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stop pretending

pairingsᯓ✦∘˙ bsf!jj maybank x bitchy!fem!reader

summaryᯓ✦∘˙ you say you don’t care. he keeps proving you do.

word countᯓ✦∘˙ ~8.5k

warningsᯓ✦∘˙ grabbing (non-graphic), kissing, alcohol

authors note: ᯓ✦∘˙ i was too smiley while writing this

you didn’t really “join” the pogues so much as you just ended up there one day and never left. like you were always just… part of it. no one remembers the exact moment it happened, which feels right for how the outer banks works anyway— things blur, people drift together, and suddenly there’s just a group of you that feels permanent even when nothing else is.

you’re not soft around the edges, and you never really tried to be. you don’t laugh when you don’t find something funny, you don’t pretend you’re interested when you’re not, and you don’t bother smoothing yourself out for anyone’s comfort. if anything, you seem committed to being difficult about it.

john b learned quickly that your eye rolls don’t mean you’re not listening. pope figured out you’ll act like you’re above everything while still somehow knowing exactly what’s going on. kie stopped taking your attitude personally after the third time you showed up uninvited and still somehow made everything easier just by being there. sarah called you intimidating once, then quietly started sitting closer to you after that.

you don’t correct any of their assumptions. it’s easier that way.

you show up when you want, disappear when you don’t, and somehow still end up in the middle of everything important. bonfires, boat days, arguments that turn into plans that turn into trouble. you’re there in all of it, like gravity just decided you were part of the system.

especially when it comes to him.

jj maybank has been a problem since the moment he decided you were interesting.

at first, it was just annoying. he was everywhere— too loud, too close, always in your space like he had never heard of personal boundaries. he’d steal your drink without asking, lean into your shoulder like he belonged there, grab your wrist mid-sentence just to drag you into whatever stupid idea he had next.

“come on, you’re coming with me.”

“no, i’m not.”

“yeah, you are.”

and somehow you always were.

you call him names constantly. idiot. loser. maniac. sometimes worse. you shove him away when he gets too close, roll your eyes when he says something stupid, tell him he’s insufferable like it’s a fact of nature.

he never takes it the way other people would.

he laughs.

like you’re doing exactly what he wants.

like the push is part of the game.

at some point, you realize he doesn’t treat you like everyone else. not in a subtle way either. it’s obvious. deliberate. he leans into your space more than anyone else’s, like he’s testing how far he can go before you actually mean it when you tell him to stop.

you always tell him to stop.

he never really does.

he sits next to you at bonfires even when there are other spots open. falls into step beside you when you walk ahead of the group. talks to you like you’re already listening before you even answer him. it’s constant, like he’s decided your attention is something he’s entitled to.

you push back the same way you always do. sharp words, sharp looks, distance where you can manage it. except it never really holds. he just fills it back in like it was never there.

sometimes he says things that land differently than they should.

“you’d miss me if i left.”

“no, i wouldn’t.”

“yeah, you would.”

you always answer like it’s nothing. like he’s nothing. but there’s something about the way he looks at you when he says it— like he’s not joking at all…something that you never quite figure out how to respond to.

you tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything. it’s just jj being jj. loud, reckless, annoying in a way that somehow always circles back to you.

except it never really feels like nothing.

and the worst part is that he doesn’t act like you’re someone he’s trying to impress.

he acts like you’re someone he’s already decided on.

like all your pushing, all your attitude, all your “get off me, maybank” doesn’t actually change anything about where he ends up standing next to you.

it’s never a question for him.

it just is.

you don’t think about it too much. or at least, you try not to. it’s easier to keep things the way they’ve always been: him too close, you too sharp, everything balanced on tension neither of you name.

because naming it would mean admitting it exists.

and whatever this is between you and jj… feels like something you’re not fully in control of anymore, even when you act like you are.

it’s impossible to ignore jj, even when you’re trying your hardest to.

he doesn’t move through the pogues like everyone else does. he doesn’t blend into the background or settle into corners. he takes up space like it belongs to him by default, loud enough that the world either makes room or gets run over.

you usually fall into the second category.

it starts the same way every time: you’re mid-conversation with someone— kie, pope, john b, it doesn’t matter and suddenly he’s there. not joining, not easing in. just arriving. shoulder bumping into yours hard enough that you feel it down your arm, laugh already halfway out of his mouth like he’s been in the joke the whole time.

“what’d i miss?”

he doesn’t wait for an answer. he never does.

his hand is on you before your brain even registers it— fingers wrapping around your wrist, your elbow, your waist, like he’s collecting you mid-thought and dragging you into whatever he’s decided is happening now.

“nope. come with me.”

“jj, what are you—”

“come on.”

and somehow, annoyingly, you always ended up with him.

you shove him off constantly. it’s instinct at this point. palm to his chest, push to his shoulder, a sharp “get your fucking hands off me, maybank” that never lands with enough force to actually mean anything.

he eats it up.

he loves it.

he laughs like you’re flirting instead of resisting, like your irritation is just another language he’s fluent in.

you’ll roll your eyes so hard it’s almost a reflex.

jj doesn’t do distance. not with you. not ever.

at bonfires, he sits too close on purpose. shoulder pressed into yours like he’s testing how long it takes before you push him away again. when you finally do, he just shifts back in immediately, like your rejection is part of the rhythm.

