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Obx characters x fem!reader
Barry:
Saying that you’ve been feeling low recently was an understatement. It felt like everything in your life just fell apart. You didn't get into any University, your parents were neglecting you as always, and your friends left you too. They left when you needed someone the most. You were always there when they had a hard time but now, when you needed them, they were nowhere.
Your mental health got so bad that you started doing things, you promised to yourself you never will. You started drinking. At first, it helped numbing the pain but then it didn’t help much. You needed something stronger. Something better. And one of Rafe Cameron's party, you find it. The little white powder. You said you won't get addicted but you did. And somehow, you find out where Rafe get it. Who sell it to him.
That's how you ended up in the Cut. You knocked on the person's door and waited till a guy opened it.
"I think you’re in the wrong place, princess" the guy said.
"You're Barry, right? Rafe Cameron's dealer?" you asked, ignoring what he said.
"Yeah. What do you need?" he asked.
"I want some" you said and pulled out some cash from your bag. As he saw the money, he couldn’t say no. He took the cash from you then gave you a little bag with the white powder.
"You're little so don't do much" he said to you before you left.
Topper:
You were Sarah's best friend so you spent a lot of time at the Cameron house. Basically, you spent every second weekend there.
Today, you had a sleepover with Sarah again. You planned that you two will watch a movie in the living but your plans were ruined because of Rafe and his friends. The moment you arrived, Rafe and his friends were already there and of course they were in the living room, playing some video games. And they were playing for hours which ruined your plans, so you and Sarah didn't have any choice but to spend your time in her bedroom.
You didn't really mind it because you still had a great time with Sarah until she fall asleep. But you couldn't sleep yet so you walked to the kitchen to drink some water and get some snacks.
"What're you doing?" a voice asked behind you when you tried to reach for a glass and you immediately turned around and you saw one of Rafe's friends.
"I wanted to drink something but I can’t reach the glasses" you said and the guy walked towards you, reached for a glass then handed it to you.
"You're Y/n, right? Sarah's best friend?" he asked.
"Yeah... and you're Rafe's friend..." you said and waited that he will tell you his name.
"Topper" he introduced himself.
Sofia:
When you saw that you're best friend, Rafe with a black haired girl, you were more than surprised. You were wondering if he got a girlfriend and didn't tell you or what. You assumed that they're together because he spent a lot of time with her.
After weeks, Rafe finally introduced you to her. His girlfriend, Sofia. Soon, you found out that she's a Pogue. Not like, you minded it. You never had a problem with the Pogues but Rafe's other friends did, so you were surprised that they accepted her but you didn't say anything about it.
That was until one day Ruthie brought it up. She asked if Rafe's living with her and he denied everything. He said that he's just hooking up with her and said that he would never live with a Pogue. You looked at him questioningly but he silenced you with a glare so you just rolled your eyes at him.
That's when you see her from the corner of your eyes. She was already leaving so you assumed she heard everything. You quickly excused yourself and ran after her.
"Hey, Sofia... wait" you said as you caught up to her.
"What?" she asked with teary eyes.
"Don't listen to them. Especially him. Rafe... he's my best friend but even I say that he can be an asshole sometime. Don't take it seriously. I'm sure he didn’t mean" you said.
"For me, it seemed like he did mean it. After all, I'm just a Pogue" she said.
"You deserve better than him" you said before she got into her car and drove away.
Cleo:
You were a member of the Pogues group. So when Pope come up with the brilliant idea that you all should hide in one of shipping containers, and that's how you can sneak into the ship, you went with them. Even though you thought it's a terrible idea.
But somehow this stupid plan worked, or at least partly. You get on the ship but you were stuck in that container for hours until Kiara find something, that was like a window. You, all agreed that John B and Pope sneak out there and take a look around while you, JJ and Kie stay there. But what you didn't expect is that they will bring someone back with them.
"Who is she? What's going on?" you asked John B.
"I told you about the girl we met in the Bahamas that saved us?" John B asked and you nodded.
"Uh... Cleo, yeah?" you asked back.
"That's Cleo and she's going to help us" John B said and pointed at Cleo.
"Next time, ask me. But yeah. I'm gonna help you" Cleo said.
After that John B introduced you all properly to Cleo then you all started thinking how you should get Sarah and the Cross too and escape from the ship without anyone noticing.
Kiara:
You were a Kook but you weren’t like the others. You were always sweet and kind to everyone, to the Pogues too so the Kooks never really accepted you. They never see you as a Kook so you were never friends with them. But the Pogues weren’t your friends either because they saw you as a Kook so most of your school year was awful.
You thought in the Kook Academy it will change and maybe you can make friends but nothing changed. Until you met Kiara. You always saw her alone in hallways but you never approached her until you find her sitting alone in the beach one day. Finally, you get the courage and walked up to her.
"Hey, Kiara right?" you asked and she looked up at you.
"Yeah. And you're Y/n?" she asked with a slight smile.
"Yeah. Can I sit with you?" you asked and when she nodded, you sat down next to her.
That night, you two talked a lot. She told you why she doesn't have friends in the academy, how she sees herself a Pogue and not a Kook but her parents force her to go to the Kook Academy. And you told her your part too. That why don't you have friends and how you feel like that you don’t fit in either world.
Sarah:
You were at the Chateau with the Pogues when John B, you brother appeared with Sarah. You all know that John B was working for Ward for a while now but you didn't know that he got closer to Sarah. So you were surprised when he bring Sarah with him to your place. No one was too happy to see the Kook princess here. It even caused an argument that why John B told Sarah everything about the gold. It was supposed to be between the five of you.
"This supposed to be a Pogue thing. She shouln't be here" Kiara asked and pointed to Sarah
"Kie's right. She shouln't be here" Pope said and John B looked at JJ hoping that he will be on his side.
"Don't look at me like that. I agree with them" JJ said and shrugged.
"I told you, they won’t be happy if I come" Sarah said and turned to John B
"I don't think she's that bad. Maybe she can help us" you said as you looked at the others and Sarah give you a little smile as you stood up for her.
Pope:
You were always a good student. You were smart and determined and you know what you want to do from an early age. But sadly, your family wasn’t wealthy. You never considered that you have any chance to go to a good University. Even if you had high chances to get into your dream school, there was no chance that your parents could pay for the tuition. So when you heard that you has a chance to get a scholarship, you were more than happy.
There was only one problem with the scholarship. You weren’t the only one who wanted it. From some people you heard that Pope Heyward wants the same scholarship as you. But only one of you can get it. You know that Pope is smart and it’s not going to be easy to win against him. It wouldn’t be your first rivalry over something. But this time, you were even more determined to win.
Today, was the interview for the scholarship. You planned everyone ahead. But Pope was the first one on the interview while you were waiting outside. But then in the middle of the interview he ran out of the room.
"Good luck" Pope said to you as he ran past you.
"Wait... what? Where're you going?" you asked confused as you watched him, running towards the entrance.
"I have something more important to do" he said then he left the building and you were just staring after him.
John B:
Today was the bonfire party. The Pogues were already, handings out beers in red solo cups. Music playing from speakers what the Kooks bring with themselves. The Pogues were having a good time till they saw that Rafe and his friends arrived too.
"Great. They are here too" JJ mumbled as everyone watched them.
Rafe, Topper, Kelce and a girl. You. You were by Rafe's side and the Pogues immediately looked at you.
"Rafe got a girlfriend?" John B asked Sarah.
"Who can tolerate him?" Kiara asked.
"That's not her girlfriend. That my sister" Sarah said and the Pogues looked at her shocked.
"Your sister? You have another sister?" Pope asked.
"Yeah. My older sister. Rafe's twin. I didn'tknow she's back again though" Sarah explained.
"So Rafe's girl version" JJ stated.
"Not really. She a lot worser but also a lot better than Rafe" Sarah said.
"She's hot" John B said, his eyes still on you as you slowly approached them.
"Little sis..." you said as you gave Sarah a hug then you looked at John B who was still staring at you "Good to see you again. Who are your new friends?" you asked as you looked at the Pogues.
JJ:
You just moved to Outer banks a few weeks ago. You barely go out that time because you were busy unpacking. But after weeks when you room was finally done and you didn't have any boxes around, your first thing was to go to the beach with your surfboard. The only good about moving was that you can still go surfing and you didn't have to quit your hobby.
When you arrived to the beach, you spotted a group of friends already in the water. They were probably waiting for good waves. So watched them for a few minutes then you went into the water too, only a few metres from them. You felt eyes on you so you turned towards the group again and you saw that the blonde guy is looking at you. You tried to ignore that he's watching you and tried to focus on the waves.
You were surfing for a while now, when you get a little tired you decided to leave. But before you could actually leave a voice stopped you.
"Hey... you were pretty cool doing those tricks" the blonde guy said.
"Uhm... Thanks. You were pretty cool too" you said
"Are you new here? I never saw you before" he said.
"Yeah. We just moved here with my parents a few weeks ago" you said.
"Well... next time you could join us if you want to" he said and you just nodded at that.
Rafe:
You were Barry's sister. But no one know about you. Basically you were just half siblings. You only had the same father but different mothers. He was living in Outer banks, you were living in New York. Until you get in some serious trouble so your mother sent you to your half-brother. You didn't really mind. You two have a good relationship even if you only met a few times.
So today, you just arrived and you were chilling in Barry's place, sitting on the couch, scrolling on your phone. Then the door slammed open and a tall guy with curtain bangs hair walked in. You looked up and stare at him while he was staring at you.
"Who the hell are you? And what are you doing here?" He asked and walked closer to you.
"Who the hell are YOU? And why are you walking in here like you own the place?" You shot back which took him by surprise. He was amused. No one ever dared to speak to him like that before. His eyes roamed over your body and you used this time to check him out too. You had to admit, he's hot. But before any of you could say anything Barry arrived back.
"Country club... don't stare at my sister" Barry said and hit his arm.
"Your sister?" the guy asked surprised.
"Yeah. Half sister. Whatever. Don't stare at her" Barry said then he walked into a different room, leaving you two alone.
content warning: mentions of drinking and drug use; mentions of sex; arguments and fights; unhealthy relationship
word count: 7k.
blurb: for so many of your memories, bad and good, it feels as if hurricanes are at the forefront. One night, during the midst of a storm, JJ comes to your house, seemingly to bring you one last memory of him.
You hate hurricanes.
They’re unruly and unpredictable; thrashing and destroying anything in their path. Chaos incarnated.
From inside your house, the windows rattle from a vicious blow of wind. Sighing, you leave the comfort of your bedroom to go to the kitchen. There’s no chance you’re getting to sleep anyway. Better brew a pot of coffee and maybe get some homework done throughout the night. As you stand over the machine, waiting for it to brew, you look out the window. It’s dark. Rain is splattered across the glass, droplets chasing after one another in an undisclosed race. You manage to make out your reflection. Bags under your eyes. Clothes hanging sadly on your body. Only recently had you managed to start eating well again, putting on weight and getting through more than one meal a day. So, knowing the effort that you’ve been making, you manage a smile.
The t-shirt you’re wearing is one of your favourites. It holds memories: the fit of laugher that had you in tears one night at a bonfire; the day you got your first A on an exam; a date with JJ. Your finger comes to tease at the collar, fingering the fabric, your smile growing from the memories. It felt nice to finally reminisce about your ex-boyfriend without wanting to crumble. Without the thought feeling like someone was twisting the knife that had yet to be eased out of your chest.
The coffee machine stops buzzing. You look down, coming back to yourself, and pour yourself a cup of coffee from the glass mug. Moving to sit on the sitting room sofa, reaching for the remote, you decide to try and distract yourself with a show. Your parents aren’t home and brother’s at college, granting an empty, quiet house. As you flick through the options on Netflix, you hesitate on one. Narcos. JJ loved that series. Had you watch some of the episodes with him – explaining the characters’ motives and filling in the plot-points from whatever you’d missed. A part of you deliberates watching it and letting yourself slip into some fantasy that JJ is sat by your side on the sofa, his hand comfortably on your knee, eyes glued to the screen. But you don’t. There’re new shows to watch, so why go back on the old? Settling on some Netflix-own drama, you sigh and have a sip of your coffee.
