#at this point i just feel embarrassed for jiara

[pctterscars]

OBX3 SPOILERS (maybe?? idk, just adding this to be safe)

i love how popecleo had a better buildup in ONE season than j*ara did in THREE seasons

[sunjaesol]

jiara | drabble | written for my soulsister @hmspogue | title: pale blue eyes // the velvet underground

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ONE MONTH BEFORE SEASON ONE

"JJ, what are you doing here?" Kiara asked, surprised.

Though it was nearing midnight and the hum of fireflies overpowered the chatter of customers, the humid air still hung around relentlessly. Her skin, slick with sweat from standing by the stove all night, her hair frizzy and in a messy bun, several fingertips red from accidentally touching the hot part of a pan.

When The Wreck was finally slowing down, she was able to take a break. That usually meant texting the guys at the back of the restaurant, or smoking a blunt to relax her churning thoughts (always thinking, always worrying about their dying planet, about Pope's apprehension to treat her as one of the guys, about John B's obviousness, about JJ's careless nature — her brain never stopped), or simply looking up at the sky to breathe.

The lights often made it hard to see the stars, but sometimes, like now, they were the brightest of all. Then Outer Banks didn't seem so divided, so lost in politics and greed and classism. Then it was just a silly part of North Carolina, hidden by sea and swamp and stars.

What she didn't expect, however, was a meandering JJ.

"Hey, Kie," he grinned. "Don't act so surprised."

A smile ticked up her lips. "My dad won't give you a free meal. He's already on my ass about it."

Swiping cigarette buds from the small bench, he sat down with a sigh and shot her a pointed look. "Just here to hang, dude."

That didn't make sense and she knew it didn't. They were friends, best friends even, but it wasn't like him and John B. They were like brothers, down to their matching first names. She knew for a fact John B was at the Chateau right now, probably watching some old surfing tapes to perfect his technique. JJ would jump at the opportunity to join, so why was he here?

She had an inkling. It was kind of silly. Kind of lame. Kind of dangerous to linger on for too long, because she herself didn't know what to make of it, what she herself felt. Having a mild crush on JJ was hard enough as it was — the prospect of him reciprocating? Terrifying. She'd rather chain herself to a tree while a lumberjack was striking it.

No Pogue on Pogue macking. Easy fucking rule to follow.

She sat down beside him. He smelled like vanilla Juul and beer and salt. Typical JJ.

"The Wreck was a lot tonight," she said, unable to think of anything else, "there was this family, some tourons, and they were acting like they've never seen a menu before, like sea food was fucking mythical. But you could see from their clothing they were rich, so I don't get why they did that."

"To mess with Kiara Carrera, of course," he joked. "Did you get tipped?"

"I did."

"Then that's all that matters," he decided. Pulling his cap off, he ruffled the matted blonde hair and added, "Mowing the lawns of those rich ladies is the best thing I ever did. They just throw with cash."

"And you—" She stopped herself, but it was too late. He caught how her flustered tongue froze and the way she turned bashful. Shit.

He leaned in, curious. "What?"

"What? It's nothing."

"No, you were gonna say something."

"I wasn't."

"C'mon, Kie," he drawled. "Tell me. I'm bored."

"Then go fucking surf, JJ," she bit. "I wasn't going to say anything."

His lips pursed, blue eyes peering at her, and she felt fortunate she didn't blush easily. Most of all, she felt stupid for wanting him to keep asking her, until she was forced to say it, to get it out with.

And he did. "Kie," he gasped, faux-offended. "Kicking me out like that? I'm hurt. Nah, I gotta know." He poked her side and she squirmed. "And I was what?"

A glimmer of playfulness crackled between them, energy rising and reaching a peak when he lurched forward and attacked her in a tickling match. Their laughter chimed in the warm air, mingling with the hiss of the kitchen and the crash of the ocean.

JJ was relentless, spidery fingers curling into her sides as she tried to save herself, but it was a lost game. Both doubled over in giggles, their tired bones overlapping — her vaguely remembering this was only a break, not the end of her work hours.

It didn't matter though. Her dad could scream at her all he wanted. Right now, she was having fun with JJ.

"And I what?" he heaved.

Kie gave him a hard look. "If you tell anyone I said this, I'll kill you. Twice."

He smirked. "Hot. But I promise. What is it?"

Swallowing down any embarrassment she might feel and owning up to her own thoughts — she was fucking Kiara Carrera! — she said, "And... you got ripped as well."

