surprise. Who in their right mind would be awake now? Well, besides him, but he was never really in his ‘right mind’ lately.
Lo and behold, his surprise turned pleasant when he saw your name written brightly across the screen. That was the hangover talking, he was sure it wasn’t actually that bright, or multiplied ten fold.
come over? i have a killer headache and i’m sure yours isn’t much better.
At least you weren’t mad. He had exploded at you, snd everyone surrounding you, last night over you trying to help him. You were trying to help him, and he had ruined it. Like he always did.
Yet you were fixing it. It had barely taken a day for everything to (almost) fall back into place. For some reason, he still felt as if he was jamming a square beg into a circle cutout.
dpnt have 2 tell me teice
He sent the text, not caring about the typos in the slightest. It was still readable, even if he’d get a shit about it from you. As long as it was coming from you, he couldn’t care less.
JJ managed to make a typically thirteen minute car ride into nearly half that, narrowly avoiding red lights. Though it wasn’t like he’d stop for them, anyway.
He decided to be a gentleman and not use your spare key, despite the fact you had it in the same place you had before you left. He knocked, then waited barely thirty seconds before knocking again. He never claimed to be patient.
He was finally able to enter three long minutes later, and he swore he heard trumpets as soon as he stepped over the threshold. He felt like Atlas, but the world had just been taken off his shoulders.
“Thought you’d be mad at me after last night,” he admitted, running a sheepish hand through his golden hair.
“To be completely honest, I was surprised to even get your text.” God, he sounded pathetic, but he couldn’t stop the word vomit from spewing out of his mouth.
But you threw him a lifeljne, which he was eternally grateful for.
“Jackson, relax, I’m not mad. ‘s like it never even happened.”
He almost didn’t even notice your use of his real name instead of the abbreviated version. It felt so natural coming from you, and it had a warmth blossoming throughout him.
Truth was, last night you had said some shitty stuff too. As long as he could put it behind him, you were willing too as well.
You had to fight back a laugh at the overdramatic sigh of relief he let out.
“Really? Because you had me goin’ for a while there, Sunshine. You can be pretty scary when you’re mad.”
That you couldn’t help but laugh at.
“Nope. Was never really that mad, but it’s good to know you’re scared of me.”
JJ didn’t miss your smile as you spoke, so he decided to play along, and try to brush over how tight his chest had felt when he thought you were angry with him.
“Oh, yeah,” he drew out “You had me shaking in my boots.”
“Speaking of boots— take ‘em off by the door, don’t need you tracking dirt through my house.”
He did as you told him, just like always. He even arranged them all nice and neat to not pose a tripping hazard. The last thing he needed was you to get hurt on his account.
After a few good looks at him, all of which he thought were you checking him out rather than checking for fresh bruises, he looked pretty scott-free. There were some yellow-ish patches, but those signified older ones that were healing. Nothing black, blue, or red, which you were relieved about.
Your house smelt like some flower he didn’t know the name of, mixed with fresh air. A far cry from his own that reeked of cheap alcohol and rolled blunts. Another difference was every inch of yours being covered in good memories, while his was haunted by his ever-angry father and ways he had injured the one person he was supposed to protect.
“Hey uh, how’d you get the old place back? You know, after…” You left and took my heart with you.
That elicited another delightful laugh from you. He perish right now and he’d be dying a happy man.
“I had some money saved up, and turns out nobody wanted to buy it, even to demolish it and put in some fancy ass Kook hangout.”
“Careful, don’t want to talk down on your new ‘best-buds.’” As much as he tried to, he couldn’t hold back the distaste from seeping into his last words.
Alright, that earned him a glare. Sensitive topic, apparently.
“Not my best-buds. They’re assholes, don’t fuck around with that.”
He couldn’t stop himself, a harsh bitterness creeping up on him and hurling itself past his lips before he could stop it.
“You sure? You and Rafe seem pretty tight.”
“Rafe’s an asshole, you know that better than anyone,” you hissed, clearly wanting him to drop it.
He would’ve prodded further, but after seeing the look on your face… He just couldn’t. He was never great at defying you anyway.
“Alright, Sunshine. Let’s go watch a movie. You still got your CDs?”
His hand was on your back, leading you into your own living room as if you were the guest.
“CDs are music, DVDs are movies, idiot.” But he ciuld tell the venom was leaving your tone just as quickly as it had entered.
“Right, right, and you also listen to music with VHS tapes, right?”
All you saw was his lopsided smile when you finally looked at his face, and his intentions became crystal clear.
“You’re messing with me,” you deadpanned.
He just shrugged, his grin never disappearing, or even faltering in the slightest. How could he drop his smile when he saw you fighting back your own?
“Maybe, but it made you smile.”
A genuine smile came from you, followed by a strangely honest ‘thank you.’
He didn’t know what had happened after you left last night, but he didn’t have to. The ‘thank you’ carried more weight than just one smile.
“Anytime, Gorgeous, anytime.”
Suddenly, Rafe was far from your first priority, that spot going to the blonde in front of you currently trying to cheer you up from something he didn’t cause. At least, not directly.
warning(s) : physical abuse (not actively, but mentioned), alcohol use
w. c. : 1.8k
INTRO | CH. 3 | CH. 4 | CH. 5
JJ Maybank found himself asleep in a tree once again. To others it may be uncomfortable, but the scratchy material of the bark through his raggedy teeth would always beat the feeling of his father’s anger fists. For some reason he had thought he’d end up in your bed tonight.
That’d always beat out any other place to lay his head.
But he hadn’t. JJ was in a tree, draped over it like a numbed koala. The only other creature awake this early was a chipmunk, likely mad he had repeatedly taken over the animal’s home. He didn’t care about the wrath of a few woodland creatures, especially ones that tiny. They were harmless.
Just as he had been before his father’s punches molded him into something he didn’t recognize in the mirror. A boy that didn’t accept comfort, that didn’t show vulnerability even with those closest to him. Even when he should.
That was why you had left early. He had tried to drive you home, but you argued that he was drunk. He chose not to point out that you hadn’t exactly been sober yourself. It was a losing battle, whenever he was arguing about intoxication. He’d always be seen as the alcoholic son of an alcoholic father.
He thought he was used to it, until you saw him that way too. Then it gutted him all over again. Just like he got used to the ghosts that haunted his home, until you were trying to help him get past it instead of shoving it down.
Then you left, and he shoved down the hurt and anger that brought up as well. Though he couldn’t deny the pure yearning that drew him to you as soon as you returned. He was glad you chose to hangout with the Pogues rather than Rafe’s group. He’d rather have only some of you than let Rafe get any.
He forced himself off the tree, wincing as the bark dug into his skin.
It never used to hurt him. Nothing did when you were around. It was like he became invincible, all because of you. He missed it. Sure, you guys were still friends and had texted while you were away, but it wasn’t the same. Your relationship, which had dwindled into something that could barely even be called a friendship now, was never the same. Even though you were back.
He ran his fingers over the indents of the tree’s exterior; ‘P4L’ ‘J+S’ and a smaller, shallower one. As if the maker had been scared to hurt the tree, or just scared to commit. Your initials paired together.
He swallowed the lump rising in his throat. He wouldn’t cry. He never cried anymore, and he wasn’t about to start now. He shoved his hair back and adjusted his red cap before grabbing a cigarette from his pocket and walking out to the rickety old dock.
The sun was barely coming up from where it rest for the night, and he felt like it was one of the only beautiful things left. Everything else was ruined. All he saw on the fock was the two of you sharing both of your first kisses, all he saw on the hammock was you trying to read while he pestered you, and the way you never yelled at him for it.
Even John B shouted at him before, but not you. Never you. Not after he had told you how he used to hide in the closet of his home, back before Luke had broken the door right off its hinges. You knew the nitty-gritty of everything, things he didn’t utter to another soul, not even hid closest friends.
He remembered making you cross your heart, swearing to tell no other. Then you’d take turns pushing each other on the tire swing as if nothing happened.
