#head canon: jj has auto caps off but john b doesn’t

[outerbankies]

begin again part 2: past is past — john b routledge

part 1

summary: you move on but your ex-boyfriend won’t, and john b and the rest of the pogues do not like it.

pairing: john b x reader, platonic pogues x reader

warnings: drinking, swearing, mentions of stalking/emotional abuse, mentions of sex

a/n: thanks for 200! back again with more simpy booker content for y’all. i wrote this first part so long ago! finally nailed down an idea for part 2 and finished it up. this is extremely cheesy and includes a lot of pogue bestie vibes. let me know what you think! ❤️

my writing

“JJ I swear to god, if you say one word—”

“Why don’t you want him to know?” JJ practically yells. He’s sitting in the passenger seat of your car, the two of you en route to the Chateau after a shift at work. A particularly terrible shift. You usually look forward to being scheduled at the same time as JJ, especially since you’d started dating John B and spending way more time with the pogues. They’d folded you into their family seamlessly, and you and JJ pretty much always rode together to the Chateau after you worked the same shifts.

“I just don’t want him to know, okay? He doesn’t need to know I can’t handle seeing my stupid ex-boyfriend for an hour.”

“Okay, but it wasn’t just seeing him. He was being a dick. I still think you should’ve let me beat him up,” JJ grumbles, leaning back and putting his boots on your dash board. You smack his leg until he puts them back down again.

“And if you tell John B, he’s going to wanna help you.”

“And?”

“And, idiot, DCS is already on his case everyday. We don’t need to attract anymore attention to him. Nate’s mom is rich as fuck.”

You pull up to the Chateau, parking in your usual spot and cutting the engine. JJ moves to get out of the car but you lock the doors, turning to face him.

“Please, JJ?”

JJ can hear the seriousness in your tone now, sighing reluctantly but still nodding. “Whatever, Y/n/n.”

“Thanks,” you say, letting him out of the car. You let JJ walk in ahead of you, no longer worried about him spilling your secret, and try to collect yourself for a minute before heading inside to see your boyfriend.

It seemed like ever since you started dating John B, your ex-boyfriend Nate was popping up everywhere. If you weren’t serving him and his friends at your work, he was intentionally seeking you out whenever your schools played each other at football. You were finally feeling normal again for the first time in months, partially thanks to your boyfriend and new friends, but Nate seemed determined to ruin your happiness any chance he could.

Your anxiety surfaced as soon as Nate came into the restaurant today, knowing it was hopeless to try and get him seated in another section. His mother was a respected member of the Club, and you know you couldn’t ask your hostess to go against what he asked. Which was of course to be served by ‘his favorite waitress.’ He always pulled that trick, coming in with a huge group of his guy friends who he’d let verbally harass you, of course joining in. And they always left a mess, didn’t finish any of their food or sent it back for requests they hadn’t even made in the first place, and barely tipped you over the built in gratuity. It was embarrassing dealing with their demands, and it was slowly causing more and more problems for you at work. Having JJ there was usually your saving grace; he’d always sneak out back with you for a smoke break and tell you to cheer up. But after the third sent-back-order had reduced you to humiliated and frustrated tears, you and another one of the line cooks had to physically restrain him from banging through the kitchen door, your manager letting the two of you off early.

But you’d so far avoided another confrontation between John B and Nate. Based on how the two of you met, and how you’d grown to know John B as a person, you could tell it wasn’t something you wanted to happen again. He was the type to go to bat for anyone he cared about, and you loved that you were now included in that group. But you couldn’t let something as trivial as your idiotic ex-boyfriend put his entire situation in jeopardy.

So it’s with that knowledge in mind you head into the Chateau, ignoring JJ where he had already sat down on the pull out couch, seeking out your boyfriend. You hear rummaging in the kitchen, accounting for Pope and Kie already chilling in the backyard, hoping to see your boyfriend there. And there you find him, crouched down in front of the fridge door. He straightens up when he hears footsteps, his features lighting up when he sees that it’s you.

“Hi, angel,” he smiles. “How was work?”

Your favorite pet name, his sweet face, his question about your day. It was all too much; you immediately tear up, walking forward into his waiting arms. He’d never seen you cry before, but he was immediately in action, rubbing your back and holding you close to his chest.

“Hey hey hey, what’s wrong?” he murmurs, he looks behind you, making eye contact with a pissed off JJ. “Do you know what happened?”

