you didn’t even really mean to start cleaning. at least, not really.
it starts small. just picking up a shirt off the floor so you don’t step on it. then another. then a couple empty water bottles from his desk that have been sitting there longer than they should.
his room isn’t necessarily disgusting, its just..messy. some drawers half open, clothes are thrown wherever they landed, papers scattered across the desk like he stopped caring halfway through everything.
you tell yourself you’re just helping a little. just straightening things so he doesn’t trip over something later.
but then you notice the dust on the nightstand, the stack of clothes that clearly hasn’t been folded in weeks, the way his bed looks like he barely even sleeps in it properly.
and suddenly you’re in deeper than you meant to be.
his hoodies get folded first. then his golf shirts. then the random pile of junk on the dresser that you slowly sort through, putting things back where they belong—or where you think they belong.
it feels strangely intimate. being surrounded by his things like this.
you don’t snoop. you don’t open anything that isn’t already out. you just clean.
like you’re doing something important without saying it out loud. by the time you’re done, the room looks very different. it’s not perfect or spotless. just a little bit calmer.
his bed is fully made, sheets pulled tight and neat. his desk is cleared enough to actually see the surface. his clothes are stacked instead of thrown everywhere.
it feels softer somehow. like him—but taken care of. you don’t stay to see his reaction. you slip out after, closing the door behind you like nothing happened.
~ ~ ~
he notices immediately.
the second he walks in.
rafe stops dead in the doorway, car keys still in his hand, eyes scanning the room like he walked into the wrong place.
his jaw tightens slightly. not in a angry way, just confused.
“..what the hell,” he mutters under his breath.
he steps inside slowly, gaze moving across everything. the bed, the desk, the folded clothes stacked neatly where there used to be a shit ton of stuff piled up.
his chest tightens in a way he doesn’t expect.
because he knows. he knows exactly who did this. no one else would. no one else cares enough to touch his mess without complaining about it.
his fingers drag across the surface of his desk, tracing the clean line where dust used to sit. he notices the way things are placed carefully, not in a rushed way.
you didn’t just clean. you actually paid attention. and that does something to him. it makes him feel all warm.
something he doesn’t quite know how to deal with.
he exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck as he sits down on the edge of the bed. the bed that’s now made properly, sheets smooth under his palms.
it feels wrong. not bad. just unfamiliar.
later that night, when he finds you, he doesn’t mention it right away.
he just walks up behind you, quieter than usual.
you feel his big hands settle on your waist before you even turn around.
“hey, baby” you murmur softly.
he doesn’t answer at first. just stands there, holding onto you like he’s grounding himself.
“you cleaned my room,” he says finally, voice low. he says it so certain.
you hesitate slightly. “yeah..i just wanted to help a little.”
it stays silent.
for a second, you wonder if you crossed a line. if you touched something you weren’t supposed to. or you invaded his space.
but then his grip tightens around you—not painfully, just firmly, pulling you back into his chest.
“why?” he asks quietly. so confused and genuine.
you swallow before answering. “because no one else was going to.”
that hits him harder than he expects.
you feel it in the way his breathing shifts behind you, the way his hands press a little tighter into your sides.
like something in your words landed somewhere deep.
“didn’t have to,” he mutters.
“i know.”
another silence.
then his hand slides up slightly, fingers brushing along your arm in a slow, absent motion, almost like he’s thinking while touching you.
“looks a lot better,” he admits quietly. it’s small. but from him, it’s everything.
you smile softly just a little. “yeah?”
he nods once against your shoulder.
and then, softer than you expect—
“no one’s ever done that before.”
that’s the part that sticks with you. not the room or you cleaning. just that.
you turn slightly in his hold, enough to look at him, your expression softening instantly at what you see in his face. something almost vulnerable.
“well,” you speak gently, your hand coming up to rest against his chest. “get used to it.”
he lets out a quiet breath, something close to a laugh but not quite.
then pulls you closer. tighter. “i love you,” he murmurs.
summary: After some time apart, you go to one of Rafe’s parties and end up in a vulnerable situation, but Rafe is always watching and will always protect you.
Rafe Cameron was a walking contradiction.
One minute, he was all over you—pulling you close, whispering things in your ear, looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered. The next, he was distant, guarded, acting like none of it had ever happened. It was confusing, frustrating, and yet, you kept coming back.
You and Rafe had always had… something. You spent so much time together, the lines between friendship and something more constantly blurring. The flirting was effortless, natural. His touches lingered, his eyes searched for yours in crowded rooms, and you’d even kissed before—more than once. But every time it felt like you were on the verge of something real, Rafe pulled away. He’d ignore his feelings like always, pretend they didn’t exist, and you’d be left wondering where you stood.
The truth was, Rafe wanted nothing more than to make you his. He was infatuated with you, drawn to you in a way that scared him. But in his mind, you were everything he wasn’t—too good, too kind, too much for someone like him. And he didn’t think, not for a second, that you’d ever really want him.
That’s why when you hadn’t seen him in days, after he barely acknowledged you at the last Boneyard party, you told yourself it didn’t mean anything. You weren’t going to overthink it. You weren’t.
Then your phone buzzed.
Party @ mine. 7. Bring whoever.
It was a mass text. It had to be. But for some reason, you hoped that when he sent it, his finger had hovered over your name for just a second longer. That maybe he had thought of you, specifically.
You exhaled, shaking your head. Get a grip.
By the time 7:00 rolled around, you were still in your room, sitting on the edge of your bed, phone in hand. There was no way you were showing up on time. Being the first one there? Standing around awkwardly while people trickled in? Yeah, no thanks. If you were going, you were going late. Less eyes on you that way.
You changed three times before settling on a cropped tank and shorts, pairing them with your high-tops. Simple, effortless, but you still checked the mirror twice. Maybe three times. Your makeup was heavier than usual, just enough to highlight your eyes, your lips. You even took extra time making sure your curls laid just right.
The realization hit as you grabbed your car keys. You cared. Too much. More than you wanted to. And you hated that.
Shaking off the thought, you headed out, already trying to convince yourself that this was just another party. That Rafe Cameron wasn’t the reason your heart was beating a little faster.
Even if, deep down, you knew he was.
The Cameron house was already alive with chaos when you pulled up. Music blasted from the speakers, the bass vibrating through the ground as people spilled out onto the lawn and around the pool. Some were crowded near the keg, others lounged on the patio furniture, drinks in hand, laughter mixing with the distant crash of waves.
Slipping through the crowd, you scanned for familiar faces, but most of the people here were tourons or kooks you didn’t care for. You hadn’t even made it inside before realizing Rafe was nowhere in sight. A part of you had hoped he’d be outside, that maybe he’d see you first—but no.
Without another thought, you pushed toward the back patio, the inside of the house packed wall to wall. The air was thick with smoke and the sharp scent of alcohol. You stood on your toes, scanning the kitchen, searching. Nothing.
Fine. You opted for a drink instead.
Grabbing a red solo cup, you dipped it into the punch bowl, the deep red liquid sloshing inside. You took a sip and immediately felt the burn scratch down your throat. You barely flinched, downing the rest of it before deciding to head back outside.
Maybe you’d find him out there.
The backyard was even more crowded now, clusters of people packed into every available space. You pushed your way through, weaving past sweaty bodies, until you finally spotted him.
Rafe was leaning against the outdoor bar, looking completely at ease, beer in hand. But your eyes weren’t just on him—they were on the blonde pressed dangerously close to his side, her manicured fingers grazing his arm as she whispered something into his ear.
You froze.
Something ugly twisted in your stomach. Anger. Jealousy. Both.
Before you could stop yourself, your feet carried you toward the keg. You weren’t going to stand there like some lovesick idiot, waiting for him to notice you. If he even wanted to notice you.
But the second you moved, Rafe’s eyes flickered away from the blonde. Straight to you.
His gaze locked on yours, and for a moment, you swore you saw something shift in his expression. That cocky smirk, that unreadable look in his eyes. It made your breath hitch—so you did the only thing you could.
You looked away.
You didn’t turn back as you filled your cup, lifting it to your lips and chugging it down in one go before immediately refilling it. The alcohol burned, but it was better than whatever you were feeling right now.
You went to take another sip when a hand closed around your arm.
Twisting around, you were met with deep brown eyes and a lopsided grin. A tall brunette guy—definitely not a touron. “Woah, woah, slow down,” he teased, eyes flickering down to your cup. “Gotta let some of us catch up.”
A small laugh bubbled out of you, a little high-pitched, a little unsteady. “Oh, I—”
“Hey, relax,” he chuckled, letting go of your arm. “I’m just fucking with you.”
You exhaled, rolling your shoulders. “Right.”
His grin widened, like he was enjoying this. “But, actually… I was trying to find a way to talk to you.”
You blinked. Oh.
Your face felt warm, and you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or the way his eyes never left yours. “I—well. You found your way, I guess.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Guess I did.”
You glanced down, realizing you were still standing in front of the keg. “Oh, shit. Did you want—”
“I do,” he interrupted, grabbing the tap. “But I wasn’t lying about wanting to talk to you.”
You swallowed, unable to help the way your lips curled into a small smile. “Well, I’m Y/n.”
“And I’m Ashton.” His voice was smooth, confident. His brown eyes bore into you, intense but inviting.
“Nice to meet you, Ashton”
“It’s very nice to meet you too, Y/n,” he murmured. “You wanna go sit?”
And maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the fact that Rafe Cameron was probably still entertaining some blonde, but you didn’t hesitate. “Yeah,” you said, letting him lead the way.
You didn’t remember how many drinks you’d had at this point. Three? Four? But your head felt heavy, your limbs sluggish.
Something was wrong.
Then, suddenly, two hands were on you. Strong. Steady. Helping you to your feet.
A voice, low and distorted, murmured near your ear. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna take good care of you.”
The words barely registered, muffled by the haze clouding your mind. Your body felt weightless, unsteady, as they led you inside, your limbs too sluggish to resist.
You barely made it in the door before the shouting started.
Then, you were falling.
Your body lurched forward, but before you could hit the ground, arms caught you.
Familiar arms.
Warm, safe, his.
Even in your foggy state, you knew. You always knew.
Rafe never took his eyes off you.
Not after he met your gaze across the yard, not as you turned away, not even when you started talking to that new kid—Ashton. He saw the way you smiled at him, the way Ashton leaned in a little too close. It made his blood simmer, but he kept his distance, watching. He knew you’d had a few drinks, but nothing that should’ve had you barely able to stand.
So when he saw Ashton leading you inside, your body limp against him, Rafe moved.
Pushing through the crowd, he followed, shoving past drunk oblivious partygoers until he stepped into the house. That’s when he got a good look at you.
His stomach dropped.
You were barely conscious. Your head lolled to the side, eyes unfocused, body slack in Ashton’s hold. Way too out of it for the amount you drank.
Rafe knew exactly what was happening.
White-hot rage surged through him as he stormed toward Ashton. “Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” His voice was sharp, slicing through the noise.
Ashton barely flinched, keeping his cool. “Oh, it’s fine, man. Don’t worry, she’s just a little too drunk.”
Rafe scoffed, taking another step closer. Wrong answer.
“You don’t even know her, do you?”
“Of course I do,” Ashton said quickly, but Rafe caught the hesitation in his voice. “Her name’s—uh—”
That was all Rafe needed to hear.
His fists clenched at his sides, his whole body coiled tight like it was ready to explode. “Let. Her. Go. Right now,” he seethed, voice deadly low. “And get the fuck out of my house before I make you.”
Ashton’s cocky front faltered. He wasn’t stupid. He knew exactly who Rafe Cameron was. And he knew he was caught.
So, in a split-second decision, he shoved you forward and bolted.
Rafe’s arms were around you before you could even stumble, catching you against his chest. His grip was firm, steady—like he was the only thing keeping you upright, because he was.
Rafe steadied you, his arm cradling your side while yours hung limply over his shoulder.
“Hey, Y/n, do you know who I am?” he asked, voice softer now, careful.
Your heavy eyelids barely lifted, but you gave a slow nod. It wasn’t much, but he took it as the best he’d get.
“Okay,” he murmured. “I’m gonna get you upstairs and help you, alright?”
Even if you didn’t fully understand, even if you wouldn’t remember this tomorrow, he needed you to know you were safe.
With ease, Rafe carried you up the stairs, carefully walking you into his bedroom before gently laying you down on his bed. His heart ached at the sight of you—barely coherent, body limp against the mattress, chest rising and falling in slow, uneven breaths. The thought of what could have happened if he hadn’t followed you inside made his stomach twist.
He forced that thought away, moving quickly to grab a cold bottle of water and a damp rag from the bathroom.
When he returned, you were still out of it, your eyes barely open, threatening to slip shut completely. Panic rose in his chest.
Rafe was at your side in an instant, sitting down beside you, his voice low but urgent. “Hey, hey, princess, can you look at me?”
A weak groan left your lips before your lashes fluttered, just barely parting your eyes to meet his.
“There you are,” he said, relief washing over him. “Think you can sit up for me? Just for a second, so you can drink some water?”
You groaned again in protest, but Rafe was already easing you up, one strong arm supporting your back as he pressed the water bottle into your shaky hands. You lifted it to your lips, gulping it down so fast that it nearly slipped from your fingers before Rafe caught it.
“Good girl,” he murmured, setting the bottle aside.
He made quick work of slipping off your shoes, then hesitated, fingers twitching as he grabbed one of his t-shirts from the drawer. It was oversized, soft, his, and he figured you wouldn’t want to sleep in what you had on now.
“You can wear this,” he offered, hovering over you. “If you just wanna put it over what you have on now, that’s fine. I just thought it might be more comfortable.”
You stared at the shirt in his hands, blinking slowly. “O—kay. Y-yeah,” you slurred, barely able to push yourself upright.
Rafe smiled softly, proud of you for the smallest thing—just sitting up. He handed you the shirt, watching as you slipped it on over your tank top, drowning in it. You attempted to get up, but the second you moved, your knees buckled.
“Whoa, whoa,” Rafe caught you before you could fall. “Where you goin’, huh?”
