#──★ ˙🍓 short n' sweet!

[a1ecmcdowell]

bed chem — jj maybank x pogue!reader!

part of the short n' sweet x obx collection, found here!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤincludes, pogue!reader. best friends... with benefits?. making out. fade to black ending.

❛ how you talk so sweet when you're doing bad things, that's bed chem! ❜

jj was very obvious in the way that he wanted you. he’d preach the outdated no pogue on pogue macking rule to the moon and back, and then show up at your house, practically down on his knees begging for just one chance.

just one! he’d treat you so right, that’s all he needed. 

and you did love him, he was one of your best friends, but you weren’t going to jeopardize your friendship for one night with him. he was hot, but not hot enough to lose. 

you two were practically attached at the hip. you spent every moment with him, or him and the rest of the pogues, and he spent every moment with you that he wasn’t crashing at john b’s. 

it really was inevitable, that slowburning transition between friendship to attraction. you just thought that you’d always be strong enough to ignore it. 

but you’d never been this high with jj before. he always kept a blunt on him, especially on days that he came to see you, but this time, he’d brought a sketchy looking bag of edibles along with him. “ricky made ‘em,” he’d snickered on his way into your house, shoving the door open with his shoulder before you could even fully open it, “and they work fuckin’ good.” 

and so you ate an entirety of one of the brownies ( because jj dared you wouldn’t do the whole thing, and you can’t just let him win ) and you shared the blunt with jj while the sunset dipped into deeper shades of orange. 

and jj stares at you like you were the one responsible for hanging the moon poking between the trees. 

and you stare back. 

and suddenly he’s leaning in, and suddenly it doesn’t seem like such a bad idea, does it? his white jacket clings to his strong frame, tight around the shoulders, and at some point he’d lost his shirt even though he immediately started complaining about being cold, and you can see th expanse of his muscles from his chest down to—

“nuh uh,” you say once his nose brushes yours, shoving him away with a palm over his face. “this is a bad idea.” 

your voice sounds weak in your own ears. and it must be even worse in jj’s, because his grin is lazy and borderline a smirk, chapped lips against the heel of your palm. 

“m’not really one for good ideas,” he mumbles, and his lips trail a hot line from your palm and up; your inner wrist, the inside of your arm. 

shivers trail down your spine from those simple touches alone. heat pools in your lower stomach, lower, and it’s a bit embarrassing that such little things are affecting you like this; but you’re about as baked as those brownies, and it’s not really you’re fault. 

“mm, i’m gettin’ to ya,” jj says, and for a second, the illusion he had you under shatters. he always ruins it by opening his mouth, reminding you that he’s still that best friend of yours since you were toddling around the sandy shores outside of his house. 

unfortunately for you, that’s seeming less like a factor to keep him away from you and more like a reason to pull him closer. in reality, who else out there would know what you liked and needed better than someone that’d seen you almost drown a few times when learning to swim? or was there and helped after you greened out for the first time? 

yeah. he really was getting to you. 

but you honestly didn’t seem to mind much at that point, with the way your fist uncurls and your fingers land in his hair, pushing back the soft, tangled strands from his forehead. 

his eyes close. yours stay open. and in a blink, you’re leaning over the edge of the porch chair you’d been sitting in, and your fingers are using the light grip you had on his hair to pull him closer. 

and you’re kissing him. god, you’re kissing jj maybank. he’d seen you in diapers. you’d seen him drink so much that he threw up three times in the same ten minutes. he’d seen you cry over wilting flowers when you were high. you’d seen him eat a cricket for five bucks. 

there wasn’t anyone else in the world, you realized, that you wanted between your legs than him. right now. like, right now. 

he’s already got his tongue past the barricade of your closed lips, half raised out of his own chair so he can grab onto the front of your shirt and pull you closer into him. 

he tastes like dark chocolate and weed and bad decisions. he tastes like the best thing you’d ever put in your mouth. 

before you know it, he’s dragged you into his lap, his back falling haphazardly backwards until it presses into the pillowed cushion behind him. his hands are on your ass, fingers digging into the soft skin beneath your shorts. 

“think we should go inside,” he mumbles into your mouth, barely making the effort to stop kissing you to push the words out of his lips. “don’t want you gettin’ mosquito bites on your pussy because of me or somethin’.” 

you splutter out a laugh, breaking the kiss to shove firmly at his chest. “oh my god, jj.” 

