#obx fics

[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

a Second Chance | Rafe Cameron x Maybank!reader

Summary: After being in a secret relationship with Rafe and becoming pregnant, he denied the entire relationship, making it known your son wasn’t his. However, he can’t deny it for much longer - your son is the spitting image of Rafe. 

Part 1 

A/N: This is a continuation of the fic above. This can be read as stand alone or you can read the other first for a bit of background on how things played out and telling Rafe you were expecting. 

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Your son's giggles were music to your ears. You smiled in adoration at his uncle JJ chasing him through the yard, his little toddler legs moving as fast as they could. He loved his uncle JJ. And his other aunts and uncles too. After all the drama with Rafe, he and the other Pogues stepped in, becoming your village and boy are you glad you had them. You wouldn’t have been able to do it without them. 

Rafe continued the story, the baby wasn’t his and you were never in a relationship. However, as time has passed, people are starting to get suspicious, especially as your son grows because he’s the spitting image of Rafe. It is getting to the point, Rafe truly can’t deny him. 

“Come on boys, let's get to the beach before it gets crowded,” You call out to JJ and Jackson; the other Pogues loading up in the Twinkie. You and JJ worked hard, going in half on a car that JJ rebuilt to make it drivable. JJ knew the Twinkie wouldn’t be a safe vehicle to transport his tiny nephew and made it his mission to find you something sustainable and reliable. 

“Mama!” Jackson squeals as he nears, jumping into your arms. 

You laugh and kiss his head before placing him in his carseat and securing him. “Ready to go to the beach?” 

He nods with a big grin; Rafe’s smile. The smile you’d fell in love with. You can’t deny it doesn’t hurt a little when you look at your son, because staring back is Rafe and all the hurt that came with him. But you wouldn’t trade Jackson for anything in the world. He’d brought light into your life and filled your broken heart. Jackson is so smart and intelligent, even at only 3 years old. He’s got a sweet and loving personality and he loves when he can make you laugh. And Rafe is missing it all, time he will never get back.

~

After settling at a spot on the beach, you all unpacked, setting the chairs and umbrella up. Pope dropping the cooler under the umbrella with a grunt, “jeez what the hell did you guys pack in that thing.” 

Jackson started tugging you toward the water, “come mama!” 

“No baby hold on, let's put sunscreen on first. Then you can get in the water.” 

He pouts but stops tugging, letting you lather him in the sunscreen. 

“Once mama is finished me and you can go check out those waves!”  JJ holds his fist to Jackson, who returns with a fist bump. 

“Alright you’re finished!” You kiss him on the head and he takes off toward the water with JJ. JJ picks him up and wades into the water with him. Jackson laughing hysterically as the waves crash against them. 

“beer?” Kie asks, as you take a seat in the beach chair next to her. 

"Yes thank you,” you sigh, taking a sip, “I love that the beach is nearly empty-” 

Loud music catches you and the other Pogues attention, watching as a couple trucks and a jeep drive thru the sand behind you. You recognized Topper’s jeep and groaned. 

“Please keep driving..” Sarah pleads. 

“Anywhere but here.” Kie adds. 

“Of course.” John B says as they stop a little ways down the beach, “This entire beach and they pick that spot?” 

You take a sip of your beer, nearly choking on it as you see someone hop out of the dark blue truck. Rafe. 

“Shit.” Kie mumbles. 

He rounds the truck and opens the passenger side, another person gets out of the truck and it’s Sofia. 

Sarah places a gentle hand on your arm, “you gonna be ok?” 

You give her a reassuring smile and nod, “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine.” You gaze out at the ocean, JJ has noticed the kooks and he looks over at you, a look of concern on his face. You nod at him, letting him know you’re okay. He continues to play with Jackson, holding his hand as he stands with his toes in the sand, jumping over the waves as they break against the beach. 

“We’re both adults here. Maybe me more than him but it’s ok.” You glance between Sarah and Kie, “He’s living his best life - while I raise our son that he denies is his.” 

John B squeezes your shoulders, “And you’re doing a damn good job at it too.” 

The rest of the Pogues pipe in, “Hell ya you are,” “You’re killing it.” 