“you’re really bad at getting rid of me,” he murmurs once, grin sharp in the firelight.

“you’re really bad at reading fucking social cues,” you shoot back.

he just laughs louder.

he’s louder about everything, actually.

when he talks to you, it’s never just talking— it’s leaning in, voice dropping like he’s letting you in on something no one else is allowed to hear. his fingers brushing your arm mid-sentence. his knee knocking into yours under the table like he can’t sit still unless he’s touching you in some way.

sometimes he doesn’t even pretend it’s accidental.

he’ll grab your hand just to pull you through a crowd, holding on longer than necessary. not letting go right away when the space clears. like he forgets he was supposed to.

like he wants to forget.

you tell him to stop. you always tell him to stop.

but you never sound like you mean it enough to actually make him listen.

“you’re obsessed with me,” he says once, completely unprovoked, like it’s just a fact he’s decided on mid-conversation.

you scoff. “are you fucking delusional.”

he leans in so close your breath catches for half a second before you shove him back.

he laughs into your space anyway. “you didn’t say no.”

that’s the thing with him— he doesn’t wait for permission, and he doesn’t take rejection seriously unless you make it impossible not to.

because even when you’re pushing him away, there’s something about the way he looks at you that makes it feel like he’s already won something you didn’t realize was being played for.

his attention is constant. heavy. impossible to ignore.

you can feel it when he’s not even speaking—just watching you from across the fire, or from the back of the boat, or standing too close behind you while pretending to talk to someone else.

it’s never subtle.

jj doesn’t do subtle.

he does intimate in a way that doesn’t ask permission to be that way.

he’ll lean in while you’re talking and cut you off mid-sentence just to fix your hair out of your face like it’s nothing. like it doesn’t mean anything. like his fingers lingering near your cheek for half a second longer than necessary is just part of being jj maybank.

you always push him away after.

he always comes right back.

like it’s automatic.

like you’re a magnet he refuses to admit he’s already stuck to.

and somewhere in all of it—the pushing, the yelling, the eye rolls that never actually stop him—you realize he’s not treating you like someone he’s trying to get.

he’s treating you like someone he already has.

you just haven’t agreed yet.

it doesn’t happen all at once. it’s gradual in a way that almost slips past you if you’re not paying attention.

but jj never does anything halfway.

jj starts getting bolder with you in a way that stops feeling like accident and starts feeling like intention he’s no longer bothering to hide.

his hand stays on your waist longer than it should when he pulls you through a crowd— fingers pressing in just enough that you can feel the weight of him there even after he lets go. he doesn’t rush to create distance anymore. sometimes he just… forgets to. or acts like he does.

he’ll lean in while you’re talking to someone else and brush your hair back from your face like it belongs to him to fix. thumb grazing your cheek for half a second too long before he drops his hand like nothing happened.

you always react the same way.

you shove him off. you tell him to stop. you glare at him like it’s supposed to mean something sharp enough to cut through him.

and he just smiles.

not the usual loud grin. something quieter now. more knowing.

like he’s collecting reactions instead of attention.

his voice starts showing up in your space before the rest of him does.

low, too close to your ear when no one else is listening.

“you’re acting like that on purpose.”

you don’t look at him. “acting like what?”

“like you don’t care.”

your jaw tightens before you can stop it. “i don’t.”

he hums like he doesn’t believe you. like it’s not even worth arguing about yet.

and then he walks away like he didn’t just leave something hanging between you.

it’s not just physical anymore.

it’s timing.

jj starts noticing things he never used to comment on out loud.

the way you don’t immediately shove him off anymore when he touches your wrist. the way you let him stand closer for a few extra seconds before reacting. the way your eyes track him more than you realize when other girls talk to him.

especially that.

it’s subtle at first—your reaction.

a look that lingers too long when someone else leans into him at a party. a sharper tone when you interrupt conversations you used to ignore. a hand that pushes him harder when you pretend it’s just annoyance.

he notices all of it.

he always notices.

and instead of pulling back, he leans into it harder.

because now it feels like he’s getting somewhere.

one night, he slips.

you’re sitting too close on the hood of someone’s car, music too loud, everything glowing too orange under streetlights and bonfire light. he’s half turned toward you, shoulder pressed into yours like it’s been there the whole time.

you shove him lightly when he knocks your knee with his.

“you’re so irritating.”

he laughs, but it’s different now. less performative.

his hand lands on your waist again—steady, familiar, like he’s done it a thousand times and finally stopped asking himself if he should.

you don’t move away immediately.

that’s new.

jj feels it.

you feel it too, a second later, and you shift like you’re correcting yourself, pushing his hand off harder than necessary like you’re trying to erase the fact that you didn’t react fast enough.

his eyes catch on that.

he tilts his head slightly, like he’s studying you now instead of joking with you.

and then he says it.

casual. almost lazy. like he’s just testing a theory out loud.