“Sorry, Y/n/n,” he begins, but you don’t even care anymore. Your facade crumbled the second John B had you in his arms. “Nate came by the restaurant today.”

“He what?” John B gently pushes you back by your upper arms, his eyes searching your face. When you don’t deny it he stands up straight, no longer bending at the waist to get a better look at you. You chance a look up at him and his neck is growing red, his jaw tense. “Then why are you crying? What did he say to you? Did he hurt you?”

“God no, John, please calm down,” you beg, wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt.

“He just—”

“JJ, what did he do?”

“No, stop,” you say. “I’m telling you. He just comes in with his friends and always gives me a hard time.”

“Always? Like this has happened multiple times?”

“John B—”

“JJ?”

“Like at least five times at this point. At least while I’ve been there.”

“Babe,” John B chides. “What?”

“JJ, I literally hate you.”

“Yeah, that’s my cue,” he says, getting up to head into the backyard with the others. He pats your head on his way out.

“Was he still there when you left?” John B asks, already walking to the front door to pull on a pair of shoes. “Even if he left, he can’t have gotten far, right?”

“No,” you say, placing yourself in the doorway.

“He needs to know he can’t just mess with you like that and get away with it. Or he’ll just keep doing it, Y/n—kooks are all the fucking same.”

“John, Nate’s mom is way too important at the Island Club. And he’s a little bitch so he’d press charges if you even breathed on him.”

“Let him, I don’t care! I’m gonna do a lot more than breathe on him if he’s been messing with you for weeks, Y/n/n,” he says, cracking his knuckles.

“No, you’re not,” you say, pushing him all the way into the backyard where your other friends are. “JJ, a little help?”

“Ooh!” The blonde shoots up out of his folding chair. “Are we going to kick his ass?”

“Yes,” John B points at him.

“No! Oh my god,” you groan. “Pope can you please explain to them why they can’t?”

“You can’t,” Pope says. “I don’t know who we’re talking about or what you can’t do, but Y/n has more brain cells than both of you combined so I’m automatically on her side.”

“What are we talking about?” Kie asks from beside him.

“Y/n’s ex-boyfriend won’t stop stalking her at the Island Club,” JJ says, unbuttoning his uniform polo. “He’s a fucking dick.”

“Exactly, so we’re going to go show him he can’t mess with her.”

“Nate?” Kie asks, eyes widening. You nod. “No, you can’t do that. You’ll both end up in jail if his mom has anything to do with it.”

“That’s three to two,” Pope points out. JJ sighs, falling back into his chair. John B just scoffs, storming off to the hammock at the other end of the yard.

“John B—”

“Let him cool down,” Kiara suggests. “He’s not gonna go if you don’t want him to—he’s just really protective of all of us, especially you. Have a drink?”

—

An hour later, your lukewarm beer sits half finished in your hand. You’re too concerned with John B to indulge with your friends, who’ve all started a drinking game of some sort. John B’s still sitting in the hammock, swaying back and forth lightly in the summer breeze. You approach him from behind, running your hand through his hair. He stubbornly ignores you for a second, before you’re calling for him softly, “John B.”

He finally looks up at you.

“M’sorry,” he mumbles.

“No you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” he agrees easily. You walk around the tree to sit next to him, settling into his side as he uses his foot to rock you back and forth.

“John B, I’m just trying to protect you.”

“You shouldn’t have to. It should be the other way around.”

“Okay, back up,” you scoff. “What is this, the ‘50s?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Y/n/n, c’mon,” he strokes a hand down the back of your head, tugging on your low pony tail. “You’re just—you’re so fucking sweet, I don’t know how the prick ever got you in the first place. And it bothers me that he’s been screwing with you when I’m not around and I never knew.”

You lean in to kiss his cheek. “I know. But JJ’s usually there, and I think he’s the only person who hates kooks more than you.”

He smiles but it doesn't reach his eyes. “And when he's not?”

You don't say anything.

“What if you quit your job?” he asks, but he knows the answer.

“That's a little dramatic. And I need the money, John B, you know that.” You settle your head into his neck, turning to watch the sunset over the water.

“Just want you to be okay. You'll let me know next time it happens?”

You nod tentatively. “It won't, just let it go.”

He’s glad you’re not looking at him anymore, too distracted by the pink sky while he continues petting your hair. Because if you were looking at him, you’d be able to read him like a book. The wheels were already turning in his head, and there was no way he was going to let it go.