He stubbed iut his cigarette soon after he lit it. He couldn’t tell why, he just had a feeling. One of those weighted, undeniable feelings that needed to be dealt with rather than shoved down. Like the ones that led his hand to his crotch whenever your photos came up, or the ones he felt whenever he’d see you with Rafe.
Little did he know, that’d be happening much less after last night.
His phone vibrated in the picket of his cargo shorts, taking him by surprise. Who in their right mind would be awake now? Well, besides him, but he was never really in his ‘right mind’ lately.
Lo and behold, his surprise turned pleasant when he saw your name written brightly across the screen. That was the hangover talking, he was sure it wasn’t actually that bright, or multiplied ten fold.
come over? i have a killer headache and i’m sure yours isn’t much better.
At least you weren’t mad. He had exploded at you, snd everyone surrounding you, last night over you trying to help him. You were trying to help him, and he had ruined it. Like he always did.
Yet you were fixing it. It had barely taken a day for everything to (almost) fall back into place. For some reason, he still felt as if he was jamming a square beg into a circle cutout.
dpnt have 2 tell me teice
He sent the text, not caring about the typos in the slightest. It was still readable, even if he’d get a shit about it from you. As long as it was coming from you, he couldn’t care less.
JJ managed to make a typically thirteen minute car ride into nearly half that, narrowly avoiding red lights. Though it wasn’t like he’d stop for them, anyway.
He decided to be a gentleman and not use your spare key, despite the fact you had it in the same place you had before you left. He knocked, then waited barely thirty seconds before knocking again. He never claimed to be patient.
He was finally able to enter three long minutes later, and he swore he heard trumpets as soon as he stepped over the threshold. He felt like Atlas, but the world had just been taken off his shoulders.
“Thought you’d be mad at me after last night,” he admitted, running a sheepish hand through his golden hair.
“To be completely honest, I was surprised to even get your text.” God, he sounded pathetic, but he couldn’t stop the word vomit from spewing out of his mouth.
But you threw him a lifeljne, which he was eternally grateful for.
“Jackson, relax, I’m not mad. ‘s like it never even happened.”
He almost didn’t even notice your use of his real name instead of the abbreviated version. It felt so natural coming from you, and it had a warmth blossoming throughout him.
Truth was, last night you had said some shitty stuff too. As long as he could put it behind him, you were willing too as well.
You had to fight back a laugh at the overdramatic sigh of relief he let out.
“Really? Because you had me goin’ for a while there, Sunshine. You can be pretty scary when you’re mad.”
That you couldn’t help but laugh at.
“Nope. Was never really that mad, but it’s good to know you’re scared of me.”
JJ didn’t miss your smile as you spoke, so he decided to play along, and try to brush over how tight his chest had felt when he thought you were angry with him.
“Oh, yeah,” he drew out “You had me shaking in my boots.”
“Speaking of boots— take ‘em off by the door, don’t need you tracking dirt through my house.”
He did as you told him, just like always. He even arranged them all nice and neat to not pose a tripping hazard. The last thing he needed was you to get hurt on his account.
After a few good looks at him, all of which he thought were you checking him out rather than checking for fresh bruises, he looked pretty scott-free. There were some yellow-ish patches, but those signified older ones that were healing. Nothing black, blue, or red, which you were relieved about.
Your house smelt like some flower he didn’t know the name of, mixed with fresh air. A far cry from his own that reeked of cheap alcohol and rolled blunts. Another difference was every inch of yours being covered in good memories, while his was haunted by his ever-angry father and ways he had injured the one person he was supposed to protect.
“Hey uh, how’d you get the old place back? You know, after…” You left and took my heart with you.
That elicited another delightful laugh from you. He perish right now and he’d be dying a happy man.
“I had some money saved up, and turns out nobody wanted to buy it, even to demolish it and put in some fancy ass Kook hangout.”
“Careful, don’t want to talk down on your new ‘best-buds.’” As much as he tried to, he couldn’t hold back the distaste from seeping into his last words.
Alright, that earned him a glare. Sensitive topic, apparently.
“Not my best-buds. They’re assholes, don’t fuck around with that.”
He couldn’t stop himself, a harsh bitterness creeping up on him and hurling itself past his lips before he could stop it.
“You sure? You and Rafe seem pretty tight.”
“Rafe’s an asshole, you know that better than anyone,” you hissed, clearly wanting him to drop it.
He would’ve prodded further, but after seeing the look on your face… He just couldn’t. He was never great at defying you anyway.
“Alright, Sunshine. Let’s go watch a movie. You still got your CDs?”
His hand was on your back, leading you into your own living room as if you were the guest.
“CDs are music, DVDs are movies, idiot.” But he ciuld tell the venom was leaving your tone just as quickly as it had entered.
“Right, right, and you also listen to music with VHS tapes, right?”
All you saw was his lopsided smile when you finally looked at his face, and his intentions became crystal clear.
“You’re messing with me,” you deadpanned.
He just shrugged, his grin never disappearing, or even faltering in the slightest. How could he drop his smile when he saw you fighting back your own?
“Maybe, but it made you smile.”
A genuine smile came from you, followed by a strangely honest ‘thank you.’
He didn’t know what had happened after you left last night, but he didn’t have to. The ‘thank you’ carried more weight than just one smile.
“Anytime, Gorgeous, anytime.”
Suddenly, Rafe was far from your first priority, that spot going to the blonde in front of you currently trying to cheer you up from something he didn’t cause. At least, not directly.
JJ Maybank was first to break the awkward silence.
“Dude, did you just make Rafe Cameron fucking cry? That’s cool as shit.” His hand clapped you on the back, a congratulations, as if making your best friend cry was some kind of amazing feat.
Was he even your best friend anymore? You had told him you never started a relationship. Maybe he had taken it differently.
Regardless, it was too late to stop him now. The truck had already pulled away, only leaving sand swirling into the air in its wake. Your car likely had done the same when you left for the first time.
The memory replayed in his mind like the stupid Taylor Swift song that continuously played on the radio. He wasn’t much different from the grieving girl at this point.
This was the end of all the endings, but he wouldn’t go write a so g about it, no. He’d move on, like you so clearly had. He’d leave you in the dust just like you had those three years ago, literally and figuratively.
He got back to Tannyhill, parking his beat up truck beside the Jag and Range Rover, hearing the engine sputter at the small bump in the garage. Piece of shit.
Rafe’s fists clenched and unclenched rhythmically as he tried to ‘focus on his breathing’ or whatever the fuck that anger management class taught him. Yeah, it wasn’t working in the slightest. The urge to punch something, particularly a cocky blonde Pogue, was still very present in his mind.
He opted to instead repeatedly ram his foot into the side of his truck, the battered and dirty metal looking out of place next to the other fancy ‘kook-ass’ cars.
In all of the excitement, his phone slipped from his pocket. It landed on the ground with a crack, but the sound didn’t make him falter. He could buy a thousand more of the device.
He tried to ignore the feeling in his chest when the screen flickered on, displaying an Instagram notification from you.
The part that actually did make him stop his minstrations was the fact it wasn’t a new post like it typically was— no. It was a DM. From you. You had sent him a message. He suddenly didn’t know what to do with your hands, with the thought of you clouding his mind.
He quickly snatched up the device, it feeling small in his hands. Small yet the heaviest thing in the world, somehow.
He frantically swiped at it, trying to open the notification, to see what you said, to reply, anything. He was desperate. You were extending an olive branch, even after the little show he had put on at the Boneyard.
The screen went dark, and then wouldn’t turn back on. Shit. Of course, his fucking phone was broken. It was fine. Wheezie was home, right? He could borrow hers.
He stormed out of the garage, slamming doors in his path and stomping up stairs until he finally got to his youngest sister’s room. He swung the door open so harshly it was surprising the thing didn’t break off its hinges.
The window to your bedroom slid open, the old wooden sill making an obnoxious creaking sound beneath the blonde’s weight. You almost questioned how he got it unlocked, then remembered he was quite the kleptomaniac.
He brushed his long, messy blonde hair back before putting his cap back on backwards, staring at you expectantly, as if he hadn’t just broken into your home.
“JJ? What’re you doing here?”