“I—I don’t know,” you stammered, your words barely making sense.
Rafe exhaled sharply through his nose. You weren’t in your right mind—he knew that much.
“Okay, how about we just lay back down?” he suggested, steadying you as you swayed in place.
But you shook your head, weakly attempting to pull away from his hold. “No—nnnoo, I—I think I have to go home.”
Your words were slurred, barely strung together, and the second you tried taking another wobbly step, your legs gave out beneath you.
Rafe was there before you could even fall, his arms catching you like second nature. He held you up, his grip firm but careful.
“It’s late,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “And there’s no way I’m letting you drive right now, so just stay here, okay?”
You didn’t protest this time, just gave a slow, barely-there nod as your body slumped into his.
Rafe let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his hands still cradling you as he guided you back toward the bed. He moved slowly, making sure you were steady before carefully easing you down onto the mattress.
“Just rest,” he murmured, brushing a stray hair from your face.
His touch was soft, his fingertips lingering against your skin for a second longer than they probably should have. His chest ached as he looked at you—really looked at you.
You were out of it, completely defenseless, and yet you had trusted him. Out of all the people at that party, all the people who could have taken advantage of you tonight, you were here. With him.
Rafe swallowed the lump in his throat, shaking the thought away before reaching for the blanket, carefully draping it over you. He should leave—should give you space, should let you sleep—but instead, he found himself sitting down beside the bed, watching as your breathing evened out, your lips parting slightly as sleep took over.
His fingers curled into his palms as he fought the urge to reach for you again.
He didn’t know what you’d remember in the morning. He didn’t know if you’d regret being here, if you’d look at him differently, if you’d ever let him hold you like this again.
jj maybank x fem!routledge!reader | largely inspired by the bible
content warning: sexual content; mentions of parental abuse (physical abuse) | any questions for trigger warnings, feel free to inbox anonymously
word count: 14k.
blurb: when you, John B's half sister, return to Kildare after over two years of living in Colorado, your adolescent crush that you harboured for his best friend comes screaming back. Because you and JJ can't be together in real life, what's the harm in a fantasy?
“And this is your room.”
The syrup-coloured wood is the first thing your eyes meet when John B pushes open the bedroom door. There’s the vague lingering smell of teenage boy which he’s tried to air out, the window open ajar, and the clutter of his belongings has been moved to make space for your own. As you drop your duffel bag and step into the room, you take in the walls. There’s posters and prints stuck above his bed, dotted around on slats of wood separating windows: someone surfing; a rockstar smashing his guitar. An old skateboard deck is nailed into the wall alongside a license plate. The sheets are bright blue, the bed freshly made, and a clean towel is folded up at the foot. It’s well-lit with plenty of daylight flowing through the many windows. Homely and inviting.
“Is it, uh, alright?”
You turn to find John B leaning against the doorframe, hands in his short pockets. Smiling, you nod.
“It’s perfect,” you tell him. “I’m honestly chill with crashing on the couch, though.”
It’s pretty obvious this was his room: you feel guilty kicking him out.
He shakes his head and gestures with his thumb over his shoulder. “I moved into my dad’s room anyway. This has been the spare for a while.”
“Well, thanks,” you smile.
He nods, mirroring your content. “I’ll let you settle in and stuff. I moved all my crap out the closet so you can put your stuff in there, and the top bedside drawer is empty.”
“That’s perfect,” you say. You lift your bag with a grunt and dump it on the bed.
“I gotta go to work but call if you need anything. Shouldn’t be back too late.”
Unzipping your bag, you look to him. “Where’d you work?”
“Got this gig helping out at Ward Cameron’s. Don’t know if you remember him?”
“Course I do,” you snort. “The kingpin of Kildare, and your dad’s treasure hunting buddy.”
There’s a tense silence as your words catch up with you. You press your eyes shut, embarrassed.
“Shit, sorry. That didn’t come out how I meant it to.”
“It’s cool,” John B says, graciously gliding past it. “Anyway, he pays pretty good so can’t complain. Mostly just handy-man odd jobs.”
“Very noble work,” you joke.
With a quiet laugh, John B nods and backs out the door. He lingers another moment, contemplating saying something else. “Look, uh, I know it isn’t ideal circumstances, you coming back to Kildare and stuff, but I’m glad you’re here. Really. It’s nice having you back, sis.”
Your mood sobers, smile turning solemn.
“Thanks,” you quietly reply.
He nods once more and pats the doorframe in farewell. “Right, I’ll let you get unpacked. See you later.”
“See ya.”
When John B leaves – the front door shuddering against the house as it slams shut – you’re overcome with quiet. In Colorado, where you lived with your mom in the city, there was little nature. You forgot how peaceful Kildare is. Through the crack in the window, birdsong and cricket chimes accompany the sound of your unpacking. You turf out your clothes and take to putting them in the closet. Shoes and bags and bikinis. A jacket and a few sweatshirts. It was easy enough to plan for your outfits considering you’re only staying the summer. You remember the weather in Kildare well enough from when you used to live here.
Once you’ve unpacked your clothes, you find your paints. A box of watercolours which have seen much use and love, the hinges rusted and the inside of the palette smeared with dried mixed paint. Turning to the bedside table, you pull open the bottom drawer on accident. You come face to face with corny porno magazines, a box of tissues, two wrapped condoms and a half empty bottle of painkillers.
“Gross,” you mutter, slamming it shut. Yep, this was definitely a dude’s bedroom.
The top drawer is empty, like John B promised. You fill it with your paints and sketchbooks and pencils.
As the day ploughs on, the room becomes increasingly saturated with your personality. Postcards from Colorado, of the towns and cities you visited, photographs from school of your friends and classmates: you scatter them along them wall, amongst John B’s. Some of your favourite paintings, alongside artists which inspire you, join the mix. On the desk you add a few of your own books to the haphazard stack of abandoned homework and school reports.
At the bottom of your duffle bag is your penny board. You look around the room, searching for empty space to slot it without adding to already cluttered surroundings, and opt to slot it under the bed. Ducking down, you come face to face with a collection of empty beer cans. Clearly the spring cleaning only went so far. It’s noisy as you drag them out, but you’re certain you hear someone shouting. Pausing, sitting back on your haunches, you turn to peer out the open bedroom door. It’s silent for a moment, and then you hear footsteps.
“Yo! JB, you home?”
It’s a guy shouting. His voice sounds vaguely familiar. When he comes into the corridor, he glances into Big John’s bedroom (now claimed by your older half-brother) first. Blonde messy hair and well-worn combat boots instantly name him. JJ. He turns to the spare bedroom and stops short the moment his eyes land on you, sat amongst a pile of trash.
“You’re not John B,” he says.
“What gave me away?” you reply with a lift of your brows.
There’s a long awkward moment where he stares at you. You can practically hear the cogs turning as he takes you in. When you lift your arm up to scratch the back of your neck, realisation dawns upon him. You imagine your scar on the outside of your elbow gave you away.
“Holy crap! Little Routledge?” he gapes.
You laugh. “Haven’t been called that in a minute.”
JJ steps into the room and you get to your feet. He tackles you into a hug. It’s too short, too sudden, and then he’s stepping away from you again, leaving you dizzy on your feet.
“The fuck? You’re, like, grown now,” he says.
Rolling your eyes, you reply, “well, I am sixteen.”
“The fuck!” he repeats. He then takes in where you’re standing, and the state of the room, and frowns. “Wait, what are you doing here? I thought you were in Colorado with your mom?”
“I was,” you say. You kick one of the cans out the way and fold your arms over your chest, shrugging. “I came back for the summer.”
“Oh, that’s sick!”
You laugh. It’s a nice reaction to have from someone who you haven’t seen for over two years.
“John B gave you his old room then?”
He walks into it as if it’s his own. You watch as he studies the new additions to the wall that you’ve added. Lingers on one of your paintings.
"Yeah, he’s moved into his dad’s, apparently.”
“Yeah, he moved in there a while ago,” JJ tells you. “I’ve been sleeping in here most of the time.”
Your mind flashes back to the bedside drawer stocked with teenage boy necessities. Ah, makes sense. You remember how JJ was when you were a dorky thirteen-year-old. At the ripe age of fourteen, he had girls fawning after him. He was shameless in his reputation. The conversations you overheard between himself and John B as he’d brag about his escapades are seared into your memory, as you felt your wasted preteen heart splinter with every tale. It’s no surprise now that he’s probably just as unruly. Especially considering how he looks. There isn’t much time to ogle though because he’s looking away from the décor, meeting your gaze again.
“That explains all the empty beer cans, then,” you say.
He cringes. “Yeah, uh, sorry ‘bout that.”
You shrug. “It’s cool. I need to toss ‘em out but I don’t know where the trash bags are…”
“Oh, right,” he says, breezing past you. His cologne lingers in the air when he leaves. There’s the smallest moment for you to catch your breath as JJ bangs around in the kitchen, and then he reappears with a roll of black bags. Tosses them to you and you catch. “Here.”
“Thanks.”
You begin to shove the cans into the bag and JJ starts to help. His black button-up gapes open as he leans over and it takes everything not to glance down his shirt like some pervert.
“How come you didn’t want to stay in Colorado for the summer, then?”
“Change of scenery,” you vaguely reply. It isn’t a complete lie, but it isn’t the whole truth either.
“Well, you chose the best summer to come back. Our mission this year is to have the best summer of all time.”
“Pretty lofty goal to set,” you chuckle.
JJ glances up at you, flashing you a grin. “Nah, we got it in the bag.”
You find yourself smiling back, held captive under his stare. When he takes the now full trash bag off you, tying it off, you snap out of it.
“So, where’s your brother at then?” he asks, heading out the room. You follow.
“At work. Said he does jobs for Cameron now.”
“Oh, yeah. Cameron sorta took him under his wing after his dad…went missing,” JJ replies.
You have a feeling that the way people talk about John B’s father is rather doctored.
“I can’t believe he’s gone,” you tell him, referring to Big John.
As you step on the porch, the sunlight warms your face. The floorboards creak as you make your way down them, to the garbage can outside.
“It was insane,” JJ says to you. He tosses the trash away. “I mean, we all knew Big John was a bit too into the whole royal-merchant thing but…we never thought it’d go that far, you know?”
“Yeah,” you nod. “Scary.”
JJ looks at you a moment longer. Then, he laughs to himself and shakes his head. “Can’t believe you’re sixteen now.”
“Can’t believe you’re seventeen.”
“What? I look good or something?”
He does a small spin on the spot, arms held out by his sides. You roll your eyes, acting as if you’re unaffected. It’s hard to swallow the reflex reaction of yes.
“Or something,” you say.
JJ takes it in stride. “Well, you look pretty cute yourself considering you’ve been in the mountains for the last three years.”
“I don’t live in the mountains,” you snort. The word ‘cute’ rattles around your head like a pinball.
“You’re taller now too. Practically come up to my shoulders. I remember when me and John B could pick you up by your ankle like a marlin.”
“Yeah, I remember that too,” you not-so-fondly recall.
JJ grins and steps over to you. Despite both of your growth spurts, you still have to look up at him, and him down at you. His eyes are just as dreamy as you remember them. When you first left for Colorado, you hardly had time to pack. In the midst of chaos, taking a picture of your brother’s best friend didn’t seem all that important. Cut to you spending endless nights trying to remember his eyes, the exact colour and the exact shape. Trying to remember the dimples that popped out when he smiled. The pure joy in his laugh. The way your heart felt like it might explode whenever he looked at you, even if it were for a second.
But when JJ pats your head, your chest deflates.
“Well, see you around, little Routledge,” he says, stepping away. “Tell your brother I was looking for him.”
Because even after all these years, you’re still just John B’s little sister in JJ’s eyes.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
You stare into your can of cider. In the night, the only light being that from the bonfire John B started up in the backyard, you can’t make out the colour of it. Just the swirling of liquid. You’d spent the last three days working on a watercolour of the marsh side to John B’s house, but you couldn’t capture the movement of the water quite right.
“Wait, I’m confused,” Pope frowns.
“What’s there to be confused about, Pope?” JJ sighs, seemingly exhausted from the questions. There had been an influx of them the minute John B brought you out of the Chateau. “His mom shagged her dad and boom, here she is.”
“Charming mental images there, JJ, thanks,” John B cringes.
You laugh into your drink.
“No, I get that. But…You used to live here, right?” Pope asks you.
You nod.
“But then you moved to Colorado?”
“Yeah?”
“But now you’re back here?”
“Apparently,” you say.
Pope’s frown deepens: apparently that cleared nothing up for him. You’ve never known someone so analytical. “This is complicated,” he observes.
“No shit,” Kiara quips.
It was complicated. Families usually are. You and John B had different dads, in short. Your shared mom cheated on Big John when John B was hardly a year old, putting you around 11 or so months behind him. She ran off to Raleigh with your dad to try and fix their tumultuous relationship, leaving you with Big John for practically thirteen years. Whilst he wasn't unkind to you, he never saw you as his. You supposed you were a reminder of his ex-wife's unfaithfulness. But John B treated you like blood, as did his friends.
Just after your thirteen birthday, your mom decided to flee the state, and she was taking you with her. It all came out of the blue. You weren’t exactly thrilled to go to Colorado. You liked Kildare, and North Carolina, and John B and his friends. Kiara was always nice to you. She never talked down to you, despite you being seen as John B’s little sister. You bonded over turtles and Bob Marley. JJ was different. He’d prank you with John B and tease you about your dolls, but he’d also patch you up if you fell and calm you down after a nightmare. Your crush on him evolved naturally over time. What started as childhood infatuation with the supposed delinquent of Kildare became real. You liked JJ. He was funny and rambunctious, but he had a kindness and tenderness that he kept hidden below. He was often at the house as his own family situation was far from perfect, so having him around became as familiar as John B’s presence. When you left, JJ gave you a hug that you wished would last a lifetime.
But you drifted away in Colorado. You didn’t have anybody’s phone number, save for Big John’s (which your mom refused to let you use), and you were too young to remember addresses to write to them. Social media was never something you latched onto and eventually it all faded away into a strange, dreamlike memory. Being back here is almost proof that you didn’t imagine the whole thing.