“you don’t mean any of that, you know.”

your eyes narrow instantly. “mean what?”

he leans in just enough that his voice drops into something only you can hear.

“all that attitude.”

there’s a pause after that.

small, but heavy enough that it feels like everything around you dulls for half a second. the fire still crackles, someone still laughs somewhere behind you, the music still thumps through the sand… but none of it really lands.

just him.

just the way he’s looking at you like he already knows what you’re going to do next.

you don’t answer fast enough.

and that’s all it takes.

he catches it immediately. of course he does.

there’s a shift in his face— not surprise, not even satisfaction exactly. something quieter. like interest sharpening into something more deliberate. like he’s just confirmed something he’s been thinking about for a while.

you feel it too late.

so you fix it.

too quickly.

you shove his shoulder like it burns to leave it there a second longer than usual, stepping back into your usual rhythm like you can physically rewind what just happened.

“you’re actually delusional,” you say, too light, too practiced.

jj doesn’t move to follow you this time.

he just tilts his head slightly, eyes fixed on you like you’ve become the only thing in the noise worth paying attention to.

and suddenly it doesn’t feel like you’re pushing him away anymore.

it feels like you’re trying to catch up to the fact that he’s already inside your space.

it starts at john b’s chateau, already too loud before anyone’s even left.

the place is packed in that familiar way— music spilling out through open doors, drinks left half-finished on every surface, everyone half-dressed and half-ready like getting to the bonfire is just an excuse for what’s happening here first.

you’re already irritated when you arrive.

you don’t know if it’s the heat sticking to your skin, or the way everything feels slightly too bright, or the fact that you’re a little more tipsy than you meant to be before the night has even properly started. whatever it is, it makes everything sharper at the edges. louder. more noticeable.

it’s hot inside, the kind of heat that sticks to your skin and makes everything feel slightly unreal— like you’re moving through the night a little out of sync with yourself.

you’re already not quite in your usual rhythm.

not obviously drunk. not gone. just a little looser than you meant to be. a couple shots you didn’t really think about taking, one after the other, because it felt easier than standing around in your own head.

enough that the edges of things blur a little.

enough that you notice everything more.

especially him.

jj doesn’t say anything to you when you walk in.

that’s the first thing you notice.

not a joke, not your name, not a “what’s up” thrown across the room like usual. nothing.

just a look.

quick, like it’s casual.

but it sticks.

you don’t think much of it at first. you move through the house, take a shot someone hands you, lean against the counter like you’re just there to exist in the background of everything else. but even when you’re not looking at him, you feel it.

his stare.

every time you turn your head slightly, he’s there in your periphery— watching, not interrupting, not stepping in yet. just… tracking you like he’s waiting for something to change.

it doesn’t.

so you stop thinking about it.

or try to.

you end up near the kitchen again later, half away from everyone else, drink in hand, shoulders slightly looser than usual. someone says something behind you and you don’t even really turn to respond.

you’re facing the counter when it happens.

you feel him before you see him.

then his hand is on your waist.

not grabbing. not rough.

just there— firm, certain.

he turns you.

not fully, not dramatically. just enough that you’re facing him now instead of the counter, like he’s repositioning you mid-conversation he hasn’t even started yet.

your reaction is automatic.

“what— jj, what are you doing?”

but the words die on the edge of your voice.

because he’s already taken the drink from your hand.

you blink. “oh my god, are you serious?”

he’s holding it now, just out of reach, arm slightly raised like he already knows exactly what you’re going to do next.

you reach immediately anyway.

he shifts it back.

you follow it without thinking, spinning slightly with the motion, hair slipping over your shoulder as you try again.

“give it back,” you snap.

he doesn’t.

not yet.

he just watches you like you’re the only thing moving in the room.

you stop reaching and glare at him instead. “you’re not funny.”

he exhales a quiet laugh, but it doesn’t fully land.

there’s a pause after it.

not long.

just enough.

his hand is still holding your drink. his other hand hovers near your waist again like it’s decided it belongs there.

when he speaks, his voice is lower than it’s been all night.

“you’ve been ignoring me since you got here,” he says.

you scoff immediately. “i’ve been literally right here, jj.”

his eyes don’t move off you.

“yeah,” he says. “i know.”

that makes you pause.

just for a second.

the room is still loud behind him, but it feels distant now. like it’s happening somewhere else entirely.

you shift your weight slightly, crossing your arms. “so what, you’re keeping tabs now?”

that gets something out of him— a small change in his expression, not quite a smile, not quite irritation.

something in between.

he steps closer instead of answering.

you notice that immediately.

your back ends up against the counter without you really deciding it. it just happens as he closes the space between you, not touching yet, but close enough that you feel it everywhere anyway.

his hand comes up again.

this time he doesn’t hesitate.

he turns your waist slightly, like before, but slower now. more deliberate. making sure you’re fully facing him.

no distractions.

just you and him in the middle of everything else.

he finally lowers the drink— not giving it back yet, just holding it at his side now.

and when he looks at you again, it’s not playful anymore.

not fully.