—

After that night, John B goes overboard. Especially after he spoke with JJ once you left, getting the low down on what was actually happening. JJ didn’t hold back about how upset you’d get or what he’d overheard Nate and his friends say to you.

“I mean, we’ve always dealt with a lot of shit at the Club, man,” JJ whistled. “But this is another level. And she’s too nice to say anything.”

“I know. It’s cause she needs that job, dude. Her mom can’t hold one down and her sister just moved out,” he said, rubbing a hand down his face. “Keep an eye on her for me, okay?”

JJ nods solemnly, but it does nothing to satisfy John B. He’s still seeing red.

He texts you constantly throughout your shifts, driving you to and from them whenever he can. It’s smooth sailing for a bit with no Nate sightings, until one day when a three word text from JJ comes through: dick head alert.

John B’s extremely caught off guard—you hadn’t said anything to him all day, like everything was fine. He’d just finished work but he was back in the Twinkie in under ten seconds, pushing 60 the entire drive to Figure 8.

John B: I’m in member parking, does it look like he’s gonna leave soon?

JJ: ya

JJ: want me to keep her in here?

John B: Please

JJ: k

JJ: don’t do anything stupid jb

He doesn’t respond, not willing to make that promise right now. John B sits in his car, absolutely thrumming with rage for a full ten minutes before he catches Nate leaving through the front exit. He’s alone.

“Hey, khakis!” John B yells, hastily crossing the dirt lot. Just gonna talk to him, he reminds himself. No violence, just words.

“Do I know you?” Nate asks snootily, assessing John B with a look of distaste.

“I’m pretty sure you remember me,” John B growls, stepping into his space. He doesn’t miss the flash of fear in Nate’s eyes. He seriously can’t believe you ever dated this coward. “I need to talk to you.”

“Oh, you’re that pogue who’s trying to get with Y/n, aren’t you?” he laughs, leaning up against his G-wagon.

“I’m her boyfriend, actually,” he clarifies. “And you’re gonna back off of her. Now.”

He laughs. “You think I’m afraid of you? I could fuck your life up with one phone call, dude.”

“Then I will break both of your fucking hands so that's impossible, dude. I mean it, stay away from her,” John B warns. He can feel his patience wearing thinner by every millisecond he has to stare at Nate’s stupid face. “You broke up with her. And then she moved on. So she’s done with you, fuck off. Find another establishment to throw your money around at.”

“Wow… Y/n’s got you all wound up, huh?” Nate says, eyes dancing with mirth. “Did she already put out for you? There’s no way. Took her months to even let me—”

John B’s stepping forward again, resisting every single instinct in his body to slap a forearm across Nate’s chest and back him up into the car rough enough that he’ll bruise down his back. He’s never wanted to deck someone so hard in his life. No matter how many times he’s scuffled with kooks, he’d never cared as much as he did now. He has to force himself to picture the pleading in your eyes every time he wants to wind up a fist.

“I swear to god, this is your last warning.”

“Or what?”

“Or—”

There’s scuffling at the front door of the Club, and raised voices crossing the parking lot.

“Y/n, just stay inside, okay?”

“No, fuck off, JJ.”

That’s your voice, both John B and Nate’s eyes following the sound. You’re bee-lining for them in the parking lot, a distressed JJ following behind. He shoots John B an apologetic look. “She saw you guys through the window.”

“What’s up, Y/n?” Nate asks. “Couldn’t get enough of me at lunch, had to follow me out here too?”

You ignore him completely, used to it at this point. Your eyes are only on John B as you practically barrel into his chest. You push him firmly back in the direction of his van.

“Go home,” you say.

“Y/n, we were just talking, I swear.” You don’t look impressed, yanking on both of his hands to survey his knuckles. You turn his face from side to side, pushing his hair off of his forehead, even lifting up his shirt and pulling down his collar to make sure. There are no signs of fighting anywhere. “Why didn’t you tell me he was here?”

“Because I’m working, John. Get in your car,” you say. You won’t even look at him, arms crossed over your chest. “I’ll see you later.”

“Angel—”

“John B, please.”

He just nods, reaching out to touch you. But he retracts his hand awkwardly. You roll your eyes, throwing your arms around his shoulder and kissing him on the cheek. “I’m not mad,” you say into his ear. “I just need to keep this job, John B. Thanks for not hitting him, but you have to go home.”

John B squeezes you tightly, getting into his car as asked. He watches you walk back across the lot and head inside, JJ staying at your side as you walk by Nate. He looks knocked down a peg, getting into his G-wagon defeatedly. Good.