“No way, John B actually thinks he’s found the Royal Merchant,” you snort.
JJ shrugs. “That’s what he says.”
“Where?”
“At the bottom of the ocean,” JJ replies.
“No doy, idiot. I mean where abouts at the bottom of the ocean?” You chuckle, rolling your eyes.
“Oh! Somewhere off the continental drift,” JJ tells you.
He’s opened a bottle of beer for you and is passing it over. The two of you are lounging on your dad’s fishing boat, taking advantage of the nice weather.
“Bullshit,” you say, taking a swig.
“I’m telling you; he’s found it. The stuff in that motel room safe was fucking insane. The cops just pocketing the cash, too?”
“Cops are dirty: shock horror,” you sarcastically return.
JJ laughs with a nod. Then, smiling at you, he says, "well, all I know is when we find the Merchant-”
“-If-”
“When!” he corrects loudly, making you laugh. Then he’s shuffling up so he’s sat right next to you, hooking an arm comfortably around your waist. “When we find it, I’m using my share of gold to spoil my girl rotten.”
“Oh?” You prompt, raising a brow at him with a grin. He nods down at you.
“Mhm. I’m talking fancy dinners and expensive jewellery and that perfume you always check out whenever we’re at the mall but never buy.”
“It’s overpriced,” you brush off, rolling your eyes.
“It’d smell perfect on you,” JJ affirms. Makes your cheeks go warm.
Nudging him with your elbow, the bone digging softly into the flesh of his abs, you say, “well, I guess I could get on board with that then.”
“Just you wait until we find it,” JJ promises, raising his bottle in a silent toast.
Rolling your eyes lovingly at his ways, you lift yours to clink the neck of your bottle against his. JJ leans down to capture your lips in a kiss, sweet and summer-filled, with the lingering taste of beer. You gladly kiss him back, sinking into the familiar feel of your boyfriend. This is going to be the best summer yet.
About ten minutes into the second episode, you think you hear a knock at the door. No; it’ll be a branch having blown away in the breeze. Sighing, you go back to the show, coffee nearly finished and luke-warm. Then, it comes again. Two short raps. Pausing the show, you turn and frown at the door. You can see it from the sofa. There’s a pause, maybe a minute, and then three knocks. You get up and make your way to the door, deliberating who in the hell could be coming to your house in the middle of a hurricane at (you glance to the clock on the hallway as you go) ten to midnight?
As you undo the latch on the door and twist the key to unlock it, you feel your gut twist. It’s as if it knows something you don’t. Then, pulling the door open, wincing against the cold and the wind and the rain from outside as it fights its way in, you come face to face with JJ. The sight of him makes you colder than the weather ever could.
“JJ?”
“Can I come in?”
“Wh—”
Your voice trials off, throat running dry, and you glance back into the house for some reason, as if the coat-stand might have the answers. Looking back to him, brain muddled, you see how he’s leaning against the wall of the entryway. How he’s holding his flask in his hand, the lid unscrewed, and you close your eyes with a sigh.
The rational part of you screams to close the door on him. Do the right thing, the hard thing, and turn him away as if you have barely acknowledged him being there. But it’s not that simple. Nothing is, the moment any sort of feeling has been involved, and you find yourself looking into his red-rimmed eyes. You’re not sure if he’s high or he’s been crying.
“Please,” he says, voice quiet as if defeated. “I just wanna talk.”
He’s dripping from head to toe, drenched from the rain. Hair sticking to his forehead, leaking water down the back of his neck. Hands shaking from the cold and the booze. Wordlessly, you open the door fully and step to the side, making space for him to walk in. After he catches on and enters, you catch a whiff of his cologne. Musky yet fresh; so wonderfully him. It makes one of the scabbed cuts on your heart crack open. Closing the door, fighting to keep in the warmth, you sigh and face JJ. He’s standing there awkwardly, unsure of where you want him to go. He’s barely able to keep his balance right, fumbling from leaning his weight on one leg to the other.
You gesture to the kitchen. “Go sit down. I’m gonna grab you a towel.”
JJ nods and does as you say, heading into the kitchen. You try not to spiral in your thoughts as you go to the boiler closet, fishing out a fresh bath towel. There’s only one thought that you can’t seem to silence. What is he doing here?
A part of you still feels as though you can hear the wind of the storm beating against the thin walls of the police tent. The sirens and the chatter and the panic. The chaos of trying to help John B and Sarah escape, and the never-ending torture of waiting for any news. That they escaped. That they were caught. That they were even alive.
That was a week ago now.
JJ’s not answering his phone. You haven’t been sleeping well. Your nights are nothing but restless, nightmares plaguing you about all the ‘what ifs’ and the guilt of waving them off in the boat, practically sending them off to their grave. It’s a lot for a seventeen-year-old to burden. Your parents tried their best to help you. They brought you breakfast the first morning that you stayed back at your house (they’d let you crash at the Chateau with the others for a couple of days at first, understanding that all your friends needed one another at that time), and never forced you to come down for dinner. Wallowing felt about the best you could do. You just wished it wasn’t so lonely.
Sighing, ending the call that never stopped ringing, you glance over to your trainers. Since coming back from the Chateau, you haven’t left your house once. Hell, you’d barely left your bed. Then you’re staring at your phone again. At the string of missed calls and ignored texts from JJ. You knew him well and knew how easily he could slip when things changed for the worse. John B was like a brother to JJ. Their bond was so close that it sometimes challenged your own and JJ’s, though never in a malicious way.
Getting up, you put on your trainers and lace them up. You had to check that JJ’s okay.
The air feels fresh on your skin, like a plant gulping down water after days in a drought. You bask in the rays of sun that push through the cloudy overhead. Walking to JJ’s was familiar and quick. Soon enough, you’re trudging up his front lawn and walking around to his window. He’d always told you to come in via there. You never knew where his dad was and what state he might be in, but the odds were low on his being passed out in JJ’s room. The windows always unlocked and you force it up and open with a grunt. Then, you’re climbing on JJ’s desk and glancing around his room. He’s not in there.
What is in there is countless empty beer cans and bottles. The useless ends of joints and cigarettes. It smells musty and sad, like nobody had cracked a window in days. You sigh and kick some stuff out of the way (used clothing and trash) so you can reach his bedroom door. Gently easing it open, you glance into the hallway and through to the sitting room. On the coffee table, you can make out the toes of JJ’s boots. Taking your chances that his dad isn’t home, you walk down the hall to the sitting room.
JJ’s passed out on the sofa. His head is leant back, mouth parted in silent snores, and in his hand is an empty beer bottle. The sitting room is just as bad as his bedroom, maybe even worse. It stinks of weed and alcohol and mould. Everything about all of it terrifies you. You didn’t think he’d sunk this low, so fast. Why hadn’t he reached out to you?
He gets an email and his phone pings, making you glance to it. It’s on the coffee table. There on the home screen are the several missed call notifications and ignored texts from you. If it were any other situation, you’d label yourself as psycho. But you knew something was wrong. Could feel it in your gut.
“JJ,” you say. Clearing your throat, louder, you repeat, “JJ.”
He doesn’t stir.
You reach out a hand to shake his boot.
“JJ, wake up.”
Nothing.
Sighing, you walk around so you’re stood at his side and lean down to shake his shoulders gently, hoping to ease him awake.
“Wake up, JJ.”
He jolts awake with a gasp, eyes flying open. His hands come to your forearms in a tight grip, reflexively, and you try to pull away. The moment he registers it’s you, he let’s go. He mumbles your name, voice still thick with sleep.
“What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to check on you.”
JJ frowns. He rubs at his face and pushes some of his uncombed hair back. His breath smells like stale liquor; it half makes you want to cringe.
“Why?”
“Because I’m worried about you. And, I guess I was right,” you say, looking to the pandemonium of the room.
JJ gets to his feet and shakes his head. He’s walking towards the kitchen and you follow.
“You didn’t need to, alright? I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine, JJ,” you tell him.
He pulls open the fridge. His back is to you. The shirt he wears looks creased and well-worn, as if he hadn’t taken it off for days. It reminds you of everything that happened and just how raw the wounds must be for JJ. How much deeper they are, too.
“Look, I know this is hard for you,” you tell him gently.
JJ grabs a beer and closes the fridge. Cracking open the can, he turns and rests his back against it, taking a swig. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not ‘fine’, JJ,” you say.
JJ shrugs and has another gulp.
“Why didn’t you talk to me?” you ask. Gesturing to him, you add, “you look like you haven’t slept in days, JJ.”
“What’re you gonna do? Sing me to sleep?” he snorts. He’s drunk.
“That’s not the point, JayJ. My parents would’ve let you stay over. I don’t like the thought of you here by yourself.”
“I’m not something that needs fixing, alright? I can take care of myself,” JJ tells you, his voice becoming tighter.
“I’m not saying you need fixing—”
“Are you sure? Cause it sounds like you’re pitying me pretty bad right now,” JJ cuts in. His eyes are narrowed at you as if accusing you of some conspiracy.
Trying to remind yourself of the abundance of emotions he must be feeling right now, alongside the fact that he’s drunk and possibly high, you do your best to keep your calm.
“Of course I’m pitying you, JJ. In the way that a girlfriend would pity her boyfriend who’s dealing with some fucking awful loss,” you tell him.
“He’s not dead, alright? Don’t talk about him like he is,” JJ bitterly mumbles, looking down at his boots.
“We don’t know that, JJ—”
“Well, you don’t know that he is dead, alright? So stop talking about it like you want it to be true!” he explodes. He stalks towards you, angry. “Do you want him to be dead, huh? So you have a little project to work on? So you can come visit your scum of a boyfriend and do your charity work, to make yourself feel better. To distract you from your own shitty insecurities?”
“Why are you saying this, JJ?” you whisper, taken aback. He’s never spoken to you like this. Ever. Not even when the two of you argue. In truth, you don’t argue. Merely bicker, with it all resolved within the day. Nothing malicious and intentional, with words sharpened to cut. The way he’s looking at you right now – as he stands over you, shoulders rigid as if preparing for a scrap – is terrifyingly unfamiliar.
“I don’t want you here, okay? I didn’t ask for you to come here.”
“You want me to leave then?”
“Yeah, I do, actually.”
“You do?”
“Yes. That’s what I fucking said,” JJ seethes. You find yourself pushing back, getting in his face just as much.
“Fine. Drink yourself fucking blind for all I care,” you spit back.
It’s only been a week, and already a chip has been chiselled into the sculpture that was your relationship. The first crack in the mausoleum.
JJ’s sat at the round kitchen table, shivering like an orphan, and you have to keep yourself from instinctively wrapping the towel around his shoulders. Instead, you place it in front of him. He’s put the flask away, it seems.
“Thanks,” JJ mumbles, taking it.
As he rubs his hair dry, you head to the coffee machine. He needs to sober up and you’d found that coffee always worked for him. Hell, you could do with another cup too, perhaps just to keep your hands busy.
“It’s crazy out there,” JJ eventually says, hesitant to start a conversation. You close your eyes at the sound of his voice. “Brian’s throwing a tantrum.”
You’re half-tuned in, mostly lost in the droning of the coffee machine as it brews. You look down at your hands to find that you’ve been messing with the skin around your nails. It was a nervous habit you had, and one that hadn’t shone through in a couple of months. Not since you and JJ had ended things.
