⋆˚꩜｡ pairing : kook!reader x bsf!JJ MAYBANK.
⋆˚꩜｡ synopsis : based on this req 🫶. ꒰ wc .ᐟ 2.0k ꒱
⋆˚꩜｡ warnings : lowk traumatic experiences / near death experiences ( almost drowning ) , semi-proofread so expect mistakes lol, n i sorta hate the start but like it's okay !!!
“hey man, what the hell are you doin’?” portis yells, deciding to completely launch himself out of his seat to practically attack the blonde beside you, his ratty hands clawing at fabric as the plane starts to tilt to the side.
why’d he think it would be smart to get out of the drivers seat? sure, jj was snooping through his shit, but he should be smart enough to realise that it’s a dumb idea to leave the steering wheel bare, right?
apparently not, given the way he screams “thats mine!” like a toddler screaming for his favourite toy.
“fly the plane!” sarah cries, clinging to the cold metal side of the plane, her eyes wide and terrified. you join in on the chorus, “portis, fly the plane!!”
“who are you really?” jj yelps, trying to weasel his way out of the death grip he’s being forced into; simultaneously, he’s trying not to fling into the air from the sheer volume of turbulence throwing everyone around, limbs getting thrown around from a mix of both.
pope’s the same as sarah: he’s latching onto anything he can reach, yawping over the chaos. loud. pleading. desperate. “please fly the plane, please fly the plane!”
finally, the man listens — although it may partially be because of the dramatic lurch the plane takes — and he slings himself back into the seat, grabbing at the wheel to hopefully, you suspect, get the old metal box to not crash into the bridge you can see out the window.
“come on fish, come on! come on fish,” he mutters, but the weathered plane sputters and dips, practically throwing everyone side to side.
“jay—” you’re forced into the blonde’s side, your legs skidding over the bench as everybody gets forced to the nose of the pane. “woah woah woah!”
the plane stutters and dies, nose-diving directly into the water.
“beneath!” kie yells, for absolutely no reason at all, seeing how bodies pile on top of each other and your now squshed between jj’s chest — his arms still wrapped around your waist, from where he’d instantly grappled them over to keep you protected — and someone who you can’t quite tell; pope, maybe? sweat stifles you from every corner, the stench after a month spent on poguelandia trapping you from sides you genuinely didn’t think they could, keeping you locked in place.
everyone groans. loud, telling. and the plane? slowly sinking into the ocean. in fact, you’d all felt the exact moment the metal hit the bright blue sea, the impact forcing everyone to bounce slightly and cause sarah to let out another small yelp. it feels like everyone’s too drained to move, all taking the opportunity to still know that enemies aren’t coming at you from everywhere they could.
but then the steam starts emitting from the side of the plane, and a cold liquid starts pouring in from the bottom: water. that’s when everyone suddenly rejuvenates, realising the reality of the situation, and the added time pressure.
“is everybody good?” pope groans, hoisting himself up and tugging at limbs to awaken everyone. john b and kiara follow suit — although significantly less agitated — filing haphazardly out of the mass you’d all created, jimmying open the rusting door.
“jj, wake up, man; we gotta get out of here!” someone urges, getting the blonde next to you to groan and wince in the same stinging pain caused by the unexpected crash against the front of the plane. regardless, your best friend complies — he brings you with him, wrapping an arm around your waist to lift up your limpened body.
“we gotta get out before it sinks.”
“oh no. oh nonono, they dont look friendly” john b protests someone behind you, eyes widening as he stares out of the window. great. just great! made even better by pope’s “no they look very unfriendly,” thats doused in significantly more sarcasm than necessary.
“jump,” the blonde stresses to sarah, offering his hand to the girl as he follows his instructions; the sound of a splash flooding in from the open entrance, her body breaking the water.
then jj twists, looking around for the next pogue to help out, his ocean-blue eyes landing on pope milliseconds before he recreates his earlier gesture. grabbing onto the latch above the plane’s door, he sticks out his hand to urge the boy forward. “c’mon we gotta hurry, c’mon pope.”
the sounds of pope and sarah beginning to swim away from the aircraft’s wreckage teeters in, both filling your chest with both a security and trepidation that only increases now your best friend’s — now softened — gaze places itself on you. even now, as glass clear water entraps your legs,
“jump, c’mon baby, i know y’ain’t good at swimmin’ but i can bring you—” he begins, easing you over to the rust covered door to aid you out. but you’re sure you can do it; months upon months of watching your friends swim and surf has given you a new found confidence, i mean it really can’t be that hard right? it’s just moving your arms at the right time.
you’re sure you can do it.
you cut off his offer, giving him an assuring smile to lower back down his brow and teetering off of the ledge. “no, i can do it jayj.”
“you sure?” he’s definitely not. he’s always been there when you’ve attempted to swim, and as much as you have definitely improved, you’re just as assuredly not as skillful as any of your friends. but your soft “mhm,” and defiant — sort of excited to prove everyone wrong for thinking you're bad at swimming — nod, makes the boy feel secure enough to let you go.