“Thanks you guys,” Your eyes dance between the Pogues, “I couldn’t have done it without you guys,” Your eyes grow teary, “Ok okay stop you guys are gonna make me cry,” You shake your hands out, wiping your face, “enough sappy talk. Let’s enjoy our beach day!” 

~ 

Rafe watches you and the Pogues playing with Jackson by the water, taking a sip of his beer. 

Sofia comes up beside him, wrapping her arm around his waist, “Her son is cute,” She says with a smile, looking up at him. 

He hums in response, not pulling his eyes from you and Jackson. He knew now, there was no denying Jackson. He looked just like him. Topper flat out asked the other day if Jackson was his. 

“He looks just like you man.” 

Rafe shrugged, “I don’t see it. He’s not mine though. She was screwing everyone on the island. There’s no telling who the father is.” He tried to keep up with the lie, but Topper wasn’t stupid. Topper knew you weren’t sleeping around, you’d never been like that. But he let him continue the lie, dropping the topic completely. 

“I bet our kids will be cute.” 

Now that caught his attention. He snaps his head toward her, “What?�� 

Sofia smiles, “When we have kids, I bet they will be cute.” She’s in dreamland, wondering what life with Rafe Cameron would be like. Getting married, having a big house on the island, having kids etc etc. Little did she know, Rafe wasn’t planning a future with her. 

He nod and takes another sip of his beer, deciding not to say anything. 

“Jackson wait-” 

Rafe turns in time to see a ball rolling his way and Jackson chasing it. You weren’t too far behind. 

Rafe bends down and picks up the ball, staying at Jackson’s level as he approaches. Jackson is hesitant to take it. 

“Jackson, you can’t just run off-” 

Rafe feels like he’s staring at a mirror. Topper’s right, he looks just like him. The little boys eyes are innocent and he’s overcome with a feeling he can’t describe. He feels protective of the small boy in front of him, like a father would. A surge of love flowing through him. How could anyone leave this boy without a dad? How could he have abandoned his son? Something changed the moment he looked into Jackson’s eyes.

“Here you go, buddy,” Rafe holds the ball out to him with a smile. 

Jackson hesitantly takes it, looking up at you, with a small pout on his lips, “Sorry mama, my ball.” 

Rafe slowly stands, the two of you coming face to face for the first time since you told him you were pregnant. 

“It’s ok baby, you just can’t run off like that.” You run your fingers through his hair. You will yourself to meet Rafe’s eyes, “Sorry about that, we’ll get out of your way.” 

“It’s ok.” Rafe can’t seem to tear his eyes away from you. Is it possible to be more beautiful? Motherhood treated you well and he’s overwhelmed with pride to know you did it all on your own because of his stupid decision. His stupid immature decision. 

Your eyes glance to Sofia, who steps up next to Rafe, pulling him from his trance, “your son.. he’s adorable.” 

You give her a small smile, “Thank you.” 

Rafe is mesmerized by you. He doesn’t know what’s over come him but the feelings that he buried deep inside have started bubbling to the surface. 

“Jackson, you know you’re not suppose to talk to strangers.” JJ takes a dig at Rafe as he approaches, scooping up Jackson in his arms. 

Rafe’s jaw clenches at JJ’s comment. Stranger. He’s no stranger. He’s his father- but he catches himself. JJ’s right. He truly is a stranger to him and he has no right to call himself his father. 

Jackson wraps his tiny arms around JJ’s neck, snuggling into his shoulder. That stirs some jealousy within Rafe. He should be the one hugging his son and playing ball with him on the beach. He should be the one there, the three of you as a family. 

“We better get back. Sorry for bothering you guys.” You apologized, following JJ back to the rest of the pogues. 

Rafe watches you walk away, his heart aching. He should have told you the truth. And he shouldn’t have lied all these years about Jackson. 

 ~ 

JJ holds Jackson with one arm and wraps his other around your shoulders, “you ok?” 

You nod, “I’m good. You shouldn’t have made the comment you did” 

JJ rolls his eyes, “it’s not like it wasn’t true. He’s a stranger.” 