“you’ve been doing that thing all night,” he says quietly.

you tilt your head. “what thing?”

his gaze flicks briefly to your mouth before coming back up.

“acting like i’m not here.”

you let out a short, sharp laugh. “are you crazy.”

it’s automatic. defensive. familiar.

but it doesn’t move him like it usually does.

he just looks at you like he’s already too close to back out of anything now.

and then he leans in.

not fast. not sudden.

just inevitable.

his hand tightens slightly at your waist like it’s anchoring him there as the space between you disappears.

your breath catches before you can stop it.

you don’t move away.

not immediately.

and that’s the problem.

jj notices.

of course he does.

he’s close enough now that you can feel it— his breath, the heat, the pause before something crosses a line neither of you has actually stepped over yet.

his eyes drop to your mouth.

and for a second, it feels like he’s actually going to.

like he’s not joking anymore.

like there isn’t a room full of people behind him.

like there isn’t anything except this.

your chest tightens.

and then—

you ruin it.

you let out a breathy, dismissive laugh, turning your face just slightly at the last second like it’s nothing, like it’s ridiculous.

“don’t be weird, maybank.”

you shove his shoulder lightly to break the moment, forcing space back between you like you can reset it.

“you’re actually so annoying.”

it comes out sharp. practiced. easy.

like always.

jj doesn’t laugh right away.

there’s a flicker.

just for a second.

irritation— small, quick, real.

then it’s gone.

he exhales, lets the smirk slide back into place like armor.

“yeah?” he says lightly, stepping back just enough to look like he’s fine again. “whatever.”

but his hand doesn’t drop from your waist immediately.

not like it used to.

he hasn’t talked to you since john b’s.

not really.

not the way he usually does, anyway. no leaning into your space with some stupid comment, no hand on your waist like it’s instinct, no low voice in your ear acting like you’re the only person in the room worth talking to.

just… nothing.

and it shouldn’t feel like anything.

it should be a relief, if anything.

that’s what you tell yourself.

the boneyard is already loud when you get there, bonfire roaring high, bass shaking the sand, bodies moving in and out of firelight like nothing belongs to anyone for very long.

you should feel normal in it.

you don’t.

jj is there before you even properly settle into the crowd.

of course he is.

you see him across the fire, bottle in hand, laughing with someone, shoulders loose, completely at ease. not looking for you. not checking for you. just there in a way that feels… unfamiliar.

like the space he usually fills around you has been redirected somewhere else.

you don’t say anything at first.

you just watch.

“he hasn’t talked to you all night,” sarah says beside you, like she’s testing the air.

“good,” you answer immediately.

john b glances between you and jj. “that doesn’t sound like ‘good’.”

“it is good,” you say. “it’s peaceful.”

kie tilts her head slightly. “you’re watching him.”

“i’m not watching him.”

“you haven’t blinked in like ten seconds,” pope adds.

you finally look away. “you guys are imagining things.”

sarah hums. “okay, but you’re also downing drinks like he personally offended you.”

you take another sip just to prove a point. “i’m not doing anything weird.”

john b gestures vaguely at the fire. “you’re doing that thing where you pretend you don’t care but you’re actively tracking him across the entire beach.”

“i don’t care.”

“you care,” sarah says again, quieter this time.

you scoff. “i hate him.”

that part lands differently.

there’s a beat.

kie raises a brow. “you hate him… but you’re spiraling because he’s not talking to you?”

“i’m not spiraling.”

“you are,” pope says.

“i’m literally fine.”

you grab another drink before anyone can keep going.

sarah watches you for a second. “you’re weird about him.”

you snap your head toward her. “i’m not weird about him.”

john b leans in slightly, squinting. “you hate when he talks to you.”

“yes.”

“you hate when he breathes near you,” kie adds.

“correct.”

“you hate when he touches you,” sarah finishes.

“absolutely.”

there’s a pause.

pope looks between all of you. “so why are you mad he’s not doing any of that right now?”

you open your mouth.

close it again.

because that’s the thing.

you don’t have an answer that doesn’t sound stupid.

so you default to what you always do.

“i’m not mad,” you say sharply. “i just don’t like him acting weird.”

“he’s not acting weird,” john b says.

you finally look back across the fire.

he’s still there.

still laughing.

still not looking at you.

something in your chest tightens anyway.

you take another drink.

then another.

“i need a new one,” you say, already moving.

kie calls after you, “you’re gonna get sick—”

“i’m fine,” you cut in again, not looking back.

you’re not looking at them anymore.

you’re looking at him.

and this time, the irritation doesn’t feel clean.

it feels louder.

heavier.

like something you can’t quite name yet, but can definitely feel starting to shift.

you’re still watching him when it happens.

he isn’t looking at you.

that’s the first thing that feels wrong.

he’s still with the same girl— closer now, bodies angled toward each other in a way that stops feeling like conversation and starts feeling like something else entirely. her hand is on his arm again, and this time he doesn’t shift away.

you don’t realize you’ve stopped talking until someone bumps your shoulder.

“hey,” some guy says, leaning into your space like he thinks he’s being smooth. “you been here long?”

you blink at him like he’s speaking a different language.