“kie— get out before it sinks,” you hear behind you as you jump into the barbadian sea. damn, it’s not nearly as bad as you thought; actually, it’s quite pleasant.
initially, the water comforted you. it wrapped around your body, pressing your clothes against the skin now moistened. it latches onto you like a cool blanket, dragging you in deeper. and your hands move through it with an ease you couldn’t have predicted. with each push of your arms, you move a decent amount further; if anything, this is easy!
then suddenly, you realise the water seems to stick to the insides of your lungs, filling each crevasse so air has no place. it feels like the salt seeps into your blood, your brain, your organs, every inch of your insides. it’s worse than anything you’ve ever felt: gushing into your mouth and burning your eyes and the back of your throat the same way downing a shot of vodka would. you lash through the water, trying desperately to keep your mouth above the water, gasping for oxygen so hungrily only more seawater seems to gush into you.
“c’mon guys, hurry up,” you hear somewhere ahead of you, the voice muffled.
“wait, where’s—” you can’t even discern it, consciousness beginning to slip away from your clouded mind. but jj? he’s very much conscious, flailing through the sea to do a quick headcount and leading the pogues under the bridge. the headcount reveals something crucial: someone’s missing. that someone’s no other then his best friend, who’s wrestling for air.
jj’s manic in reaching you, wrapping an athletic arm around your waist and tugging your body — which is quickly growing limp — to the shore.
he doesn’t give two shits about the patrolmen still racing over to the group, nor does he care about the gritty sand sticking to both of your flesh, or the rest of your friends holding back from assisting in fear of the police. even as your eyes roll back and your hand loses its grip on your best friend’s shirt, he doesn’t care. he’s not even careful as he lays you down against the beach, anticipating your future complaints of the golden granules littering your wet hair, if you make it out.
fuck, what if you don’t make it out?
“princess, baby—” he’s desperate as he kneels beside you, suddenly frozen in place; what’s he meant to do? tears cascade down his cheeks, lapping and mixing with your already drenched shirt, searing you with his desperation. “shit, shit, shit—”
his brain jumpstarts, past memories of some sort of lifesaving course pope had forced him because “it might actually be useful; like if you look at the statistics and y’know, consider where we live,” — thank fuck pope dragged him to that course. his index and middle digits press against your jugular, checking for a pulse; it’s there. it’s weak, but it’s there. shit, what’s the next step? breathing: he adjusts himself closer, using his palm to tilt your head so your nose and mouth are exposed to the humid air, clearing your airways.
you’re still unresponsive.
“cupcake, c’mon, come back t’me,” he desperately whines, abandoning the care and starting to shake your shoulders to hopefully pull you back. “fuck—!”
rescue breaths. his hand clamps tightly around your chin — tighter than intended, urgency and strength mixing as the pads of his fingers press against your flesh. then his lips crash into yours, frantic in his need to push air back into your lungs. with each gasp he has to take to pull in oxygen for his own body, a yearning “princess, please don’t drown,” escapes past his lips, and his eyes dart across your features to check for any signs of life.
each push of breath into your mouth and jerk of his hands seems to grow useless, as time goes on. the pogue's watch from afar, getting held back by their own subconscious as your own slips from your grasp. but jj doesn’t let up, refusing to let you go or lessen his grip, repeating each step he’s learnt however many years ago — even the tears falling down his face never end, replenishing themselves out of fear and desperation.
the sensation of a hand — a damp hand, a cold hand — squeezes at his arm. “babe? babe!”
your lids shoot open, pupils almost totally engulfing your irises.
most importantly, jj’s favourite girl keels over, coughing out half of her insides and wincing at the pain wrecking her body.
you’re alive; you made it. sure, you feel shaky and nauseated, weak and sore, exhausted and cold, but all the negativity’s negated slightly by the blonde’s loud whooping and warmth pressing into your side. he takes your hand in his, slotting himself physically as close as he can as he presses his face into the crook of your neck — thank fuck you’re alive.
“jj?” you groan hazily, still fading in and out of reality as salt gushes into your mouth. the blonde’s too exhilarated, fanning his hot breath against your skin and sliding his hands everywhere across your body; he’s determined to keep you close, to sear the feeling of you into his mind. “fuck, thank fuck.”
remember the times he’s claimed to ‘not be much of a hugger’? yeah well, the way he’s stifling you and your hiccuped confusion with the intimacy and his own touch makes it hard for anyone to believe that claim — himself included, mind.
“i feel … awful,” you murmur, still mentally clocked out. your lids grow heavy, both your mind and body far too tired after such a close encounter with death to deal with the fuzziness of the beach you’re suddenly on. “jayj, what’s going on? why’re you cryin’?”
“nothin’. nothin’, don’t worry prettygirl; you’re good now, don’t stress. thank fuck. holy shit, i love you so much,” he hastily replies, doing his very best to ease your worry with the pure softness in his voice. “holy fuck.”
“love you— i love you too.”
jj might’ve been protective of you before, before he’s almost watched his best friend — his girl — die from something he could’ve so easily protected against; yep, he’s going to be a thousand times worse.
ᯓ★ a / n : did i rewatch that specific ep so i cld get the lines accurate? yes. ofc i did. anywaysss, send more requests guys !! i luv writing them ( plus i’ve got more on the way lol :3 ) 🫶🫶.
ᝰ.ᐟ divider cred : @enchanthings .
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