“We’re half siblings,” you say, whittling down your family history into a simple statement. “That’s all you really need to know.”
“Damn straight,” JJ whoops, downing the last of his drink. He crunches the can in his fist and heads to the cooler for another.
“You’re staying for the whole summer then?” Kiara asks.
You nod. “I’m tryna get a job at this restaurant in town to keep me busy.”
“Screw that. Just come smoke and surf with us all day, that’ll keep you occupied,” JJ grins.
He’s comfortable in himself, relaxing in a lawn chair, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. His t-shirt represents one of Kildare’s small-town establishments and his shorts are stained with dust and dirt from riding his bike.
“She’s the good one out of us lot,” John B announces, gesturing to you. “Out of all the Routledge offspring, she’s gonna go places. You’re not gonna taint that, JJ.”
“And by ‘all the Routledge offspring’ you mean yourself and her?” Pope checks.
John B nods fervently. “I’m telling you! She’s madly talented.”
“You’re drunk; it’s giving you beer goggles,” you dismiss, finishing your drink.
“You were always the creative one,” JJ remarks. Everyone looks over to him. “Me and John B would be out on the water and she’d be drawing it.”
“Maybe you can show us some of your stuff,” Kiara says.
You laugh and shake your head. “Maybe not.”
The alcohol wizzes up your body as you get to your feet and you take it as a good time to call it quits.
“I think I’m gonna head in.”
“What?”
“No!”
“Come on!”
You laugh, shaking off the group’s disputes. “I’m tired!”
“Lightweight,” JJ teases. You flip him off as you pass, ditching your empty can in the garbage as you go.
“Night guys!” you holler as you head back into the house.
“Night!”
The bedroom John B offered you is starting to feel less like a guest house. You shrug off your cardigan – it stinks of smoke from the fire – and close the door. Through the window, you can hear the group chattering.
Pope seems nice. He hadn’t been around when you lived in Kildare, but you recognised his name. Heyward was a legend on the Cut; you could see his dad in his eyes. Kiara was just as you remembered her, if not more consumed by her environmental activism than before. JJ was the most staggering change of all. He’d grown into his looks, matured around the face. Any puppy fat that you remembered from childhood had vanished. Lithe and lively, he was an American heartthrob, through and through.
As you do your skincare, you glance out the window. You can make out JJ, sat with his back to you. His arms are flailing around as he tells a story. You can’t make out the details through the window but the looks on everyone’s faces tells you it’s pretty damn entertaining. He was always the joker, humour hiding whatever was happening underneath like he was arming himself with a grin. The unexplained bruises on his face and the painful batterings on his body were never explained whenever he’d stay at Big John’s, when you were younger.
The moment he shifts in his seat, you dart away from the window, scared to get caught, and finish getting ready for bed.
A bad dream rouses you awake. It was about Colorado. The warped memories keep you from falling back asleep, no matter how hard you try. Sighing, you stare at the ceiling. The room is bathed in moonlight, cosy in the wooden interior, and you contemplate sitting outside for a bit. The same cardigan from earlier gets pulled on over your vest top and you slip into some crocs.
You head for the front door, creeping past John B’s room, and step onto the porch. There’s a warm, humid air in the night. The crickets and owls harmonise with the faint buzz of mosquitos who surround the porch light. That’s when you realise that it’s already on, and you’re not alone. JJ’s on the porch, laid out on the sofa. He’s smoking a joint. The smell of weed merges into that of the dying embers from the abandoned, extinguished bonfire. You rap gently on the wall as you approach, hoping not to startle him.
“Hey,” he says, looking up at the sound.
“Hey.”
“Can’t sleep?”
“No,” you say. “I thought everyone went home.”
“They did. I’m crashing here tonight. My dad’s…”
He falters, glances up at you, and shakes his head.
“Don’t need to bore you with it.”
“You’re not boring,” you hear yourself tell him.
Smiling, JJ offers the joint to you. You take it, sitting down in the red armchair at the foot of the sofa. The weed consumes your senses when you take a drag, hitting the back of your throat and dulling your thoughts.
“Haven’t smoked in ages,” you say.
“Big smoking community out in Colorado?” JJ asks.
You laugh. “Not where I live, no.”
He takes the joint back when you lean over to him. Tilts his head back as he takes another hit. He’s in the same clothes as earlier, hasn’t even taken off his boots; his hair is tousled like he tried to sleep but couldn’t. You’re caught in the act of staring at him. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even make a joke. Instead, he holds your gaze. It’s almost like a silent challenge: who’ll break first?
“Can I say something kinda inappropriate?” he asks.
“I feel like you have to, now.”
JJ grins at that, amused. “You’re way cuter than I remember you.”
“Oh? You mean sweaty thirteen-year-old, chalk-highlight-pink-hair wasn’t cute?” you joke.
Shaking his head, he adds, “No. Well, yeah, but not in the way you are now.”
Your stomach tightens and heart constricts, and you wish you had the joint to have something to distract yourself with. You hope you sound calm and collected when you say, “thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself.”
“Oh, you’re too kind,” JJ jokes. He takes another long, deep drag. “Is it nice? Being back in Kildare?”
You glance off to the marsh. You forgot to check the time when you got up but judging from the endless navy blue of the sky, it’s still late.
“Sure.”
“Sure?”
You look back to him. “It’s better than Colorado.”
“So, you’re not missing home then?”
The blunt is passed back to you. Taking a drag, you ponder his question. “I don’t think I know where home is right now. I don’t think it’s Colorado, but I don’t know if it’s here either. Maybe I don’t have one.”
JJ doesn’t say anything and you remember yourself. Laughing self-deprecatingly, you shake your head.
“Sorry, think this joint’s going to my head. That was dramatic.”
“No, no, I get ya,” JJ assures. “I know what you mean.”
“You don’t like Kildare?” you ask him.
His expression darkens like a shadow has cast over him. “It depends.”
“Hm,” you say. Nothing more is said on the matter. You get the sense that JJ was vague on purpose.
Pulling your legs into your seat, you glance around at the clutter on the porch. A surfboard is lent against the nett lining of the porch; a rusting duck ornament balances on one of the beams. What looks to be a broken radio sits beside a half-full bottle of rum on a small table by the couch.
“I think it’s good for John B, having you back.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” JJ smiles. “He sorta spun out when his dad disappeared. You’re kinda the only family he has left.”
“You’re his family too. Been around longer than I have,” you tell him.
JJ’s smile softens. He glances away from you, fiddling with the paper of the joint, almost as if he’s flustered. “Thanks.”
“So,” you say, “you got some poor girl on this island falling after you?”
“Rude of you to assume there’s only one,” JJ grins wickedly.
You roll your eyes.
“What about you? Some West Coast jock waiting for you back in the home state?”
The sarcastic ‘har har’ that he gets has JJ frowning, bemused.
“Definitely no guy, and definitely no jock.”
“Now that I find hard to believe,” JJ says.
Before you can ask what he means by that, or spiral out by thinking too much about it, JJ’s getting to his feet. He puts the blunt out on the window ledge, ditching the empty butt in a filthy dish. Stretching his arms over his head, sighing, you watch as his t-shirt rides up. The tensing of his abdominal muscles is like torture. God, to run your hands up his chest, over his shoulders, tangle them in the salt-soaked strands of his hair…
“Right, night Little Routledge,” JJ says.
You blink away from his chest and meet his gaze. There’s a strange expression on his face, one you don’t recognise, and you want to scrutinise it and find out what it means. But it’s gone in a flash, as is he as he heads back into the house. You watch through the window as his silhouette drops onto the pull-out sofa.
It takes a minute to regain your composure.
You can’t think of JJ like that. He certainly doesn’t think of you like that, and that childhood crush has long been put to bed. Shaking it awake is the last thing you need right now. Besides, he’s John B’s best friend. Your brother’s best friend. The same brother who’s taken you back into his house, offered you a room, free of charge, without complaint or question. And it seems like John B needs as many people around him as possible right now. But it’s hard to maintain that line of thought, when as you lie back down in your bed, desperate to get some sleep, you can vividly picture the slit of JJ’s chest that you were privy to just moments ago when you close your eyes.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
You follow Tom through the restaurant. He’s the supervisor, eighteen and a fresh high school graduate. It’s hard to keep up with him as he points things out: waiter’s station; kitchen; storeroom…You’d forgotten how overwhelming job orientations can be.
“And this,” he pushes a door open, “is the staff room.”
You glance in and take in the messy pile of shoes, the overflowing trash can, and the three coat pegs overwhelmed with bags and hoodies.
“Love what you’ve done with the space.”
Tom laughs. He closes the door and leans against the doorframe. Broad shouldered, he stands taller than you by a couple inches.
“So, what made you want to work here?”
“I’m really interested in not being broke,” you reply, making him laugh.
“You new to the island? Feel like I haven’t seen you around?”
“This island that small?”
“Or you’re just that unforgettable,” he smoothly returns.
Your face fires up. Laughing nervously, you shift your stance. “I just moved in with my half-brother for the summer. Need something to keep me busy for a few months.”
“Ah, sweet. Anyone I’d know?”
“Dunno,” you say. He starts back into the main restaurant building. They haven’t opened yet. It’s void of life. “John B Routledge?”
“Oh shit, yeah. JB,” he says, flashing you a grin.
He’s charming in a disarming way. The kind of face that a modelling agency would swipe up because of his easy marketability.
When the two of you approach the bar, there’s a girl stood polishing wine glasses. She looks to be about your age, maybe a couple of years older. Her smile is sweet and welcoming like warm hot chocolate on a winter’s night.
“Hey, Lizzy. This is the new starter,” Tom introduces.
“I’m guessing I got the job then?” you ask him. He nods. With that, you offer a hand to Lizzy.
“Nice to meet ya,” she says, shaking it. “Could do with more girls around here.”
“Happy to help,” you reply.
“So, you think you can cover a shift tomorrow night? I figured cause you’ve waitressed before it shouldn’t take too long for you to learn the ropes here,” Tom says.
You nod. “Sure. Sounds good.”
“We’ll see you tomorrow then,” he says.
You bid farewell to himself and Lizzy, seeing yourself out the front door. The restaurant is in the heart of the cut, surrounded by other small businesses and hipster start-ups. You begin the journey home, plugging in your headphones and submerging yourself in Reggae music. Children play in the local park and preteens chatter as they speed past you on their bikes. There’s a warm breeze that brushes past you; it smells of sea water and fried fish. You’re passing the harbour. Eyes land on Heyward’s store, the logo just as you remember it from all those years ago. It’s surreal being back.
When your phone buzzes, you pause your sightseeing to check it. It might be John B asking after the interview. Your throat closes up when you see your mom’s contact pop up. A text. ‘Call me back.’
Just like that, you’re dragged out of Kildare and are back in Colorado.
It’s impossible to ignore the text, but you do your best either way. You don’t even remember half the journey to the Chateau as you walk through the door. JJ is home. He’s sat at the messy dining table, eating a bowl of cereal and scrolling through his phone. Tugging out your earbuds, you give a small wave hello.
“How’d the interview go? That was today, right?”
“Smashed it. Got the job,” you say.
“Oh, sweet. Congrats.”
“Thanks.”
You ditch your bag by the door along with your phone. Taking the seat opposite him, you sit cross-legged on the wooden chair. The sketchbook you’d abandoned earlier lays dormant. Opening it up, you flick to your latest piece of the marsh. It’s coming together rather well. You’d decided to add the H.M.S Pogue, sat harboured on the grass. JJ peers over his bowl to the painting.
“Holy shit. That’s sick,” he says through his mouthful of Captain Crunch.
“Thanks,” you smile. “I’m pretty happy with how it’s come out, considering how old these paints are.”
JJ watches as you crack open the aforementioned watercolours. The smell of artificial paint teases the air. Dampening a thin brush in the mason jar of water, you dip into the blue.
“They bad quality or something?”
“A little. They best ones are Winsor and Newton, but I can’t justify spending over twenty bucks on paints.”
“Why not? You’ve clearly got a gift,” JJ says.
You hate how casual he is when he says things like that to you. Like it doesn’t knock the breath out of you like a sucker punch to the chest.
“S’just practice,” you mumble.
You can feel his gaze as you paint. Resting your chin in your hand, you work at the water under the jetty, trying to perfect the shading. You want to feel as though you can walk into the painting; like you could drown in the crystal clean waves.
Painting had become an escape when you were in Colorado. Whatever you could remember of Kildare, you’d paint. When that well ran dry, you began to paint places you wished you could go. Anywhere but the dilapidating family home you’d found yourself in. Secret gardens made of twisting ivy and crumbling, ornate statues hidden amongst orchids and rose bushes. Cosmic planes with make-believe ice cream stations snuck onto Mars and Venus; whales which bathed in the stars and caught a tan in moonbeams. Underwater societies full of sea kelp and multicoloured coral reefs, with octopi hiding amongst crabs and shellfish.
You glance up to find JJ transfixed on the painting. There’s a crease between his brows as if he’s the one concentrating. It makes you laugh, quiet and under breath, and he looks up. Holds your stare.
“That’s amazing, that you can just do that,” JJ says, remarking to your work.
You swallow the sickly rush that his words give you. His tongue dampens his lower lip, tantalisingly slow. You feel it hit somewhere deep inside of you. Something in the air shifts.
Then, so quiet neither of you can be sure he really said it, he utters, “you’re amazing.”
“Yo!”
The door swings open with your brother’s arrival. Your head spins over your shoulder to the front door. John B stands holding a bag of takeout burgers in the air beside his head.
“Y’all hungry?”
“Hell yeah,” JJ says.
When you look to him, it feels as if you could have imagined the whole interaction had just moments ago. JJ’s sat in his seat as he was before, unfazed.
He abandons his cereal and follows John B into the kitchen like a starving dog, begging for food. You place your paintbrush back into the water and join them. John B unpacks the burgers and fries onto half-clean plates. You watch JJ toss a fry into the air and catch it, whooping in celebration. A plate is handed back to you, over John B’s shoulder.