You didn’t tell him you invited Rafe over, but he could tell you were waiting for someone based off the way you kept checking back at the open window. And it wasn’t him.
As always, the blonde brushed off the rejection.
“It’s your first day here, you can’t stay here and be mopey all day,” he tutted, messing with the trinkets on your bureau. You had made quick work of unpacking. It didn’t surprise him, of course, you had always been more organized than him.
Though that was a low bar.
“What if I want to be all mopey?”
“Then you can do it at Heyward’s.”
Your mouth instantly opened to protest, only to be cut off as he slapped a palm over it and dragged you out of the room the same way he entered.
You sprung your tongue out, pressing it grossly to his palm. It worked, though, as he yanked his hand away as if you had bit him. That had been plan B.
“This is literally kidnapping,” you pointed out matter-of-factly.
“Not if it’s for a good cause, which your happiness counts as, so.”
Smug bastard.
You just scoffed, a distant heat rising to your cheeks. A heat that only served as more of a reminder of Rafe. Who was probably on his way here.
But, as JJ turned up the radio in the Twinkie and sang dramatically to it just to make you laugh, Rafe drifted farther and farther away from your thoughts.
The ride to the restaurant was short, especially with JJ’s reckless way of driving. The relief of being in a familiar place was undeniable. Thoughts of good memories rushed your mind, pushing any of Rafe right out the other side.
Rafe, who had just seen your invite. He had managed to get a hold of Wheezie’s phone (after a bit of negotiating, the girl was young but definitely smart) and checked the message you had sent him. He was always bad at saying no to you.
Of course he was on the way to you. Any other ending would’ve been stupid to even think about.
So, he drove. Then he knocked. Then he waited.
You didn’t answer.
Another knock, this time more powerful incase you had fallen asleep, and nothing. His hands raised to his hair, tugging at the greasy roots as he paced on your front porch. He was so stupid. He had let you do this to him again.
He checked the time. 8:37. Where could you be? There wasn’t a party going on, he’d know about that. Then it dawned on him.
If you wanted to ditch him to hangout with your dumb Pogue friends, then he’d be damned if he went down without a fight. He sat on one of the chairs on your porch, deciding to wait it out.
He had waited three years for you. What was another few hours? Then you guys would talk. He’d set you straight, get you away from the Pogues like he failed to do with Sarah.
Four hours later, you showed up. He was startled awake by the headlights of the Twinkie. Those fuckers had made you drive home alone, in the dark. It wasn’t that Rafe doubted your ability to drive, but he never would’ve let you leave alone.
Especially if you had been drinking. He couldn’t tell if you had any more, but he remembered you mentioning having ‘a couple’ earlier in the day. Regardless of how inebriated you were, it didn’t sit right with him.
“Wow, nice of you to finally show up,” he scoffed.
As soon as his voice rang out in the dead of night, your joyous mood about being back with your friends crashed down, being ruined by a wave of burning hot anger.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Rafe?!”
“You invited me! Or are you too drunk to remember?” Low blow, he knew that, but he didn’t care, not in the slightest.
“Did you ever think to knock?”
“Yeah, obviously nobody fucking answered!”
“Right, so at that point, you should’ve clocked that ‘hey, she’s not home, maybe I should fucking leave!’”
He opened his mouth to shout back, but he knew it’d just make this word. So he lowered it to a gruffer level. A more dangerous level.
“Enough is enough.” He said your name, but it wasn’t different than every other time he had. It had an air of finality to it, as if the amount of words he was able to speak was shriveling faster and faster.
“What is this?” He gestured like a mad man between your two bodies, that he had noticed drew closer.
“You— you invited me over, then go hang out with them? And what, I’m just—“
Then your lips were on his, successfully cutting his speech off.
Just as quick as he felt the gentle touch, the closest thin to skin-to-skin he had gotten with you in three years, it was over. You were storming off— not off, inside.
“This is over, Rafe. That’s what this is.”
He wanted to be mad, but at least you were admitting there was something between you guys, right? Just because it’s over doesn’t mean it’s over.
The door slammed behind him, but he couldn’t help but smile. This was his chance. His opening.
Rafe Cameron woke up with a pounding headache and wrinkled t-shirt. One of the legs of his jeans was hiked up uncomfortably to his knee, his belt only halfway on. It was a miracle he slept through the night.
It was a miracle he slept through any night he didn’t have you by his side. But he was getting better at it. He was getting used to his world being turned upside down after three years of it being that way.
Then, it flipped rightside up again, which seemed harder to adjust to.
He knew why, of course. When you were God knows where, it was easier to deal with. It was awful not having yoh with him, but he didn’t feel this weight in his chest knowing you were just out of reach. He wasn’t dealing with the fact that you were back in town but actively chose not to come see him.
Then again, you had gone three years choosing not to respond to his text, calls, or even comments. He could stand another day. He had spent so long building walks around his heart, he couldn’t let you shatter them in just a single day of being back.
Especially without him being able to see you.
He knew what you looked like now, of course. He had practically been stalking you for years. He told himself it wasn’t weird because he knew you, he wasn’t just some nobody. He was Rafe fucking Cameron.
It wasn’t his fault. You lit a fire in his head. You were a pyromaniac. He was a stalker. Two negatives made a positive, right?
So he waited. He changed, he showered, he baked. He fucking baked, because you said it clamed you down when you were anxious and he couldn’t think of anything else to do. He couldn’t think of anything besides you.
Topper and Kelce must’ve cleaned the place up while he slept. He should thank them, but he wouldn’t.
*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*
He practically fucking ran to the front door. He felt like some desperate 13 year old again, writing ‘mrs. cameron’ with a finger to your back, everything shrouded in a darkness that felt everything but heavy.
You weren’t at the door. He thought he was being pranked. That a camera crew would jump out of the bushes that lined his massive driveway. That you’d jump out with them, and run into his arms like old times.
But you weren’t at the door. You weren’t in the bushes. Only the girl from last night, her bleach-blonde hair pulled into a tight high-ponytail on top of her head. He found it tacky. You’d never wear your hair like that, and if you did, it’d look worlds better.
“Uh— hello?” He choked over his words, or, word. Who could blame him? Dreams of you standing in front of him like he was now took control of his days and nights. He couldn’t be cold, but he couldn’t shut off his brain.
He could just try with cocaine and liquor.
“Yeah, you seemed… distant yesterday, so I brought something to cheer you up!”
Fucking muffins. As if blueberry muffins could solve everything that happened. It sounded stupid coming from anyone but you. He wasn’t distant. You were.
Maybe, just maybe, this girl would help him finally get over you. Back then, he couldn’t make excuses for you. Maybe you had spotty signal. Maybe you didn’t see his comments. But now, you had every resource you needed to come see him, and you chose not to.
He bit down on one of his already chewed off nails, something he did before he did something he knew he’d regret.
“Yeah, come in.”
His voice was nowhere near welcoming.
Still, she walked in. He didn’t need to say it, but she made herself at home. He didn’t know if he wanted her to. The muffins landed on his marble counter top, stained with small red splotched that you had a certain way to get off.
He cleared his throat after noticing her staring at the stains.
“We painted the room a while back. Looked just— awful. Painted over it immediately,” he explained bluntly, not really caring if she believed it or not.
Based off of the look he got, she didn’t.
“I saw her down town.”
“Don’t fuckin’—“ He was still reeling, his mind boggled from the past twenty four hours.
“You can’t talk about her.”
Christy got the hint, for fucking once in her life, she got the hint.
Rafe ran an exasperated hand over his sweaty face, and effect of his hangover he was dealing with. He pointed towards the massive white couch, not meaning to be as harsh as he seemed.
“You can go sit. Jus’ put on a movie or some shit, I’ll be back,” he instructed, watching as she quickly scurried over.
He strode towards the bathroom, where he splashed some water on his face to start. His fingers gripped the edge of the polished countertop so tight his knuckles turned white. He stared up at the mirror, just watching as the water droplets slowly ran down his face, mimicking the tears he desperately wanted but never allowed himself to shed.
He squeezed his eyes shut. He just wanted you back. It was like you had cut out his heart, and he finally sewed the wound back up just for you to come back and rip at the stitches all over again.