“oh my god, jj,” he mocks in a higher cadence, leaning up to capture your lips in another lazy, slow kiss. “you gonna let me hear you cry that out tonight, or you just gonna blue ball me again?” 

he was so infuriating sometimes. so stupid, and infuriating — so why was your mouth drying up all of a sudden at the thought of getting him in bed with you? 

it must show on your face, too, every stage of denial you tried to enforce on yourself before you conceded, because his red-rimmed blue eyes darken. 

jj’s hands slip down from your ass to your thighs, scooping you up and standing in one fell swoop. you’d think it was impressive for how inebriated it was — if he wasn’t high all the time enough to have gotten good at this kind of thing. 

you don’t regret anything. at least, right then you didn’t. not when he knows without having to ask where your bedroom is, and not when you know he intends to make well on his promise to only need a night to get you addicted.

support me on patreon!<3

[strwbwrrybunny]

𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥! 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠ミ★

the music was deafening, bass seeming to turn your insides into mush as you stood in the bustling crowd.the distinct smell of weed filled your nostrils intoxicatingly , your eyes glazed across the room to find the source.then your eyes found him.

he wore a fitted black shirt that emphasized every muscle,every vein.the material practically stretched with at how big his muscles were.your eyes flickered down to his tattoos,each delicately drawn and shaded as the last on his pale skin.his jawline was sharp and clenched,red solo cup wrapped between his huge hands making it look like a toy.and as if he could feel your eyes admiring him he looked directly at you across the room,dark eyebrows furrowed over dark eyes.

a half lit cigar lay tantalizing between his plump pink lips,he wasn’t supposed to be smoking in the the party’s host house but he didn’t care.his dark hair was pulled up into a messy half up half down and you longed to run your fingers through the raven mess.you suddenly felt shy under his gaze, suddenly feeling exposed with your black v necked leather shirt and skirt so short your ass would be out of if you bent over.

involuntarily your legs began walking towards him, pushing through the crowd to get to the mysterious sexy stranger.a smirk tugged across his lips as you finally made your way in front of him in all of your glory.glistening brown skin,plump two-toned lips lined with a brown pencil,upturned seductive eyes adorned with big fluffy lashes a smile cascading across your face showing off your pearly white straight teeth.

“hi i’m y/n.”

your voice was sultry and sweet like a siren.his dark eyes searched yours for a moment before he returned the smile.

“getou.”

his voice was deep and guttural,matching him perfectly.now that you were close you could smell him a mixture of musk and spice. everything about this man was perfect.you wanted him.from the moment he looked at you he could tell you were a freak,despite that innocent look you had he knew.getou knew you desired to bent over like a slut,choked until your face turned purple and your lungs screamed for the sweet release of air. he couldn’t explain the sudden attraction to you and yet it made him crave for you even more.

“f-fuck getou.” you whimpered out as he rocked his hips into you,hands wrapped in your hair as he pulled your head back whilst kissing and licking your neck.he felt so good inside of you that you wanted to scream but all you could do was grip the bathroom counter and take his relentless thrust.

“i knew you wanted me to fuck you,you slut.” he whispered in your ear,a shiver riveting through your body as the sound of your wetness filled the bathroom with each thrust.getou was so fucking deep inside you that it hurt but in that pain was a hint of pleasure.you whined as his tip brushed against your g-spot,eyes screwing shut as he drilled the spot perfectly and effortlessly.

“a-ah you’re fucking my pussy s-so good.” you cried out,hands finding his messy hair and pulling.he groaned into your neck,dick twitching as you pulsated around him.your pussy was tight and wet,and he fit like a puzzle piece .you could hear the muffled music from the party along with angry beats on the door as someone shouted to come out from the other side.

“cum on daddy’s dick,it’s okay let me fuck you through your orgasm.”

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 🍓

thinking about turning this into a longer oneshot or a full story?

＠ ᴄɪɴɴɴ4ᴍᴏɴ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ.ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ sᴛᴇᴀʟ ᴏʀ ᴍᴏᴅɪꜰʏ. ᴍᴡᴀʜ, ʙʏᴇ♡︎

[a1ecmcdowell]

coincidence — rafe cameron x pogue!reader!

part of the short n' sweet x obx collection, found here!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤincludes, pogue!reader. cheating. sad!rafe :(. i promise i love sofia.