But Nate was right, he could ruin John B’s life if he wanted to, and he had no doubt that he would. As he watches JJ open the door for you, turning back to look at John B and shake his head, he knows one thing: he can’t let you work here anymore. He’s texting his friends before he even leaves the parking lot.

—

By the time you and JJ make it back to the Chateau, John B had gathered the rest of the pogues. The three of them are talking animatedly, a hush falling over as soon as you enter. You sigh, throwing your head back. “What now?”

“C’mere,” John B says, tentative smile pulling at his lips as he pats the spot next to him on the couch. “Look, I’m sorry about today. I know you didn’t want me to—”

“John B, I told you I wasn’t mad.”

“What the fuck? Where’s my forgiveness cookie?” JJ shouts from the kitchen, already rooting through the fridge to grab beers for everyone. “Guys, she made me listen to Olivia Rodrigo the entire way home.”

“Shut up, JJ,” Kie says, rolling her eyes.

“Anyways,” John B continues. “You can’t work there anymore.”

Your cheeks burn, your eyes darting around the room. As pogues you pretty much all had the same struggles, but John B bringing up your precarious financial situation in front of all of your friends still embarrassed you. Your voice drops to a whisper. “I told you I need the job.”

“You need a job,” he agrees. “Kie?”

“Okay,” she says, small smile on her face. “I talked to my dad, and we actually just had a waiter quit. With tourist season picking up, we can get you the same amount of hours you had at the Club. I know the pay at the Wreck isn’t as good as what you’re making now, but—” she gestures to Pope.

“With school out and everything,” he continues seamlessly. “If you have the extra time and need a bit more cash, my dad said you can join us on deliveries any time you want. And the tips are good, Y/n/n.”

You’re looking between both of them, kind smiles on their faces. Your boyfriend shifts beside you, and you notice he’s holding a yellow note pad. There’s chicken scratch all over it, different calculations of hours and wages and tips from your previous job and your potential new ones. You can spot parts where different handwriting came in, Pope helping out with the math. You meet John B’s eyes then, filled with hope as he shoves the note pad into your hands. “And then you can quit the Club. What d’you say, angel?”

“You guys—” your voice breaks, fingers tracing over the pencil markings. “You guys did this for me? How did you even find out how much I make?”

“Guilty,” JJ says, leaning up against the doorframe with a beer in his hand. He shoves a hand in his pocket, pulling out a wrinkled copy of your time sheet. “Swiped it from the filing cabinet.”

“I don’t even—wow…” you trail off. It isn’t until a wet dot splatters onto the piece of paper that you realize you’re crying.

“Aw, Y/n/n,” John B gathers you up into his arms, letting you hide your face in his shoulder. “C’mon, group hug.”

There’s three more sets of arms wrapping around you two, Kie hugging you from behind and JJ ruffling your hair.

“You guys really didn’t have to do all this,” you say, clearing your throat.

“‘Course we did,” Pope nudges your shoulder.

“Pogues for life, Y/n,” JJ says. “That includes you now, too.”

“We’re gonna be co-workers,” Kie sings. “And don’t even worry, kooks wouldn’t be caught dead in our tourist trap. But I already told my dad and showed him a picture of Nate, just in case.”

—

You don’t untangle yourself from your boyfriend for the remainder of the night, arms tight around his waist as you two stand by the bonfire. He’s sparing you a glance every few seconds while he’s talking to Pope, sipping his beer while you just smile up at him. You squeeze him around the waist to get his attention, lean up to kiss him once Pope wanders off.

“Hi,” he says, hand coming to pet the back of your hair.

“Hi, my big bad boyfriend who just had to get involved.”

“You should know by now I’m stubborn,” he laughs, taking another sip of his beer. “And I’m always gonna protect you, any way I have to. No matter what.”

“I have to say I much prefer the version of protection where you stay out of jail.”

“I’m a jack of all trades. Brains and brawn, et cetera.”

“Don’t forget humble.”

“That too,” he agrees. He tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, his thumb stroking the top of your cheekbone. “I need you to be honest with me though, Y/n/n. You’re my girl.”

“I know,” you nod, kissing his cheek.

“And nobody fucks with my girl,” he says, finishing the rest of his beer and tossing the bottle into the recycling bin Kie got for the Chateau.

“Calm down, Routledge,” you laugh. He’s kissing you hard then, hand firm on the back of your neck as he takes his time.

“Impossible when I’m around you.”