He shook his head, shaking off the water that had met his bangs. He patted his face dry from the tearful, watery mess with the hand towel, its color a sickening green that he never bothered to replace.
He plastered on a smile. God, it looked insane on him. He wasn’t the type to smile at girls. Especially not ones who invaded his house with stupid muffins that he didn’t need to try to know they didn’t taste as good as yours.
“You pick one?” He asked her as he slid onto the couch. Far enough away that they weren’t touching, close enough it wasn’t obvious he was avoiding her.
“The Notebook! It’s about this guy who waits—“
He internally groaned.
“Yeah, I fuckin’ know what it’s about. Pick a different one.”
The girl thankfully didn’t argue. She just backed out of it, scrolling on Netflix and eventually ended on some corny knock-off Hallmark movie.
He rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything. She was trying her best, even if her best didn’t even compare to your worst. He needed to stop thinking about you, and this was definitely a way to do it.
Better than drugs, right?
Not better than you. Though, when he put that to the back of his mind, he didn’t hate Christy. Sure, he had a bit of hate in his heart due to what she had called you, but besides that she seemed like a sweet girl.
He only caught himself looking at the door, looking for you, a few times. Each time he’d just play it off as ‘hearing something.’ Of course, Christy ate it up, actually thinking she had a chance.
Who knows, maybe she did. Maybe he’d get over you. But maybe was never certain, and until it was, you were the only one in his heart. And off of Do Not Disturb on his phone.
NEW POST! by @/yourusername
He couldn’t stop himself from clicking from it, but he immediately regretted it. He felt his stomach sink as he scrolled through the photos. You with the Pogues, you with other guys, more importantly. The fact they were Pogues just added to it.
Suddenly all he could see was green. Not an angry red, but the same sickening green of his bathroom hand towel as waves of jealousy and hurt rolled through him, each as powerful as a tsunami.
He ran a hand through his hair before speaking, trying to jeep his temper at bay. Something he was famously awful at.
“Hey you gotta… you gotta go, man,” he grunted to the blonde who had been inching closer to him for the past hour or two.
“What’d you get in your phone? Is that why you’re kicking me out?”
That attitude made everything boil over. He bit his tongue, using all the strength he could muster to just kept his mouth shut.
“That’s none of your fuckin’ business. Get out and take your pity muffins with you.”
It may not have been nice, but it was a hell of a lot better than what he truly wanted to say.
A minute ticked by after she left. Then five. Then twenty. Then he was on his feet. There was a location linked— the Boneyard. He had always warned you not to do that, that ‘creeps and stalkers’ could easily come find you. Now he was just grateful for your stubborn pride that had made you disregard his advice.
He got in his truck, you always loved his truck. He never removed your lip gloss from the cup holder.
He drove down to the Boneyard. It was fairly desolate. The sun wasn’t out, and it was chilly. You’d be shivering, you always ran cold. It was just you and the fucking Pogues.
The ‘bad news thiefs’ that he had metaphorically lost his sister to already, and he refused to lose you to them as well. He tried to ignore how he had already technically lost you.
He didn’t care. It wasn’t over until he said it was. He felt like he was born to be alone, like he was heavy to hold in one’s heart and too cold for someone to even touch.
He wouldn’t let you fall through his fingers again. He had you here, and he’d be damned if he didn’t fight for you.
The truck’s ignition barely killed before he was out of it, slamming the door so hard the whole shitty vehicle shook. He could but a better one, but you loved how ‘understated’ it was.
“Get your fucking hands off her!”
You were on Maybank’s shoulders. Why the fuck? What happened while you were gone? It was like you were a new person.
“Dude, she’s the one on top of me right now,” JJ was quick to bite back, the other Pogues jumping at the volume and surprise of Rafe’s booming voice.
Rafe stepped up to the blonde boy, who he practically nerfed. He would’ve knocked the kid’s lights out if you weren’t still on him. He couldn’t risk hurting you. Nothing would be worth that.
Even watching Maybank’s lifeless body crumple to the ground.
Rafe tried to stand his ground, but it was beyond difficult whrn you were just sitting there. So pretty, so delicate. Still smelling like the same perfume and… cheap beer?
“Are you drunk?!”
His voice was loud, but there was an undertone of gentleness to it.
“I had like, two beers. I’m tipsy at best.”
“Put her the fuck down, Pogue,” Rafe spat, and this time JJ didn’t protest.
“Rafe, calm down.”
He hated himself for it, but he did. Just the sound of your voice, even if it was angry, worked wonders on him.
“Baby, can we please just—“
“I’m not your ‘baby’,” you interrupted, and it hurt like hell.
He grabbed your wrist, his grip tighter than he may have wanted it to be, and pulled you away from the group. There was a ball, hot and heavy in his stomach. Guilt, anger, hurt. Maybe everything combined.
But he knew there was a deep rooted sadness in it. Like when a character you love dearly dies in a book. But this time, it was his favorite friendship dying.
That hurt more than he could ever imagine.
“Just please come back to my place, yeah? We can talk, like, proper shit.”
You’d say yes. Right? You had to.
“No, Rafe, just go home,” you hissed out.
Now he was mad. And confused. You left him, and you were angry?!
“Hold up, hol’ up. You left me for three fucking years without a word, and you’re the one that’s mad?”
“You have no right being here! You— I don’t know what you did, but you certainly aren’t invited.”
You were shouting at him. You never did that.
“Shit, what is this? Is this the end of us or somethin’ because you’re acting—“
“We can’t end if we didn’t even start!”
That knocked the wind out of him. Took the fight right out of him. You always were good at that. His hand went to his mouth. Surprisingly, his nails weren’t bleeding, even st this point. He debated leaving, turning around and making sure it was final.
He felt a lump form in his throat, and then he knew he had to leave. He would never let you see him cry, especially not now. Not to mention the whole fucking gaggle of Pogues was barely out of earshot, messing around by the shore.
He didn’t even reply. Just turned around as the first tear rolled down his cheek. He scoffed, shoving his large body back inside his shitty pickup.
He threw your lip gloss to the floor of the vehicle, ripped the notes from you he kept in his dashboard compartment.
Then he sped the fuck out of there, leaving you with the people you should be damn well ashamed of.
Rafe Cameron was slowly going more and more insane as the days passed by. He hadn’t changed his calendar since July. Three years ago. He had stopped crossing the days off on the one you left.
He wished he could stay there forever. Not on that day, but the night before. He had gotten a free slurpee from 7/11, because of the promotion on that date, and naturally his mind went to you. The girl he was in love with best friend he had.
He got the cherry one, recalling how when you were thirteen you said you would ‘die for one.’ He was good at that, knowing things about you. It was natural for him. Knowing your preferences was basically like knowing his own. Maybe that was true, maybe you were his ‘other half’ or whatever corny shit they said in the rom-coms you mad him watch.
“What flavor is that?” He knew it was you, he didn’t need to see you to recognize your voice.
“Cherry. Just like every other time I’ve gotten you one.”
You smiled while drinking it. He loved that smile. The one that said ‘I’m not surprised you did it, but I appreciate it nonetheless.’ He loved all of your smiles, but that one was probably his favorite. It always made him feel all warm inside.
“Thank you, Rafe,” you hummed, your mouth full of red slush.
“Anytime, gorgeous.”
He meant it, too. He would’ve taken you out for a slurpee any time you wanted. Whether that be midnight or the middle of a snowstorm. All you had to do was call.
He wished you had called. Maybe then he could’ve changed your mind about leaving. Instead, he didn’t even get the chance. The chance to plead, to beg. He would’ve gotten down on his knees for you if it meant you’d stay.
But now he was twenty-two and alone, save for the whiskey and coke he had begun indulging in lately.
He missed you. He had learned to shove down his feelings, to bounce from girl to girl each night and act as though it didn’t matter. The one feeling that continued slipping up and out was his pure yearn to have you back.
Some girl was leaning up against his side, purring something about how strong he was, squeezing at his biceps and whatnot. He couldn’t remember her name, the words having gotten lost somewhere between his fourth and fifth glass.