“no,” you say flatly.

he smiles anyway. “you want a drink?”

you already have one.

or maybe two.

you don’t remember.

“i’m good,” you say.

he doesn’t move.

you sigh, sharper now. “i said i’m good.”

he laughs like that’s cute instead of a warning sign. “you don’t have to be a bitch about it.”

that does it.

you turn your head fully toward him, expression blank. “i actually do.”

he hesitates.

you don’t.

“go away.”

he finally backs off, muttering something under his breath.

you roll your eyes too hard.

and that’s when you see it.

jj and the girl aren’t just talking anymore.

they’re kissing.

it’s not subtle. not unclear. not something you can talk yourself out of seeing.

it’s real.

your stomach drops so fast it feels physical.

for a second, you just stare like your brain hasn’t caught up yet.

then it does.

and everything tightens.

you don’t say anything.

you don’t even move at first.

you just turn.

and walk.

you push through the crowd fast, shoulders cutting through bodies, ignoring someone calling your name behind you.

you find your group near the edge of the fire.

sarah looks at your face first.

“oh no,” she says instantly.

“don’t,” john b starts, already bracing.

kie shakes her head. “nope. she saw.”

“what is he doing?” you say immediately, not even slowing down. “what is he actually fucking doing right now?”

you point behind you like they’re supposed to understand the exact level of disrespect you’re talking about.

john b glances over your shoulder, then back. “talking to someone?”

“he’s making out with her,” you snap.

silence.

pope slowly goes, “so...”

sarah winces. “okay…”

you stare at them like they’re missing something obvious. “what the fuck is that supposed to be?”

kie raises a brow carefully. “what do you want him to do?”

that hits something in you wrong.

“what do i want him to do?” you repeat. “not that.”

john b exhales. “he didn’t do anything to you.”

you laugh, sharp and disbelieving. “are you serious right now?”

“you literally hate when he talks to you,” sarah says cautiously. “you hate when he breathes near you.”

“yeah,” you say instantly. “i do.”

“so what’s the problem?” pope asks, confused.

that’s it.

that’s the question that does it.

your jaw tightens.

you look back across the fire again.

still there.

still her.

still not looking at you.

something in your chest snaps.

“i don’t have time for this,” you say suddenly.

“hey—” kie starts.

but you’re already gone.

you don’t hear them call after you this time.

you don’t stop.

you reach him in seconds.

grab his shirt hard.

pull him away from her.

not gentle. not subtle.

he follows easily, like he was already half expecting it.

“what?” he says, amused already.

you don’t answer until you’ve got enough space between you and everyone else.

then you spin on him.

“wow,” you say, voice sharp. “took you long enough to find someone desperate enough.”

he blinks once.

then laughs.

not loud.

not like before.

something slower.

like he’s not surprised you’re here at all.

that throws you off for half a second.

you were expecting him to snap back instantly. to match your energy. to turn this into what it always becomes between you.

he doesn’t.

he just leans back slightly, hands loosely at his sides, completely unbothered.

“you done?” he asks.

you stare at him.

“…what?”

his mouth quirks.

not a smile you recognize.

something more controlled.

“you always talk like that when you’re mad,” he says. “like it’s supposed to change something.”

your jaw tightens.

“are you serious right now?”

he tilts his head slightly.

he looks… different.

not chasing you.

not leaning in.

not trying to fill your space.

just watching you like he already knows exactly why you’re here.

and he’s not moving for it.

you scoff, sharp and disbelieving. “so that’s it? you just ignore me all night and then go make out with someone in front of me?”

his eyebrows lift slightly.

“you ignored me first,” he says.

that lands wrong.

worse than you want it to.

you step closer before you can stop yourself. “i didn’t ignore you.”

he doesn’t step back.

doesn’t lean in either.

just lets you come to him.

that’s new.

“you’ve been doing it for weeks,” he adds.

your laugh comes out quick and bitter. “oh my god. are you keeping score now?”

he exhales through his nose, almost amused.

“no,” he says. “i just stopped playing your game.”

that shuts you up for half a beat.

just one.

then your defenses snap back into place.

“my game?” you repeat. “you’re insane.”

he nods once, slow.

like he’s agreeing, but not really.

“yeah,” he says. “that’s what you always say when you don’t like what’s happening.”

you stare at him.

really stare.

waiting for the jj you know to show up— the one who laughs it off, who leans in, who pushes right back so you can keep pretending nothing ever means anything.

but he doesn’t.

he just looks at you like he’s waiting for you to either continue… or realize something.

and for the first time tonight, you don’t know which one you’re supposed to do.

the air between you doesn’t move the way it used to.

it doesn’t snap back into teasing. doesn’t bend into sarcasm. doesn’t soften when you shove him, when you glare at him, when you try to turn this into something you can control again.

jj just stands there.

still.

not stepping back.

not stepping forward.

just watching you like he’s finally stopped reacting and started deciding.

you tighten your grip on his shirt again out of instinct, like if you hold on harder you can drag him back into the version of this that makes sense.