The smirk faltered, genuine surprise crossing his features as he leaned away from her. Kie didn't know whether to be hurt or relieved that he'd given her some space. What did she want, anyway?

He chuckled, the sound mechanical. Yup, she fucked up. "Oh. Uh, thanks."

Kie's teeth sunk into her bottom lip, worried she somehow messed up their perfect friendship with one silly comment. They were always mindlessly flirting, but this felt different.

She laughed, "You're really going to act shy about it?"

JJ scowled, but it didn't hold any malice. "You got the hots for me, Kie. I gotta process it somehow."

"I don't have the 'hots' for you," she scoffed. "Very cute that you think I do."

"You just did it again."

"You know what you also are?" she exclaimed, getting all up in his face. "Annoying."

"What do you think you are?" he teased, flicking her chin. "But it's whatever, Kie. You're hot, too."

Her jaw clenched. He was just playing with her. It didn't mean anything.

She stood up. "I have to go back in."

He jumped up with her, stunned. "Whoa. So soon? You don't think your old man will let you out longer?"

"JJ..." she sighed.

His hands raised in surrender. "Okay, I get it. But, uh—" he snuck forward and pressed a chaste kiss on her cheek "—good luck out there."

And then, before she could process or respond or yell or kiss him back, he was gone. Launched himself off the wooden platform and onto his bike, driving into the pitch black of the night.

Her cheek was warm, her lips slack, mind racing a mile a minute. She was unsure whether to go inside, or call him and ask what the fuck that was about.

In the end, she chose the former, but when he smiled at her the next day from the rim of his sunglasses, she knew it wouldn't be their last moment.

[homebody-nobody]

43, 53 for jiara❤️

hi hello i finally wrote it and also wOW this one got long

Rating: M (implied?? maybe?? if ya like) Word count: 1411

43) take off your shirt, 53) pick up lines only work when I’m drunk

JJ takes a drag off his beer and drops his head against the tree he’s been leaning on for the past half an hour. The kegger was fun, until Jeremy Gabriels showed up and Kie realized that her eighth-grade crush had been sending her eyes all night. All she had to do was stand and head for the dance circle, and he’d sidled up with his hand on the small of her back. Kie normally threatened to remove body parts of the men who touched her without her permission, but she’d turned, and smiled, and looped her arms around Jeremy’s neck. That was about the moment JJ decided he was done for the night. 

Now, he’s standing in the shadows, watching Kie dance with stupid fucking Jeremy, and the jealousy in his chest is a familiar ache. He’d asked her out, once. A million years ago, when they were still just kids. Did it right, with flowers and anything. She’d taken them, thanked him for being such a good friend, and in so doing, politely locked the door that led to them being anything other than best friends. Still, after all these years, he burns for her. It’s stupid and childish and so fucking helpless, but the reason he’s never gotten involved with anyone else, all the same. There have been hookups, sure. Flings with tourons and rebellious kook girls, but nothing, nothing, like the way he feels about Kiara. 

He doesn’t plan on doing anything about it until he watches Kiara stumble as Jeremy leads her away from the dance circle and toward the trees. Kie doesn’t drink too much. She knows her limits, and is always sure that she maintains control. So when she leans back toward the fire and Jeremy tugs on her arm instead of letting her go, JJ’s moving. 

“No, no listen,” Kie insists, and the slur in her words is difficult to hear. He doesn’t know if Jeremy’s slipped her something or if she’s gone a little too hard to try and impress him. Either way, the grip Jeremy has on her arm clouds the edges of his vision. “I can’t -- I’m not supposed to go off by myself,” she says. “I’s the rules.” The rules. Big John made them up, back when Kiara joined their ragtag little gang, roundabout the sixth grade. No pogue on pogue macking. That was one of the rules then, too. 

“It’ll be fine,” Jeremy says, and the grin on his face makes JJ feel physically sick. He’s close enough now, and he taps Jeremy on the shoulder. The guy turns, but doesn’t have any time to react before JJ’s fist is crashing across his face. 

Jeremy drops like a fucking stone, the wimp. 

“Ha!” Kie shouts, almost losing her balance as she leans over to spit the word in Jeremy’s face. Her feet  jog up and down in the sand as she does a stupid little dance. “Asshole!!” 

JJ catches her shoulder and pulls her upright. “You okay?” he asks. 

She jerks out of his grip. “I had it handled,” she grumps, sticking her lower lip out. JJ can’t help but laugh. 

“Sure you did,” he allows. 