“Beef burger with cheese, no pickles.”
“Thank you,” you sing-song, taking the plate off him.
JJ turns around and looks at you with faux disgust. “No pickles?”
You shake your head, heading back to the table. JJ and John B join you with their own quick dinners, and the three of you eat. You tell John B about the summer job you secured, and he tells you and JJ about Sarah Cameron and her new boy-toy Topper. JJ says he’s “biceps without a brain” when you ask which one Topper is.
“That can’t be his real name,” you snort.
“Oh, it is,” John B replies.
“His name is almost as dumb as he is,” JJ sniggers.
There’s the sound of chewing and swallowing.
“Two official weeks into summer,” John B randomly announces.
You quirk a brow. “Two weeks since I came back to Kildare.”
JJ holds his cup of soda up in a toast. John B wipes his mouth and raises his own, as do you. The three of you clink cups, smiling at the stupidity. As you bring your cup to your lips to drink, you find your eyes meeting JJ’s across the table. He holds your gaze as he sips, swallows and licks his lips of the sugar. You feel it hit somewhere deep, deep inside of you. JJ looks back to John B and starts recounting his tales of the day fishing, leaving you stumped.
What the hell was that?
~*~*~*~*~*~*
As your days in Kildare stretch on, your imagination becomes your most loved and loathed place all at once.
The Pogues had taken you under their wing without a second thought. It felt as if it wasn’t just because you were John B’s younger sister. Kiara would spend hours talking to you about music and star signs. Pope would discuss books and artists that he’d read about, falling into a huge debate about whether Andy Warhol is as legendary as everyone makes him out to be (the answer is, of course, yes). You and John B connected as brother and sister, filling that hole of ‘family’ that had been taken from both of you within the past year. Movie nights sharing popcorn and critiquing corny horror films, and mornings spent tending to the yard and fishing at the jetty: you felt yourself coming back bit by bit, in the company of the brunette.
But spending time with the Pogues came with spending more time with JJ. That little childhood crush that you’d claimed had succumb a long, undisturbed slumber…Oh, she had been awoken. Him staying over more and more on the pull-out when him and his dad ‘got into a thing’ meant the throw pillows smelt like his cologne and soap. He’d offer you his sweatshirt when sat around the bonfire on evenings drinking, and the warm distinct smell of him would consume you, drown you in the pheromones, affecting you like some pathetic animal in heat. Days spent surfing and sunbathing at the break gave you space to shamelessly ogle his bare chest, splattered in sea water, scorched and tanned with sunlight. The ripple of his lats when wearing his useless muscle tees as he waxed his board in the surf shack. His jawline strong and steely when annoyed or focused, with faint blonde stubble a week after shaving. But you swear he knew how it affected you. Swear he knew it drove you crazy whenever he’d fleetingly touch your back, brushing past you in the kitchen to grab a drink, or adjust your grip when helping him fix up his bike. When sharing a blunt on the porch (as you often did when sleep couldn’t come), he’d take his time passing it to you, fingers brushing. Innocent, incidental touches that felt calculated and planned. The way his eyes would gaze into yours, like he could read your thoughts and decipher your wants. A vague, barely-there smirk to his lips, constantly tortured by his tongue and teeth…
God, your whole body feels as if it has been on fire for the past week.
You blame your overactive thoughts of JJ on your boredom. Working at the restaurant hadn’t been sufficient distraction from the mess that is your life right now. Even now, as you stand before the till, typing through an order for the kitchen and bar, you feel your mind wandering. To thoughts of the Chateau, and to a certain blonde-haired guy sprawled on the pull-out sofa, shirtless, back on proud display…
“You gonna be much longer?”
“No, I shouldn’t be,” you say to Tom.
You hope your embarrassment doesn’t read on your face. It’s not as if he could hear your thoughts, so you’re not sure why you feel caught in the act. You finish selecting the sides for table 16 and press ‘store table’. Stepping to the side to grab some side plates, Tom takes over the till.
He’s nice. Makes you laugh a lot at work, as you slander rude tables and gush over those that tip an extra twenty.
After depositing the side plates at the table, you head to the bar to run the drinks you put through. Lizzy is mixing the cocktail you ordered. She pours rum into a shaker and then passionfruit puree.
“Can I ask you something?” you say to her.
She glances over. The two of you had gotten closer at work. You were hoping to hang out with her one time down at the beach, or maybe grab lunch after a morning shift. She runs a hand over her buzzcut hair style and nods.
“Do you think there’s such a thing as bad thoughts?”
“Bit deep to be asking that at eight o’clock at night, don’t you think?” she smirks.
You roll your eyes. As she goes on making the cocktail, you elaborate. “I have this dumbass crush on this guy which I know I shouldn’t have…I just feel bad for thinking about him so much.”
“Well, that’s dumb,” she snorts.
There’s the loud rattle of ice against stainless steel as Lizzy shakes the cocktail. Then, as she strains it into a martini glass, she looks up at you once more.
“Who’s this guy? Do I know him?”
“Maybe.”
Her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. “Is it Tom?”
And, no, it isn’t Tom, but maybe saying it is means she won’t keep digging. You’d rather keep your embarrassing years-long infatuation with your brother’s best friend close to the chest. So, you do your best to look meek as you nod.
“Holy shit! Well, if it makes you feel better, he’s totally into you,” Lizzy tells you.
“He is?”
“Hell yeah. Guy practically ogles you across the room,” she says.
You glance over to Tom. He’s stood before a table, talking away, scribbling down their order on a notepad. At the feeling of being watched, he looks up and meets your gaze. You flash him a small smile and he mirrors it quickly before returning his focus to the task at hand.
“So, do you?”
“Think there’s such a thing as bad thoughts?” Lizzy checks. You nod. She ponders the question whilst garnishing the cocktail. “No. No, I think only actions talk. I mean, I think bad things all the time about customers who are dicks. I could put glass in their drinks: that’d show them sort of thing. But I don’t actually put glass in their drinks, so I’m off the hook. Nobody’s the wiser.”
It’s a somewhat extreme example but it gets the point across. You take the tray and nod.
“I mean, maybe fantasising about it might be cathartic. Get it out your system, you know?” Her sly wink speaks volumes as to what these ‘fantasies’ are about. You roll your eyes.
“Thank you for your advice, Lizz. I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Anytime sunshine.”
With that, you walk over table 16 and deliver their drinks. The rest of the shift passes by rather quickly. You end up making a bet with Tom that you can sell more pints of larger than him and come up victorious, leaving work with an extra ten dollars in your pockets.
The streets are painted sunset purple, orange and pink. You spot John B’s campervan, known as The Twinkie, in the parking lot; he’d promised to pick you up after work tonight. But as you walk up to the passenger side, you realise it’s JJ behind the wheel. You’re not sure if the feeling of your organs shrinking is a good thing or a bad thing.
“Where’s John B?” you ask, climbing in beside him.
“Nice way to say, ‘hi JJ, it’s so good to see you!’”
“Okay, hi JJ,” you say, rolling your eyes. He starts the engine. “Now, where’s my brother?”
“He had to go do something for Cameron.”
“At ten at night?”
“Dude, I just work here, a’right? I do as he says so he lets me stay on his sofa,” JJ says. You laugh.
The radio kicks on and ‘Downtown Lights’ starts to play. You look out the window as he drives, watching the houses fade into overgrow and trees.
“Hey, you hungry?”
“Starved.”
“We can swing by a Wendy’s on the way home, if you wanna,” JJ says.
You smile as you look over to him, nodding. With that, he takes the next left and the two of you make your way in comfortable silence to the drive through. At the worker’s request, JJ recounts his order: two hamburgers, both with cheese, one without pickles. Oh and a large Pepsi.
As he pulls forward to pay, you say, “you remembered I don’t like pickles?”
He glances over to you like you’re stupid for even asking. “Course.”
Food secured, Pepsi in the cupholder for you both to share, you start the journey to the Chateau.
“Feed me a fry?”
You laugh and oblige. It’s the least you can do, considering he bought you takeout, after all. You turf one out the brown paper bag and hold up to his lips. His breath fans against your fingers as he takes it. Chews and swallows. You managed to tear your eyes away. That man could yawn and you’d be mesmerised, you swear. It’s pathetic.
“Thanks.”
“Course.”
The ride back is over way too soon. You take what’s left of your food and your bag, opening the door. “You staying over tonight?”
JJ contemplates a moment before shaking his head. He studies his hands as they run up and over the steering wheel when he says, “no. No, I gotta go home sometime.”
“Right,” you quietly say. The last fight him and his dad got in was ugly. He came over, shaking with anger, a purple bruise forming under his eye. It scared the shit out of you to let him go back there alone. “Well, thanks for the food.”
JJ looks up from the steering wheel and takes you in. His lips move, like he wants to say something, but he seems to abandon the thought. You take it as your cue to leave.
“See you soon.”
“Yeah. See you soon, Little Routledge.”
You hate that nickname. The resentment is thick to swallow as you say goodnight, stepping out the van.
John B isn’t home when you walk into the Chateau. The lights are off, dirty dishes piled up in the sink. The sofa bed is unmade from the last time JJ slept on it. You contemplate crashing on it for the night, just so you can feel as if you’re near to him, but you know that’s insane. If John B were to find you there, he’d only be concerned that something was wrong with your own room, either way. So you trundle back to your bedroom and strip out of your uniform. Makeup rinsed off and teeth brushed, you crawl into bed and drift off easily.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
His lips are hot and wet on your skin, kissing down your stomach. Your breathing’s laboured like you’re fighting an adrenaline rush. He seems to notice, laughing darkly against your tummy.
“So wound up already and I’ve barely touched you,” JJ croons in his southern drawl.
Your eyes slip shut, fighting back a whimper as his fingers dip teasingly into the waistband of your panties. A moan finally lets slip at the sensation of his lips pressing against your crotch, over the cotton.
“You want it?”
“Please,” you whisper.
“Yeah? You want my mouth?”
“Yes, JJ, please.”
It’s embarrassing to beg but you don’t have much left in your mind other than thoughts of him to even care.
Fingers knotting into his hair, you try and coax him lower still. And he obliges. Drags your panties down your legs like time is a luxury. You wonder if he likes teasing you; if it brings him pleasure like the feeling of his hands on your body does for you. He leans back on his haunches and runs his palms up and down your thighs, staring at you exposed pussy. His shark tooth necklace sits against his toned chest and you’re jealous of how close it gets to be to him.
“Fuck,” JJ groans as you open your legs.
He leans back down and nuzzles your inner thigh, pressing a sharp kiss with his teeth, sucking in the skin and relishing your pleasured yelp. It feels as if he’s marking you as he leaves the hickey: mine.
“Been dreaming ‘bout this.”
Before you can let out another pathetic plea, JJ situates himself between your legs and goes down on you. Eats you out like a man who’s been lost at sea, like a man starved. Sighs at the taste of you on his tongue, kissing at your thighs as if to catch his breath, dragging you closer and closer to the edge. The damp of his tongue laps at your clit and your legs lock around him in a vice. He’s indefatigable, insatiable and…it’s too much.
“I can’t,” you whine hopelessly. Your fingers grasp at the sheets, eyes clenched shut.
“Come on,” JJ preens. “Wanna see you come.”
He leans close to your ear, taking your lobe between his teeth, and slips a finger into your seeping hole. Your orgasm comes like waves crashing over splintered rocks; breathing jagged and vision blurring behind eyelids. Somewhere in the euphoric haze you cry out his name. Flashes of colour blending into a mercurial high as he works you through your ecstasy, unrelenting.
You gasp awake.
Had you been sleeping?
Your forehead is damp with sweat, throat parched and chest heaving. Anyone would have thought you’d have just sprinted three miles. When you sit up in bed, you register the pulsing between your legs and the telltale stickiness of your thighs.
Shit. Good thing there’s no such thing as bad thoughts.
Wiping at your face, your skin feels red hot. You venture to the bathroom and drink water from the faucet. Making eye contact with yourself is too hard right now, considering you just had the most incredible wet dream about your brother’s best friend. Now that the high is passing, you’re overcome with shame and guilt. You’re delusional. Maybe you should submit yourself to be sectioned. Would be a good way to kill some of these summer weeks…
Heading back to bed feels like returning to the scene of a crime. Instead, you head out onto the porch, dressed in nothing but a t-shirt and panties. John B’s a deep sleeper, you’ve come to learn. You’ve never heard him get up in the night, in all your moments of insomnia. There’s no risk of crossing paths with him out here.
Stepping out onto the paint-peeled floorboards, you notice he forgot to turn off the porch light when he came home. Great, I guess I know where my wage is going. But as you head to your favourite red armchair, ready to gaze out at the marsh and watch the waterside plants dance in the breeze, you freeze.
JJ’s on the sofa. And he’s awake. You can tell just from where you’re stood.
Before you can flee back to your room, the floorboard creaks. JJ jolts up and looks around, eyes landing on you. You swallow. The moment you lay eyes on him, part of your dream comes screaming back to you. The way your voice cracked as you cried out his name, tumbling over the edge. You quickly shun away the thoughts, slamming them closed in a box, before your body can lose itself to the fantasy once more. Please God tell me that I didn’t actually scream his name.
“Hi,” you dumbly say.
“Hey.”
“I thought you were staying at your place tonight,” you say.
JJ shrugs. “Change of plans, I guess.”
“Oh.”
He looks back ahead at the armchair, back to you, and you can’t help but pull a face akin to holy shit what the fuck do I do? When he holds up a joint, you decide to stay. Panties are just the same as a bikini anyway, and he’s seen you in those. You make sure to wear your cutest ones when he’s surfing with you. The ones that are tight in all the right places and hug your figure in a way that you wished he would. Oh my God, shut up. You wordlessly take the joint as you quickly step past him, planting yourself in the armchair. You pull your legs up and sit atop of them, taking a long drag to try and calm your racing mind and heart. Inspecting the floor seems a good thing to do, suddenly. The divots in the wood from worms and the strips of paint. Looking up, you find JJ’s eyes trained on your legs. His gaze diverts when you lean forward, offering him the blunt again. As he lifts himself to take it, you see him wince, and now in the light of the porch, fully taking him in you, you can make out the bloody cut beside his eye.
