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“you don’t have to be scared with me, baby.”
john b. routledge x actuallyawkward!reader
tw: mentions of past abusive relationships, cursing, anxiety, etc! (this is really fluffy for the most part lmao)
summer fell— and now it’s a bitter winter in the obx. yet, you don’t feel so bitter or cold at all anymore. the memory of escaping tannyhill that one late night is faded now; like a baby photo shoved inside a drawer with the corners worn and folded. rafe is still everywhere, still lingering as if he’s some scorned widow awaiting his revenge. you don’t notice, (at least not as much as you used to.)
befriending john b. routledge and his group of fellow pogues was not what you expected. you’d been by yourself at a kegger— forced to vacate your home because your parents were in a mood and you didn’t have the energy to be a shadow. sarah cameron bounded up to you, all smiley and genuinely happy to see you. “come hang out with me and my friends! kie will love you! pope’s pretty awkward but he’s so sweet once you get him to open up, and just ignore jj if he starts flirting.” sarah neglected to mention anything about john b., but wasn’t he her boyfriend anyway? before you could shake out an excuse, she’s already tugging you over to a bonfire where they all sat around, laughing and passing around a blunt.
conversing with the pogues felt like trying to fit into a shirt that’s too small. awkward, uncomfortable. like sarah mentioned, jj tried to make several passes at you— calling you “babe” and “sweetie”, tickling at your cheek like he was an annoying younger brother. you just let out mirthless laughs, until john b. forced himself in between you and his best friend. “jayj, you wanna give ‘em some space? ‘m sure y/n doesn’t want your cooties.” john questioned, as kie and sarah giggled at his comment while pope stifled a laugh. jj just rolled his eyes, not before murmuring a quick apology and nodded.
your heart almost lurched out of your chest. you weren’t used to someone noticing you. your whole life had been a myriad of people brushing past you, barely sparing a glance— training your breath to not go higher than a puff as to not disturb the moment.
and john b just… didn’t even mention it. the conversation quickly turned into a heated debate between jj and pope on the topic of the smartest animal; where pope backed hawks due to their keen hunting instincts and jj argued that snails were the most intelligent because they just “roll around all day.” obviously, you didn’t throw your hat in the ring, but it was… nice. to be sat on a piece of driftwood, not engaging with the conversation but still noticed. still seen.
slowly, you infiltrated the pogues and their way of life. kiara taught you to weave friendship bracelets, and made matching ones to adorn both of your wrists with. then, pope added you into a discord server where him and a group of his online friends discussed the newest caseoh stream, (a streamer you loved, but rafe always dismissed because “who wanted to watch some dickhead play a kid’s game anyway?”) surprisingly, sarah and jj nestled you under their wing of surfing, and even if you continually wiped out, jj was always there to lug you back up on the board with a high five.
and… john b. you assumed pope was the quiet one— the one who only spoke up when needed. yet, it seemed like john b. routledge didn’t need to speak sometimes. he had this natural sense of self about him, like he just knew what everyone needed and wanted all of the time. and his eyes. god, his eyes. always watching; this hazel shade following you whenever you slightly shifted in your seat on the porch or you drew in a sharp breath. almost like john b was studying you. the only question was “why?”
it was a friday night, and you’d been invited to a girls’ night at kiara’s house. with a pit in your stomach and bottles of nail polish in a duffle bag, you rocked on your heels while you waited for the doorbell to stop its incessant pinging. kie and sarah opened the door, immediately ushering you in with beaming smiles and guiding hands on your waist.
“oh, sare, how’re things with the new guy?” kie’s voice rang through the air, cutting into the clairo record that hummed along. sarah, looking up from her now polka-dotted nails, grinned. “amazing! he’s such a nice guy, and he’s got abs for days. i can’t believe john b had been hiding him all this time.” you pause— hand hovering over a message to the discord chat between you and pope. you were under the impression that sarah and john b were still… in love? dating? friends with benefits? since when did this happen?
sarah noticed your hesitation, and immediately smacked her palm to her forehead. “y/n/n! i forgot to tell you! john and i… we decided to break it off. we’re still friends, but i didn’t want to say anything because i know that things with… him are still fresh and i didn’t want to bring up bad memories.” with that? you want to somehow crumple your body up like a piece of paper and be thrown in the trash. sarah, your friend, didn’t want to tell you that she broke up with her boyfriend because it would remind you of… rafe?
you suppose it makes sense. but, still. were you really that fragile? sure, you might be biased, but you think you’re healing fairly well. there aren’t as many nightmares, and your closet isn’t this sanctuary where you can hide away, but rather a place for you to sift through hand-me-downs from kiara and sarah. you’re doing good.
as good as you can be. girls’ night slowly morphed into something lighter, and you were able to go through the rest of the night without that gnawing sensation in your stomach. but, as soon as you felt it dissipate, you feel it rush back and there’s not anyone else around. other than him.
the pogues were supposed to meet at the chateau to prep for a beach day. however, it seemed like you were the only one on time. john b, as welcoming as ever, guided you onto the porch and helped you settle into one of the dusty couches. he didn’t say anything— just set you up to wait while he busied about the house with certain odds and ends. beginning to fidget, you wonder why john b isn’t delegating tasks out to you like he does with everyone else.