“are you done?” you snap.

he doesn’t even blink.

then he steps closer.

not into your space like before— like he’s chasing you—

but into it like it already belongs to him.

your hand drops from his shirt without you meaning to.

that alone throws you.

his voice comes low.

controlled.

not angry.

not loud.

just certain.

“funny,” he says. “you never cared before.”

you scoff immediately, but it comes out sharper than you mean it to. “i don’t care.”

he tilts his head slightly, like he’s listening to something you didn’t realize you were saying.

“yeah,” he says quietly. “that’s what you always say.”

you take a step back on instinct.

he doesn’t let the distance matter.

not even a little.

you turn like you’re done with him— like you’re going to walk away, reset this, end it on your terms.

his hand catches your wrist.

not tight.

not forceful.

just enough.

enough that you stop.

you look down at it immediately, then back up at him.

“don’t,” you warn.

he doesn’t let go.

instead, he turns you around in one motion so now that you back is against the tree he was just in front of.

it’s just you and him now.

and he knows it.

he doesn’t crowd you all at once.

he takes his time with it.

one hand comes up— not grabbing, not forcing, just bracing lightly near your shoulder against the tree, stopping you from slipping out of frame again. his other hand finds your wrist again, not pulling, just holding it there long enough that you stop trying to pretend you’re leaving.

you hate how fast your body listens.

he exhales through his nose like you’re still arguing from a distance you don’t have anymore.

“you keep doing this,” he says.

your eyes narrow instantly. “doing what?”

his gaze doesn’t move off you.

“acting like none of this matters,” he says.

a beat.

then, softer—

“like i don’t matter.”

that lands wrong.

too clean.

too direct.

your breath catches before you can stop it, and you hate that he sees it.

you try to recover immediately. “you don’t get to decide what i—”

“no,” he cuts in.

not loud.

not harsh.

just final enough that it stops you.

his hand at your wrist loosens slightly—not letting go, just shifting like he’s choosing not to hold you there by force, only by attention.

that somehow feels worse.

you can't help, but roll your eyes and turn your head away from him in annoyance since you can't believe you're having this conversation with him right now.

his other hand comes up again, faster this time, and instead of touching your chin like a claim, he lightly angles your face toward him just enough that you can’t keep looking away without making it obvious.

it’s not possession.

it’s focus.

like he’s forcing you to stay in the moment you keep trying to outrun.

“you like it when i’m all over you,” he says again, quieter now, stripped of any joke that used to live in it. “just not when it means something.”

your silences causes him to lean in just enough that the space between you stops being optional. just close enough that your brain has to start accounting for him.

“you look annoyed,” he says.

you glare. “i am annoyed.”

“no,” he corrects easily. “you’re offended.”

you laugh once, sharp. “are you psychoanalyzing me right now?”

he tilts his head.

that cocky, lazy confidence settles in fully now— the version of him that doesn’t ask, doesn’t guess, just decides.

“i don’t have to,” he says. “you’re kinda obvious when you’re mad.”

you roll your eyes. “you’re not that important.”

that one lands differently.

he pauses.

then laughs under his breath, like you’ve just told a joke he’s heard before and already knows the ending to.

“yeah?” he says. “then why are you here?”

silence.

you hate that it’s there.

you open your mouth.

nothing useful comes out.

he notices immediately.

of course he does.

his smile sharpens slightly— not warm, not soft.

cocky.

certain.

“that’s what i thought,” he says quietly.

your expression hardens. “you’re unbelievable.”

“you keep saying that,” he replies. “yet you you're the one that came to me.”

your breath catches— just slightly.

you cover it fast.

too fast.

you try to step past him.

he shifts— not blocking you, not grabbing you, just moving enough that you stop anyway, because there’s no clean way through him without brushing him.

like he already accounted for it.

“move,” you say.

he doesn’t.

just looks at you like you’re cute for trying.

“you gonna go back over there?” he asks, nodding loosely toward the fire.

you don’t answer.

he clicks his tongue softly.

“right,” he says. “because that went well for you.”

the silence between you isn’t loud, but it’s heavy enough to feel like it’s pressing into your ribs.

not the kind that comes before an argument anymore.

the kind that comes after something has already shifted.

he’s still there in front of you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him cutting through the night air, close enough that it’s starting to feel impossible to pretend this is just another one of your fights.

and he’s looking at you like he’s waiting.

not for you to yell.

not for you to shove him.

just for you to be honest.

you hate that you notice that.

you hate even more that your next words don’t come out the way they’re supposed to.

“you’re seriously acting like this over some girl?” you say.

it’s meant to land sharp.

it doesn’t.

it comes out thinner. tighter around the edges. like something you didn’t fully mean to admit.

jj doesn’t respond right away.

that’s what makes it worse.

his gaze shifts—slow, deliberate like he’s turning that sentence over in his head instead of reacting to it.

“some girl,” he repeats quietly.

you roll your eyes fast, trying to recover it. “don’t start.”

but it’s already cracked.

he sees it.

of course he does.

his head tilts slightly, that cocky edge still there, but dulled just enough to make it feel more real.