❛ what a surprise - your phone died, and your car drove itself from l.a. to between her thighs! ❜

you and rafe were a bit tumultuous. he loved you in private, and he loved you so much that it sometimes ached, like the sweetest form of violence. 

but in public, he could never manage to switch off the part of his brain that rejected every pogue he came across like he did when you two were alone. it was like he was more concerned about what his friends thought of him and his relationship than he did about your feelings. 

he was pulling back. you could see the signs of it in the ways he started having excuses to keep you from coming over, how his hand would subtly slip from yours when you were out together. 

and you couldn’t just pick apart his brain and fix whatever the problem was, because he didn’t talk to you enough anymore to let you in. 

you didn’t know if you were even still together, but he wouldn’t just ghost you a year into your relationship. he couldn’t. 

you’d decided the night before that you were just going to show up and demand an answer from him. it would probably be a fight, you knew; but what could hurt more than being with someone that didn’t want you any longer? 

that next morning was cloudy gray and speckled with misty raindrops. it didn’t feel like a very good omen about what was coming, but it didn’t slow your footsteps up his porch.

your hand raises to knock on the door at the same moment that it pulls open, and out stumbles — a girl. short brown hair, pretty glossed lips, wearing nothing but a pink bikini top and denim shorts. 

and behind the open door, strong hand wrapped around the edge of it, is rafe. smiling at her like he hadn’t smiled at you in weeks. 

the smile falls the moment his eyes lift to you, and the girl apologizes as she dodges running into you, and it all feels like a big fucking slap in the face. 

he’d been the best part of your life for so long. this hope that you could be more than the cut. and all of this time, he was waiting for the moment that he could dump you back off on your side of outer banks.

“why didn’t you call?” he asks, like that’s the first thing anyone should say when they’re caught cheating. 

you can’t tell if you’re more angry or hurt. both emotions feel like a hot, heavy weight sat right on your sternum. “you don’t answer anymore.” 

“because i’m busy.” 

there’s no remorse in his eyes. actually, you can’t even tell if there is, because he’s looking away from you like he’s already cut you from the picture of his life. 

“what, screwing other girls?” you snap, your voice biting and raw. 

his jaw flexes, tongue pressing into his cheek. “it’s complicated.” 

“i don’t think it is, rafe.” you shake your head, your lips pressed into a tight line. “you were cheating, and you’re mad you’re caught.” 

“oh, you think it’s that simple, huh?” he takes a step closer, his frame taking up the entirety of the doorway. “y’think overnight i just started thinking about wanting to fuck someone else?” 

you falter. no, he’s not going to get away with flipping this on its head and blaming you. making you apologize. 

“you can’t just blame me because you don’t want to take responsibility—” 

his fist slams against the wooden doorframe, and you flinch, because this really was going to be as volatile as you thought. you’d hoped that you were wrong, but you were right, and he was angry that you weren’t just some stupid little pogue he could manipulate. 

“i am taking responsibility. yeah, i fucked sofia,” he seethes through his clenched teeth, “yeah, i’ve been sneakin’ around, what the fuck else do you want to hear?” 

your arms wrap around your chest, and you have to resist the urge to stumble backwards. sofia, sofia, sofia. it plays in your head on a loop, the girl he deemed worth ruining what you had for. 

“why?” is all that you can manage to say. 

his eyes finally drop down to look at you. they’re so blue in the dawning sunrise that you wish, wish, things were different right now, so you could smooth the creases in the corners of his eyes. “m’not good for you.” 

“bullshit.” you spit it out before he’d even finished speaking. “if i thought that, i wouldn’t have stuck around as long as i have. i wouldn’t be sticking around now.” 

“you shouldn’t,” he says just as violently serious as the last, “i’m— i’m trying to push you away, sweetheart—” 

sweetheart. 

it shouldn’t affect you like it does, after how he’d just hurt you like this. but it does, of course it does, because you loved him like the sun loved the moon, and even when he was trying to break this, you’d always be in his orbit. 