The coffee is done all too soon. Pouring two mugs worth, you brace yourself as if preparing for a slap as you turn to face JJ at the table. His hair is now damp, no longer dripping down his face. Wet clothes are still stuck to his skin, outlining the perfection of his body, and you have to force your eyes away. It’s hard to think that only two months ago you would be blessed enough to be able to run your hands under his shirt, along the smooth, salt-scrubbed skin of his stomach. What once brought you pleasure in thought now only brought pain.
Taking the seat opposite him, you slide his mug over and take a shaking sip of your own. Your eyes are down, focused on the table-top, tracing the scratch marks in the wood, but you somehow know JJ’s watching you. Can feel his eyes following you.
“Thanks for letting me in.”
“You said you wanted to talk,” you reply.
JJ nods: you catch it in your peripheral. “I do.”
“What’s there to talk about?”
“Us,” JJ says. You close your eyes. You were worried he’d say that.
“There’s nothing for us to talk about, JJ. There isn’t an ‘us’, anymore, okay?” you sigh. JJ’s already shaking his head.
“There is. You know there is,” he returns in a pleading tone. “Things can go back to how they were again.”
“What?” you almost whisper, brows furrowing in confusion.
“John B and Sarah are back now and…And everything can go back to how it was,” JJ tells you, almost hopeful.
You shake your head, lips pressed in a deep frown. Your fingers press against the hot porcelain of the mug.
“JJ. That’s not how this works.”
“I know things got messed up. That it’s my fault that they did, alright? That everything got messed up after John B…”
Died.
Your eyes dart up to meet his. There’re fresh tears gathering in the waterline. It’s weird seeing JJ cry so openly. He only did it once or twice in your relationship, in front of you. He never seemed willing to let you see that side of him, as if it might make him weak. You notice how his hand twitches away from the mug, as if he might reach out for yours, but something in him decides not to. Instead, the two of you keep your distance; a formal width of space, sat on either side of the table, not daring to cross into the others’.
“We can go back to how we were,” JJ privately says.
Your purse your lips, eyes slipping shut a moment to gather your thoughts. Perhaps this is how Eve felt, when the serpent tried to tempt her with the fruit. Here sits the only guy you’ve ever loved, extending an invitation back into the past, of a time when you were happy, and breathing didn’t hurt, and the thought of romance wasn’t something you shunned. But you can’t go back to the past. Time is forever moving forward, continuous and unchanging, and the sooner you make peace with that, the sooner it can start to heal your wounds.
You never spoke about that first fight. Never acknowledged it, really. JJ just showed up at your house, a couple days later, seemingly sober, and you both decided to move forward. You brushed it under the rug as a slip-up. That he needed to reel out of control a little in order to let himself recover, like the way the earth needs a good thunderstorm during summer to replenish the plants. I mean, how were you to know that it was the beginning of the end?
It was the day after you'd made the memorial at the chateau. Yourself and JJ had slept over at the house, after making love on the pull-out. The moment his hands were on your body, it felt like a silent apology for the fight, and you'd let yourself forget all about it. Waking up tangled in his hold, legs a knotted mess and arm tingling with pins-and-needles from his weight, you can't help but smile. It was the nearest thing to normalcy you'd felt in a long time, since Sarah and John B went missing at sea.
"Morning," you mumble sleepily the moment you feel JJ stir. He presses a kiss to your forehead. His skin smells of dry sweat.
"Hey," JJ rasps.
"You want breakfast?"
"What's on the menu?"
You can hear the smirk in his voice, the teasing grin to his words, and it makes you chuckle tiredly. This was the JJ you missed. As one of his hands moves to grope at your ass, you're laughing, gently pushing him off you.
"Perv," you mutter as you get up. Steal his t-shirt from the floor and pull it on.
You trudge to the kitchen, shoving your messed up hair out of your face, and open the cupboards to search for something good. There's no point looking in the fridge; majority of the things in there will be spoiled. This is the first time any of you have been back at the chateau since a couple of days after the incident.
Grabbing a can of soup, you decide it's better than nothing (though far from a classic breakfast). The drawers and counters are a mess. You sigh as you search for a can opener, coming up empty.
"You got your pocket knife with you?" you ask JJ.
He's lounging on the pull-out, scrolling through his phone. The only thing keeping him decent is the blanket that's half-arsedly flung over his waist. You missed seeing him like this, and the sight has you smiling.
"Should be in the left pocket of my shorts," he mumbles in reply, absentmindedly.
You wander over and drop to a squat, digging through his cargo shorts. Nothing, nothing...Your fingers feel something plastic and tactile. Frowning, you pull it out. It's a small plastic baggy containing a white powder. You're not stupid. It's either coke or ketamine. Your frown seems to deepen. Standing up, you hold it up.
"What's this?"
JJ looks up. Spots the bag. Takes in your expression. "Nothing."
"JJ," you say, tone nothing short of serious.
He sighs and rubs at his face, as if finding an excuse to avoid eye contact. "Look, it's fine, alright? I just need a little pick me up, now and then."
"This isn't a pick-me-up, JJ," you say. You know you sound angry, but why shouldn't you be? JJ having an addictive personality was no secret to anyone. His drinking was bad enough. Adding drugs like cocaine to the mix, and your worry trebled.
“What? Are you telling me what I can and can’t do now?” JJ asks. His voice borders on a scoff.
“This is dangerous, JJ.”
“I’m scared straight, hun. Thanks,” he mutters. Leaning forward, he snatches the baggy from you.
“I don’t like the thought of you taking that stuff, JayJ. It’s a slippery slope,” you slowly reply, trying to level your temper.
JJ sighs impatiently, rolling his eyes. It doesn’t help calm the storm brewing inside of you.
“Why’d you always have to ruin everything, huh?”
“Excuse me?”
“Things were finally starting to go back to normal and you have to fucking fixate on another thing. I swear to God, I never do anything right by you. I mean, I’d just gotten over you losing your shit at me the other day—”
“Gotten over it? I’m sorry, let me just check I’m hearing this right?” you interrupt, shifting your weight. “You got over the fact that your girlfriend had to track you down in person to check you were okay, to find you drunk and passed out? Then you yell at me for coming and tell me to leave, several times. And you remember me being the villain in all of that?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. You didn’t do some fucking FBI work to find me; I was in my own Goddamn house.”
“Not the point, JJ,” you loudly counter.
JJ rolls his eyes at you and moves to stand, pulling on a pair of boxers. “You’re such a bitch sometimes, you know that?”
You stare at him. Did you just hear him right? Before you can ask or even respond, JJ’s walking out onto the porch as if you’re not in the midst of an argument.
You watch as he grabs a leftover vape that’s laying on the window ledge. There still seems to be some power left in it. He takes a couple of hits. You simply stare after him. It seems useless to follow. Useless to keep chipping away at this fight that you’re bound to lose. So, instead, you turn back to the kitchen and let the distance between the two of you gape. Another argument unresolved.
Opening your eyes again, meeting his that shimmer blue in the low light of your kitchen, you can’t bring yourself to do anything but frown, your expression the image of sympathy. 'We can go back to how we were.'
“We can’t, JJ,” you whisper.
“Who says we can’t?”
“I say we can’t,” you reply.
“You don’t understand,” JJ tells you, as if ignoring your words entirely. You’re shaking your head, staring down into your coffee, but it doesn’t seem to deter him from continuing. “I can’t picture my life without you in it. These past couple months have felt like there’s a lack there or something. Like something’s missing. And something is missing. You are. You’ve always been there for me, even before we were together. I don’t…I don’t know how I’m supposed to go on with my life without you in it.”
You’re crying now. Silent tears fall down your face. Muffled pain.
The touch of his hand on yours feels electric, but not in a good way. Not in the way it used to. It’s like the shock that it thrills inside of you, which once was excitement, is now merely pain. You half want to jolt your hand back, but that would be too dramatic. Too much.
“Please. Please,” JJ’s begging, crying too. “I just need you in my life.”
“I don’t understand how,” you tell him, voice wet. You meet his gaze again. It feels almost too painful to maintain it for too long. “I can’t be your friend again, JJ. And I definitely can’t be your girlfriend again. So how am I meant to be in your life?”
“You just can! You just have to be there! You have to be there for me!”
Your lip quivers.
He gathers himself, exhaling slowly. “You just…Have to.”
Have to. Like there wasn’t any other way. Like his planet doesn’t spin without you and his universe is empty of planets and stars. Like his world is void of life and you’re the water that can make his plants bloom again. But it doesn’t bring you joy like it would’ve months ago, to hear him say that. It’s too much, too late. Antique coins lose their value.
“I mean…Don’t you miss me?”
Your vision focuses on his tear-streaked face again. Hair still damp. Cheeks pink and nose red.
“Of course I miss you,” you whisper, half-insulted that he’d even ask that. Can’t he see how much this is tearing you apart? “I miss all of it.”
“You don’t have to though,” JJ says. “We can go back to how it was.”
You finally look back down to see his hand still atop of yours. Touch gentle and kind. He used to be kind to you, all the time. Never would raise his voice at you and would never make you cry. But after John B and Sarah vanished, their deaths presumed, it was like something in him snapped. It’s easier to destroy a sandcastle than to build it, and JJ seemed hellbent on destroying whatever bond the two of you had - the love the both of you shared - rather than trying to protect it.
Your relationship with JJ was delipidating. Like a temple built on an eroding cliff, what was once beautiful and serene is now crumbling away, brick by brick. Pope and Kiara and even a stranger in the Goddamn street can see how dysfunctional it is. What was once affection and care is now venom and pain. And yet, underneath all the animosity, there’s still a love that keeps the two of you in place, fighting for things to stay together. After every blowout, one of you ends up in tears and the other is ironically the only person who can comfort them. Then comes the kisses and the apologies and the make-up sex, and the promises to not fight again, and to do better, and to fix what you have. But it’s all a fiction. The next fight comes and it’s uglier still.
JJ seems almost unrecognisable to you most days. The drinking and the drugs and the recklessness is hideous. Brings a pain to your heart that can only be rivalled by the one that comes when you fight. Pope and Kiara don’t see it as much as you do. It’s like he tapers it down for them, only giving them a glimpse. But you’ve always had the honour of seeing every part of JJ, including this. When you beg for him to stop drinking, to try and get himself under control, he goes on the defence. JJ’s words shoot to kill when he’s mad. And it’s like the venom in his words brings out an ugly side of you, too. Infects you with his anger until you're lashing out. When you’re in blind fury, you don’t care what you say, so long as it’s painful. Words that you’d never think come flying out of your mouth. Things you’d never mean are said with nothing short of conviction. About him. About his dad. About him being like his dad. About John B too, sometimes. About it being JJ’s fault. But he doesn’t hold back either. About you. About you and your parents. About you and your exes. About you and John B too, sometimes. It’s ugly and painful and evil.
But it was always words. Sticks and stones, right? You can sooth any cut from a slander with an apology said through soft kisses and softer caresses. Overlay the memory of an insult with sweet-nothings and moans of affirmation. Only words. So, when the next inevitable fight comes with the two of you at his house, after JJ does something particularly stupid at a kegger after flirting with a girl right in front of you to make you jealous, all because you’d said something the other night, you prepare for the hurl of abuse.
“I was just fucking talking to her!” JJ shouts.
You scoff and roll your eyes. “You were practically drooling all over her.”
“Drooling!?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re fucking delusional, you know that?” he chuckles darkly.
“I’m delusional?”
“Yeah, you are.”
“Are you seriously calling your own girlfriend crazy, right now? Do you know how Goddamn sexist that is?” you snap.
JJ shakes his head and does that all-too-familiar walk to his kitchen. You follow as per. It’s like the two of you follow a script when you fight. Insult, jab, insult, jab, drink, jab, insult, cry, silence, drink, comfort, kiss, sex, apologies, promises, sleep. It’s tiresome and it’s pathetic but you don’t want to leave it, because if you do, then you have to face the alternative. You have to face having nothing. No arguments and no JJ. Somehow, arguing with JJ is better than not having him to talk to at all.