You shrug, “I know but-“ 

“No buts. He’s a stranger to Jackson. Even if he shares DNA with him.” He snaps back. 

It was a touchy subject with JJ and you knew the conversation was over. JJ was protective over you and he held a huge grudge against Rafe for abandoning the two of you. Especially Jackson. He wanted Jackson to have a dad, something you and him didn’t have growing up. 

~ 

Rafe laid in bed that night with you and Jackson on his mind. He couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning the entire night. Sofia is sound asleep next to him. He squints, peering to check the time on the clock, 6:37 am. He sighs running a hand over his face before quietly getting out of bed and toward the shower. He wanted to see you again and talk. He needed to talk to you. 

“Rafe?” Sofia’s sleepy voice calls out to him, hands feeling his spot on the bed. 

Rafe comes to her side, showered and dressed, kisses her forehead. “Early meeting. Be back later.” 

She hums and turns back over, falling back asleep. 

~ 

He pulls up to the Maybank house a little while later. Glancing over in the passenger seat, coffee for you and him. He hopes you still liked your coffee with 2 creams and 2 sugars. He also picked up some muffins and donuts, unsure what Jackson would like. 

He was nervous, gripping the steering wheel. Maybe he shouldn’t do this. He can still turn around and go home. You don’t even know he’s here yet. 

He shakes his head, no there’s no talking him out of this. He needs to have this talk. He’s 2 years two late. Technically almost 3 years. 

Well shit there’s no turning around now cause here you come walking toward his truck. He takes a deep breath, now or never. 

He steps out of the truck, “morning.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” You ask tightening your robe around you, “it’s nearly 7:30 in the morning.” 

“Brought coffee and breakfast.” He says, reaching inside to grab the coffee and bag. “I was hoping we could talk?” 

“Now you want to talk? You’re a couple years too late Rafe.” You’re eyeing the coffee, yearning for your boost of caffeine. 

He sighs, “I know, I have no right to show up here unannounced either but, after seeing you guys yesterday I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” He offers the coffee, “two cream and two sugar?” 

You nod, slowly reaching to take the coffee, “you still remember?” You ask, surprised. Even after all these years he remembered? You felt a soft tug on your heart. No y/n. You tell yourself, smooshing those feelings back down. It was not the time to go soft. 

He shrugs, also handing you the bag of muffins and donuts, “It’s not the hardest coffee order, but yes I still remember. There’s muffins and donuts in there, I wasn’t sure-” He scratches the back of his neck, growing uncomfortable, “I wasn’t sure what Jackson liked.” 

“He’s a fan of both. He pretty much will eat anything,” You turn and head for the porch, “Everyone is still asleep, let me put this inside and we can go to the dock.” 

Rafe nods and takes the time to check out what all you two have done with the place. It was different than when he was here last, new dock and boathouse, the landscaping had been cleaned up and the house actually looked livable. Jackson’s toys were strewed around the grass. 

“ready?” You ask, heading down toward the dock, Rafe following. You two take a seat on the bench at the end of the dock. 

“So, now that Jackson is older, people are starting to notice how much he looks just like you. You can’t keep up with whatever lie you’ve been spreading. Are you here to try and make me come up with an excuse for where his father is? So, you can go about your life?” You ask, bitterly. 

“No, that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to step up and apologize. And explain my immature behavior.” He stands back up, pacing the dock in front of you. His nerves are getting the best of him. He had this speech all planned out but sitting in front of you, he’s forgot what to say. “I wasn’t in the right head space. And I for sure wasn’t ready to be a father. You saw what I was like. I was drinking, partying. Hell, I was even doing coke at that point.” 

You sit quietly, sipping your coffee as you listen to him. It wasn’t anything you didn't know, to tell you the truth. You also were doing all those things at the time, minus the coke, but as soon as you found out you were pregnant, you’d stepped up and knew all of that had to come to an end. You were going to be a mother. 

“I was doing the same things, Rafe. I don’t see that being an excuse. I stepped up when I needed to because I had too. It was something you needed to do as well, but you weren’t ready to give up that life yet. You weren’t ready to give up your lifestyle to become a father.” 