“you can’t,” your voice is small as it leaves your lips, but your words aren’t, “i’m not goin’ anywhere. this is one good thing you can’t ruin. not on my watch.” 

he stares at you with that intense blue gaze of his for a long minute. the seconds tick by like hours while you wait for him to say anything. 

and he doesn’t — not with his words, anyway. his arms move from the doorway and encircle your waist, tugging you into a tight embrace. 

you’d known about how much he struggled with wanting acceptance, craving validation that he never got. you’d never expected him to be so used to rejection that he tried to cause it himself, just to be in that familiar place again. 

“m’sorry, sweetheart,” he whispers into your hair, pressing his lips to the crown of your head and leaving them there. “don’t deserve you. i don’t.” 

“you will, and you do,” you push, your fingers curling tightly against his spine. “when you go wash her perfume off of you.” 

his laugh cracks, but it’s a laugh, so you feel better about this. about him. about where he’s at in his head. “of course.” 

“and delete her number.” 

his hands raise to your face, framing it between his large palms. “already did it, baby. but you’re real cute when you’re jealous.”

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[a1ecmcdowell]

please please please — john b x kook!reader!

part of the short n' sweet x obx collection, found here!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤincludes, kook!reader. john b in jail </3. it's cutesie though. sex mention, it's at the end so ... do w that what u will.

❛ please, please, please — don't prove i'm right! ❜

john b was so fucking stupid, turning himself in and letting himself be thrown in jail. who did that? you remember from growing up alongside them, throughout the years, both him and jj saying, and you quote, “never trust the fucking feds.” 

maybe it was just jj who said it — or at least meant it, with the way that john b scurried off and left. left. left you alone. 

the pogues had been to see him in jail already. you hadn’t. you didn’t want to. sitting in a dingy cell with a piece of glass separating them, having to talk through a phone like any of that was fair? no, you couldn’t do it. 

until you really, really started to miss him. his friends still hadn’t warmed up to you, so they weren’t very open to hearing your incessant rambling about what john b would be doing right now if he was here. what they thought he ate in jail that day ( jj said mush and mystery meat, and that was enough to halt your questioning for the day ). 

kie dragged you to the jailhouse that very next day. sit, she said, stay, like you were a dog. 

there was a buzz above the door on the other side of the glass, then the door pushed open, and there he was. face more stubbly than you’d ever seen it, hair a bit ratty, but god, his eyes were so bright, like seeing you was the best thing he’d experienced in a long while. 

you already have the phone to your ear. kie didn’t tell you to stay still, after all. 

“was waitin’ for you to show up,” he says into the receiver once he sits, lifts it. 

you lift your shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. he doesn’t have to know you were dragged here because you were annoying his friends. 

“so, what’s jail like?” and your voice sounds so damn chipper, as if seeing him behind a wall of glass was just the norm. 

john b stumbles on a laugh. “why, princess? wanna join me in here?” 

“no,” you choke out, and now you’re laughing too. his laugh is so pretty. it deepens the dimples in his cheeks. “i don’t look good in orange.” 

“darlin’, you look good in everything,” he argues, “y’just don’t want to fuck up your nails in these cells.” 

he’s always known how to read you like a book. how were you supposed to get through this? 

“how do i get you out of here?” you ask, your eyes bouncing between the both of his, as if they held the answer to the world in their irises. 

“mmm,” he hums, his smirk softening slightly, “the short answer is that you don’t.” 

your manicured fingers curl into a fist. his eyes drop to it resting on the table, and he softens even more. “don’t do somethin’ stupid,” he whispers, the sound of it so cruelly muffled through the phone. 

“that’s jj’s job,” you try to joke. neither of you laugh. “we’re working on it. you know? we’re trying to… i don’t know, figure out something.” 

“oh, are you? all of you?” 

your eyes roll. “okay. they are.” your nails tap on the stone table, looking for something to keep your hands occupied so you don’t turn into a gushy sap. “they wouldn’t let me offer to pay your bail.” 

“handout money,” he tsks, “yeah, they wouldn’t do that.” 

“i’d do it though. i would.” 

john b’s mouth quirks in the corner again. “‘course you would. you miss me so bad you probably feel sick, don’t you?” 

you scoff. “i don’t.” 

it’s a lie. the truth is that he’s right. he’s not often right in relation to you or him; you weren’t about to let him get an ego trip now. 

john b laughs again, hearty and crackly through the phone’s speaker against your ear. “who am i gonna tell in here, princess? don’t act so tough all of a sudden.” 

he didn’t know that acting tough was the only thing getting you through this. your boyfriend was in jail. the entire town thought he was a murderer. they looked at you like the crazy girl who’d gotten seduced by the criminal. 

the only thing keeping you from crumbling was the ( albeit wary ) support of the pogues. the entire rest of outer banks had turned its back to you. 