But with every fight comes the fading hope that this rough patch will pass, and you’ll be out of the woods, stronger than before.
“Don’t walk away from me, JJ!”
“Stop screaming at me like a psycho bitch!” he shouts back, slamming the fridge door shut. Beer bottle now in hand.
“Don’t call me a bitch, you asshole!” you scream. "Don't you dare drink that!"
JJ laughs at you. "God, it is adorable how you think I give a shit about anything you say to me."
"Oh, I'm so sorry that I actually give a shit about your health! Clearly you don't, snorting any fucking thing you can get your hands-on like some deadbeat junkie."
JJ isn't replying. Won't fight back. Drinking from his bottle like he can't even hear you. Makes you angrier. Say something, do something.
"Guess you're just living up to the family-traits though, huh? Like father like Goddamn son. No wonder your mom left you."
It takes you a moment to realise what made you stop shouting. What made your breath get caught halfway in your throat, heart thumping loudly in your ears. Then, your eyes are slowly drifting down to the floor, to the side of your feet.
Shards of the broken bottle are scattered on the floor. Beer drips down the wall, spills onto the floorboards, pools around the pieces of glass. The sound of shattering was so loud when it hit the wall. No wonder; it happened right by your ear. It was practically inches from your face.
The shock subsides enough to let tears come. You let out a shuddering breath as the reality hits that it could’ve hit you in the face. That could’ve been your face.
When your eyes come to focus again, moving to glance up into JJ’s, he looks just as shocked as you. Just as horrified.
“Baby…”
He starts towards you.
You hold up a hand, prompting him to stop, and take a wobbly step backwards.
“Don’t,” you rasp. You sound terrified. Half don't recognise your own voice.
That could’ve been your face.
“Baby, I didn’t mean to,” JJ whispers, his voice breaking. “I didn’t…I don’t know why I did that. I…”
Your eyes lower to the ground as your hand gradually falls limp by your side. You look to the glass and beer on the floor. How ironically poetic.
“What are we doing, JJ?”
“I don’t…I don’t know,” he hopelessly replies.
You shake your head. Eyes still fixated on the broken bottle. “I don’t…I don’t think this is love anymore, JJ.”
“Don’t say that,” JJ says.
“It can’t be,” you continue, ignorant to his pleas. JJ comes towards you once more and you shake your head, turning away from him before he can make a grab for your hands. “I can’t keep doing this.”
“I know,” he says.
His arms wrap around your waist. He hugs you against him, nestles his face in your hair, presses some kisses against your scalp. There’s the inconsistent drip of his tears.
“I’m sorry,” he’s mumbling into your hair. “I’m sorry. I won’t do that again. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to, okay? I’m so sorry, baby.”
But it’s too late, isn’t it?
Before it was words and that was torturous enough. It was painful when he’d say things to you that he knew would hurt, sure, but you’ve never been afraid of him before. But this, now…You can’t go back. You can’t ever go back from that. It’s with a terrifying thought and a fresh wave of tears that you come to the realisation that you’re scared of JJ. You’re scared of the only person who you’re supposed to find comfort and love in. How does that even happen to someone?
“I know you are,” you eventually say in reply to all his apologies.
JJ pauses, settling on pressing more kisses to your head, squeezing his arms around you tighter, closer, as if trying to stop you from slipping away. But a vase covered in cracks can’t hold water in. You push his arms off you and break yourself free from his hold.
“But I can’t do this anymore.”
He mumbles your name. When you don’t turn, heading to grab your jacket from the sofa, he says it again, loud and desperate. You know he’s crying. He’s sobbing. So are you.
“Please, please don't leave me.”
It hurts. It all just fucking hurts. You head for the door. Shake off his hand as it clasps around your wrist.
“Please, baby. We can make this right, okay? We can fix it. I can fix this. Just don't leave me.”
It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do, walking out his door. In fact, you think a part of your soul dies a little as you do. Left haunting his house is the ghost of your past self that you’ll spend forever trying to find again.
You carefully inch your hand out of his touch and get up, walking to the sink, mug in hand. JJ’s sighing. You catch in the reflection of the window as he hangs his head, palms covering his face. Pouring the leftover coffee down the drain, you try and gather your thoughts and feelings. They all conclude into one.
“I think you should leave now, JJ,” you weakly announce.
Your eyes glance at the window's reflection in time to catch his head lift. Then, you’re looking back down into the sink. Remnants of coffee sit stagnant in the basin. More tears fall.
“What?”
“I really think you need to leave,” you repeat.
“Baby,” JJ says, getting up. He’s walking over to you and your heart sinks.
“Don’t call me that, JJ,” you tell him. But there’s no conviction in your tone. How can there be, when all you are is a crying, fragile mess.
“Baby, please,” he repeats, ignoring you once more. His arms are wrapping around your waist, hugging you against him. It's painful deja vu. You shake your hand and put down the coffee mug, moving to try and push his arms off you. It feels claustrophobic.
“Stop calling me that,” you whimper.
This all hurts so much. The knife is twisting and turning and driving deeper and deeper.
“I don’t want you to call me that anymore.”
“I don’t understand,” JJ says. “If we both miss each other then why can’t we just go back to how it was? I can make it up to you. I can be better, this time. I can get clean. I'll be sober for you. I'll do anything.”
Finally, you managed to break free from his hold. You turn around, placing an arm on his chest to maintain some distance. His hands are still open, as if waiting to catch you.
“That’s not that point, JJ,” you tell him.
“Then what is the point? Why is this so easy for you? I mean, did you ever love me at all? Why aren’t you as torn up about all of this like I am? Did you ever care?”
His tone is turning sour, just the way it used to during your fights. It all comes screaming back to you. The desperation and the battles and the pure exhaustion of trying to hold onto a handful of sand, that only will inevitably slip through your fingers. But it makes the emotions catch fire. Searing hot pain.
“Of course I did!” you burst, eyes wet and voice fire. JJ takes a small step back, startled. “Of course I loved you and of course I miss you! I miss all of it, okay? I miss the way we were and the way you used to look at me. I miss you when I go to sleep and I miss you when I wake up. But I can’t have you in my life anymore, JJ. All the shit that happened between us leaves a sour taste in my mouth, and I can’t erase the past like it didn’t happen. Even if we did move forward, the past is always going to be there. There’s no way to get rid of that!”
JJ’s sobbing, looking away from you. You realise that you’re crying too. Hard and heavy and can barely catch your breath.
“I mean, God, JJ. Do you know how selfish it is for you to be here right now?”
His head darts back to face you. Emotions a mess, you feel your forlorn expression morph into a demented smile. Through a tearful, self-deprecating laugh, you manage out:
“I was barely just holding it together. Barely just surviving, and then you come here and say all these things to me and have this assumption that what you want is what’s right. But it isn’t, for either of us.”
“But we could just—"
“No! We can’t be together again, JJ!”
Letting out a shuddering breath, you hear your words almost echo around the room. JJ’s staring at you. Both of you are heartbroken. What a pitiful, pathetic mess it has all become.
“We can’t, okay?” you repeat, voice softer. Anger gone.
JJ purses his lips and looks down at the floor. You watch as he nods, closing his eyes as he does, as if he’s admitted something to himself.
“Okay,” he whispers. Sniffs harshly. Wipes at his face. You do the same. “Okay.”
This isn’t how you want it to end. You don’t want him to walk out the door with this as his last memory of you. You can’t keep letting the season end on a bad episode. So, slowly, you reach out a hand to grab for one of his. His arms are hanging by his side, defeated. At the touch of your fingers, his instinctively wrap around yours, and he raises his head to look at you.
“I’m sorry,” you tell him. The tears have now subsided, for the most part.
He gives a quivering smile. Bitter-sweet and painful. “Me too.”
He squeezes your hand in his. Now, there’s almost nothing. No zip of excitement or sooth of comfort, and no jolt of pain. Just…JJ.
“I don’t want you to hate me for—”
“I could never hate you,” you say, cutting him off. Smiling yourself, the expression a mirror-reflection of his, you nod. “There’s gonna be a part of me that’s always gonna love you, JayJ. You were my first everything, and that doesn’t go away. Ever. I’ll always be rooting for you and I’m always gonna care for you. But…I have to do it from a distance now, okay? It’s the only way either of us can move on with our lives.”
JJ swallows your words like one might swallow medicine. Unpleasant at the time but affirms a healthy future.
"I know," he nods. "I'm always gonna love you too."
You find yourself wrapping your arms around his neck. Holding him in a hug, tight and secure. His arms coil around your waist and he squeezes you back. The two of you know this will probably be the last time you ever embrace. Ever get to hold him, and him hold you. Neither of you wants to waste it, but neither of you wants to drag it out, in fear that they may never let go. As you pull away, JJ presses a brief, fleeting kiss to your cheek.
Standing in front of one another, once more, you remember the hurricane. The windows are rattling in their frames, rain battering down on them. It’s intense out there.
“You want me to stay?” JJ wonders softly.
You frown.
“I mean-” He gesture to the hurricane-induced storm outside. “I know how you hate them.”
You smile, eyes flitting down. Shaking your head, you sigh. “I need to face them on my own now, I think.”
JJ chuckles soberly. Nodding in understanding, he takes a step or two back. His hands slip into his pockets.
“Then…I guess I should leave.”
“Are you gonna be okay walking home?” you ask. You meant what you said: you’ll always care for him.
JJ nods, smiling brighter still. There’s still the shadow of pain that haunts the expression though.
“Yeah. You know me, I live on the edge.”
With his wink to accompany his sardonic words, you give a soggy laugh. JJ grants you a small wave and another smile. Your favourite smile. Your favourite person. Then, he’s turning around and walking himself to the front door. You hear the gust of wind battle into the house as he opens it, and the hearty slam as he forces it closed.
Standing stoic in the kitchen as if stupefied, you stare after him.
It’s done.
No more new memories. Only the old, to have and to hold, to care for and to cherish. Right now, they’re painful and visceral, but give it time, and they’ll be digestible. You can comb through them and smile and reminisce. Beneath almost every emotion is a tinge of happiness, be it grief or anger. Heartbreak will simply be the same.
Walking back to the living room, you cuddle up under a blanket on the sofa and snuggle against the cushions. Flicking the television back on, you sigh, sit, and continue watching your new show.
From inside the chateau, the windows rattle from a vicious blow of wind.
“What are you doing?” JJ snorts. His voice sounds like it’s come from the doorway.
You look up from the spot you’ve claimed on the floor, cocooned in a blanket. Your cheeks are wet from tears and JJ’s face becomes void of humour, instead morphing into concern.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” he worries, quickly coming over to you.
“It’s dumb,” you sniffle.
JJ shakes his head as he lowers to his knees, wrapping you into his arms. “It's not dumb.”
“You don’t know what it is yet.”
“Well, even if it is dumb, I won’t love you any less. Just might judge you a little, is all.”
You gently batt at his stomach at his stupid joke, making him chuckle.
“What is it?” he asks again, shifting so he can look you in the eyes.
Your rolling your eyes at your ways when you answer. “I hate hurricanes. I guess I have a fear of them or whatever you wanna call it.”
“A fear?”
“Yeah,” you sigh, wiping your wet face.
JJ nods, humming in understanding. He glances around the room a moment and you find yourself inching closer to him for shelter. A flash of lightning shoots a dart of light in the room and you can’t withhold your pathetic, childlike whimper, closing your eyes. Then comes the doomsday thunder. It’s a short pause between the two; means it’s getting closer.
“Here,” JJ says, getting to his feet. He holds out a hand for you and helps you up. “I got an idea.”
“You do?” You say.
You tug the blanket around your shoulders like a shawl. JJ starts moving the sofas and furniture into a weird arrangement. You simply stand back and watch.
“My mamma used to do this for me,” JJ says through a grunt. “Whenever I was scared.”