“Why don’t we take this upstairs?”
The audacity she had to incite him to his own bedroom? He doubted she even knew this was his place, his party. It had started as something small, something for deals and networking, then had ballooned into this.
He let out a deep sigh, cursing himself for how shaky it came out. He was used to this. He always felt a bit off without you. That feeling was multiplied every day you didn’t show up again.
He had given up on calling and texting you after the first nine months. Commenting and liking your social media posts didn’t end until a year and a half after you left. He still watched them though. Every TikTok, every photo on Instagram.
“I’m celibate,” He answered gruffly. He wasn’t, of course. He just told people that when he was missing you a little extra. When he couldn’t even think about anything but the last night he had been with you, the night that had started with a blue raspberry and cherry slurpee, and ended with the two of you sporting matching purple tongues.
The girl didn’t believe it. He didn’t care. Just got up like he hadn’t a care in the world and walked through his large home. He walked out the front door— Topper or Kelce could handle the party, he was sure. They knew if anything happened they’d get their shit punched in.
His legs carried him to the ever familiar 7/11 down the road. The whole walk was tainted with the ghost of you. Your laugh, the way you’d bump into his side while walking. He’d acted annoyed at the time, but now it was all he wished for.
Just like how you’d steal his blankets. The way you’d insist you didn’t want anything, but would suck down the flavored ice in a matter of seconds.
Rafe winced at the bright fluorescent lights, a pounding headache already forming from what he had used tonight. It was like this almost every night lately. Back when you were around, you always had a way of calming him. He still drank on occasion, still may find other substances tempting, but you were good at stopping him.
You’d just lace your fingers between his, wouldn’t let him pull away even if he wanted to. You’d rub your thumb against his hand and—
“Rafe?”
That fucking girl. Did she not know how to take a hint?
“Hey… you.”
“Christy.”
Right. Blunt. He deserved her anger, he knew that. He still didn’t give a shit about it.
He brushed the blonde off, turning back to the counter. He searched behind it, despite knowing what flavors they already had. Running a hand through his greasy hair, he told the man behind it what he wanted.
“Uh, cherry slurpee.” He didn’t say please, nor did he say thank you. He just glanced to the glass-top, seeing the papers messily taped to it saying “Protect Marijuana rights!” “Vote NO!” and other slogans.
He cleared his throat, missing the jokes you’d make about them. The girl trailing behind him did the same, though the noise was shriller than he would’ve.
“And one scratcher please.”
He handed the ticket to the blonde. Christy.
“Look, you’re not going to get ‘lucky’ with me tonight, but at least you’ve got a— a shot with this,” he growled lowly, waving his hands as if he were explaining rocket science to her. He practically forced her to take the ticket.
Yeah, she didn’t like that.
“So, what, just because that little bitch is coming back means you can’t have fun anymore?!”
He looked at her like he saw a ghost. In some ways, he truly was. He wondered if she was using false eyelashes, something you always would ask him to get you due to strict parents.
He almost choked on the ice gliding down his throat, the ice that tasted awful but reminded him of you. The last night he saw you, the night you kissed him. You kissed him. Not the other way around.
“Slow the fuck down,” he hissed, placing his hands harshly on the blonde’s shoulders.
“She’s— she’s coming back?”
He shouldn’t have been mad, but fuck he was. Gone for three years and not even a fucking call about your rearrival? ‘Best friends.’ Right.
Brown eyebrows furrowed, as if wondering how he hadn’t known. Yeah, he would like to know that himself. He didn’t say anything though. The only evidence of his pure anger was how tight he was holding onto this shorter girl in front of him, despite how badly he wanted to turn around a punch something.
Maybe break the glass counter, or the face of the guy that just placed his stupid, artificial, medicine-tasting ice in a cup onto it. He could bear the taste when it was coming off of your lips.
“Yeah, she’s supposed to be back tomorrow. What, does she hate you now or something?”
Yeah, the devil was definitely blonde.
He stormed out of the small convenience store, wanting to break the little bell that chimed as he slammed the door.
He needed to go to sleep. He’d go to sleep, and then he’d wake up, and you’d be back on the island, and everything wiuld be okay again. Everything would go back to how it should’ve been this whole time.
He’d ask you out, hell, he’d ask you to move in if that was what you wanted. Anything to make you stay this time, instead of running again.
He fell asleep, still in his clothes from the party, only you on his mind.
He couldn’t wait to have more than just a fading feeling of you.
.✦ after worming yourself into his heart, you randomly just up and left. but you didn’t just leave him, you left the island completely, without a trace. that was when he decided not to give girls the time of day, when he decided to build walls around his heart. but now you’re back, chipping away at everything he had spent years protecting himself from.
IN WHICH… Mattheo takes a pretty girl for granted.
W. C. : .6k
PAIRING : mattheo riddle x fem!reader
A/N : part of my ‘BLUSH’ event! ‘y/n’ is not used!
WARNING(S) : slight toxicity, using ‘easy’ to describe a girl
NOW PLAYING… 97 JAG by kevin abstract & love spells
| HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION |
Mattheo Riddle got everything he wanted and more. Seriously. He just had to snap his fingers and he could have anything he dreamt of. Why wasn’t it working with you? It had been. You had always been the prettiest girl he’s ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on, other people just didn’t see that. All they saw was some nerd that they could copy their answers off of.
That was fine, perfect even. It meant Mattheo had no competition. He hadn’t asked you to be his girlfriend yet because he didn’t need to, nobody else was asking you anyway.
Until now. It was like overnight, everyone started to realize just how pretty you were. And funny. He could barely get a second alone with you anymore, and when he could it was interrupted by a new friend of yours, or some guy that wanted you.
He was practically begging for your attention. Constantly. He tried to do what you wanted, but he didn’t know what that was. You wouldn’t tell him, too busy with everything else going on. He tried not to blame you for it, but he couldn’t deny the fact that he missed when you were unknown. When you only hung out with one or two other people.
He got more and more frustrated as time went on. Being brushed off over and over again got old fast. Finally, though, he thought of an idea.
It was close to midnight, but Mattheo wasn’t even thinking about going to bed. He strode towards your dorm, his steps large and quick. As soon as he got there, he was pounding his fist against the door.
He didn’t even give you a chance to speak. As soon as the door open, he surged forward, giving no time to stop him. He stood in the center of your dorm, his jaw clenched in anger.
“What the fuck’s been going on with you?” He yelled, not being able to hold back his anger anymore. He hated to admit it, but part of him felt more comfortable arguing.
Others’ love languages may be physical touch, words of affirmation, his was arguing. Any good, strong relationship needed fights, in his mind. The two went hand in hand.
You immediately matched his level, not holding back like you used to. Now everything was different, you were different.
“Me?! You’ve barely spoken to me this week!”
“I’m surprised you even noticed, what with every other guy flaunting around you!”
“And that’s my fault?! You should be happy for me, at least people know my name now!”
“Yeah, they know you’re fuckin’ easy too!” He knew that was too far. He could see how your face fell, how you didn’t even respond, just pointing an angry finger at the door.
“Baby, please, come on.” His voice was soft again now, a full 180 from his previous anger.
“What do you need? What can I do?” To make it up to you. But he didn’t say that, because that’d mean admitting he did something wrong.
“You can get out of my dorm,” you hissed.
And he did. It felt final, like something he wouldn’t be able to take back, but he couldn’t take back his words either. He could just hope that you’d want him back sometime.
Those hopes went out the window when he saw you, a week later, hanging on the arm of some guy like you used to do with Mattheo. Laughing at his jokes. Mattheo hated how he noticed it, how he noticed everythign.
But he couldn’t stop, and he knew he couldn’t do anything about it.
hi love!! could you write a jj x reader where he is in love with her but is scared to commit to a relationship because he’s never truly been loved before and doesn’t rlly think he deserves it? and it’s reader’s first relationship too? <3
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ I LOVE YOU, I’M SORRY (j.m.)