“please don’t prove i’m right, john b,” you say after a long few seconds. “please don’t let me have a reason to worry about you in here. please, just— just know what you’re doing, not letting me help—” 

john b was already nodding by the time you finished. he kept his eyes locked on you, his lips in that infuriatingly soft smile he always wore when you were rambling, or sad, or rambling and sad.

“i know what i’m doing.” 

he sounded sure enough of himself that you feel a flood of relieved warmth wash over all of your senses. 

it doesn’t last, though. not with the twinkling sparkle in his eyes as he watches you. “now… y’think we could get away with a little phone sex in here?”

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[a1ecmcdowell]

good graces — pope heyward x kook!reader!

part of the short n' sweet x obx collection, found here!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤincludes, kook!reader. mean girl!reader. pope is the sweetest pea.<3

❛ want you every second, don't need other guys! ❜

pope heyward was whipped. honestly? sometimes you exploited his love, knowing that whatever you said, he’d fall over himself to try and make happen. like, you were just the best thing to ever happen to him — and that wasn’t even a stretch. he’d told you so. 

so here you were, sitting on his lap while he hung out with his delinquent friends, not hearing a single word that any of them said. they weren’t your friends after all, even though they’d accepted you as such. 

your friends had nothing better to do than call you crazy for dating a pogue in the first place. but what business of theirs was it, getting in between you and someone that worshiped the ground you walked on? 

“what are you thinking about?” pope whispers in your ear, his hand splayed across your stomach, tracing little circles and hearts with his index finger. his other hand, bless him, pulls down the hem of the mini skirt to cover more of your leg. 

you smile over your shoulder at him, planting a kiss on his cheek in the process. “just things.” 

“oh, ‘just things’, huh? those are my favorite things to think about,” he teases, the hand on your stomach tickling along the edge of your hip, just up your ribcage. “don’t like when you go quiet on me, button.” 

button. it always made your heart feel like it was full of warm butterflies when he called you that. because you’re cute as a button, he’d said the first time, when you asked why. 

people didn’t usually think you were cute as anything. they tended to steer clear of you, out of fear of the power you held on figure 8. and, really, they were valid for it. you knew so much about so many people that, well, one wrong look and you’d ruin their life. 

but not pope. sweet little pope drunkenly stumbled up to you one night a few months ago and declared that you were the prettiest person he’d ever seen. through a bunch of slurs and stumbled words trying to make that point, but hey, it counted. 

“why? you afraid i’m thinking of ways to exploit you or something?” 

pope laughs under his breath, like he’s saving the sound just for you, only for you. he always made you feel so, so special. “yes, actually.” 

“you know i’d never do that to you,” you coo, turning a little on your side to face him and pinch his cheek teasingly between your index finger and your thumb. “not my boyfriend.” 

“oh, barf,” jj exclaims from the other side of john b’s porch, his fingers loosely holding a beer can between them. “get a room, will ya? some of us are trying to get fucked up.” 

you shoot a stern glare at him. usually people wither underneath your icy gaze, but jj maybank was a special case of mess, and so all he did was smile at you, sickly sweet and fake. 

no, you weren’t just cruel in this case, rejecting all of pope’s friends. they’d rejected you first. you could make a little more effort to get in their good graces, but why would you? 

why, when you had the approval of the only person you wanted? 

“might exploit him.” you don’t take your eyes off of him, though your words are aimed behind you, at the boy holding you just a bit tighter. 

pope laughs again. “good luck with that,” he hums, “nothing’s ever embarrassed him. we’ve tried.” 

you could do it. surely there was some weakness that you could manipulate. everyone had one, even when they said they didn’t. pope’s was you; yours was dirt mucking up your favorite heels. 