“JJ Maybank? Scared?” You jest.
He rolls his eyes as he perfects the formation of the armchair, smiling. “Yeah, yeah. Hard to believe, I know.”
“What were you scared of?”
“The dark. And the monsters in my dad’s closet,” JJ replies. He’s now grabbing any blanket he can find.
“The monsters?” you repeat, humour clear in your voice.
“Hey, I didn’t make fun of your current fear of hurricanes, did I?” JJ warns, pointing at you.
You nod and hold your hands up in surrender. That’s fair. “So, what did your mamma used to do then?”
“She’d make me blanket forts,” he says. “To hide from the monsters and the dark.”
“A blanket fort?” you check, smiling.
He’s dragging a blanket over the sofas to make a shelter. You catch on and start to gather some of the throw pillows and couch cushions to make it cosy on the floor, whilst JJ finishes on the structure.
“Yeah. It’s like one of my favourite memories I have of her. She’d make them real cosy and then we’d watch a movie, and I’d be safe.”
When it’s all finished, JJ turns to you and grins. Gesturing proudly to his creation – bumpy as it is – you grin, giggling a little. “Ta da!”
“A Maybank tradition,” you say.
He climbs into the fort and settles on the cushions. The light from the lamp casts through the blanket to give the faintest glow. Holding out his hand, you take it with a laugh and move to sit beside him. He shifts you so you can lay with your head resting on his chest. His arm loops around your waist and you place a hand on his side. It’s quiet in here. The rainfall is barely audible and the thunder is muffled. It feels like its own world, safe from anything else. Safe with JJ.
He presses a kiss to your forehead.
“So, what’d ya think?”
“I think this might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever done, Maybank,” you reply, looking up at him.
JJ grins. “Just wait ‘til we get that gold. The blanket forts are gonna be insane.”
You laugh and shake your head. JJ falls into an extravagant daydream of the forts he’ll build for you: with drawbridges and dragons and all sorts of ridiculous crap, that you know he’s only spewing because it’ll get a laugh out of you. Settling against his chest, feeling the rumble of his voice and shaking of his laughs through his t-shirt, you smile. What a sweetly clandestine memory to share.
A few weeks had gone by and you hadn’t seen the Pogues since the morning after the argument with Kie. You didn’t speak to Kie, but you occasionally spoke with JJ and the others every so often. Kie would never realize but you felt like shit ever since her outburst and you weren’t sure why but you didn’t feel good enough to hang around the Pogues anymore.
Anonymous asked:
Can i request where reader feels she's no longer good enough to be around the pogues because kiara doesn't like her and is jealous of how she is with them?
Summary: Kiara had always been jealous of Y/N, whether it be the way she looked, talked, carried herself, or the way she was perceived by the island. One thing Kiara could never get over was how she was with the other pogues. She had been around longer, leaving her closer to all of them making Kiara feel as though she was always missing some inside joke. After a night of drinking Kiara explodes, leaving an awkward tension between the group.
"Are you coming to the Boneyard tonight?" Joh B asked, breaking you from your thoughts.
"Uh, I'm honestly not sure. Promised I'd be home at a reasonable time tonight." You said with a slight laugh.
"Oh, come on what's one more day being out late?" JJ asked slinging his arm across your shoulders.
"J, you know how my mom gets when I break promises."
"Yeah guys, just let her stay home if she doesn't want to come. It's just one party." Kie said uninterested.
You shot a confused look to the guys and then looked at Kie.
"Don't sound so happy I won't go." You said with a laugh.
"No, no, no that's not what I meant at all," Kie said quickly.
"I'm just kidding Kie."
"But really, you should come if you can Y/N/N," Pope said as JB pulled into Kie's dock.
"Y/N just let me know if stay at John B's tonight. I don't mind you going out, I'm gonna have an early night anyway." Your mom said.
"I will mom, I love you."
"Love you too, let us know if you need anything."
You nodded your head and headed to your room to change. You weren't exactly in the most party mood, so you just opted for a pair of sweat shorts and a swimsuit top.
By the time you had gotten to the Boneyard the party was in full swing. Everyone was drunk or having a good time with other substances.
You laughed to yourself as you went in search of your friends. Spotting JJ and Pope first you smiled and ran up to them.
"Hey, you made it!" Pope said hugging you.
"Yeah, my mom decided she was going to bed early, didn't want me to miss the fun."
"Well good, we're gonna have a bonfire after this back at the Chateau," JJ said.
"Alright cool." You said with a smile.
Your smile quickly vanished as your eyes laid on Kie, who was completely hammered and crying.
"Kie! What's wrong?" You asked quickly, helping the girl to sit.
"Like you don't know." She said with a bitter laugh.
"What?" You asked removing your hand from her back.
"Gosh you are so damn oblivious aren't you? You are what's wrong."
Your eyebrows scrunched together as you looked at your friends for help.
"Kie she didn't do anything." John B said coming to your defense.
"This is my issue! You all defend her and she has no faults does she?!" Kie screamed.
"Kiara, stop." Pope tried.
"NO! You can't tell me I need to stop! She's the reason you all make me feel like I'm missing something, some kind of inside joke. Little miss perfect everything makes me feel like I'm not good enough and never will be. I wish I could have the relationship she has with all of you, but that could only be accomplished by her having met you after me. Just another pogue born who met you guys first. I don’t like her.” She spat.
"Alright, I've had enough." You muttered turning to walk away.
"What? You can't stand to hear this because you know it's true? I'm sure you do it on purpose. You want the whole island to know of you like this cool, chill girl and that makes them think I'm stuck up because I'm not just like you."
"You sound so stupid right now! You don't have to be me, jealousy is a hell of a thing. If you listened at all while we were best friends instead of picking out everything about me that makes you feel terrible, you would know my life is far from perfect. I don't try and make you feel bad. Kie everyone has their struggles, especially with comparing themselves to other girls. This is by no means fair to just assume that you are the only one out of us who has them." You said and walked away this time done with the conversation at hand.
"Hey, where are you going?" JJ asked, running to grab your hand.
"I'm going home. I knew I should've stayed there. I'll see you guys tomorrow or something." You said with a sigh.
"No. She doesn't get to chase you off. She does not get the power. Let's go to the Chateau and lay down. I'm not letting you drive in this emotional state." JJ said looking at you worriedly.
He watched you carefully as your eyes filled with tears.
"It's fine J, go enjoy the party. My house is like 10 minutes away. I'll call my mom and have her watcha movie with me when I get home."
"I already know you were just going to sit in your room and ignore everyone for a week while you bottle up your emotions." He said taking the car keys from your hand.
You sighed and allowed him to help you into the passenger side. He gripped your hand after he got into the driver's side and began the short drive back to the Chateau. The conversation he tried to start quickly fell into an unanswered silence as you stared ahead at the road.
When your truck pulled into the Chateau's drive and JJ came and helped you out again even though you were more than capable of doing it on your own.
"Let's go get ready for bed." He mumbled against your ear, leading you to the spare room. You sighed when you knew the night would finally be drama-free.
"Want tea? Water? Beer?" JJ asked, causing you to shake your head in response.
You turned your back to JJ and unclipped your swimsuit top, bending down to grab one of his discarded T-shirts. Your shorts quickly followed suit of your top and you climbed into bed. Taking your phone you texted your mom to let her know you were staying at John B’s.
“Hey don’t shut me out,” JJ said reaching for your shoulder.
“I just don’t get it. I would never make Kie feel like that on purpose. I just I don’t know J.”
“Just try and get some sleep. We’ll figure it out in the morning. Sound good?”
You nodded your head despite knowing you would go home tomorrow morning.
You woke up and groaned. You didn’t want to deal with Kie or have to face the tension she created in the group. Tugging JJ’s arm off your waist, you stood up and looked around for some of your clothes. It was a mess of things thrown around on the floor.
“Hey what’re you doin,” JJ asked sitting up.
“Going home,” you replied.
JJ’s face contorted in confusion before he climbed out of bed.
“Hey. Look at me.” He said as he grabbed your chin.
“J I can’t right now, okay?”
“She doesn’t get this power of you. We can all make our own decisions.”
“I get that but I need to go home and see my mom. I’ll text you guys I promise. Can you help me find some clothes though? This place is a shit show.”
He chuckled and dug around before tossing you a bra and one of your shirts. You pulled out a pair of your panties and your shorts from the night before and headed to the bathroom.
Once you were changed you went to the kitchen to see John B leaning against the counter.
“Sup,” he said watching you.
“Hey.”
“Where ya going?”
“Home. My mom was expecting me home last night but J wouldn’t let me drive.” You said pulling your shoes on.
“Just so you know there are no harsh feelings towards you it’s towards Kie for acting like that.”
You nodded and looked at the floor. You felt him embrace you and you reluctantly hugged him back.
“I mean it, so stop beating yourself up for what she said and what she feels, okay?” He asked pushing you to an arm's length.
“Yeah, I got it.” You mumbled, “I’ll see y’all later.”
After being home for a while you went upstairs to be by yourself since you’d sat with your mom for advice and to watch a random show with her.
Your phone was seemingly vibrating to no end when you arrived in your room. Picking it up you were getting a FaceTime call from the boys.
Deciding to pick up you saw them smiling at you.
“We couldn’t get you to answer any of our texts we thought we were gonna have to bust in your house,” Pope said with a laugh.
“Yeah sorry I left my phone in my room while I was with my mom. What’s up?”
“We wanted to have the bonfire tonight since it didn’t work out last night,” JB spoke.
“I’m okay, invite Kie though. Sure she’d love to have you guys all to herself. Maybe she’ll even replace my friendship.” You said sarcastically.
“Shut up, you know she can’t, it’s a different friendship between us and you and us and her,” JJ said with a glare.
“Ye-“ you started but you were stopped by your mom calling for you.
“Gotta go guys, but yeah won’t be able to make it out tonight. Love you!” You said before hanging up.
You sighed knowing that you were just making the decision easier for them by distancing yourself. If Kie didn’t like you and didn’t want you around you would be busy when they wanted to hang out.
A few weeks had gone by and you hadn’t seen the Pogues since the morning after the argument with Kie. You didn’t speak to Kie, but you occasionally spoke with JJ and the others every so often. Kie would never realize but you felt like shit ever since her outburst and you weren’t sure why but you didn’t feel good enough to hang around the Pogues anymore. It was obvious none of the other Pogues felt the way as Kie, they would have booted you from the friend group long before, but there was just the feeling that you could not shake.
Your days were pretty normal, helping your mom run her shop, surfing in the evening or in the mornings, fixing up various parts of your house, and sometimes going to the beach to relax and tan. This day however was not relaxing at all, all of the Pogues decided to make an appearance, Kie included. You looked in their direction before picking up your stuff and beginning to head home.
You were beginning to walk over the dune when Kie called out to you, causing you to turn and look at the girl. Folding your arms you waited for the group to approach. Kie greeted you with a smile, which you glared at.
"Glad to see you're happy you got what you wanted." You sneered at her.
"This isn't what I wanted." Kie defended.
"Yeah, I'm sure it's not. I gotta go," You said and turned away from her.
Kiara grabbed your arm and you began to pull your arm away from her.
"Do not touch me," You seethed, glaring at the brunette girl.
"What is your issue?" Kiara groaned, looking to the guys for defense.
"You are my problem, sorry to use your own words against you. You made me feel like I couldn't come around my friends, the people I treat and call my family because I make you feel like shit! Now I'm the one left feeling like they aren't good enough. So congrats Kie, you got what you always wanted! Them to yourself." You stated and with that, you walked away.
The first character I first fell in love with: John B Routledge
The character I never expected to love as much as I do now: JJ Maybank
The character everyone else loves that I don’t: Rafe
The character I love that everyone else hates: I feel like I’m gonna say John B again. Not that everyone hates him—but I think he gets a bad rap sometimes. I understand he’s a 16 year old and hasn’t made the best decisions sometimes, but nobody has. & I’ll defend him forever.