“Jesus Christ, JayJ.”
“It’s fine,” he reflexively says. He takes another hit. “Just need some self-medication.”
“Bullshit. You need to clean that thing ‘fore it gets infected.”
“Be my guest,” JJ scoffs.
With that, you get to your feet and head back into the house. The first aid kit is under the bathroom sink. It’s probably the least dusty thing in the whole room. Returning to him, you forget all about the reason that you got up in the first place and shove it to the back of your mind. This was more important than worrying about some dumb dream. Shoving his legs off the couch, you force him to make space for you. You place the first aid kit on your lap and open it. JJ keeps smoking. The smell of weed clouds your senses. Picking out a disinfectant wipe, you turn to him.
“This’ll sting,” you say, opening the packet.
“That’s what she said.”
You frown. “What kind of kinky ass sex are you having?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he grins.
For a moment dread drops down your body, chilling your spine. Did he hear you? No, no he couldn’t have. You probably didn’t make a noise. He’s just being his usual, salacious self.
You take his jawline in hold gently between your fingers. The bone is hard beneath the soft of his skin; fine stubble scratches your fingertips. Leaning up, you try not to get distracted in his eyes as you dab at the cut. You apologise as he hisses. It doesn’t look as intimidating when clean of blood, which is more than a relief. You dip back into the first aid kit and offer up two band aids. One is plain nude and the other Hello Kitty.
“Take your pick.”
He rolls his eyes with a small smile and grabs the Hello Kitty one, holding it out to you. You shift onto your knees, bending over him to plant it over his cut. You notice a bruise forming on his cheek bone on the other side, and a cut lip. You should have insisted he stayed over when he dropped you off. He looks up, as if he can hear your thoughts, and meets your gaze. You can’t seem to find it in yourself to move away.
“It’s not your fault,” he quietly says.
You swallow. It’s scary how easy he can read you. Makes you worry what other thoughts he can tell from your face. “Wished you just stayed here.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Hate the thought of you going back to that house.”
“That’s sweet,” he smiles. “But if I didn’t go, I wouldn’t have you here taking care of me.”
“Oh, was it all part of your masterplan?” you joke, finding your smile again. His seems to grow at the sight.
“Something like that.”
When his lips press to yours, you’re taken aback. It feels like fire, searing hot, and you flinch like you’ve been burnt. You gape at him, wide eyed, and it seems to register what he’s just done. You both move to put as much space between you as possible, as if trying to keep the blaze from spreading.
“Shit, I—”
“I should go back to bed,” you hurry out.
JJ nods. “Yeah, yeah. Course.”
In your scramble to get back to your feet and back in your room, the first aid kit falls to the floor, the contents spilling out. You cuss and drop to your knees, rushing to retrieve all the clutter. JJ joins you, passing you gloves and bandages. You find some nerve to meet his gaze.
“I’m sorry,” he says. The sincerity in his voice…It’s painful.
“It’s okay. I don’t…It isn’t…”
You sigh. Your speech is just as messed as your mind. Closing your eyes, gathering your words, you take a deep breath. Looking back to JJ, you shake your head.
“We can’t.”
“I know,” he replies, almost sadly. Nods once more. “Yeah, I know. I’m just…high. And tired.”
“Right. Course.”
And whilst his excuses should sting, they don’t, because you don’t believe them. JJ smokes enough weed to not be affected all that much by half a joint. But you don’t argue. Instead, you close the box and go to head inside. You stop in the doorway.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you say.
You spare him one last glance. He’s on the floor, head hung and back to you, and you consider staying. But you don’t. You go straight to bed, acting as if a fresh start tomorrow will reset the entire thing.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
In the morning, JJ’s gone. John B doesn’t seem to have even realised he’d stayed over. You find your older brother in the kitchen, washing up the dirty dishes. Swiping up a towel, you come to help.
“Hey. Sleep okay?”
“Yeah,” you lie. “You?”
“Like a rock,” he grins. “You still up for that keggar tonight, at the boneyard?”
“Oh shit, that’s tonight?”
“Yeah. All the others are going,” John B says.
“Yeah, I’ll go. I think I’m catching a ride with Lizzy from work.”
“Alright. Just stay safe.”
“I will,” you drawl. He smiles at you before turning back to the washing up. “Hey, John B?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For letting me stay here.”
“Yeah, course,” he says. He pauses his handy work, turning his attention to you. “You’ve always got a bed to crash on here, even if child services are up my ass.”
“I appreciate it. I really needed to get out of Colorado.”
The seven missed calls from your mom slip into your mind. Her texts go unanswered, but she knows you read them. You don’t want her to think you’re in danger. Talking to her is just too much right now.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I needed you back too,” he says. “Things have been kinda messy since my dad…disappeared. I don’t know what I’d do if I was on my own.”
“You’re never gonna be on your own, though,” you smile. “The Pogues would do anything for you. It’s actually kinda scary.”
John B laughs at that. “Yeah, yeah, they’re, uh, not the smartest.”
“Apart from Pope,” you point out. He nods, smiling as he looks back to the soapy water.
“Yeah, apart from Pope.”
“JJ cares about you a lot,” you feel the need to add. His voice last night, apology ready, after your kiss, echoes in your mind.
“I know. I feel like you two are the best things in my life right now,” John B admits. The guilt multiples by tenfold with that. You fix your face when he looks to you. “So, thanks.”
“No worries, big bro,” you reply, nudging his shoulder with yours.
He laughs. “Thanks, little sis.”
With that, you both continue cleaning the pots. The shame from last night gets shoved down into the deepest, darkest pit of your stomach, and you try to go about your day without sparing another thought to JJ.
On the way to the keggar, Lizzy grills you about your ‘crush’ on Tom. “He’s gonna be there tonight, I think.”
“Oh, really?” you say. You know you don’t sound enthused. It’s too much effort to pretend.
“Everything good?” she frowns, glancing away from the road.
You nod and plaster on a smile. “Yeah, yeah. Just tired, I think.”
“Couple drinks in you and you’ll be wide awake, I promise,” she assures.
Nodding, you shift in your seat and look out the window. Your skirt rides up in the processes. It’s a little short but it’s so ridiculously hot tonight, you can’t seem to care. A crotchet style crop-top dresses down the outfit. You don’t want to seem like you’re trying too hard for a beachside keggar. As you pull up closer to the boneyard, cars line the roads. Lizzy finds a spot and parks. You grab the crate of Budlight and her the box of White Claw, and you hop out the car towards the beach. Her stories about work and school have brightened your mood.
She’s tall and remarkably cool in a way that you never will be. She has stick and poke tattoos on her knees and elbows, and nine piercings on one ear. Her nose ring and snake bite piercings are far from intimidating on her cherub like features. The buzzcut has been dyed neon blue, standing bright against her dark skin. As you pass groups of teens, she shouts hello to those she recognises and shares the odd bro-hug.
You add your drinks to the pile of booze before grabbing a can, cracking it open. A quick scan of the scene tells you that the Pogues are still pre-drinking at the Chateau. You’d managed to dodge JJ so far.
“This is a pretty decent turn out,” Lizzy tells you, swigging from her can.
“Know a lot of people here?”
“Sure,” she says. She points to a gaggle of polo-shirt wearing pretty boys who look like they could snap you with one finger. “Those are the gym rat kooks. That tall blonde Topper is with the princess of Figure Eight, Sarah Cameron.”
JJ was right: biceps without a brain. You watch as he shotguns a drink and cracks the can on his forehead. Sarah Cameron, blonde hair straight flowing down her back, does not look impressed.
“And her brother Rafe. That guy’s all kinds of whacked out,” Lizzy mutters. You follow her finger to spot a tall, short haired guy. He looks unapproachable, even from far away.
“Yo Lizzy!”
You both turn to find a crowd of girls and guys. One of them is waving at Lizzy and she waves back.
“Come on, I know these guys. They’re cool,” she tells you, taking your hand and guiding you over.
You’re introduced to everyone and soon enough are roped into beer pong and shots. It’s fun though. Everyone’s having a laugh, cheering each other on. You hear about some good spots to grab food and learn Michael, Lizzy’s closest friend, can drink you under the table. A few hours in and there’s a comfortable buzz to your bones. You haven’t thought about the Pogues, or JJ, or the fleeting kiss all night. As you laugh along to one of Michael’s soccer stories, someone taps you on the shoulder. You turn around to come face to face with Tom.
“Hey,” you smile, squiffy.
“Hey! I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”
“Yeah, I came with Lizzy.”
“Hey, Tom,” she smiles before sending you a more than suggestive look. Oh, shit. The lie. “Hey, why don’t you go get my girl a top up?”
Before you can contest, she’s taking your half full can out of your hand and coaxing you away with an assuring smile. Tom takes it in stride and walks with you to the coolers. He grabs two cans of beer, passing one to you, and you cheers him.
“How you finding Kildare?”
“Good.”
“Yeah? You been hanging with John B’s crowd, right?”
“Most of the time, yeah,” you smile, nodding. He makes a face before taking a drink. You frown. “What?”
“Nah, nothing. They’re just kinda…well, I mean, some people think they’re bad news.”
“Some people, huh?” you say cautiously.
“Just reputations and all that. Like that JJ guy. He’s got slippery fingers, if you know what I mean,” Tom says, wiggling his own in demonstration.
Suddenly this conversation is very unappealing. You glance off to Lizzy and the others. “I should probably get back to them. Thanks for the drink, though.”
“No, hey, no,” Tom says. He grabs you by the wrist. “Come on, I was being a dick. I’ve had one too many. Let’s just hang, alright? I really wanna get to know you.”
You look between him and Lizzy and sigh. Taking a swig, you shrug. “Alright.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tick you off.”
“I like the Pogues. They’re a good group,” you feel the need to defend.
“No, yeah, they are!” Tom agrees. You can smell the stench of liquor on his breath. “I just don’t want you to get corrupted by them.”
“Excuse me?”
“Just, you’re new here—”
“And so I’m clueless on how to judge people?” you finish sardonically.
Tom rolls his eyes and it makes your anger tick. “Come on, you don’t gotta be a bitch about this.”
“What did you just call me? You know what? Forget it,” you scoff, snatching your arm away from his hold. “Have fun drinking on your own.”
But you don’t get very far before he’s grabbing at you again. “Calm down, would you? Just gimme—”
“Let go!” you demand.
His grip only tightens. The strong front you’re putting on begins to crumble under the panic of this guy is way bigger than me.
“Just quit bitching and we can talk,” he says harshly.
“I don’t want to talk. Now please let go of me,” you firmly return.
He doesn’t let go. Keeps chattering away, insisting that you have to hear him out.
“Let go, Tom!”
“Everything good here?”
Your wide eyes look away from Tom and land on JJ, and your whole body relaxes. He’s looking at you and the panic must read clear on your face because his demeanour changes in a split second. Jaw tight, he turns to Tom.
“I think you should let go, man.”
“You think I’m gonna listen to you?” Tom scoffs.
JJ takes another step towards him. He towers over Tom by enough to be intimidating. “Think you should listen to her.”
“Oh, I get it,” Tom snarls. He lets go of you and you can feel your skin breathing. You rub at the pink marks, easing the sting. Tom gets into JJ’s face, undeterred from a fight. “You wanna keep John B’s sloppy sister for yourself, huh?”
JJ’s fist flies at Tom’s face, making an ugly, visceral sound as it lands on his left cheek. You gasp. Nearly knocked off balance, Tom stumbles on the sand. The commotion has drawn in somewhat of a crowd. Before you can intervene, Tom’s throwing hands. He aims an upper cut to JJ’s jaw but he’s quick to dodge, landing his own punch instead by Tom’s eyebrow. That one seems to deter him. He trips backwards. The chanting of the crowds egging it on makes you feel sick. You’d just finished patching JJ up last night, and you’ve seen his anger before. It takes control quickly and blinds him to reason. The last thing he needs is to wind up in a cell. So, before he can land another hit, you’re stepping forward and grabbing at his arm, stopping him.
“Come on, let’s just go,” you say pleadingly.
His chest is heaving with anger, breathing short and jaw heavy set and tense. He hesitates, looking between yourself and Tom. He’s still cradling his last hit, trying to regain his composure. Sighing, JJ lets you lead him away. Tom’s heckling is laced with slurs directed at you, and you have to keep a steady grip on JJ to keep him from going back.
“He’s not worth it, JayJ,” you mutter.
“You’re so wrong,” JJ darkly returns, but he doesn’t go back.
Away from the beach, back on the road, you let go. He paces for a moment, trying to calm himself. Tugs off his cap and rakes his fingers through his hair, breathing deep and slow. You don’t speak: just let him go through the motions. Babying him through this isn’t going to help anyone.
Whilst violence isn’t the answer to anything, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t grateful for JJ’s help.
Letting him cool off, you take a seat on one of the fallen tree trunks.
“Hey.”
Looking up, JJ walks over. He’s mostly back to himself.
“You okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“No. Just freaked me out a bit. He’s not usually like that. He’s just drunk.”
“Like that’s an excuse,” JJ scoffs. He takes the spot next to you, sitting worryingly close.
The culmination of last night and tonight makes your head spin. The effects of the alcohol vanished the moment Tom took a hold of you. Now you just want to forget the whole thing.
“Wanna get out of here?” JJ asks.
You turn your head to face him and smile smally, nodding.
“Come on. I brought my bike.”
His red bike is parked beside the Twinkie. He climbs on first and offers a hand to help you onto the back. Your arms slot around his middle, circling around his taught chest, pressing yourself against him. Face resting on the middle of his back, you try not to inhale the smell of him. It might be too much for tonight. His calloused hands on yours have you shifting your hold, ensuring your tight against him like a backpack.
“Good?”
“Good,” you quietly reply.