is it true? maybe you are that fragile; and even john b, who has been nothing short of a saint, thinks you’re a basket-case. with a small spark of determination, you meander into the house, with the hope of proving yourself useful.
just as that small spark casts the softest of light, it burns out. with your eyes trained on the floor as to not trip over anything, john b turns to place a bowl packed with some weed on the counter and you bump into him. the bowl clatters to the linoleum floor of the kitchen, shattering while the weed creates a dingy cast on the floor.
that sound of glass breaking… suddenly, you’re not in the chateau with john b. you’re in that bedroom again, and you can feel the anger in his eyes burning holes into your skin. “stupid fuckin’ bitch. can’t do anythin’ right! always in my damn way. god, i don’t even know why i put up with you.”
immediately, your knees hit the floor— with your hands scrambling to pick up the shards of glass. “i’m so sorry, john b. can’t do anythin’ right. always in your way. so stupid. don’t even know why you put up with me.” your voice isn’t the mellow and hesitant tone that john b is used to, rather a hushed, venom-laced tongue that he doesn’t recognize. john b can make out small mumbles tumbling from your mouth, repeating certain phrases over and over. calling yourself a “stupid fuckin’ bitch,” while your hands haphazardly grasp for the broken bowl.
john b tucks his arms under your shoulders, tugging you up from the linoleum and pushing you til your back rests against the counter. “woah, woah, baby. let’s take a deep breath, okay? can you take a deep breath for me, honey?” you shy away from his calm demeanor, wanting to shrink into yourself as your mind begins to register how john b’s hands now rest on your waist. trembling, your eyes glance back at the glass, and your reflex is to bend at the knees again. it’s like john b knows before you even get close to the floor again.
“ah-ah, let’s not. what did i say, hm? take a deep breath for me. don’t look at the glass, baby. look at me, okay?” john b counters, his right hand coming up to your chin to gently lift your gaze to his. your pupils are wide— like you’re a deer stuck in a trap. he offered a small smile, “there you go. now, breathe in for me. i’ll do it with you, okay? inhale…. hold it. now, let it out.” you mirror him, forcing yourself to inhale and let it bellow in your throat for a moment before exhaling. his hazel eyes bore into you, with this tinge of concern and almost… pride that you’re listening to him.
john b instructs you to do it one more time, and again and again until your breathing has evened, and your pupils have relaxed. “did such a good job. really proud of you, bubba. do you wan’ to tell me what’s goin’ on? or do you not wan’ to talk about it?” john praised, moving slightly to stand beside you as opposed to caging you against the counter. you glance away, now focusing on the pictures adorning the wooden walls. with a slow sigh, you begin to mumble. “i, jus, um had a moment, i guess. reminded me of him. jus wanted to help, wanted to prove that i’m capable, y’know? and when i bumped into you, and i broke the bowl, i got scared. didn’t want to be yelled at. don’t want to be yelled at anymore.”
john b. routledge hated rafe cameron. his slicked back hair, his ability to make everything about himself. when sarah and john b were together, he hated how rafe treated sarah— but sarah always brushed it off. she always mentioned the poor little soul who had been swept into her brother’s grasp, how they had it worse than she did. and now? seeing your downcast face, while you fumble with the friendship bracelet on your wrist, john b felt that hatred turn to something else.
how could rafe even dare to belittle your soul? did he not see the sorrow in your eyes, the way your lip quivered while you fought to keep your breathing small and shallow? john b’s stomach turned, like he could throw up from how sick he was. how he wished he could’ve saved you sooner, to beat it into your head that you weren’t stupid, you weren’t a burden.
“that’s okay. wanna know somethin’? you don’t have to be scared with me, baby. okay? it’s jus a bowl and a lil mary j. can always get another bowl, can always get more weed, alright, honey? you walkin’ with me?” john b murmured, tentatively slinging an arm around your trembling shoulders and bringing you into his side. you give him the smallest of nods, focusing on how nice he smells instead of the still-there shards of glass. john lets you linger for a moment, not daring to move aside from rubbing at your arm with his calloused hand. then, he hears the softest puff of air escape you. john b halts his hand, “you okay, baby?” “yeah, ‘m okay, johnny. you jus smell really good. like, um, sandalwood. and sweat. but in a good way.”
john b laughs. the rumbling of his chest bumps against your skin, and you don’t feel on edge. it isn’t the forced laugh from rafe— the one where he would silently dig his fingers into the nape of your neck like a mama dog picking up a puppy while he guffawed. it feels… calm, safe. you don’t have to be scared. for once in your life, you don’t feel afraid to move wrong.
approaching laughter breaks you apart. “aw, man! what the fuck happened to my mary j?” before you can scramble into an apology, john b holds up a dismissive hand, and tucks his other into the loops of your shorts. he’s keeping you still. with rafe, you would’ve immediately stood up a little straighter, fussed over how your hair looked. but, you relax against the counter and immediately perk your ears up when pope asks about the last caseoh stream. john b, still holding onto your belt loops, ignores the knowing looks from the girls— and focuses on chastising jj for buying such a shitty bowl.
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ac speaks!
hey… hey… how yall doin? 😅
i’m back☺️