(jj maybank x kook!reader)
summary : in which a boy loves a girl so much it scares him.
w.c. : 2.3k
a/n : ughh LOVED this request, part two in the process but im trying to get something out for each character i have requests for rn!
warning(s) : angst, slight misunderstanding,
| outerbanks masterlist | navigation |
jj maybank loved you. you knew it, he knew it.
he even thought you felt the same. from the way you’d carefully clean out his wounds in the dead of night, or the way you’d make sure he ate at your house because you knew it was one of the only times he’d be fed. all of it make him believe his feelings were requited.
you were so, so good to him. too good, in fact. too good to be true.
he didn’t deserve it. he didn’t deserve any of it— your gentle touches, the sweet treats you’d give him, none of it. he was too rough for someone like you, too violent.
he had hurt so many people, you had to know about it. if you knew about it, there was no way your intentions were good, no matter how much his gut was screaming at him to just give in.
you’d just end up hurting him, that had to be your goal. some sick joke to laugh about with your friends. either that or he’d hurt you. the latter was more likely, he knew that in the same way he knew he loved you.
but, he needed an excuse to flee. he convinced himself it was some cruel style of humor, telling himself he had a right to leave you like this, to ghost you like this.
once he had continued telling himself it was all fake, he actually believed it. it made every time you hung out feel fake, as though he was just putting up appearances. he could tell you were getting confused by his change in demeanor, and wanted to ask him about it. if you did, he wouldn’t know what to say.
so, jj stopped showing up.
he sat comfortably on the chateau couch, the old worn out fabric rough against his legs. his friends were arguing and panicking about something he didn’t care about, or couldn’t bring himself to care about. his mind was stuck on you.
every time his phone would vibrate, he’d desperately want to give it up and text you, saying he’ll be there as soon as he could. but he couldn’t. it was either you end up hurting him, which he couldn’t see happening because you’re so you, or he hurts you. he knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he hurt you.
so he didn’t answer your calls or texts.
1 missed call from y/n ❤️
y/n ❤️
j?
i thought you were coming over?
Delivered 4:58pm
he sighed, glancing at the clock hanging on the wall. It was almost two hours after he was supposed to be at your house, and even longer since he begun planning this detachment. he shifted uncomfortably in the seat, ignoring you causing an ache in his chest.
his friends looked over towards him, noticing the squeaking of the pullout couch. he had been uncharacteristically quiet this whole time. no matter what, he’d jump into an argument full on. yet he had stayed silent.
“dude, what’s the matter with you? you’ve been weird all day,” kiara pointed out, frowning a bit.
he opened his louth to answer, only to be cut off by sarah. the cameron girl had known you, having attended the kook academy together when you were younger. you were always sweet, so she was happy when you started hanging around for jj.
“yeah, and where’s y/n?”
his jaw clenched at that one. jj knew sarah was a fan of you, meaning john b. was too, and cleo thought you were kind, meaning pope thought well of you as well. it was like they were waiting for him to speak badly about you then shun him for it.
at least in his eyes. he felt he was going crazy.
“she’s busy,” he answered, his tone telling them to just drop it.
he punctuated his two word sentence by getting up from the couch, going out to the screened in porch, plopping down out there away from the group, leaving his phone inside where he couldn’t feel it vibrate as you texted and called.
god, you were too sweet for him. he’d just ruin you, like he did everything else.
the rest of the night passed by slowly. everything felt so much quicker with you. he had mentioned it once before, causing you to make some joke about having fun when time was flying. he couldn’t remember it exactly, and suddenly wished you were here to repeat it to him.
over and over again.
but you weren’t, thanks to him. even when you guys weren’t with each other, you’d still text and call each other. maybe this was for the best; he was too dependent on you anyway.
he fell asleep out on the porch, and you fell asleep alone in your bed. the window was left unlocked and cracked open, despite the cool air blowing in. just in case.
he never came.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚
jj woke up around 10 and walked inside, noticing how everyone seemed to be still asleep in their respective areas. he spotted his phone on the couch, and made the mistake of checking it.
he scrolled through the notifications left by you, not opening them so it wouldn’t say read.
3 missed calls from y/n ❤️
y/n ❤️
jayyy
hello???
7:37pm
this isn’t funny, i’m worried about you
11:21pm
it wasn’t like him to just ignore your texts, especially if you called him. so you had sent this last one. which had happened to catch his eye.
y/n ❤️
atleast let me know you’re okay.
please?
delivered 12:07am
then nothing else after that. you had probably fallen asleep, he knew how you didn’t like staying up late. yet there you were, past midnight for him.
it was because you understood how his life could get sometimes. how he’d get busy, but more importantly, how he’d get hurt. it could’ve been by kooks (maybe starting something on the way to your house), or at the hands of his father.
you weren’t even mad at him, and if you were you weren’t showing it. his heart clenched at the thought. he couldn’t help it, he texted back.
jj 🌊🤍
im finw
read 10:52am
you read the message as soon as he sent it. of course you did. you had been waiting all day and night for him to answer. as soon as you read it, not like it took you long, you got more frustrated.
you had every right to be. he had ghosted you, then all you got was two words in response, and he couldn’t even bother to spell one of them right! you took a deep breath, trying to calm down. if you took it out on him, it’d only get worse.
he got another message, as soon as he had finished with his phone and shut it off.
+1 (123) 456-7890
i missed you yesterday
delivered 10:55am
he knew it was you, seeing your number instead of your name did nothing to change that.
he didn’t even open it.
maybe he was just going through something, you told yourself. it seemed like you guys had been close, close enough to where he’d come to you, but who knows. it could be too personal.
and in that case, he wouldn’t want to be bothered. you sighed, the thought bringing you back to the first time he had come over.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ FLASHBACK
jj had just gotten done surfing, it was obvious from the slightly damp state of his hair and the smell of salt water wafting off him. you had thought it’d be awkward— and so did he, you two were from completely different worlds.
but it wasn’t.
it was as if you guys had known each other for years.
the afternoon had flashed by, eventually ending with you and jj curled up under the many blankets you had oiled on your bed. the covers didn’t slip by without jj teasing you about them, saying something like ‘it’s summer, how do you sleep with this many blankets,’ while pretending to be drowning in them.
after the two of you had calmed down, you had ended up lying on top of his chest, messing with the chain that hung from his neck.
“y’know, i didn’t think you’d wanna come. thought i was jus’ some kook girl bothering you,” you had mumbled, heat rising to your cheeks with the lack of confidence you had shown.
he had just responded with a laugh, pressing a chaste kiss against your head, and saying “you could never bother me.”
but now, as he failed to return your texts, or even read them, it felt like that was all that was happening. like you couldn’t stop bothering him.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ PRESENT
jj shoved his phone in the pocket of his cargo shorts, sighing harshly as he did so. this was proving to be way more difficult than he had thought it’d be.
the boy ran a hand through his hair, not having his hat with him to readjust kn his head a thousand times.
he couldn’t stop thinking about you. how sad you may be, how angry (though he doubted that), how hurt. and the fact he knew he was doing that, that he was at fault? it was the worst feeling he thought he’d ever feel.
he kept strong, though, knowing deep down that it’d be worse if he kept going. he’d hurt you worse. he couldn’t do that. you weren’t just another one of his hookups. hell, the two of you hadn’t even had sex yet.
you wanted to wait, so he respected that. he honestly partly expected it. you weren’t like him. you weren’t the type to have casual hookups here and there. one time you had even told him you hadn’t been in a relationship, like, ever.
what he didn’t expect, though, was sarah’s words, emerging from the hallway that led to her and john b’s room.
“y/n’s coming over.”