He kicks off the stand and starts up the engine. You pull away from the keggar and up the road, zipping down the isolated streets. There’s nobody around at this time. Not a soul in sight. It feels so right, wrapped up against him like this, safe in his presence. Tom was wrong: JJ wasn’t bad news. Sure, he was a klepto, but he was the same guy who learnt how to sew to fix your favourite pair of shorts when you were little. The same guy who stepped up when some dirtbag was harassing you. The same guy who remembered you don’t like pickles on your burgers. Who looked at your paintings as if they were Picasso.
Somewhere along the ride, one of JJ’s hands comes to rest on your own. You don’t ask why and don’t pull away. Just let the reassuring weight of his hand on yours stay there and ground you to him like an anchor. Here, flying through the night, you can pretend like all the other shit doesn’t matter. It’s just you and him.
He starts onto a dirt track, slowing down, and a house emerges. Pastel yellow painted exterior hidden behind porch netting. There’s clutter of engines and fishing gear amongst surfing supplies. He pulls to a stop and kicks on the stand, turning off the engine. It’s quiet now, without its rumble. “Your dad home?” you can’t help but ask, staring at the front door.
JJ shakes his head. “No. He’s out on Friday nights. Kinda the only routine he has.”
You don’t ask where and he doesn’t expand. You step off the bike and watch as he clambers off too. Fixing your skirt, you wait for him to talk. He doesn’t. “I should probably head back,” you say. You’re not entirely sure why you came to his place instead. You’d assumed when you got on the bike that he’d take you back the Chateau.
“I mean, we can share a joint first if you want. Help you calm down and stuff, after that shitshow,” JJ half-chuckles.
There’s something heavy in the humid air. It’s hard to describe, hard to place, but you can feel it like static electricity. You find yourself nodding. He nods too and starts up to the house, hands in his black short pockets. You watch his feet sink into the grass and guide your eyes up his figure. His shoulders are tense, dressed under a thin t-shirt. He ditches his cap on the kitchen counter when you walk through the door. Through the house, past the neglection, and to his bedroom. He flicks on the light and clears his throat as he goes to his desk drawer.
You stand, leaning against his door until it clicks closed, and look around his room. There’s a world map pinned to the wall but no markings on it asides from one: Kildare, North Carolina. Print outs of palm trees and pressed, framed butterflies and leaves seem less innocent when placed between posters of models on the beach. The floor is a mess of dirty clothes and empty beer cans. Several dead vapes litter near the overflowing bin, and cigarette and joint buds scatter the windowsill and beside table. But the smell of JJ hangs strong in the air; it makes you smile to yourself.
“Alright,” JJ sighs. The desk drawer slams closed and he turns around, holding up a fresh joint and lighter. His initials are scratched into the metal: JJ. He sits on the bed and places the blunt between his lips, flicking at his lighter. You watch him take a drag and take it off him when he offers it over.
No words are shared as you pass the bud for several minutes. You both glance around the room, at the floor, at the ceiling, anywhere but each other.
“How’s your face?”
“Huh?” he asks, finally meeting your eyes.
You nod to his cheek. “Your cut from the other night?”
“Oh, right,” he mumbles. He lifts a finger and strokes it absentmindedly. “It’s alright.”
“Good.”
JJ hands you the joint again, you take a drag, you pass it back to him. That same feeling from earlier, when you first climbed off the bike, has only amplified.
“So…”
You brave clearing the distance between you. You take the spot next to him on the bed.
“We gonna talk about it.”
“What’s there to talk about?” JJ deflects, studying the floor.
“Well, you kissed me,” you eventually reply, taking the joint back. “So, there’s that.”
“I already told you,” he sighs. “I was tired and doped up.”
When you say nothing, he looks up at you. "What? You think I'm lying?"
You take a drag. Shrugging, you honestly reply, “yeah, a little.”
He holds your gaze as if challenging you to back down. You don’t. Beating around the bush won’t help anything here, and its obvious you can’t go back to acting like it didn’t happen. You can’t move past it until you know why he did.
“S’just weird,” JJ mutters, looking away. “What happened last night, with me and you. S’just weird.”
“Yeah, it was weird for me too,” you agree. Swallowing, you take another hit. “But not bad weird, right?”
JJ’s head lifts once more. His eyes flash across your face like he’s searching for some kind of trap. He sucks his teeth in contemplation. “No. Not bad weird.”
Your heart stutters, breathing shaky and unsure. You feel your eyes dart down to his strawberry pink lips, and his to yours. But then he’s shaking his head. “What are we doing?”
“I don’t know…” you breathe. You’re transfixed on his lips. Can’t move away, can’t bring yourself too. The blunt in your fingers is burning away, ash dropping to the floor, but you don’t care. All of it, everything but JJ, is white noise.
The moment you flit your eyes up to his, something shifts in him. His jaw ticks as he clenches it. Your brows pull in thought but there’s no time for you to ask.
“Fuck it.”
His lips are on yours within a breadth. He consumes your senses like a drug, dulling down anything else until all your thoughts are on him. He grabs for the blunt in your fingers, haphazardly putting it on the bedside table, and then his hands are sliding up along your sides, up your back, into your hair. One finds purchase on your cheek, and you rest your jaw in his hold like a bird settled in its favourite branch. The way he holds you like you’re something holy is different to how sinful his kiss is. It’s pure passion: raw, animalistic heat from weeks of build-up. And, God, it feels so right. The way his tongue brushes against yours, warm in your mouth, heavy in your head. The nip of his teeth on your lips and the fanning of his breath when he has to break for air. You’ve never been kissed like this before, not by anyone. It’s dizzying.
Until it isn’t, and he’s pulling away. His forehead rests against your own. You’re both panting. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” he says.
You slide a hand up his neck, tracing his jawline with your fingers. He practically melts under your touch, eyes slipping shut. “I know,” you whisper distractedly. Your thumb traces his lower lip. It’s swollen from your kisses.
He blinks his eyes open. “I’m serious. He can’t know.”
“He won’t,” you say, going to reconnect your lips.
But JJ stops you. “No, he can’t. He’d…God, he just can’t.”
You want to cry, seeing the moral dilemma weigh on JJ, feeling you share the burden. But the thought of walking away from this, of not feeling every inch of him, of never hearing him fall apart, makes you want to sob.
“Maybe just one time,” you murmur. Your finger traces down his chin, along the centre of his neck. “And we can just get it out of our system.”
“Yeah,” JJ mumbles. “Yeah, one time.”
“Yeah?”
You meet his gaze. His pupils are dilated, heavy with lust, and you feel your body ignite. “Touch me, please.”
With that simple mark of consent, JJ’s unchained. He doesn’t hold back when your lips reconnect. Somehow it becomes deeper, rougher, better. It’s such a strange oxymoron, the way he touches you and kisses you. You pull away to remove your crop top, and he takes the moment to strip off his shirt. The two of you are shameless as you take in the other. Reaching out a hand, you run your fingers up his chest in the way that you’ve imagined so many times before. It’s funny how in your head, you’ve already done it. His eyes dip down, watching your hands explore. You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his left pectoral, then his right. Sighing, his chest drops up and down with uneven breathes.
“So pretty,” you say through your kisses.
His fingers tether into your hair. There’s a slight tug that sends ripples of pleasure through your body in ways that it shouldn’t as he pulls you away, guiding your lips back to him. As he crawls atop of you, you inch up the bed, skirt riding up. You settle on our back. JJ’s greedy in his touch. Strokes your skin, explores your body, like it’s his own. And in a way it is because you’d give him anything if he asked. When his fingers slip behind your back, searching for the clasp of your bra, you lift yourself onto your elbows. He holds your gaze as he unfastens it, guiding it off your shoulders, helping it off your arms.
“Fuck,” he sighs.
A smile teases at your lips. It takes a certain type of guy to make you blush at the sound of his curses. Your head rocks back, eyes sinking closed, as his lips latch around your nipple. A hand palms at the skin, teasing your breast, exploring your reactions. You sigh out your pleasure, bringing a hand up to mess with his hair. It’s better than you imagined. Tops every fantasy, every wet dream, every sinful thought. And it’s only just begun.
“So fucking sexy,” JJ groans, kissing up your body until he finds your lips.
You don’t want him away from you. He looms over you, encasing you in the safe, consuming feeling of his presence, trapping you in the smell of his cologne and soap that you’ve tried so desperately to avoid. Through the kisses and love bites marked into necks and collarbones, you feel one of his hands ghost the outline of your figure. Traces down so slowly like you might not even notice. Down, down, to your panties. It’s there that he sweeps over your cotton covered mound. You sigh against his lips in anticipation.
“I know you’ve been thinking ‘bout this,” JJ says.
His voice is just as you pictured it: deep and crooning, his Southern accent at forefront. You want to bottle it like brandy and drink it until you black out. His lips work down your neck as he lightly circles your clit over your panties and you can’t stop your moan.
“I heard you, the other night.” Your eyes shoot open. JJ meets your gaze. He’s dying, the desperation clear as day on his face. His eyes themselves could send him straight to hell. There’s the shadow of a smirk.
“Were you thinking of me, whilst you were getting off?”
You go to push him away. The last thing you need is for him to tease you about it and make fun. But he doesn’t let you. Instead, he kisses just below your ear.
“Cause I think about you. Every night since you’ve been back. Can’t jack off to anything else,” he confesses into the crux of your ear. Your only reply is a small, surprised gasp. Your body’s ablaze with his words.
His fingers finally dip below your panties, sliding between your soaking folds. He groans at the sensation and you feel your legs give way. He works at you for a while, toying with you like it’s a side hobby. You’re only half aware of the sounds you make. One of your hands has situated itself on his upper back, nails scratching at the skin. JJ can’t seem to keep his mouth shut. It’s one blasphemy after another, and it drives you deeper and deeper into the abyss. He seems to become impatient. He removes fingers to push your underwear down. You kick them off at the ankles with a small giggle.
The moment his finger sinks into you, you swear you’ve seen heaven. JJ worships you, taking his time to inch you closer and closer to the edge. Another finger, then another. The stretch is heaven. Your back arches off the bed, mouth agape, brain dumb with pleasure. He won’t be quiet. He whispers praises into your ear. Narrates his own fantasies he’s harboured about you. Know you’ve been teasing me with those tiny bikinis. I wish I fucked you on the porch the other night. The moment his thumb swipes over your clit, you know you’re close. And then he’s bending his fingers just slightly, hitting that spot. You abandon all religion: this is the only type of prayer you need.
JJ has the audacity to laugh as you climax. You grasp uselessly at his body, the bedsheets, anything. You use a shaky hand to push his fingers away, overstimulated, and he finally relents. Starts kissing at your neck like a Goddamn vampire.
“That good, huh?”
You can’t really formulate words. You just drag his face to yours, kissing him senseless. When you inevitably part for breath, JJ leans back. He pinches your chin between two fingers, gnawing at his lower lip, and parts your lips for him. Your body pulses at the submissiveness he’s placed you under. Then his used fingers are slipped into your mouth. You close your lips around them, holding his gaze as you suck them clean. The salty distinct taste is unfamiliar but not necessarily unpleasant. He gives a small laugh, like he’s in disbelief.
“Fuck. Why did we wait so long to do this?”
You pull his hand free, taking grip on his shoulders. Pushing him against his bedroom wall, you move to straddle him. His hands fall onto your hips. Somewhere in your heady make-out, you rock yourself back on him. JJ groans; his head knocks back against the wall. He’s rock hard. It must be torture. You shuffle off him to make room to pull his shorts off. They join the mess of clothes on the floor. The tip leaks precum, straining painfully. You go to jack him off but JJ stops you.
“I won’t last,” he admits, half-embarrassed.
You nod, biting back your smile. “You got protection?”
“Top drawer,” he says, nodding to the bedside table.
You lean over and dig about before finding a condom. You come back, tear it open, and gently slide it over him. He lets out a shuddering breath at your touch, eyes clenched shut in concentration. It makes you feel slightly guilty for letting him indulge you for so long, but this will pay it back.
Straddling him once more, you steady yourself with one hand on either shoulder. His find home on your hips once more, and he helps you line up. Then you slowly sink down onto him. The stretch stings despite the earlier efforts. Head hanging forward, mouth falling open in silent moans, eyes clenching shut, you take him in. JJ’s mumbling praises, eyes transfixed on where you connect, spurring you on. Taking me so good. Jus’little more. You rock against him, using whatever energy you have to ride him. He helps guide you, head resting against the wall. You love that he isn’t quiet. Love that you’re on top and can see every ripple of pleasure course through him, reflect on his face. But when his eyes slip shut, you take a hand and guide his face to yours. Pressing your forehead against him, you lean forward and steady yourself with a hand on his chest. The new angle is euphoric. You moan and whine against his lips, eyes staring into his own. It’s the most hideously lewd symphony as the two of you chase your highs. There’s only one thought in your mind. And when JJ comes unannounced, shuddering as he finishes, never looking away from your eyes, only one thought is in your mind.