The character I used to love but don’t any longer: I honestly don’t think there’s anyone that I don’t love anymore. Maybe Ward? Bc at first I was like aww yeah dad just wants to protect his kids, but then NOPE.
The character I would totally smooch: any and all of them. This cast is so hot holy hell.
The character I’d want to be like: Sarah Cameron hands down. Pls.
The character I’d slap: my initial thought was Ward, but I think he’d literally try to kill me if I slapped him, and I don’t think I’d win against him. So honestly? Luke Maybank. I’ll fight that fucker if it kills me idgaf. I may go down but I’ll go down swingin!
A pairing that I love: JOHN B AND SARAH CAMERON AND I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL. why does no one write for them, I absolutely adore them.
A pairing that I despise: REALLY not a fan of Pope x Kie. Or Topper x Sarah. 😬 just not for me man.
TL;DR : I want to be Sarah Cameron and I will fist fight Luke Maybank even if he kills me.
jj maybank x fem!kook!shy!reader | the music the band plays in this are songs by beach bunny (that's the music style i envisioned for the reader) - check them out!
a fascinating new thing spin-off celebration fic for 300 followers (per this and this request haha)
content warning: drinking; anxiety
word count: 3k.
blurb: it's been a month since the moment on the hammock. JJ calls you 'baby' like it's the most natural thing. But some things have been left unsaid. Maybe one night, at Pansy's, where things seemingly started, one of you will kick up the nerves...
Ironic, how the first time you played at The Wreck you actively avoided JJ Maybank’s gaze. Now you seek it out. Whenever you feel the stage-fright creep up on you like a spider stalking in the night, you dart your eyes across the small but ever-growing crowd and find your boyfriend. He watches you like you’re some star-studded bigshot. Like you’re Beyoncé or something, holding the stage and audience in your palm. It does something to your stomach, still, after the month the two of you have been officially together. You’re not sure if you’ll ever get used to having JJ look at you that way, so clearly and unapologetic. If you’ll ever get used to having the knowledge that he knows the songs are about him.
So, as you sing the closing lyrics to the final song of the set, you can’t seem to break away from his gaze. You know your friends will tease you both about it later, and that whilst you’ll shrivel up under the light-hearted scrutiny like a prune, JJ will grin and bask in the attention. The two of you seem to equal out the scales.
“Suddenly, everything is easy. I’ve never felt something so deeply. Cause with you, with you, I breathe again. Baby you’re my oxygen.”
When you and Pansy harmonise for the fade-out, you finally pull your focus from JJ’s smiling face. Instead, you smile at your bandmate and best friend. Bob your head along to the steady beat of the drums as the song ties off to a close.
The crowd breaks into applause. Cheers and whoops and hollers triumphing over claps that make you laugh into the microphone.
“Thank you,” you grin.
There it is again. Your eyes falling onto JJ and his on you; opposite sides of the magnet, attracting. He nods at you, proud, and you feel your grin turn mushy, teeth sinking into your lower lip in a failing attempt to restrain it. Damn him.
“Thanks for being a great crowd, guys! We’re The Wallflowers! Buy our shit!” Pansy shouts gleefully.
Routine as always: the lights flick on, the microphones disconnect, the Reggae playlist kicks up, and the crowd tumbles into conversation, pours over their drinks, perhaps filter out the doors. The Pogues wander up to the stage as Mike shrugs off his bass and Pansy her guitar.
“You guys were dope,” John B grins from below the small stage.
“Like always,” Pansy winks at him.
“I’m liking the new stuff,” Kiara smiles at you.
“Thanks! I’m trying to mix things up a bit more,” you say.
JJ’s holding out his hand for you to take. You use his help to jump down from the stage, standing by his side. Try your best not to retreat when he leans down to kiss you in front of everyone. It’s not that you don’t want him to you; it just still feels somewhat surreal that he wants to, and does so, freely.
“We still hanging out at yours, Pansy?” John B wonders.
“Mhm. Empty house kids,” she grins. “Sides, we need to celebrate our new drummer who did a fucking awesome job tonight.”
As if on cue, Xander wanders across the stage from where they’d been hiding behind the drumkit. They grin down at everyone, their brow piercing catching the light of the restaurant and twinkling.
“You’re already killing it,” Kiara says.
“Yeah, way better than the last guy,” JJ adds.
You elbow him. The look that you flash him, however, tells him that you’re not mad.
Benny had quit the band not long after you and JJ became a thing. Things were already messy from the fight at the fair and the tone was forever changed. It was obvious that yourself and Pansy were honouree Pogues now and that if Benny couldn’t pull his head from out of his ass (Pansy’s words, not yours) then there’s no room for him in the band anymore. The two of you had talked about what went down. It was awkward and uncomfortable and painful, to look at someone who you once saw as an irreplaceable friend and now only recognise as a decent drummer. Benny confessed that staying in the band with you, knowing he couldn’t be with you, would be too painful. You refused to let yourself feel guilty. You wouldn’t change how things went down and selfishly, if it meant you got to keep your friends and JJ in your life, then Benny would have to slip through the cracks.
JJ’s arm slinging over your shoulder, tugging you closer to his chest, has you tuning back into the conversation again. You wrap an arm gently around his waist. His tee shirt smells of salt water and cheap cologne. It’s so wonderfully him that you have to keep from burying in it. It’s strange how a few months ago you’d almost come to peace with the fact that you’d maybe journey through life alone romantically, with nothing but good friends and music to accompany you, and now here you are, fitting so well under JJ’s hold that it’s like you were made to be there.
“So once she’s finished up there, her and a few of her friends are gonna come over. If that’s cool with you, Pansy,” Mike finishes saying. By ‘she’, he means his now official girlfriend, Tara.
“Of course! The more the merrier!”
You smile at your little group of friends. Slightly misfitting and far from what you’d expect, but perfect, nonetheless. Pansy and JJ’s effervescent energies; Kiara and Mike both laid back and argumentative at the same time; Xander’s stories that allotted perfectly with Pope’s; John B flitting in and out of conversations seamlessly, like a school of fish leisurely navigating through a sea of kelp and coral. And you, surrounded by so much love you don’t really know what to do with it.
“Ready to go, baby?”
Baby. JJ started calling you that a week after the moment on the hammock. You liked it, being someone’s baby. Being his baby.
“Mhm,” you smile up at him.
With that, you filter out the restaurant. You’d already agreed with Kiara’s dad that you’d tidy up the band stuff tomorrow morning, before opening. This was your fourth time playing there, so it was a well-made routine by now. Walking towards the cars, Kie steals you away to have you ride with herself, Pansy and Xander in the pick-up. The boys pile into the Twinkie and Mike has to duck his head hopelessly as he clambers in. Oh to be six-foot six. The conversation that comes between the four of you is light and easy, with anecdotes about school being tossed around like a volleyball on the beach. By the time you pull up to Pansy’s house, your chest aches from laughing. The guys pull up just moments later in the twinkie as you climb out the pick-up.
“You guys giving my girl laughing gas or something? She’s grinning like a mad man,” JJ hollers as he jumps out the van.
“Just finally in the presence of someone who’s funny, is all,” Pansy jabs. Your friends ‘ooh’ in return.
JJ takes your hand and the lot of you climb up the stairs to Pansy’s house. There’s an unspoken agreement to hang out near the pool. People swipe up some beer and liquor and mixers on the way. Pansy connects to the speaker and you all relax into seats and loungers. Conversations carry from the cars to the garden like driftwood on the tide. JJ practically pulls you down to sit in his lap. An arm coils around your waist comfortingly.
“This okay, baby?” he murmurs into your ear.
Your skin prickles pleasantly. Baby.
“Mhm,” you nod, looking at him. He presses a kiss against your lips, fast and fleeting.
Then the two of you are accepting red solo-cups filled with beer and smiling into the chatter. JJ gets tangled up in some heated debate, leaning forward and energetically arguing his case through a grin. His arm tightens its hold on you, though never painfully so, whenever he does. For the most part, you’re content in listening along. Nodding and laughing. Whispering jokes into JJ’s ear that you don’t quite have the nerve to toss into the group, and basking in the laughter it draws from him.
When Tara does show up, ‘a few of her friends’ ends up being nearly ten people. They’re all nice enough, smiley with drinks in hand, but they’re also all buzzed and way more extroverted than you will ever be. The pitch of the conversation rises by about three notches. It’s harder to follow along with a conversation and harder still to sit in your blissful observation position on JJ’s lap. It seems Tara’s friends are hellbent on ‘including you’ in the conversation, but their way of doing so involves grilling you with questions. They’re not rude or invasive, but you don’t like being under so many eyes, waiting on what you have to say when you don’t really have much to say at all. Instinctively, you start drawing shapes on the back of JJ’s hand that’s resting on your thigh.
“Hey,” he says, pulling your attention to him. “You okay?”
“Mhm.”
“You sure? Think you’re painting a Mozart on my hand there.”
“You mean Monet,” you say.
JJ rolls his eyes. Presses a kiss to your cheek. “Smart ass.”
There’s a roaring round of laughter. You sigh and try to ease the tension that’s forming in the back of your throat. It’s so dumb. These are your friends. You’ve met Tara before and she’s lovely. A little intimidating in a could-be-a-bikini-model-six-foot-four-long-perfect-hair way, but still lovely. Her friends aren’t mean Kooks. They’re all pretty chill. They seem to be meshing well with the rest of the Pogues, too. You catch Kiara’s eyes as you scan the conversation. She frowns the moment she lays eyes on you.
‘You okay?’ she mouths.
You nod. You don’t want to be a party pooper. Everyone’s having fun, including JJ.
He squeezes your thigh, grabbing your attention once more.
“Come on,” he says, moving to stand up. You frown but shift onto your feet, with JJ in tow.
“What’s up?”
“We’re going inside for a sec,” he tells you, intertwining his fingers with yours.
“I’m fine. Really.”
JJ looks down at you. Whilst his expression doesn’t exactly change, you get this feeling that his thoughts are ‘yeah, right.’
“Well, I wanna check out this Kook mansion and I need a tour guide,” he replies.
You smile at that, despite your efforts not to. Hands interlocked, you follow JJ out of the small gathering and into the kitchen. Flush like you’re on fire at the wolf-whistle John B sends your way when you do. In both your and JJ’s spare hands are your solo cups, half full of beer. There’s a pleasant hum to your thoughts, giving everything a colourful edge almost.
“You’ve been here before, remember,” you say to him as he guides you both through the empty house. It’s almost insulting that three people live here, at most.
“Well, I spent most of it in the bathroom so—”
“Oh! Really?”
He grins down at you and you laugh.
“Wow!”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want to spend it in the bathroom!”
“Mhm,” you grin, rolling your eyes. The two of you make your way up the stairs. Automatic lights flick on as you do.
“I’d rather spend the night sat with some cute Powerpuff girl than hang out with the loser Kooks downstairs,” JJ says. That has you flustered. You squeeze his hand.
“Shut up.”
“You did it again.”
“Shut up!”
JJ imitates you, shrivelling up under the compliment, and you laugh and swat at his arm. His lifelong mission to make you accept a compliment is one month in and currently unsuccessful. As you guys wander down the seemingly never-ending corridor, you remember something you and Pansy did once. With that thought, you take the lead, pulling JJ behind you as you guide the two of you into one of the may spare bedrooms. It smells a little musty, though nothing like a museum. It’s fresh must: like worn-down reed diffusers and fresh cotton that never got tainted. On the bed lies tons of winter clothes as if someone was halfway through clearing out a wardrobe.
“Where are you taking me?” JJ asks, humour light in his voice.
“To my secret spot.”
“Ooh.”
“Ooh,” you echo teasingly, flashing a smile at him over your shoulder.