“that what this is?” he asks. “you mad about some girl?”

you scoff immediately, too fast. “i’m not mad.”

“you are,” he says simply.

you take a breath like you’re about to bite back again.

but it doesn’t come out clean this time.

“you were literally—” you start, then stop, jaw tightening like you can force the sentence to behave. “you were all over her.”

jj watches you struggle through it.

and something in his expression shifts.

not fully soft.

but less sharp.

like he’s finally stopped pushing and started listening.

“yeah,” he says, slower now. “and?”

that gets you.

you blink at him.

once.

twice.

like you’re trying to find the version of him that would’ve said that as a joke.

it’s not there.

your voice drops without you meaning it to. “and? are you serious right now?”

he shrugs slightly.

calm.

too calm.

“i was talking to her,” he says. “same way i talk to everyone else.”

your laugh comes out immediately, but it’s wrong. off. “don’t do that.”

“do what?”

“act stupid.”

he exhales through his nose, like you’re exhausting him in a way that isn’t annoying anymore, just real.

“i’m not acting stupid,” he says. “you’re just not saying what you actually mean.”

that hits quieter than anything else.

you go still.

for a second, you forget to be angry.

forget to be sharp.

forget to be anything except standing there with him looking at you like he’s already figured you out.

you try anyway.

one last push.

“i don’t care who you talk to,” you say.

but it doesn’t hold.

it wobbles at the end.

jj notices instantly.

his eyes narrow slightly not in anger.

in understanding.

like that’s the exact crack he was waiting for.

“no?” he says softly.

and there it is.

the problem.

you hesitate.

just long enough.

just honest enough.

and it’s enough for him to see straight through it.

your mouth opens again, but nothing comes out fast enough to fix it.

your shoulders drop slightly like your body gives up before your pride does.

and for the first time all night—

you don’t look like you’re fighting him anymore.

you look like you’re trying not to admit something you already have.

the air doesn’t clear after that.

it gets heavier.

like everything you’ve been trying not to say is just sitting between you now, fully formed, waiting for one of you to finally do something about it.

you’re still standing there.

still too close.

still looking at jj fucking maybank like he’s the problem and the answer at the same time.

your chest rises a little too fast. your jaw is tight like it’s holding back every thought you don’t want him to hear.

and he’s just watching you.

not pushing.

not teasing.

just… waiting.

like he already knows where this is going.

“say it,” he says quietly.

you blink. “say what.”

his mouth twitches. “whatever you’re trying not to.”

that hits wrong.

because you don’t have a clean answer for it.

you take a step forward instead of answering.

then another.

until there’s barely anything left between you.

“you’re so annoying,” you say, but it’s weaker than before. less bite. more breath.

he exhales a soft laugh through his nose. “yeah, you’ve said that like ten times tonight.”

your eyes flick down for half a second, then back up.

“because it’s true.”

“no,” he says, calmer now. “it’s what you say when you don’t know what else to do with me.”

that lands.

too clean.

too accurate.

you hate that your expression shifts before you can stop it.

just a flicker.

jj sees it instantly.

of course he does.

his gaze drops to your mouth for a second— quick, controlled, then comes back up like he’s deciding something he’s been avoiding all night.

the silence stretches.

and this time, it doesn’t feel like distance.

it feels like pressure.

you swallow once.

“you think you’ve got me figured out?” you ask, but there’s no edge left in it.

he steps in slightly.

not enough to crowd you.

just enough that you feel it everywhere anyway.

“i think,” he says quietly, “you’ve been standing here waiting for me to stop joking.”

that does it.

something in your face breaks, not dramatically, not neatly.

just enough that you stop pretending.

your breath catches.

your hands flex at your sides like you don’t know where to put them anymore.

“you’re insufferable,” you say again.

but there’s no conviction in it now.

he notices that too.

his voice drops.

softer.

“yeah,” he says. “but then again, you’re still here, ain’t ya.”

that’s the moment it tips.

not loud.

not explosive.

just final.

he was about to say something again, but you move before you can think about it properly— before you can rebuild the wall you’ve been holding up all night.

right as whatever bullshit was going to leave his mouth, you grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him toward you. it wasn't gentle and you intended it to be that way. but his breath felt sharp against your lips as his lips crashed into yours.

for a second, he didn't move.

like even he didn’t fully expect you to cross the line first.

his eyes flick to yours— quick, sharp, searching.

and then something shifts.

not surprise anymore.

not teasing.

something focused.

controlled.

his hands came up as if it were instinct, placing his hands against your waist as he kissed you back, with the same intensity, like he was about to lose this moment.

and when you pulled back to say a snarky comment, his eyes were holding yours with something deeper.

he grabbed your face again so that your back is completely aligned against the tree and smashes his lips onto yours.

jj breaks for half a second, just long enough to look at you properly, like he’s checking if you’re still there with him in it. his breath is uneven when he speaks, low enough that it barely carries over the noise behind you.

“you don’t get to do that,” he says, voice rougher now, but still controlled.

you blink at him, breath caught somewhere between anger and something else you don’t want to name. “do what?”