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ YOUR POV:
you knew the way he looked at you couldn’t be nothing. it meant something, just as the way he’d hold you did. maybe you didn’t have much experience to base it off of. maybe you were grasping at straws to prove to yourself that he had felt the same way about you that you did him, even if it was just for once.
but maybe, just maybe, he truly did feel the same way about you. you checked your phone almost every five minutes, in such a way that if you did it enough, it’d magically make his notification appear.
your hopes of a magical miracle were futile, as your message not only went unanswered, but unread as well.
did you do something wrong?
was this because you didn’t want to do anything yet?
he hadn’t cared when you had shut him down, he had just pulled you back into his arms and held you. even if he had cared, he didn’t show it. he still came over just as much, and he still treated you the same
that was the only apparent ‘reason’ he would be doing this, and it barely was one. you hadn’t been rude, you hadn’t talked badly about him or his friends to your own. his motivation for this whole ‘cold shoulder’ thing was a mystery.
the familiar ding came from your phone, signaling you had a message. you lunged for it, as if it were a bar of gold. it wasn’t jj, but it was sarah.
sarah 🫶🏻🐻
why haven’t you been coming around lately?
kie and i miss you :(
*1 image attached*
read 11:37am
you opened the attachment, a photo of the two girls pouting at the camera, an edited tear drop under each other their eyes. you laughed lightly at it, surprised st the fact they cared that much.
you and sarah had just begun getting close again, having known each other in your tween years. she introduced you to kie once when you were over, and you guys clicked almost instantly, but were nowhere near best friends.
you responded something casual, mentioning how you had been busy lately, not wanting to bring up the stuff with jj. you didn’t doubt they could figure out what happened— he was the main reason you came over, and he had been ‘way moody’ lately, as sarah would describe it.
sarah 🫶🏻🐻
too busy for a girls day? we wanna see you!!!
read 11:39am
you smiled at the offer, instantly accepting and saying you’d be there at noon. that gave you around twenty minutes to get ready and drive over, which would be plenty of time.
*sarah 🫶🏻🐻 loved your message*
you shut your phone off after seeing the notification, going back into your bedroom. as soon as you entered, your eyes flickered over to one of jj’s t-shirts flung over your vanity chair, and his hat hung on your bedpost.
you changed into an outfit that was cute but comfortable enough to walk around in, your hair already done and just needing a refresh from the humidity. after that was done, you folded up jj’s t-shirt, placing his hat on top.
if he was truly done, though you hoped he wasn’t, he’d want those back. you opened your phone, texting sarah to let her know you were on the way over.
it shouldn’t be too long until you got there, and you and jj could only hope it wouldn’t be too awkward.
IN WHICH… jj finally talks to the girl of his fairytale dreams, and manages to give her his number.
W. C. : .9k
PAIRING : jj maybank x princess!reader
WARNING(S) : none, no ‘y/n’ use!
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JJ Maybank had seen you around way more than he should see a princess in The Cut. Not like he was complaining, though. Every single time, his eyes would go to you, and his friends would try to urge him to go ask you out. He didn’t have much, but he’d give everything just to bring you out on a date. Hell, just to have a conversation with you.
The amount of watching you he had done probably could land him on a list somewhere, but he didn’t care, no. Not in the slightest.
“Dude, just go talk to her. This is like, Dateline level stalking,” Sarah pointed out.
They were all lounging in the boat shop, a place where a girl with generational wealth typically wouldn’t frequent. Pope was working the register, where it was mainly just older men buying bait, along with a father son duo browsing the rods on sale.
JJ’s eyes lingered on them a bit too long to be considered normal.
“Did you guys forget we’re running a store here? Just ask if she needs help finding something,” Pope suggested with a shrug, then a smile to the customer he was checking out.
“This place is like, ten feet. Anyone who can’t find something must be either blind or just plain stupid,” John B. snickered in response.
JJ’s eyes wandered back to the girl in pink, who was currently looking at lures.
“Okay, well, unless any of you have better ideas then that’s what he’s doing, because this is weird, and it needs to end,” He argued back, gesturing towards the blonde boy whose head was currently an unnatural position trying to get a peek at his recent obsession.
Then he suddenly got up, and the arguing was put to a holt as everyone waited with baited breath to see if he’d finally make a move.
JJ had been thinking over his line for a few minutes now, and it seemed prefect. He sauntered over, rehearsing it in his head. He was going to say; ‘Didn’t peg you for a—‘
CRASH.
He must not have been paying attention, because a hook caught on one of the small holes in his t-shirt, and as he walked he sent the whole display toppling over. He raised a hand to the back of his neck sheepishly once you turned around, more focused on the mess than the boy that made it.
“You into spoon lures?” That wasn’t the line.
You were laughing. Laughing! And he didn’t even think it was at him.
“I’m going to be completely honest, I have no clue what that means. I just didn’t want to seem like I came just to look at you.”
So you were bold. He liked that. He loved that. That meant he didn’t have to be as worried about the fact he had been staring at you, because you were doing the exact same thing.
It was as if those two sentences had brought back all of his confidence and swagger. JJ ctossed his arms over his chest, not missing the way your eyes went to his biceps, tones from the amount of work he had to do on the boat.
“My eyes’re up here, princess,” He hinted, a smug smirk now covering the nervous skile he had been sporting before.
He watched as your face shifted, mirroring his own expression.
“And who said I wanted to look at your eyes?” You shot back. You arms crossed over your chest just like his had, and he had to pry his sight away from the hint of cleavage spilling from your pink blouse.
You still noticed, though, of course you did. He could tell by the way you tried to hold back a laugh. One he knew this time was at him.
His voice dropped, and he took a few steps closer to you. Your sweet perfume invaded his senses, but it was definitely a welcomed invasion. He wanted to be truly surrounded by you.
“Well then, you can’t get too mad if I wanna look elsewhere, too, now can you?”
Part of him was nervous— him, nervous for once in his life. He was nervous it was too forward, too much too soon.
You just smirked, getting even closer to him until there were mere inches between your noses.
“If you give me your number, you may be able to see more,” You hinted, a confident head tilt accompanying your words.
You were gorgeous. JJ knew it, the other pogues knew it, and now it was clear that you knew it too. You weren’t shy, like he expected you to be. No, you were like him. You were bold, a bit cocky, and didn’t seem to be taking any of this very seriously.
His friends would later warn him that you might just be using him for a difference. A long overdue seperation from your previous ‘stuffy, prissy’ life.
He still rattled off his number, not having even the faintest idea of what he was getting himself into.
obx taglist : @whatididforlove333 @andrealux21 lmk 2 be added!
IN WHICH… a boy finally gets the date he’s been wanting
W. C. : .9k
PAIRING : niccolo govender x fem!reader
A/N : loooved writing this, requests are open, so feel free!!
WARNING(S) : none, no ‘y/n’ use!
[PT. 1]
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Niccolo Govender had been pacing back and forth for the better part of an hour. He had finally managed to ask you out. One problem, was that you weren’t texting him. He had told you to, right? He swore he could remember saying something like ‘just let me know, you have my number.’ That’s clear enough, right?
Apparently not. It had been hours, and he hasn’t gotten a single message. Well, aside from his friends asking to go smoke. Something he had no interest in doing if he even had a chance of going on a date with the girl of his dreams.
Which, he had thought he had a chance. You had seemed happy when he asked. It didn’t feel like one of those ‘saying yes out of obligation,’ which he knew plenty about.
“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor if you don’t stop,” Camilla tsked from the couch.
All Niccolo responded with was an exaggerated eyeroll and a “thanks, mom.”
Luckily, as if it were some divine intervention from whatever may be up there, his phone went off once more. This time though, it wasn’t his stupid friends. It was the pretty girl he had been (trying) to devote all of his time to.
The two of you texted back and forth a bit, eventually ending with an agreement to meet up at noon the next day for coffee.
Niccolo, beyond excited, as if his personality did a full 180, was ready by ten. It was a Saturday, a day where he typically didn’t even wake up until hours after, but he had set his alarms. He had also even told Camilla to wake him up if he wasn’t up by eight.
He just wanted to make sure he wasn’t late. This was his one chance. One chance to make this obsessive crush into something real.
He refused to screw it up.
So, there he sat, on top of a slightly uncomfortable wooden stool in the quaint little coffee shop you had chosen. The sounds of the espresso machine and other customers’ chatter did little to nothing to soothe his nerves.
His gaze flickered to his outfit once more. He had spent nearly an hour picking it out, with Camilla’s help. He was in the middle of second-guessing it, (or, more like thirtieth-guessing it) when the bell above the café door sounded.
In walked you, in a perfect little outfit that couldn’t be more you if it tried.