Handing your cup to JJ, you pull the window open and glance out, checking you have the right room. There’s the extension’s roof, underneath, solid as a rock. Smiling, you gesture your head for him to follow and then you’re climbing onto the roof. JJ chuckles a little.
“Didn’t know I was dating spiderman, but okay.”
“You can’t tell anyone my secret identity,” you joke in reply.
You’re watching where you’re placing your feet, checking your balance. Holding out your hand for your beer, JJ passes over the cup then grunts as he clambers out to join you. The two of you settle on the roof top. It’s a starry night tonight. The universe seems as though it may stretch on for miles. Countless sparkles of light illuminate above you, basking in the absence of light pollution.
“Woah.”
“I know, right?” you smile.
JJ grins up at the sky, captured in awe. It’s adorable how boyish and young he seems when he does. Some things that mother nature does can stop anyone in their tracks: young and old, fat and thin, rich and poor. Beauty doesn’t have limits. You would know, looking at one of the most beautiful things on the planet, right before your eyes. Dirty-blonde hair brightened by natural highlights from too many hours on the water, under the sun. Crinkles by the eyes that never quite go, even when he isn’t smiling. A jawline taken from a sketchbook and a smile that can make someone fold at the knees and swoon at the heart. You take to admiring your boyfriend the same way he admires the stars.
If you told childhood you that you were now sat on top of Pansy’s roof with your school-long crush, sipping beer and watching stars, you’d send her to A&E for a stroke.
“You’re staring,” he mumbles, not drawing his eyes from the view above.
“So?”
“So,” he smiles.
“You’re my boyfriend. I’m allowed to stare, aren’t I?”
JJ’s smile takes on a little edge, like he’s proud. He glances down at you. “Like how that sounds. ‘Boyfriend’.”
You flush. “I mean, you are, aren’t you?”
“Aren’t I?” he teases.
You roll your eyes and gently shove his shoulder. JJ laughs. The sound makes you smile, like a reflex.
“Shut up.”
“Might start taking a shot for every time you say that to me.”
“Shut up,” you mumble, because you can’t think of something else to say.
JJ guffaws. He slinks an arm around your waist and tugs you nearer to his side. You rest your head against his collar bone with a sigh.
“You didn’t answer my question,” you eventually say into the almost-silence. There’s the carrying sound of your friends’ chatter from below, managing its way up to the roof.
“Of course I am,” he says, teasing worn down. “Come on – thought we made that happen on the hammock.”
“Well, so did I, but we never officially said anything,” you quietly tell him.
JJ swallows. He knows what you mean. It’s impossible not to. That day went from being one of the best, to one of the worst, to one of the best days of your life. Things were left unsaid from it but things changed, nonetheless. The spot next to JJ was reserved for you; his texts became more flirtatious, more sweet, more sensitive; the two of you would kiss, whenever and wherever (something that you still can’t quite get used to); and you and JJ would spend time together with nobody else around. The ‘will you be my girlfriend?’ thing felt pointless. The ‘I love you’ thing, however, felt a little less right being left untouched.
“I gotta tell you something,” JJ says. He shifts so the two of you can meet the other’s gaze. You swallow down the nerves.
“Don’t tell me: you’ve got the clap,” you deadpan.
JJ smiles. He laughs silently, shaking his head. You still can’t believe he finds you funny. That he wants to hear your jokes more than anyone else’s.
“Not quite.”
“Gonorrhoea?”
“Shut up,” he sniggers, shaking his head.
You point a finger at him, grinning. “Aha! You said the thing!”
“You’re impossible, did you know that?”
“Nothing’s impossible if you just believe in yourself,” you hum, perhaps a little more drunk than you thought. Maybe that’s just him though. JJ tends to have that effect on you.
The only way it seems that JJ can think of shutting you up is to kiss you. You smile, slipping your hand over his atop of the grainy fabric of the roof tiles. Kissing JJ is like seeing a supernova: impossible to describe; faultless and insurmountably beautiful.
“What I was trying to tell you,” JJ says the moment his lips break from yours. Then, another kiss. “Is that” – another kiss – “I love you.”
You break apart with that, falling short of breath. You slowly open your eyes. Glance up to his, near reluctant. Wait for his jeer down to his friends or the punchline to follow, because surely – surely, he doesn’t. Could he? He’d sort of said it on the hammock, but when you pushed, he pulled away, and it made you wonder if you misinterpreted it. There’s a difference between having a thing for the quiet, weird girl and being in love with her.
Maybe all of these thoughts read easy on your face, because JJ’s half-smiling, half-frowning, and thumbing at your cheek.
“I mean it,” he quietly affirms. “I’m in love with you.”
“How do you even know that?” you whisper.
JJ smiles fully now. He shrugs. “I just do. I just…I don’t know. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, and I didn’t even know it.”
“Everything?”
Your quietness? Your weird sense of humour? Your awkward punchlines? Your baking? Your crocheting? Your music? Your singing? Your body? Your figure? Your face? Your smile? Your voice? Your brain?
“Everything,” he nods reassuringly.
Kisses you once more, firm and fierce, and you kiss him back. That familiar zip chimes up and down your body, lighting up your neurons and firing away at your synapses. Being told by JJ Maybank that he loves you feels akin to Gabriel declaring to Mary that she was chosen. That you’re special, and beautiful, and maybe somehow sexy. That you’re talented and wanted and funny – he thinks you’re funny. He’s taken the time to know you and to understand you. He waited for you and you waited for him. And now, here, it’s like he’s the king of your heart. Maybe you ought to crown him for showing you these colours of the world and for teaching you the language of his tongue. For changing your life in every way a person probably can.
There’s only one type of crown you can think to give.
i'm going to hell but at least i'll get a good tan...
idk what jj actually stands for but go with it, please
feel free to request: prompt list
john james - prompt 20
“What does JJ stand for?”
You look to your boyfriend as you ask. The two of you are lounging on the front of the boat as it’s tethered to the jetty of the Chateau. Both of your legs are outstretched; sat side by side. In your hand is a bottle of beer and in his, a joint.
“John J.”
“And the second J?”
“James,” he clarifies, turning his head away from the horizon to look at you. “John James Maybank.”
“That’s like a tongue twister,” you chuckle.
He grins. “Say it five times, fast?”
“John James Maybank, John James Maybank, John Jay Baymank—”
The two of you laugh and you shake your head at the silliness. Uncrossing then recrossing your ankles, you have another swig of your drink. Leaning your head against his bare shoulder, enjoying the last few rays of sunlight before dusk, you smile. JJ presses a brief kiss to your forehead.
“When’d you become JJ then?”
“After I met John B,” JJ said. “Made it easier to tell which one of us was being yelled at by his dad.”
“I’m guessing it was always you?”
“Usually, yeah,” JJ confirms with a chuckle, making you laugh.
“John B and John J. The two Johns.”
JJ sniggers at that, pressing another kiss to your head.
“You’re so weird,” he lovingly tells you. Hooks his spare arm around your waist, letting his hand comfortably rest on your thigh. As JJ takes another drag of his joint, the conversation drifts away with the waves.
You half forget that you’d even asked until a couple of days later. It’s when the two of you are fooling around at his house.
His dad’s out on a bender somewhere (probably Barry’s) and JJ clearly has plans to take full advantage of the empty house. He’s already gone down on you in the kitchen, with you perched on the counter. The only thing that kept you from falling onto your back was the tight grip one of your hands had on the rim of the kitchen top, the other uselessly grasping at his hair. JJ then practically manhandled you onto the sofa in the sitting room, kicking away empty cans and tossing an old t-shirt to the side to make space. A messy make-out driven purely by the haze of pleasure. You’d returned the favour then, giving him head as he sunk into the tired couch, his head resting back on the top of it. You loved the sounds he made; loved how he wasn’t quiet with it. How he’d chant your name and mumble out his little praises (‘taking me so good, baby.’). You even loved when he got a little mean. The way he’d tug tightly on your hair, forming a makeshift ponytail, and force you down so you’d deepthroat him. He’d never hurt you, though. Would stop if you told him to.
You want him to finish there and then but clearly, he has other plans. JJ forces you off him, somewhat reluctant to do so, and you crawl up to kiss him again. Finally, your t-shirts tugged off, and you happily do the same with his. His fingers move around to unhook your bra, but he’s shaking from edging and can’t do it, making the two of you laugh breathlessly. You do it for him, tossing it to the side, and JJ’s thanks is focused to your chest. Kisses that’ll bruise and the gently teething against the flesh that has you groaning. Your head tumbles forward to rest on his shoulder, hands lopping around his neck, fingers weaving into his hair. Subconsciously, you rock against his hard-on, your slick risking him slipping in. The moment he teases at your entrance you’re moaning. Thoughts are a blurry, incoherent mess in the fog of the amorousness, and for some reason a name slips into your mind and tumbles desperately out of your mouth like a plea.
“John.”
JJ stops his assault on your chest with a breath. It’s like that brings you back to reality a little. You catch onto what you’d just said. Before you can think about it too much or wonder why exactly you’d thought to call him by his first name, JJ’s pressing his forehead against yours, kissing at your mouth with a new heat. Okay…
“Say that again,” he mumbles against your lips. It’s a demand. You can’t help but smirk.
Shifting against him again, basking in his desperate whimper that it elicits, you move to kiss at his jaw, working your way up to his ear. You nibble at his earlobe a moment.
“Want you to fuck me, John,” you whisper.
His hands tighten on your waist, firm enough to leave a mark, and you can’t help but giggle knowingly. Who knew that there’d be more things that could get your boyfriend fired up? It’s like you’ve just overturned a rock that had been outside of your house for the past five years, only to find a secret spare key.
He’s hauling you up as he stands (your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist) and then he’s placing you, only semi-gently, to lie on the floor. JJ half-arsedly shoves some junk out of the way; takes a moment to grab a pillow from the sofa for you to rest your head on. But you don’t have the patience for it. You need him now. Pulling him down by his face, hands cradling his jaw, he gladly kisses you back. Not breaking apart, he finally slides into you. You’re practically soaked and he fits in so easy it has the both of you moaning.
“Thank fuck for the pill,” JJ rasps against your lips.
Your chuckle barely lasts a second. JJ starts fucking into you, fast and hard, and you’re not surprised if your eyes don’t roll up into the back of your head. Your hands scramble for purchase; one comes to claw at his back, at the skin of his shoulder blade, and the other moves around the floor before coming to grasp at the foot of the coffee table. He’s grunting, loud and fervent, his head dropping down near your shoulder. One hand cages you in as he holds himself up by the arm, right next to your head, and the other is gripping your hips all mean-like. The sounds you’re making feel detached from you: gasps and moans and pants. There’s no other thought in your head apart from how fucking good everything feels.
“You close?” JJ asks, almost right in your ear.
You nod. Clench around him. He moves his hand from your hip to rub at your clit. It has your back arching, your knees bending, toes curling. It’s like he made you from how well he knows your body. Drew you into existence and willed you to life. Needing him closer somehow, you pull his lips to yours, tethering your fingers into the strands of his hair. The kiss is practically useless, with how much the two of you are moaning, but you don’t want it to end. You don’t want him to pull away but you also want to come so bad it almost hurts.
“JJ, please,” you whine desperately.
“Fuck,” JJ gasps. His rhythm’s faltering. He’s getting tired and he’s so close that he can barely hold it together.
In fact, he doesn’t. He comes with a broken moan of your name, shuddering against you, panting against your neck. You let him catch his breath a moment, indulge in his kisses, knowing that he’ll take care of you once he can breathe again. Pulling out of you, making you gasp, he slips two fingers inside. It’s filthy, the sounds it makes, the mix of the two of you, and the thought alone has you teetering on the edge as he fingers you. JJ kisses at your neck the way he knows you like. Rubs at your overstimulated clit. You come with an almost inaudible gasp, eyes clenching shut. JJ’s chuckle against your throat is dark and muffled by your skin.