If it can only happen this once, it has to be perfect...
to be continued (part 2 will be released later this week)
should've known it was a matter of time pt. two || rafe cameron
author's note: if you haven't read part one yet - read it here. thank you so much for the love on the first part!! i haven't written anything in so long, but i'm going through something horrible (being completely addicted to rafe cameron). anyways - i hope you enjoyyyy :)
the next morning finds you perched on the bed, eyes trained on the sunlight as it spills over the horizon. at the sound of rustling, you turn your eyes below to catch rafe still sleeping on the floor - the rise and fall of his chest moving at a steady rhythm. anxiously biting your nails, you wrestle with your thoughts as you try to map out your next move.
last night, as you attempted to drift off, the words he sadly muttered to you echoed in your mind: “you forget i used to know you, y/n.” your past self - the one who didn’t know everything that would happen - keeps urging you to tell him the truth about the diary, to confess. but this version of you, the one who’s learned the hard way, knows better. you can’t trust him, not after everything and especially not when he’s making deals with his father.
getting frustrated with yourself, your feet hit the floor with a sharp sense of urgency. you pace towards the window, heart pounding in your chest. one thought rings through your mind: you need to get out of here. now. you know your brother and friends are on their way - they’re coming for you, they always do - but that doesn’t mean you should sit back and wait, that feels like surrender.
you steal one last glance at rafe before drawing the curtain back and tapping hastily on the glass. the guard standing in front turns around, his brows furrowing in confusion before you speak, praying he can read your lips. “go get mr. singh.” you subtly gesture towards the door, “i need to talk to mr. singh.”
as he begins to turn away, the sound of rafe’s groggy voice suddenly breaks through. “shut up! shut up! shut up!” he demands as he stands, reaching you quickly and gently grasping onto your arm, “what are you doing?”
you yank your arm away, “like i owe you an explanation.” you snap, shouldering past him as you stalk towards the door. “think for a second” he demands, scrambling to follow, “y/n, wh-what are you doing?”
you pound on the door, your voice desperate, “hello?” rafe steps closer, desperation lacing his tone. “y/n, what are you doing?” he reaches out to touch you again. “don’t - don’t touch me.” you beg, raising your hand to halt him.
to your surprise, he actually listens to your command, his hand clenching once before dropping back to his side. for a brief moment, a look of defeat flashes in his eyes but you watch as it quickly turns back into anger.
ignoring him, you twist back to resume pounding on the door, “hello? i need to talk to mr. singh!” you call out, your voice firm.
rafe dares to step closer to you, his voice a soft whisper as he speaks, “you’re lying about this diary thing.” it’s not a question - it’s a statement and you refuse to look at him as you shake your head, “no.”
he scoffs, voice dripping with disbelief. “you know where it is.” you squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head again, “no.” your voice barely audible, “i don’t.”
abandoning your efforts at the door, you turn back into the room. rafe shifts with you, his eyes sharp and trailing your every move. “you don’t? okay.” he shrugs, but his tone betrays his frustration.
“you wish.” you mutter under your breath as you make your way towards the window, determined to get the guard’s attention again.
“okay, listen - i wouldn’t tell me either.” he says, his voice low but frantic, “but he’s never going to believe we don’t know something, y/n.”
you block his words out, rapping your knuckles against the window, “hey!” you plead, your voice rising, “hey!”
rafe catches up to you, his hands laying gently but firmly on your shoulders as he turns you around to face him. his expression is intense as he speaks, “he killed that guy, y/n. don’t you get it?”
“hey!” you snap, shoving at his shoulders, desperate to get him off of you. your eyes lock for a heated moment as the only sound echoing through the room is your heavy breath.
“look around, y/n.” he shakes his head, resigned, “i’m the only friend you got.”
before you can respond, the sharp sound of a lock turning breaks the tense moment. rafe spins instantly, moving to shield your body as the door swings open.
you step around him without hesitation, your posture stiff but determined. “baby” he whispers desperately behind you, his voice raw. the nickname sends a shock through your body, but you push it aside, keeping your focus.
“i need to talk to mr. singh.” your tone firm as you stand facing the guard directly. the guard’s gaze sweeps over you, assessing. “i have something to tell him. it’s urgent.” you insist.
as the silence lingers, you glance back at rafe to find him flexing his jaw angrily, his gaze burning a hole through yours. “yes.” the guard finally responds. relief has no time to settle before a hand clamps down harshly on your shoulder. refusing to flinch, you force a nod, allowing him to guide you out of the room.
as you pass through the door, you steal one last glance at rafe. his eyes widen in panic as he takes a step forward. before he can speak, the door slams shut and the sound echoes through the hallway as you find yourself alone with the guard.
–
“i lied,” you state firmly, standing in front of singh as he sits leisurely at the table. His eyes fix on you as you take a steadying breath. “i know about the diary.”
he exhales sharply, a look of satisfaction crossing his features, but you continue on before he can respond. “i don’t have the original, but i can get you a copy.”
singh leans forward in his seat, reaching to grab a grape from the bowl in front of him. he pops it in his mouth with a smirk, “i’m relieved to hear you say that, you know.”he says smoothly. “may i offer you something to eat?”
“i’m not hungry,” you reply, your voice flat.
“relax, nothing’s gonna happen to you now. you’re cooperating, and i don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”
you inhale through your nose, trying to keep your composure. “i just want to get you what you want,” you say tightly, “and then i want to leave.”
the room falls silent for a moment as you gather your courage to say the next part, “look - i know where it is. but,” you hesitate, your voice faltering, “i have to go by myself. alone.”
singh chuckles darkly, shaking his head as if he’s amused by your audacity, “but how would i know that you’d come back?” he leans back in his chair, voice dripping with condescension. “i need some collateral.”
“rafe’s here.” you offer, your voice quiet but resolute, “keep him.”
he scoffs, pushing himself up from the table “rafe.” he repeats, almost laughing as he strides towards you. “how did someone so young get into so much trouble?”
he circles you and you turn to follow, “look, i know where the diary is. and if you let me go, i promise you, i can get it to you.”
he halts abruptly, pivoting his body to face you again, “you know, i built this fortune myself from nothing.” his expression hardens as he steps towards you, “from absolutely nothing.” he points a finger at you, his tone taking on a darker note, “do you know how that happened, miss. y/l/n? hm?”
“i can assure you, it wasn’t by being a fool. don’t waste my time.” he snarls, his voice low and menacing.
you stand frozen, your heart pounding as fear coils tightly in your chest.
“the diary holds the key to the ultimate conquest, and that, my young friend, miss. y/l/n, is my destiny.” he points to his chest with emphasis, his eyes blazing with obsession.
you swallow hard as he leans in closer. “so you need to tell me where it is,” he hisses, “or i’m gonna -”
the sharp ping of his phone cuts him off. he pauses, his jaw tightening as he glances at his device. after a moment, he exhales and walks towards the table, picking it up. you turn with him, watching as his expression shifts, a mocking smile spreading across his lips.
“hm,” he murmurs thoughtfully, chuckling as he reads the screen. “amazing.” he mocks, his eyes flicking back to you, “a text from our friend jimmy portis.” he waves his hands theatrically, “from beyond the grave, apparently.”
alarm slams through your body as realization crashes down - this could only be your brother’s doing.
“it seems mr. portis has captured your friends,” he sneers, turning the phone to face you, showing you the picture of john b. and sarah on the screen. you swallow around a lump in your throat as he barks, “ryan!”
the door creaks open and the guards steps inside, “get the big trucks and meet me in the back in three minutes.” singh commands without looking up.
“copy.” the guard replies before disappearing back through the door.
he types a reply on his phone and gestures towards another guard. “get miss. y/l/n.”
“mr. singh, please -” you begin, but the guard grabs you roughly by the shoulders, steering you toward the stairs.
“please don’t hurt my friends! please!” you plead desperately, struggling against the weight of the guard. “please! please don’t hurt them, please!”
“that depends, miss. y/l/n.”
“Please.” you cry out again, tears stinging your eyes.
singh smirks, already turning away, “we’ll continue our chat later. i look forward to it.” he strides towards the exit as the guard pushes you towards the bedroom door.
the door swings open and your eyes instinctively find rafe’s. he steps towards you immediately, concern etched across his face.
“inside.” the guard commands, pushing you past the threshold and slamming the door behind you.
rafe’s hands gently grip your shoulders as he bends his knees slightly to try to meet your gaze.. “y/n, what happened?” he whispers, his voice low and urgent.
you can’t look at him. your eyes fixate on the space behind him, dread pooling into your stomach at the thought of singh’s men trailing after your brother and friends.
“y/n..?” he murmurs again, his voice softer now.
you step back, letting the edge of the bed catch you as you sit down. rafe follows, kneeling directly in front of you. his eyes search yours, pleading for answers.
“please tell me what happened.”
when he’s met with your silence, he stands back up, pacing around the small room. his patience begins to fray. “what happened?” he demands, sharper this time.
you exhale a breath, the tears threatening to pool over as you run your fingers through your hair anxiously. the words refuse to come as terror grips you.
rafe huffs, annoyance cutting through his worry. “you’re gonna have to talk to me at some point. okay?”
finally, you lift your head, your voice cold and detached.“do i have to remind you of everything you’ve done?”
his movements still, his body going rigid as your words hit him.
“you killed peterkin.” you state bluntly, your expression unreadable. “do you remember that? and everything you’ve put your sister through?”
he steps towards you, frustration radiating off of his body. “peterkin? i was protecting my father, okay? i did what i had to, so… don’t.”
he turns away again, pacing furiously before dropping into the chair across the room. “i’m as much a victim as she is.” he mutters.
you stare at him, incredulous, “a victim?”
“no?” he snaps, his voice rising as he gestures widely. “think about it, okay? what did i get from shooting peterkin, huh? nothing. okay? i had nothing against her. i liked her, y/n.” his voice breaks slightly, “you think i wanted to make that choice?”
his movements become frantic as his emotions boil over. “what i did was a gift from me to my father for… for him, and i got screwed because of it, okay? so don’t get that look when i say i’m a victim, all right? i am!”
the outburst makes you flinch and he notices. his shoulders sag as his voice softens, “i will admit though, what i… what i did to sarah.,” he pauses, and you look over at him as you watch his eyes glisten with unshed tears.
“what i tried to do, um…what i tried to do to sarah. i admit that was wrong.” he looks at you as you watch him crumble, tears spilling over as his voice cracks,“i know that. all right? so you don’t have to remind me.”
he runs his hands over his buzzed head, standing as he begins to pace the room again. a small sob breaks past his lips as he exhales a deep breath, attempting to control himself. after a brief moment, he starts slapping his hands against his head repeatedly.
acting on instinct, you stand and close the distance between you. you take his wrists gently, your thumbs brushing soothing circles over his pulse points. you watch as he struggles for words, “she was family. i never should’ve touched her, you know?” he says suddenly, looking at you through his tears, “i should’ve never touched her, but, you know, i just lose control in moments like that and i don’t know what happened.”
“i know.” you whisper. when he gets like this, you know how hard it is for him to regain his control. only allowing yourself to hesitate for one moment, you take a steadying breath before pulling him into an embrace.
he freezes before you feel his body relax slightly, “i’m trying.” he murmurs against your shoulder, his voice raw, “i’m trying to get better.”
when he seems calm enough, you take a step back, “i know,” you say softly, meeting his gaze.
but his face hardens again, the desperation momentarily replaced by defiance. “it doesn’t matter. all i’m saying is that i’m not the bad guy you think i am, okay?” he sniffs, his tone defensive. “but even if i was - even if i was just ‘bad rafe cameron’” he gestures between the both of you, his voice breaking slightly again, “you got no choice.”
the tension in the room sharpens as you snap,“and what about me?”
he falters, face crumpling slightly.
“what about when you made me choose between you and my brother? between you and my friends?” your voice cracks as the tears finally fall.
he exhales and begins to pace the room again. “y/n…” he starts but you cut him off.
“don’t,” you mutter, shaking your head. “i don’t want to hear it.”
“y/n, i -”
“seriously, rafe. don’t,” you beg, your voice barely above a whisper. “forget i asked.”
he freezes, his frustration evident as he runs a hand over his head, “you may… you may not want to trust me,” he finally speaks, “okay? but i’m your best bet.”
you remind silent, the weight of his words sinking in. slowly, you sit back down, your gaze dropping to the floor.
from the corner of your eye, you see rafe kneel in front of you again. his hands rest tentatively on your knees, warm and grounding.
“i got a boat that can get us off island, okay?” he says, quietly, “but first, we gotta get out of here, and it is better if we work together.”
before you can respond, the sound of vehicles outside the window pulls your attention. your stomach sinks as you realize singh’s men are on the move. you stand quickly, stalking towards the window and pulling the curtains open.
“they’re leaving?” rafe questions, his voice breaking the silence.
“they’re going to find john b.” you say softly, dread evident in your tone as you turn back to face him, “and your sister.”
you begin pacing, your mind racing as you try to formulate an escape plan.
“sucks for them.” rafe murmurs, his words making you stop in disbelief. “that’s good for us though. this may be our only shot at getting out of here.”
the anguish on your face is enough to make him pause, but you shake your head, a look of determination washing over instead.
“you’re right,” you say finally, your voice resigned. “let’s make a plan.”
rafe nods, determination hardening his features. “let’s make a plan.” he repeats.
outer banks x fem!outsider!kook!reader, jj maybank x fem!outsider!kook!reader,
↳ 𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 ❗️ —
↳ 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓮 — reader is all race inclusive • MY LOVLIES IK I SAID ID GET THE STRANGER THINGS FICS OUT BUT I APOLOGISE THEYRE TAKING THEIR TIME😞 BUT IN THE MEAN TIME, IM OBSESSING OVER OBX — so here is an obx fic series from me to you as a form of appeasement🌚 •
↳ 𝓷𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓰𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷.
name. y/n l/n.
nickname(s). unknown for now.
age. 16(as of first part one of fic).
birthplace. outerbanks.
country/state raised in. [r's country/state]
nationality. [r’s nationality]
ethnicity. [r’s ethnicity if has one]
languages able to speak. english, [r’s ethnic/national language if has one].
random facts (made significant througout the series). cant swim, mother with an addiction and is a prostitiute,
born in the outerbanks, but raised in [country/state], y/n moves out with her mother at a very young age, due to the splitting of her mother and father — who remains in the obx.
growing up, she ends up raising herself, due her mother's career and the addiction she had grown to, being used to the street lifestyle — fending for herself with little to no money.
but the second she stepped onto her road one day after school, there’s an ambulance and police cars which flood the streets. her mother passed away, a man at her side. the police takes y/n keeping her as she’s underage whilst they delt with the case separately — questioning the other man. when finding a legal guardian for her, they get into contact with her father and move her into the obx.
little to y/n’s knowing, her fathers side of the family is heavily loaded in wealth, from parties to private jets, no longer having to fend for herself. due to the significant change of lifestyle, she can’t help but connect with the pogues, which is heavily against her family’s likings, knowing how hard it can be to live, yet they’re not so aware of her backstory, jj and reader begin to spark over time.
A and B kiss while sitting together on a (surf)board. with topper! please and thank you <333
also, i came across that prompt on a prompt list on here. and it immediately made me think of topper for som reason!!😌
Surfing Lessons
Author’s Note: Thank you soooooo much for your patience in waiting for me to write this! I have had some major writer’s block lately, but I wanted to get something out before season 4 premiers! I hope this satisfies a little bit of your Topper cravings! And thank you for being such an amazing person!