“stop thinking on me,” pope chastises lightly, his hands tightening around your waist, dragging you in closer against his chest. his lips are like butterfly wings beating against the side of your neck, leaving little presses of kisses along your skin. “forget j.” 

your glossed lips puff out in a pout. “i’ve tried. he’s just so damn loud.” 

you rest your hands on top of pope’s over your stomach, locking your fingers with his. he flips one of your hands over, loosens his grip, and plants his mouth on your palm in another kiss. 

he was so, so obsessed with you. you still hadn’t figured out what exactly you did to earn such loyalty, but who were you to deny it, when it was so sweet? 

“they’ll come around eventually,” he whispers on your palm, kissing each of your fingertips, then the inside of your wrist, “just gotta let ‘em get tired of looking for flaws. they won’t find any. not in you.” 

another wash of warmth falls over you, coating you like a soft blanket. god, he was perfect, wasn’t he? 

“oh, i don’t care about their opinion about me,” you say easily, tilting your head over your shoulder again so you could look at him, meet those beautiful dark eyes of his. 

his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. the look in his eyes says that he doesn’t believe you, and honestly, it’s a good assessment. you didn’t like people not liking you. made you want to find some way to ruin them, to give them a valid reason not to— 

“just yours,” you clarify, and it’s as true as pope’s analyzing eyes’s assumptions. 

and when he kisses you, a lingering, soft one on your parted lips, you don’t even hear the mock gagging coming from the blonde across from the both of you. not when pope’s adoration radiates off of him like soundwaves, drowning out everything around the both of you.

support me on patreon!<3

[a1ecmcdowell]

sharpest tool — john b routledge x pogue!reader!

part of the short n' sweet x obx collection, found here!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤincludes, pogue!reader. cheating. groveling!john b. open ending.

❛ guess i'll waste another year wondering if that was just casual, then i'm an idiot! ❜

you guys don’t talk about it, but it’s something you know in the same way someone always knows when their lover’s eyes are drifting. it all just solidified in your mind that he found someone else, at least temporarily, when he told you that he couldn’t come over — had to do some work at the cameron’s.

he didn’t work for the cameron’s anymore. he was getting careless, john b was; his lies were made on desperation and impulse.

and there you were left in the rubble of the mess he’d made of the relationship you’d built. all of it just… gone. 

confronting him was the hardest thing you’d ever have to do. but it was that, or let him continue his love affair with the cameron girl that you could never be, not with the societal differences dividing you. and you’d never want to — you wouldn’t let him get in your head and think you did this to yourself. 

“i thought you were hangin’ with kie tonight,” john b drawls slowly as he stands in the doorway of his house. arm outstretched holding the door open, muscles flexing, shirt off and ( you knew ) probably thrown carelessly over the couch. 

you were hanging with kie tonight. she was parked in his dirt driveway waiting to take you back to her place after this. she’d said fuck that guy and stole her parents’ car to take you here the moment you told her your suspicions. 

your arms are crossed. his are open. what an odd coincidence, you think; in reality, the complete opposite was true. he was shutting you out, and you were trying to reel him back in. “what’s up with you and sarah cameron?” 

his face falters. that’s all the answer you need. 

john b opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off. “nuh uh. i don’t want to hear that you’re ‘fixing their yacht’ or whatever it is you used to do over there.” 

at least he stands there and takes it. he could be trying to argue. you don’t know which option was worse. 

“if you want to screw her so bad, fine,” you say, and your voice cracks, which only makes you feel angrier. he was the one in the wrong, you didn’t deserve to cry; he did. “but i’m not gonna be the idiot hangin’ off your arm while you—” 

“i’m sorry.” 

his lips are downturned in a grimace, and he sounds sincere, which hurts more than if he’d argued with you. you got your answer on which was worse. 

“so who’s it going to be?” you ask, even though you hate how you sound right now. hate how dramatic this all feels because he’d broken the basic etiquette of being in love. “me, or her?” 

john b is quiet for a long time. and maybe, you’d think he had the audacity to think about the question, if his expression shifted at all. but it didn’t. he just stood there, looking into your eyes with his hazels. 

the door creaks when his arm pushes the door open a bit more. “i’m sorry,” he repeats, and you could scream at him, then, that he can’t seem to say anything else but try too late— “i had everything i could ever want, and still didn’t feel like it was enough. thought i could have both, and i don’t know why i even wanted someone else, when…” 

the sincerity in his voice wasn’t expected. but john b wasn’t like jj, wouldn’t try to sugarcoat or downplay his mistakes to try and justify them to himself. 

he seemed remorseful, like he’d already lost you. and maybe he had; but you didn’t want to be lost. you just wanted him again, like before, when you were sure he’d never loved someone like he loved you. 

he falters again, his mouth opening and closing for a few seconds. “please say something.” 