“Good fucking girl,” he mumbles into your ear. That has you clenching again, around his drenched fingers, and JJ chuckles again. “Oh, you like that, huh?”
You laugh through a breath. Guess that makes the two of you even now…
In retrospect, this is not what I had in mind when I said surprise me.
Um, I got REALLY carried away so basically have a short-fic???
feel free to request: prompt list
Happy Anniversary - prompt 1
JJ’s never had an anniversary before. The longest ‘relationship’ he’s been in, before you, lasted a whole two weeks in ninth grade. The farthest they went was holding hands, and that was only because their friends wouldn’t stop heckling for them to. So, when JJ casually asked you what you wanted to do for your one-year anniversary whilst the two of you were walking back from the beach, you shrugged and said possibly the worst answer you could’ve given him. “Surprise me.”
JJ isn’t heartless. He knows what girls like, inside the bedroom and outside. He knows how to woo someone. What to say to have them all mushy and blushing and stuff. Hell, it’d clearly worked with you. But was he romantic? Now that’s a different thing entirely.
It didn’t help that you were rather low maintenance. That you were more than content with date nights that involved surfing and smoking and sometimes a late-night walk. Staying and watching a movie, usually ending up with the film completely neglected and your clothes on the floor. Dinners and presents and all of that weren’t as much your style. You weren’t against them, per say, but as a broke cut-resident yourself, you didn’t care about all the finer things in life.
“Why don’t you buy her a necklace?” John B offers from the deckchair.
“She doesn’t really wear necklaces,” JJ replies from the hammock. “She just has this one chain with her mom’s wedding ring on it. Always wears it.”
“A book?” Pope says.
“Not much of a reader,” JJ returns.
“Why don’t you do something for her instead of buying her something, then?” Kiara tries.
JJ sits up at that, frowning at her. “What’d ya mean?”
“Well, she seems like the kinda girl who likes doing things.”
“Oh, definitely,” JJ replies with a growing smirk.
Kie rolls her eyes at the innuendo. “JJ, gross. I mean, she’s always surfing or crocheting or whatever.”
“I don’t know shit about crocheting,” JJ tells Kie. “She does like to cook though. Makes the best lemon sea bass ever.”
“Why don’t you cook for her then?” Sarah says.
John B and Pope burst into laughter. JJ glares at them, unamused.
“What?” she innocently asks.
“JJ’s level of cooking is a piece of toast,” John B says.
“And even that’s got a fifty-fifty chance of success,” Pope adds.
“Fuck you guys! I can cook! How hard can it be? You just follow a recipe and throw some shit in a pan and then boom,” JJ challenges. They stare up at him, amused and unconvinced. “I can cook!”
“What’s her favourite meal?” Kie asks.
“She likes Italian,” JJ thinks aloud. “Maybe spaghetti and meatballs or something?”
“You’re going to make spaghetti and meatballs? Something that requires three different things being done simultaneously?” Pope asks him, eyebrows raised so high they nearly teeter on greeting his hairline.
“Watch me, golden boy,” JJ grins self-assuredly.
The only form of reply the blonde boy gets is John B digging into his pockets and pulling out a five-dollar bill, which he then holds out to Pope in bet.
~*~*~*~*
The first thought you have as you walk up the porch steps of the chateau is ‘what the hell is that smell?’ It’s something akin to burning, though tinged with an overwhelming stench of garlic and tomato. The second thought you have as you open the door is ‘oh dear God.’
You’re greeted by a cloud of smoke and steam. It stings yours eyes a little. There’s chaos in the kitchen ahead. The clattering of pots and pans and JJ’s mumbled curses. The fact that the fire alarm hasn’t gone off can only mean that it’s broken. Smiling smally to yourself, amused, you dump your bag and cardigan on the pull-out sofa and walk through to the kitchen.
“In retrospect, this is not what I had in mind when I said surprise me,” you say, loud enough for him to hear you over the madness of his cooking.
JJ spins around at the sound of your voice. His hair is sticking in every which way (cap clearly abandoned) which only tells you he’s been stressfully raking his fingers through it. His eyes are wide and frantic like a man who just committed murder. Muscle tee damp with sweat from the overwhelming warmth that is standing in an unventilated kitchen of mayhem.
“I told you to come at eight,” he says.
You quirk a brow. “It is eight.”
“Wha—” His eyes flit to the clock on the wall, to the right of you. He cusses under his breath.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m…Well, I’m…”
You watch as he looks around at the chaos, as if coming to from sleepwalking. Your brow quirks higher still. “Starting a small house fire?”
“Cooking you dinner,” he corrects, shooting you a glare. “For our anniversary.”
Your smile can’t help but grow at that. Heart does a little summersault. He’s never cooked you dinner before (and now you can see why).
“Spaghetti and meatballs,” JJ adds, driven by your expression it seems. But then his confidence dwindles as he gestures lamely to the hob. The smoke and steam coming from it is the source of the garlic-tinged smell monstrosity. “But it’s, uh, not exactly going to plan.”
“In what way?”
“Well, to start, the pasta isn’t going all soft and stuff. It’s just sorta sticking to the pan,” he sighs, annoyed.
“Well, how much water did you add to it?”
He looks to you, blank. “I’m supposed to add water?”
You stare at him, gaping a little. Seriously?
Walking to the hob, looking down into the pan…Yep. That is just pasta, glued and burnt and probably never coming free. Then, you glance into the second pan. Pasta sauce that is weirdly brown-ish in colour, saturated with garlic (you can tell from smell alone) and mixed herbs that haven’t been diced properly, leading them to float at the top like driftwood. The meatballs are burnt past the point of no return. Chargrilled. The cooking top is covered in splatters of sauce and seasonings, making it filthy. The countertops are cluttered with every cooking utensil and appliance under the sun: spoons, knives, spatulas and even whisks (?). A bowl of grated cheese sits sadly to the side; the only thing that survived JJ’s culinary hand.
But, despite the catastrophe that it is, you can’t help but feel your heart thrum happily. Ironically, it’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever had done for you and is weirdly the perfect anniversary celebration. All of this took thought and time and effort. So, turning around, facing a very meek, embarrassed JJ who stands with his back against the fridge, hands shoved in his pockets and head hung in defeat, you find yourself smiling lovingly.
Your hands cradle his jaw, drawing his gaze to you, and you lean forward to kiss him. “I love it.”
“You do?”
“I do,” you assure. “And I love you.” Then you’re kissing him again.
JJ’s hands find home on your waist as he kisses you back, smiling. Pulling away after a moment, a little breathless, you glance over your shoulder. “I love it,” you repeat, “but I don’t think we should eat it.”
“Oh, definitely not,” JJ agrees quickly. The two of you laugh.
Another fleeting kiss and then you’re stepping out of his hold, the two of you moving to turn everything off. You toss the pan of pasta into the sink and run the tap, dunking half a bottle of washing up liquid in. Maybe that might give it a fighting chance. JJ half-arsedly piles up all the cooking utensils he’d used so there’s some more space. He then moves to the fridge to put away the grated cheese (no point letting it go to waste) whilst you tip the sauce and meatballs down the drain or into the bin.
“So, the main course might have been a bust,” JJ says with his head still in the fridge.
You chuckle as you lean to crack open every window in the kitchen, hoping to aerate the room. “To put it lightly.”
“But, hey: dessert and wine are still good,” JJ announces.
You shut off the tap and turn around, wiping your hands dry on a towel. He’s holding a tub of chocolate mousse and a bottle of cheap white wine up.
“Dessert’s the best course anyway,” you tell him with a grin that mirrors his own.
With that, the two of you head to the pull out. You swipe two spoons from the drawer on the way whilst JJ grabs a couple of mismatched wine glasses. Sighing as you sit, shuffling back to the pillows, you get to opening the wine. JJ’s wandering around the sitting room, messing with the old CD player, and as you’re filling up two glasses, some soft R&B music kicks on from the early 2000s.
“Oh?” you jokingly say, raising a brow at him.
He rolls his eyes and joins you, taking the outstretched glass you offer him. Smiling, you lean up to kiss him.
“Happy anniversary,” you whisper.
He clinks his glass to yours. “Happy anniversary, baby.”
The two of you drink and then JJ’s placing his glass on the window ledge, moving to open the mousse. You clap your hands happily, rubbing them together with a giggle.
“This might taste like shit,” JJ warns as he grabs one of the spoons. You place your glass on the side too.
“Can’t be much worse than your cooking,” you reply.
He decides not to respond to that, but you watch him roll his eyes mirthfully. Then he’s dipping the spoon in and holding it out for you. Leaning forward, you taste off the spoon.
“Mhm!” you nod, swallowing.
“Good?”
“Good!” you grin.
You take the other spoon and do the same for him, watching as he eats practically from the palm of your hands. His eyes hold your gaze as he does. Shamelessly, you squeeze your legs together. You swear only he could make something this cheesy sexy to you.
“You like it?” you wonder. He licks his lips.
“It’s alright,” JJ says, feigning being in thought (his growing smile giving him away). “Think I know something that tastes better.”
“Oh?”
“Mhm,” he nods, leaning closer until you’re subconsciously sinking onto your back.
Playing along, you innocently ask through your excited smile, “what would that be?”
He takes your spoon from your hold, tossing it to the side after doing the same with his. Hovering over you, JJ leans down so his lips are a breadth’s width from yours.
“I think you know, baby,” he mumbles.
With that, he’s kissing you. Tastes like chocolate and vino. Your hands grab at his face, pulling him nearer, hooking your feet over his legs. JJ sighs against you, chuckles a little as you do too. Breaks away to kiss down your neck, moving slowly down the bed, coming to rest on his knees and dragging you by your feet to pull you nearer, making you laugh all flustered-like. JJ chews on his lower lip, grinning that punch-drunk grin you love, as he pulls off your skirt and panties. Then he’s going down on you. Relentless and unforgiving, as if to make-up for the cooking catastrophe. He’s tongue-fucking your centre and lapping at your wetness.
“Fuck, JJ,” you whimper, eyes slipping shut.
It’s like he’s spurred on by the sounds you make, likes when you whine out his name. You grip at the blankets on the pull-out sofa, staring at the ceiling, moaning through a blissed-out smile. His thumb rubs at your clit as he works at you with newfound fever. Moaning from the taste of you, the sound making you clench your legs tighter against his head. JJ uses a hand to hold one of your legs open for him. It’s all so fucking good. You’re building, closer and closer, until you’re coming with a gasp, quietly chanting his name.
When JJ pulls away, panting, you whine at the loss of his mouth on you. Moving atop of you again, you kiss at his mouth, sighing at the taste of yourself that lingers on his tongue. Your hands hurriedly move to undo his shorts as he kisses you, making him chuckle.
“Need you to fuck me,” you tell him breathlessly.
“Yes, ma’am,” he grins, moving to suck a hickey on your jawline.
Shucking the shorts off – JJ pulling back a moment to help – you slip a hand into his boxers and work at him. He groans against your jaw, falling pliant to your touch, making you smile. But you’re impatient the way he is, and you shove off his boxers.
“I wanna be on top,” you say as he kisses your neck.
“Fuck yes,” he replies. Climbs off you and grabs for your hips, guiding you atop of him as he collapses onto his back. You’re guiding him to your entrance, moaning as he slides against your wetness. As you go to sink down, he’s stopping you, making you meet his gaze. “Wait! We need a condom.”
Smiling to yourself, you lean down to kiss him. Then, against his lips, you tell him your anniversary gift to him. “I’m on the pill.”
JJ pulls you away from him by the jaw so he can meet your eyes. Through nothing but looks, the two of you have a quick, silent conversation. Really? Yes. Chuckling boyishly, kissing you again, deeper and rushed, you giggle against him.