Warnings: bratty sisters, the ocean, hurried writing (will probably go back to edit later), fluff
~
“(Y/N)!!!!! Please!!!!!!” your whiny little sister pleaded again.
You rolled your eyes and groaned. “Oh my goodness, for the last time, I do not want to take surfing lessons with you! You can go by yourself if that’s how you want to spend your vacation,” you replied, trying to tan on the beach before going into the water for a while.
“But they are doing lessons right over there, and mom said you have to go with me!” She stomped her foot, kicking up a little cloud of sand. You looked past her to where you could see some older lifeguards helping kids balance correctly on the surfboards, and it looked harmless enough. They weren’t even in the water. No chance to fall and embarrass yourself.
You sighed, “Fine.” You marked the place in your book and placed it into your beach bag. “But you owe me one, Mackenzie.”
“Yay!!!!! Thank you, (Y/N)!” she squealed as she took your hand and dragged you over to the lessons.
As you arrived, rubbing the soreness from your arm, the older instructors turned to greet you both, smiles on their slightly wrinkled faces. “Ah, thank you for joining us! We hope you are ready to learn how to surf and stay safe while doing it!” the one said.
“Over here we have our 10-12 year old lessons,” the other instructor said to Mackenzie before looking at you. “And over there we have our teen lessons with Topper and JJ.” The man pointed to a spot much closer to the ocean where two teenage boys stood with their boards in hand. They saw the instructor pointing and waved, welcoming smiles on their faces - handsome faces it is worth noting. They looked very nice and you were sure they were excellent instructors, but their proximity to the actual ocean concerned you.
You turned back to the instructors who had already started to teach Mackenzie how to stand on the board. “I’m not so sure if I’m ready for those lessons yet; this is my first time surfing, so maybe I should stay here with Mackenzie,” you explained, an irrational fear sweeping over you.
“Oh, don’t be a baby, (Y/N). Go over there for your lessons; I bet you I’ll be over there soon enough cause I’m gonna be a natural.”
You huffed and rolled your eyes once again, annoyed that your little sister had called your bluff so easily. “Fine, I just wasn’t sure if you could handle being by yourself,” you stated before marching closer to the shore, your cheeks growing red as the two boys came into better focus.
Very handsome indeed.
They were both blond, but the one with lighter hair flashed you a charismatic smile, mischief in his eyes. “Hi, I’m JJ, what’s your name?” he asks smoothly.
You smiled back shyly, “I’m (Y/N).”
JJ’s smile grew. “Where are you -”
“Hi, (Y/N), my name’s Topper, and I’ll be your instructor today.” The other boy cut off the lithe blond’s smooth talking. Both you and JJ’s heads snapped to look at Topper. Topper saw the anger in JJ’s eyes as he looked over your head and gave an innocent smile - too innocent. “What, J? You took the last student. And look, here comes another right now.” You all three turned to see a fourteen year old boy come loping down over the sand. Topper waved to JJ. “Have fun, man,” he said, a laugh barely suppressed in his voice.
As Topper turned to walk a little farther down the beach, you followed, taking the opportunity to ogle his physique. His golden tan made his rippling back muscles stand out in sharp relief. You almost got caught staring at the place between his lower back and upper thighs when he turned around on a dime.
That smirk returned, his eyes sliding over you slowly. Guess you hadn’t been as sly as you thought. “Let’s get started,” that deep voice of his making you shiver, no longer nervous about the water.
~
“Alright, (Y/N), you have the basics down.” You felt the loss of Topper’s heat as he stepped back from helping you balance. You turned toward him. “I think you are ready to go in the water, and just in time, too, there are some pretty great waves coming now.”
You looked at the waves rolling in; they didn’t look too big, but you were still scared you may fall. “I don’t know, Topper…”
He smiled sincerely, his eyes warm and surprisingly understanding. “Don’t worry, (Y/N), I’ll be right with you the whole time,” he reassured.
You bit your lip, finally nodding. “Okay, Topper, I trust you.”
The next thing you knew you were paddling on your board, Topper a few feet away on his own board, watching your technique and coaching you.
“Alright, (Y/N), here comes a good wave, so get ready to stand on my count. 3….2….1….Now!”
You stood quickly, trying to remember to balance as the wave started to take you. You felt a moment of pure exhilaration - the water kissing your skin, Topper shouting triumphantly in the background - before the wave grew too strong for you, knocking you off balance. You shrieked as you fell off the board and under the wave. You tried to raise up so you could breathe, but the wave kept pushing you down, relentless. Your panic rose to a fever pitch before you felt a strong arm wrap around you, pulling you up. You clung to your savior, your hair stuck to your face and obscuring your view as he pulled you up onto his surfboard and into safety.
Warm hands pushed the hair out of your eyes as his other arm held you to his chest. You blinked the saltwater out of your eyes and smiled sheepishly at Topper. “Thank you for saving me, Topper,” you whispered.
“I’m just glad you are okay…and that you need a few more lessons,” he intoned, leaning in slowly.
“Yeah, I think I’ll need a lot more lessons,” you agree huskily, closing the small distance between you.
Your lips met and the kiss was all sunshine and summer. You could taste the saltiness on Topper’s lips from the water, and you smiled into the kiss as Topper’s arms pulled you in impossibly closer. One of your hands slipped into his hair, tugging on the slightly knotted ends from the breeze. You pulled away slowly after a moment, savoring the memory right there and then. You pecked Topper’s lips quickly once more, not knowing what to say as he took your hand in his tenderly.
He shook his head in disbelief, a smile lighting up his whole face. “I’m so glad I was quicker than JJ,” he exclaimed, kissing you again.
Summary: An innocent moment of watching JJ shave turns into a little more.
Warnings: Fluff, slight suggestive content
Word Count: 1.6k
Gif creds: @cherryusa
“JJ,” I call, entering the Chateau without knocking first. John B always gave me shit for drumming my knuckles against the front door before entering his house, so I’ve finally broken the habit.
“You’re at my house more than you’re at your own, Y/n, it’s really not necessary to knock. Just come on in and let your presence be known,” he’d chuckled one day after answering the door to find me shyly twiddling my thumbs.
“In here,” he responds from the bathroom, leading me towards his voice. I find him hunched over the sink with his toothbrush hanging half out of his mouth, his eyebrows furrowed as he runs his fingers over the stubble on his chin. His hair is damp and disheveled, the towel wrapped haphazardly around his neck indicating that he’d just gotten out of the shower. “You like what you see?” My eyes lock onto his boyish grin for a split second before rolling back into my head.
“Just surprised by the fact that you actually shower. I always assumed you thought a dip in the ocean did the trick,” I quip back, shrieking when his towel whips against my bare thigh in retaliation.
“Oh shut up,” he smiles, throwing the towel back over his shoulders before spitting the toothpaste into the sink so he can rinse his mouth out. “That accusation holds no weight when you’re always telling me that I smell good.”
“Touché,” I hum, pushing past him to sit on the toilet. He gives me the side eye, ensuring that I catch the wink he sends my way before rummaging through the drawers to find his shaving cream. “Damn, you got a hot date tonight that I’m crashing by being here?”
“Bold of you to assume that you’re crashing my date instead of being it,” his eyebrows raise for a brief moment before he returns his focus to smearing shaving cream across his jawline. A sarcastic laugh falls from my lips, but the awkward cough that follows kills it’s credibility. JJ’s lips twitch knowingly, but he doesn’t say anything, instead he drags his razor across the left side of his jaw, ridding it of the stubble.
“That seems like a satisfying process,” I hum after roughly thirty seconds of comfortable silence.
“It is,” he agrees, turning the faucet on to clean cream off the razor. He moves to continue shaving before his movements pause. JJ straightens up, angling himself towards me, “You want to try it?” The question takes me off guard, my cheeks burning under his curious gaze. I opt for nodding rather than trusting my voice, standing from my position on the toilet to meet him at the sink.
“Sure,” I shrug, taking the razor from his hand. “The angle’s going to be a little awkward though.” JJ nods in agreement before hooking his hands around my waist to hoist me onto the counter in front of him. “You’ve gotta give a girl a heads up before man handling her, J,” I giggle, steadying myself with his shoulders.
“Noted, ma’am,” he comments, his own laugh mixing with mine before he situates himself between my legs. “Better, though?”
“Yeah,” I breathe, gesturing for him to look to one side so that I can focus on the task at hand. I gently hook one hand behind his neck to keep my grip steady, unintentionally sucking in a breath before carefully continuing the job. We stand in silence for awhile, JJ’s fingers mindlessly drawing shapes on my legs attempt to steal my focus but I reel my thoughts in rather than allowing them to make something out of such a small gesture.
“You look really cute when you’re focused like this,” JJ points out, just before I’m finished with the last section of his face. My eyebrows crinkle together at his words, a slight scoff escaping my throat while I rinse the razor one last time.
“I do not,” I huff, steadying my free hand against his neck again, my thumb resting right again his jaw. His adam’s apple slowly bobs at the touch, his tongue swiping across his lips before they curve into another smile.
“Yes you do,” he whispers, just as I finish up. I roll my eyes at him, moving to remove my hand from his neck but he halts my movements with his own, catch my hand with his to keep it in place against his skin. “In fact, you always look really cute. God, how’d I get so lucky to have you in my life?”
“JJ, what the hell are you saying,” I murmur, unable to fight the blush erupting across my cheeks. He’s always unapologetically flirted with me but it’s always been in a joking manner. The tone in his voice makes me believe that this time is different. “You sound love sick.” My voice wavers at my own words, disbelief evident as they rolled off my tongue. His eyes search mine for a moment, clearly an act of contemplating if he wanted to say what he was thinking while I remain frozen in place.
“Maybe I am,” he admits so easily, no hint of laughter evident in his words. I never thought he could be so focused on me before, his eyes seemingly swimming over every aspect of my face as an attempt to gauge the effect his words have on me.
“Don’t play with me,” I sigh, discarding the dirty razor into the sink. My voice low and unsteady. I’ve always wondered and desired for his attention to be on me in this way, to solely have his undivided attention as more than just his best friend, but now that this reality is unraveling in front of me, I can’t help but feel as though he’s joking around and tooling with my emotions. “I don’t think this is funny.”
“I don’t either,” he murmurs, casually catching my loose strands of hair with his fingers so that he can hook them behind my ear. His hand reminds in that position, his palm gently resting against my cheek as his eyes focus solely on mine. “Who said anything about playing? I’m being dead serious.” Another sigh rolls off my tongue, but I can’t keep myself from leaning into his palm, my eyes closing at the effortlessly comfort that his touch brings. “God, you’re so beautiful, Y/n.”
Now my eyes are snapping open with his admission, my head lifting to lock with his gaze long enough to assure myself that he’s being genuine. “JJ,” I begin, but immediately close my mouth when he shushes me, clearly not finished.
“God,” he murmurs, dragging his thumb across my jaw. “I’ve been in love with you for so damn long that it physically hurt me to keep it to myself anymore. I know we’re best friends, but I’ve always felt like we’ve been more than that beneath the surface. I just didn’t want to say anything in case I was wrong, but I couldn’t go another second without telling you the truth.” He pauses for a second, sucking in a sharp breath as he’s met with silence. “Please say something,” he breathes, both hands finding a home on either side of my face. My eyes flutter closed while I intentionally take a moment to cherish the feeling bubbling in my chest right now. “Tell me I’m not the only one that feels this way.”
“Kiss me,” I whisper, internally jolting as the words slip off my tongue before I can catch them.
“What?” he chokes out, his grip on my face tightening in the slightest so that I’ll look at him. My eyes flutter open to meet his gaze once again.
I lean forward in the slightest, just enough to where our noses nearly graze one another. “Kiss me,” I command gently, my heart skipping a beat when I catch his endearing expression just before he leans in, breaking the space between us to cement the truth that both of our heart have been living in denial about for ages. That we’re two best friends who were always destined to fall in love.
I gasp the moment our lips collide, my hands instinctively pulling him flush against my body while he takes the opportunity to fight for dominance, winning almost instantly. My fingers tangle themselves in his hair as he trails his lips down to my neck, the unexpected contact earning a breathy moan from me. He reattaches his lips to mine immediately following the noise, quickly hooking his arms under my thighs to hoist me into his embrace again, not breaking contact as he effortlessly carrie’s me to his bedroom and closes the door, pinning my body against it as his fingers swiftly twist the lock. He presses me into the faux wood of the door, slightly grinding his hips into mine with a husky groan.
“JJ,” I murmur breathlessly as he makes his way back down to my neck, his kisses growing more desperate with every passing second. “Hey,” I stop him, hooking a finger under his chin to force his attention onto me. “I’m all yours if you mean everything you said. I’ll let you prove it to me unless you’re gonna go changing your mind tomorrow.”
“Wouldn’t take any of this back if my life depended on it,” he mumbles, before turning around and dropping me onto the soft covers of his bed. “Count this as proof, you’re tied to me forever.”
I blink up at him, blindly shuffling backward toward the headboard with a daring smile dancing on my lips. “Oh, I’m tied to you forever?” I pause, deepening the intense stare I’ve locked onto him while nibbling at my lip. Sparing him a slow, unquestionably seductive, once over before meeting his eyes again, I muster a taunting smile. “Why don’t you prove it?”
The expression on his face twists into something more feral, an exasperated groan bubbling from his chest as he launches himself on top of me, earning a surprised squeal in response.
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A/n: I’m currently dusting off some of my drafts in celebration of season fours oncoming release, when reading this one, I simply had to finish and share it with anyone willing to give it a read.
Summary: The summer before they started high school she saw him every day, without fail— they’d fallen asleep next to each other more times than she could count, gotten the flu together when they went swimming in the public pool, worn different sets of matching temporary tattoos every week- and now it had been years since they'd even been in the same time zone. But standing here with him, studying the lines of his face, already smiling so wide her cheeks hurt, Kiara would swear it's been seven minutes instead of the visceral seven years.