“how am i supposed to know that you mean any of that?” you say, and you’d feel bad for the way he winces at your doubt, if he hadn’t started talking about your relationship like he was grieving it at a funeral. “how do i know you aren’t just saying this to get me off your back?” 

john b shakes his head. “i guess you’d just have to trust me. if you decided… to stay.” 

stay. 

kie would give you shit for it. especially because he’d cheated with sarah cameron, of all people. but her opinion wasn’t a factor in the relationship between two people. 

and the truth was that you did want him back. he was your first love; you’d convinced yourself that all of his red flags were pink, and it was a habit that you couldn’t break, even now. 

you loose a sigh, and it aches, but it feels right all the same. “if you really mean it?” you say, taking a step backwards on his rickety porch. “keep trying.” 

there was a chance that john b wouldn’t. that he’d let you leave with kie, and then crawl over to the cameron house with his tail tucked between his legs, looking for easy comforts in a bed he knew would expect him. 

but there was also a chance that he meant it. and you’d just have to wait to find out how badly he wanted you to stay, or happy he was to see you finally go.

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[a1ecmcdowell]

the most popular of short n' sweet obx edition being the jj one oh i know u guys are grieving BAD ... i am so sorry ... i swear i didn't know what netflix wld do less than 24 hours later ...

[a1ecmcdowell]

ㅤㅤㅤNOW PLAYING . . .

💋ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤshort n' sweet x obx.

OR . . . some short ( n' sweet ) obx boys one - shots inspired by each song on short n' sweet!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤSIDE A . . . ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤreleased : 11/6/24!

𝓉𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒. he can't stop thinking about you every time he kisses her. ㅤㅤㅤjohn b — click here!

𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒. mama, i'm in love with a criminal. ㅤㅤㅤjohn b — click here!

𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝒸𝑒𝓈. puppy love; so innocent and... sweet? ㅤㅤㅤpope heyward — click here!

𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓇𝓅𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝑜𝑜𝓁. he cheated on you with sarah. again. ㅤㅤㅤjohn b — click here!

𝒸𝑜𝒾𝓃𝒸𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒. he's always been on the hunt for something to ruin what you have... and then he does. ㅤㅤㅤrafe cameron — click here!

𝒷𝑒𝒹 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓂. no pogue on pogue macking - but what a little temptress you are. ㅤㅤㅤjj maybank — click here!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤSIDE B . . . ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤcoming : soon! (DELAY BC I'M GRIEVING SORRY)

𝑒𝓈𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈𝑜. the pretty kook princess has him absolutely whipped. ㅤㅤㅤpope heyward — click here!

𝒹𝓊𝓂𝒷 & 𝓅𝑜𝑒𝓉𝒾𝒸. his pretty words keep you chasing after him as he pulls away farther. ㅤㅤㅤrafe cameron — click here!

𝓈𝓁𝒾𝓂 𝓅𝒾𝒸𝓀𝒾𝓃𝓈. he wasn't what you wanted - but he's trying to be. ㅤㅤㅤjj maybank — click here!

𝒿𝓊𝓃𝑜. you'd do anything for him; he knows it. ㅤㅤㅤrafe cameron — click here!

𝓁𝒾𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝑔𝒾𝓇𝓁𝓈. he's so cruel to you, knowing you'll come right back every time. ㅤㅤㅤrafe cameron — click here!

𝒹𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝓈𝓂𝒾𝓁𝑒. he was always using you as a distraction... wasn't he? ㅤㅤㅤjj maybank — click here!

don't even ask me how long this post took omfg it's embarrassing! but happy obx day eve! hope u all enjoy these little one shots hehe.

and if u wanna reblog this post for me ... just bc of how long it took ... well catch me leaving a little smooch on ur cheek for it.

support me on patreon!<3

[a1ecmcdowell]

taste — john b x pogue!reader!

part of the short n' sweet x obx collection, found here!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤincludes, conniving!reader. exes dynamic. i promise i love sarah cameron.