“Nothin’ woulda --” she burps, and sways, and her brown eyes are glazed over and starry. “Nothin’ woulda happened.” 

“I know, Kie,” he says, and reaches out again, his hand hovering just over her arm, there to catch her if she needs it. 

“I’m a badass!” she insists, and goes to punch him in the shoulder. Her fists lands, but she overbalances and nearly falls into his chest. He catches her by both arms and stands her up straight. 

“Yeah, you are,” he says kindly. He’s not usually the more sober of the two of them, and is suddenly grateful for all the nights she’s spent taking care of him. “You wanna go back to the party?” he asks. She closes her eyes and rocks back on her heels, and he has to brace his weight to catch her. “Oh, no no no!” he mutters, and when she rebalances, she actually does faceplant against his shoulder. 

“Thanks for hittin’ ‘im, tho,” she mumbles, her face smushed against his body. “Tha’ was priddy cool of you.” Awkwardly, he pats her back with one hand, the other arm around her waist, holding her up. His stomach flips with her heat and proximity. He’s touchy with all his friends, but not Kie. He can’t handle it, knowing what it might feel like if things had gone differently all those years ago. 

“You’re welcome,” he says, and she giggles in a very un-Kie-like manner. “Fuck,” he mutters, “how much did you drink?” She leans away from him, but he keeps an arm around her, just to make sure she doesn’t fall over -- or get close to falling over -- again. 

Grinding the heels of her palms into her eyes, Kiara screws up her face like a little kid. “Last one was probably a mistake,” she admits. “Shouldn -- shouldna done that.”

“So,” he starts, and she hums, and nuzzles her face into his neck, and he bites his lip, closes his eyes, and begs the universe for patience. “Um --” 

“I’m cold,” she whines, and brings her arms up around his waist, tucking herself against him. 

“Fuck, shit, goddamnit --” he mutters under his breath, Kie giggles again. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.” 

He manages to get her back up the beach to the Twinkie, and she collapses in the back like a ragdoll. Handing her a bottle of water, he tells her to drink all of it, and then straps himself into the driver’s seat. He has to keep glancing over his shoulder as he drives back to the Chateau to make sure she doesn’t pass out or anything. She just keeps looking at him with a stupid, dopey smile, and, at one point, gives him a stupid two-finger salute. 

Getting her up the steps and through both doors is a challenge, but eventually he gets her into the spare bedroom, and digs out a clean t-shirt and boxers from the duffel he’s been living out of. “Alright, Kie,” he says. “Pyjamas.”

She’s laying in the bed that has essentially become his over the past few months, her hair spread across the pillow, crop top ridden up to expose her tanned, toned stomach, the sharp crest of her hipbones. He swallows, his mouth suddenly dry at the sight of her spread out in the moonlight. She’s smiling, liquid and lazy, and the only thing he wants is to fall over her, take her body in his hands, and kiss her until they both dissolve into stars. 

“Lay down with me,” she says, reaching out with grabby hands. He chokes a little bit on his own spit, and just holds out the clothes a little farther. The slur in her voice is gone. She’d either sobered up in the van, or was acting more drunk at the beach than she really was. 

“Kie, just take the clothes,” he says, hating how cracked and broken his own voice sounds. Her arms drop to the comforter. 

“Buzzkill,” she mutters, and then, louder, “Make me.” Blood rushes into his face, and, despite his better judgment, he kneels on the bed. She sits up, a self-satisfied grin on her face, and JJ holds his breath, caught in a decision. She’s challenging him. Making this into a game. But he knows that door is locked. He’s tried it. She won’t do anything to shatter their friendship. She expects him to fall for the charade, to fall right into her trap, so she can embarrass him. He’ll play her game. But he’ll win. 

“Take off your shirt,” he says, his voice dropping, the gravelly tone giving him away. Her eyes darken, and her fingers lift to brush the hem of her shirt. His stomach lifts and flips, but falls when he smells the alcohol on her breath. She’s only doing this because she’s drunk. 

“C’mon, JJ” she says, her voice thick and low and sultry. His name in that tone, from her mouth -- it almost hurts to hear, knowing she doesn’t mean it. “Pick up lines only work on me when I’m drunk.” 

“I thought you were drunk,” JJ answers, the words falling out of his mouth. Then, he kicks himself. 

“Oh shit,” Kiara says, a grin taking over her face. Before he can say anything else, she’s pulling her shirt over her head. “I guess I am.” 

cross-posted on ao3