“pull me in like that,” he says quietly, “and then act like it means nothing.”

that lands differently now.

because he’s not teasing you anymore.

he’s not guessing.

he’s looking at you like he already knows exactly what you’ve been doing all night and he’s done letting you pretend it wasn’t on purpose.

you don’t answer fast enough and your lips are connected once more.

he doesn’t rush it, so this time, it’s slower.

jj’s hands are on your waist as you cup his sharp jawline with your hands. your lips are moving in such synchrony that you started to question if this moment was even real.

you lean into the kiss before you can even realize and your hands move to the back of his neck as if this was an reoccurring moment. he notices it, again, but doesn’t say anything until he fully takes in the moment he’s been waiting for.

he pulls away, his voice comes low, rough at the edges when he finally speaks.

“you’re still gonna act like you don’t feel that?”

it’s not teasing.

not fully.

it’s a challenge, but softer than before like he already knows the answer and is just waiting for you to admit it out loud.

your throat tightens, and for once, you don’t have something sharp ready immediately. that alone feels like a loss of control you don’t know how to get back.

he notices.

of course he does.

a faint, almost invisible curve hits his mouth, not quite a smile, more like recognition.

“yeah,” he murmurs, like he’s confirming something to himself now, “that’s what i thought.”

and when he leans in again, it isn’t hesitation anymore.

it’s not a question.

it’s just the continuation of something neither of you are pretending is accidental now.

the walk back from the edge of the beach feels different in a way you don’t have a clean word for.

the fire is louder again, closer now, and the boneyard has fully swallowed you back into its noise and movement, like nothing important just rewrote itself between you and didn’t bother telling anyone else.

you’re not thinking about that too hard.

you’re mostly just aware of the fact that your hand is still on him.

not gripping, not clinging— just there, curled lightly around his arm like it’s where it ended up without permission from your pride.

he glances down at it once like he notices, but he doesn’t say anything. of course he doesn’t.

he just adjusts his pace slightly so you don’t have to let go.

which is worse, somehow.

you roll your eyes immediately, because it’s safer than acknowledging anything else. “don’t get used to this.”

he hums under his breath, amused. “you say that like you’re not the one holding me.”

“i’m walking,” you correct instantly.

“mm,” he says. “sure.”

you tug lightly at his arm like that settles it, but you don’t let go.

when you finally reach the others, it’s immediate noise again.

john b is mid-sentence, kie is laughing at something sarah just said, and pope is shaking his head like he’s already tired of whatever story’s being told. it’s normal. too normal.

for half a second, you think you can just slip back into it.

you even start to step away from jj, like you’re going to go sit across from him the way you always would— like nothing’s changed positionally, like the world didn’t subtly rearrange itself an hour ago.

you don’t get far.

his hand catches you.

not your wrist this time.

your waist.

easy. practiced. like he’s done it without thinking.

and suddenly you’re pulled back into him as he drops down against a fallen log near the fire, settling in like he already decided where you’re sitting is no longer up for debate.

you let out a sharp breath immediately. “jj.”

he doesn’t even look at you when he answers. “what.”

“move.”

“no.”

you glare at him, twisting slightly in his hold like you’re going to argue harder, but he just tightens his grip a fraction—not restraining you, just keeping you exactly where you are like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

you scoff. “you’re unbelievable.”

“you’re sitting on me,” he points out casually.

you look over your shoulder at him like that’s the most offensive thing he could’ve said all night. “i was about to sit over there.”

“and then you didn’t,” he says simply.

that earns a reaction from the group immediately.

sarah is the first one to notice, eyes lighting up. “oh my god.”

kie leans forward, already grinning. “no way.”

john b laughs under his breath. “are you guys serious right now?”

pope just shakes his head like he’s witnessing something he does not have the energy to process.

you straighten instantly, pointing at them like you’re the only sane one here. “this is not—don’t start.”

jj, unfortunately, does start.

he leans back slightly against the log, completely unbothered, one arm still resting around your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“what?” he says innocently. “she likes this spot.”

your head snaps toward him immediately. “i do not.”

he glances at you now, slow, amused. “you’re still here.”

“i haven’t moved yet,” you shoot back.

“same thing,” he says.

that gets laughter from the group.

you turn your head forward again, jaw tight, but you don’t actually move out of his hold.

sarah is fully grinning now. “you guys are disgusting.”

“we’re not anything,” you say immediately.

jj leans in slightly like he’s about to whisper something just for you, but he says it loud enough for everyone to hear anyway.

“she’s just mad she lost an argument.”

you elbow him instantly. “i didn’t lose anything.”

he catches your arm easily this time, stopping it mid-motion, but again—no force. just control. just familiarity.

“you’re still in my lap,” he reminds you.

“i hate you,” you say flatly.

he smiles like that’s the funniest thing he’s heard all night.

“no you don’t,” he says.

and the worst part is—

he says it like he actually believes it.

like it’s not even up for debate anymore.

and you don’t have a clean answer fast enough to prove him wrong.

#not a jj girlie but this kinda caught my attention #and i loved it #they’re obsessed with each other

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