“I know. and that’s the truth, I didn’t want to give up my partying lifestyle for a kid. I was also scared what people would think of me, getting a girl from the cut pregnant. No one even knew we were dating-” 

“So you were ashamed of me? You’re really not doing yourself any favors right now-” You scoffed, standing, “I get it, Rafe. It would have been the worst thing for a kook to get a pogue pregnant. People would have judged you and never looked at you the same-” You turn to head back toward the house. “I’m so tired of this kook vs pogue bullshit.” 

“Baby-” He gently grabs your arm to stop you, letting the pet name slip, “I mean y/n- That’s not what I was trying to say. Fuck, this is not how I wanted this to go. Please, I’m trying to apologize. I was an immature kid back then and I’m here now to apologize, make things right and take responsibility.” 

“Rafe,” you sigh, “we’re doing fine right now. Without having you in our lives. We’ve made it work. It’s been 3 years, just let it go. I’ll keep on with the lie, you can continue to live your life how you want. Get married, have other kids. Whatever you want to do.” 

“I don’t want to do that, y/n. That’s what I’m here for. I want to be apart of Jackson’s life. A part of your life.” His hand has slipped down from your arm to your hand, his thumb subconsciously caressing your skin. “Please give me another chance. I’ve changed. I promise I’m not the man I was before. My dad has made me a manager at his company. I have a steady job, a house of my own. I’m not the immature teenager I was before.” His eyes are pleading for another chance to do the right thing.

You don’t know how to describe it as you stare into Rafe’s eyes, that they look the same as they did when you fell in love with him, but have a different softness to them. He’s genuine. But you don’t know if you can trust him. He broke you and you weren’t ready to open those doors again. You weren’t ready to open yourself back to him. You had Jackson to think about now and had to take his feeling into account. Could you trust Rafe? 

“What about Sofia? What does she think of all this?” You remove your hand from his, crossing your arms over your chest. “She seems like a great girl.” 

“If I’m honest with you, I haven’t talked to her about it. Me and her aren’t serious.” 

“Maybe you should go home and talk things over with her. I can’t make a decision now. I need time to think it over.” 

His shoulders sag in defeat, but he ultimately nods, “Take all the time you need.. I’ll be here waiting.” 

~ 

Rafe left your house and immediately went to Tannyhill, hoping he could catch his dad before leaving for his meeting at 11. “Morning Rose,” He greets as he enters the kitchen, Rose is drinking coffee at the island, Wheezie next to her. He kisses Wheezie on the head, “Wheezie,” 

“Morning,” They say in unison. 

“Is Dad still here?” 

“In his office,” Rose nods, “He had a couple things to finish before the meeting.” 

“Thanks,” Rafe heads toward his office, knocking, “Dad?” 

“Come in,” Ward calls out, “Morning Rafe, you ready for the big meeting this morning?” 

“Ready. But I was hoping to talk to you about something.” He takes a seat across from Ward’s desk. Ward can tell there is something on his son’s mind and closes his laptop to give his full attention. 

“What’s going on?” 

Rafe takes a deep breath, clasping his hands together to stop them from shaking, “You know y/n Maybank?” 

“Yes-” Ward says, leaning forward a little, “What about her?” 

“Me and her dated a few years ago.”

“Mmhmm.” ward nods, “What about it?” 

Rafe takes another deep shaky breath. Ward begins to think about it, remembering she had a son. Who was about 3- 

“The boy- Jackson. He’s yours?” Ward asks in disbelief. 

Rafe gives a short nod, “I fucked up.” 

Ward slowly sits back in his chair, taking it all in. Old Ward would have blown up, told Rafe how stupid could he have been. “How long have you known?” He asks. 

“Since she told me she was pregnant.” He can’t help but get teary eyed, still on edge as he waits for his dad to blow up on him. “I told you I fucked up.” 

Ward mulls over this new and shocking information. “Why wouldn’t you say anything?” Ward asks. 

“I was terrified. Immature. I didn’t want to be a dad. I was partying all the time and wasn’t ready to give it up and be a dad.” He tells him honestly, “It was a shitty decision and I regret it.” 