Niccolo stood up to greet you. Waving you over seemed… barbaric. Something he never seemed to care about before you came along.
The sweet smell of your perfume invaded his senses as he grabbed your hand in his and guided you to the table. He hoped you wouldn’t realize how sweaty his palm was in yours.
You went up and ordered your drink, along with a small pastry from the display window. Both of which he paid for, not even giving you a choice to do so yourself before he was pressing his card to the reader.
“What a gentleman,” you commented with a grin.
“Only for you,” he responded simply. He then brought your hand, still laced through his, to his mouth and placed a gentle kiss to the back of it.
He couldn’t decide what he liked better; the cute little laugh you do, or the face you made as you got flustered. The natural next step would be to make both continue happening, of course.
The rest of the date went better than he expected. He didn’t make a fool out of himself once, and he only got caught staring at you twice. Both times you just brushed it off with a flustered laugh, after he’d say something like “too pretty not to stare at.”
He truly was a gentleman, the whole time. He was helpful, but didn’t man-splain. He was gentle, he was funny. And he didn’t lie when he said it was only for you. He couldn’t even remember the last time he took a girl out on a proper date.
Then again, even the thought of any other girl went out the window when he was with you. It was like you cast a spell on him that made his thoughts constantly revolve around you. Your pretty face, the sparkle you got in your eye when talking about your hometown, the way you’d brush off compliments with a laugh.
He honestly couldn’t get enough of you. He didn’t want the date to end, didn’t want you to walk away and forget about him until the next time he called. If only he knew, you felt the exact same way.
“This was really nice, thank you, Nicco,” you complimented sweetly, and suddenly he didn’t want anyone else to be allowed to say his name, ever. The way it fell from your lips made him want to play it on repeat for the rest of his life.
He should probably start with a second date, though.
“Wanna do it again? You know, tomorrow,” he blurted. He regretted it right away, with seeing your surprised face.
He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when you replied, relief flooding his senses.
“I’m kind of busy tomorrow. How about… we could walk to school together on Monday? Talk then about it?” You suggested, only to see him nodding quickly.
He had to say yes. In what world would he turn you down after all of this? “Yes, um, yeah, sure that sounds cool,” he answered, rocking back and forth on his feet, trying not to. seem as excited as he was. Of course, it didn’t work.
You nodded, then got right up close to him. He felt your lips press against his cheek, then felt his cheeks instantly flush after you pulled away. He cleared his throat. Had you said something? He had zoned out for a second there.
“Yeah, see you later, then.”
And you walked out, leaving him standing in the middle of a rustic café, his cheeks pink and pupils blown out. Safe to say, he couldn’t wait for Monday.
IN WHICH… pope finally sees the wall between him and his old life.
W. C. : 1.2k
PAIRING : ivyleague!pope heyward x fem!reader
A/N : part of my ‘BLUSH’ event, ‘y/n’ is not used!
WARNING(S) : angst, allusions to abuse, alcohol use mentioned
NOW PLAYING… GEEZER by kevin abstract & dominic fike
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Pope Heyward had always been destined for great things. He always got the highest scores out of the class, never needed help with his schoolwork, and could figure out a problem in a matter of seconds.
The only person who could rival his academic achievements was you. He met you at a surfing competition, being there to support JJ while you were there to support your boyfriend from back then. You had gotten his attention in class, but he finally got a chance to speak to you.
It was nice to be able to talk to someone who didn’t need terms explained every minute. He loved his friends, for sure, but it was different with you.
You had had big plans, too. He could recall you saying you were excited to get away from your dad, who in Pope’s opinion, could be runner-up to JJ’s for the ‘worst dad’ award.
You had your sights set on Harvard, and were surprisingly on track. You had the extracurriculars, the grades, the recommendation letters. But, senior year, you almost flunked out.
Your dad had gotten sick, the disease not being helped by the fact that he worked on a production line, standing up for hours on end with a barely-legal lunch break. You had focused all of your attention on helping him, while all your opportunities slowly died off and fell, like fruit on a tree.
Pope got accepted to an Ivy. Not Harvard, but just as great. The both of you agreed he should go, despite him hating the fact he had to leave his friends, and whatever you two were to each other, behind.
Friends would be an understatement. You gave him his first handjob (which he almost missed, studying late at his house), you taught how to kiss, in return for him tutoring you on the very few subjects you needed help with.
But he went, and he was thriving there.
His second year there, he needed to do a report. Due to the material in it, he knew the only place he could do it; The Cut.
He was in a rare situation. Four-leaf -clover-level rare. People from the cut barely even became Kooks, let alone got into an Ivy League school on an Academic scholarship. But he did it. He kept his grades up. And now he was going back.
Part of him wondered if you were still there. Your dad hadn’t been in the best shape, being ‘old for his age’ as he liked to say. It wouldn’t surprise Pope if it took years for the illness to go away, if it ever did. He still hoped you had made it out. You were smart, and talented. You deserved to have your goals and plans met.
First things first, he obviously caught up with his parents. Answered the basic questions of ‘how’s college going?’ and ‘are people up there snobby? I bet they are.’ He asked them about you, and his heart dropped when he heard you were still here. In that same run-down house with your same old dad.
The walk there was muscle memory for Pope. He could walk it in his sleep. He rapped his knuckles against the slightly cracked door, knowing the doorbell hasn’t worked in at least a decade. You answered it, in all your glory.
You were sweating. Figures, you couldn’t afford an AC. Nobody on the Cut could. But you were supposed to, after you went to college and got your degree and fancy job. But all of that was gone.
He could see the surprise on your face. Then, heard your father coughing in the background. He figured the man was lying on the couch behind you. The couch that had stuffing coming out of it and one leg propped up on what looked like your old textbooks. The sight made his heart clench.
“You’re back? Thought you’d wanna stay up there with those other preppy rich kids,” you teased, and for a secind it was almost like old times. Back when you were his right hand (and much, much better than his right hand). Back when it was you guys against the world.
He scratched the back of his neck, feeling a pang of guilt for leaving. He knew it had essentially been the only option, but still. He missed you.
“Maybe I was waiting for you out there,” He suggested with a shrug, “Can I come in?”
You didn’t answer, just opened the door wider, a silent invitation. He sighed when he saw the state of your residence. It was a mess, but he didn’t blame you. He knew you would’ve rathered things to be clean and organized, but they couldn’t be anymore.
Your father coughed again, and a question arose in Pope’s mind. He didn’t know how to sugarcoat it, but he knew you wouldn’t have wanted him to anyway.
“He still…” Was all he got out, before you shook your head no.
“Not much since he’s been sick. Can barely get off the couch on his own,” you explained simply. Your father still drank, but he wasn’t as violent, or quick to anger. Now he just got frustrated, or overwhelmed.
“I would offer you a drink, but you’re probably to fancy now to drink tap water.” It was another joke, but this one felt a smidge more pointed. As if there was at least a bit of resentment buried deep for him leaving.
There were bills on the table, and he just knew that you were struggling to make ends meet. So, for a moment he ignored the slight dig, and just offered you a way out.
“You could always come live with me. I was lucky enough to get a place for cheap, it’s small but sharing a bed’s never been an issue before.”
A nod to old times was all the end was, and it earned him a small but tired smile from you. He was dead serious about you coming out and living with him. You deserved more than this. You were so, so much more special than The Cut. So much more special than what The Cut or your dad could give you.
But then you shook your head, and he felt like he was eighteen again trying to get you to come with him the first time he left. You even answered the same way.
“You know I can’t leave him.” Right.
He did know that. He hated it, but he knew it. And understood. His reply was a solemn nod.
“I’ll see you later then?” But he knew he wouldn’t. He couldn’t face that, though. This goodbye felt more permanent than the one at the end of highschool. Like you two were in two different worlds now rather than just two different states.
In a way, you were. He wished he could help you, but he didn’t know how. You didn’t seem to want help anyways.
You just pursed your lips together, casually walking towards the front door. He took the hint, knowing it was time for him to leave. “Goodbye, Pope.”
Then the door shut.
He knew it was fair.
You two were in different worlds, and he wasn’t even orbitting yours anymore.
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