❛ heard you're back together . . . and if that's true, you'll have to taste me when he's kissin' you! ❜

it’s gotta be some sort of fucking sickness, the way you plague his every thought. he’s infected with the disease that was you — fully contagious, too, with the way that you sashay up to him every day like you know it. 

you’d broken up months ago. months! he’d moved on ( didn’t he? ) and yet every night on the cut, he’s always two natty lites away from clicking on your contact in his phone ( still saved with a heart by your name; maybe he didn’t actually move on ) and telling you to come over. 

stupid, stupid, stupid. he was stupid.

and you knew it, too. you didn’t used to have the balls that you do now. like, walking up to him in the middle of a kegger and planting your red-painted lips on his stubbled cheek? yeah, that’s new. he used to have to physically drag you from the twinkie to go to these things with him — that’s how afraid of showing any sort of pda you used to be. 

and now, here you were. they’d all gathered at john b’s for the weekend get together that had unofficially become a tradition, the thick smell of weed and sweat from the humid summer nights. 

you’d stopped being invited when you and john b broke up.

that didn’t stop jj from texting you to come anyways. he’d learned about your efforts to stir shit between john b and his kook girlfriend, and ever the instigator, he made sure that you were going to be there that night. 

and god, were you there. little black dress, that special pair of boots that you saved for special occasions because you didn’t want to muck them up with dirt or wet sand. you sure as shit didn’t seem to care that they were getting mucked now, as you danced with your arms above your head, a solo cup between your manicured fingers. 

if you couldn’t have him back… well, the least you could do was make him grovel over what he lost. and make sure that his new girlfriend was well aware that there was a past here.

a very warbly past, its surface constantly on the verge of shattering beneath the both of your feet. a couple more pushes, and the tension would give, and the past would start to mingle prettily again with the present. 

john b, of course, didn’t look too happy about your presence. was he ever anymore? you were a constant reminder of how he’d fucked up — something that was accumulating a list. 

you stepped over a couple of thick tree roots in his yard as you all but danced up to him, your hips never stopping their swaying, and the knowing smile never leaving your lips. the kook girlfriend left his side for two seconds to talk with kie about something, and obviously, that was the time to pounce.��

“what the hell are you doing here?” john b asks, exasperation and irritation thick in his voice, deep in the furrow between his brows. 

your head cocks to the side. “i was invited.” 

“jj’s invites don’t count.” 

“they do, because i’m here, aren’t i?” 

that makes his cheek twitch. it always did that when he was pissy; that little twitch to the side, right above his jawbone. how was it fair that you still knew all of these details about him, and he was making every bit of effort to forget all of the details about you?

john b’s eyes rake over you, drinking in the outfit, the styled hair, the smile that you planted firmly on your lips even though you were so angry and bitter on the inside. 

“you shouldn’t be here,” he says, and it sounds like a sigh this time. what authority does he have over you anymore? none. the defeat in his tone makes it evident that he knows it too. 

you’re not deterred. probably even the opposite. your arms lift to drape over his shoulders, pressed up on the toes of your shoes, as you graze your lips ever so slightly against his frowning, plush pink ones. 

the sharp inhale that he takes is evidence enough to you that he does miss you. at least the way you kissed. “i just wanted to drop in… see how happy you are…” 

“don’t do this,” john b whispers, his breath hot on your mouth. he tastes like cheap beer and expensive weed. he always tastes like home. 

so how could you ever resist pressing your mouth firmly against his, capturing that homely taste in between your lips? 

he doesn’t kiss back — not for a few seconds, anyways. and then his hands are sliding down your ribs, circling around the small of your back and dragging you in closer. 

this wasn’t supposed to be for pleasure, though. it was the best sort of punishment that you could conjure up; invoking regret, planting the seeds of it in his happy new relationship. 

you break the kiss, even as he doesn’t let go of you just yet. 

“let me know when you stop screwin’ around with that little kook of yours,” you say finally, softly, with one last peck to his mouth. 

then, you pluck his hands off of your hips and step out of them. it’s easy to not want to look back and see the expression on his face as you walk away, because you know him well enough to know that he is watching. 

sarah cameron steps out of the house with kie; you hear her voice to your right and then a sudden gasp of silence. john b’s probably kissing her, you think, and she’s tasting you on his mouth. 

quite an impression.

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