“You should have took responsibility son.” He sighs, “But I know you weren’t in the right head space.” He stands and rounds his large desk, taking the seat next to his son, “Rehab changed you for the better.” 

Rafe nods, “I’m trying to fix things. I want to be in his life. I went to her this morning and we talked. She’s hesitant to give me a chance.” 

“She has every right to be hesitant.” Ward defends, you, “That’s her son.” 

“He’s mine too,” Rafe says, but sighs, “But you’re right. It is her son. I’ve given her no reason to trust me.” 

Ward nods, “Time will give her that. You’ve done the hardest part. Admitted you were wrong and apologized.” He squeezes Rafe’s shoulder, “It’s time for you to take responsibility.” 

Rafe nods in response, “I’m sorry dad. I should have told you the truth.” 

Ward agrees. He gives Rafe a small smile, “So I have a grandson, huh?” 

~ 

Rafe was in agony. It had been a week since he talked to you. You hadn’t tried reaching out yet and he was starting to get worried that you weren’t going to give him a second chance. He’d called it quits with Sofia, who didn’t take it easily, but she admitted she knew she’d seen a change in him after the beach day. And had admitted she’d wondered about Jackson. She saw the resemblance and the way Rafe had looked at you. He was still in love with you. 

You’d told the Pogues that morning over breakfast, JJ had flipped. 

“Like hell he deserves another chance!” 

“JJ, you don’t get to make the decision, I do.” 

JJ had left with a slam of the front door. He come back a couple hours later, calm and agreed. It wasn’t his place, but he still didn’t trust him. He didn’t want to see you hurt again. 

JJ had left with a slam of the front door. He come back a couple hours later, calm and agreed that it wasn’t his place, but he still didn’t trust him. He didn’t want to see you hurt again. 

~

Your heart is pounding against your chest as you take the stairs up to Rafe’s front door. You looked around the outside of the house. It was a nice, expensive house on the water. Two story on stilts as most houses near water are built. 

His truck was parked under the house so you knew he was home. 

You took a deep breath and knocked on the door. 

Rafe was surprised to see you at his front door. It had been a week and he was beginning to wonder if you were even gonna make a decision. The longer it took the more he felt he wasn’t going to get his second chance. 

“Hey,” 

“Hey,” you point inside, “can I come in so we can talk?” 

“Yeah yeah of course.” He opens the door wider for you to enter, closing it behind you. 

The place was clean and sleek. It looked like a bachelor pad. 

“You want anything to drink? I’ve got water, juice, a beer..” he chuckles softly, motioning to the kitchen. 

You follow him into the kitchen, “Water is fine,” You lay your purse in the chair at the island. “I’m gonna be honest, I’m nervous.”

He fixes you a glass of water and you take a chance to look around the room. 

“no need to be nervous,”

You see in the corner of the living room there’s a small kids battery powered jeep and a couple other shopping bags around it. 

He sees you have noticed the stuff and slides the water to you, “my dad.. he uh he bought it for Jackson and Rose picked up a few things for him too.” 

“Thats’s very sweet of them. But wait, you told your dad?” You’re surprised and look to him, “I thought you hated him.. you guys didn’t have a great relationship.” 

“We patched things up after I got back from rehab.” 

“Rehab?” You ask shocked, “I didn’t know, when did you go to rehab?” 

He clears his throat, “few months after we broke up. Or I broke things off. Ward found me half dead on some laced coke I bought and when I woke up he made me go to rehab. Best decision I could have made.” 

“That’s awesome, Rafe. Im happy for you. I know having a better relationship with your dad was what you always talked about wanting.” You give him a soft smile. 

“Yeah yeah it’s good now.” He heads toward the back deck overlooking the water and you follow taking in the view but Rafe, he’s watching you, taking you in. 

You catch him watching you and can’t help but blush, “why are you looking at me like that?” 

Now he blushes, embarrassed he’d been caught, “sorry, we can sit here to talk.” He takes a seat on the couch and you take a seat on the other side. 

You take a deep breath, “I’ve done a lot of thinking over this.” 

He nods, hands clasped together he places his elbows on his thighs leaning closer, “yeah?” 

You look at him, “We’ll start out easy and slow. He’s not to know you’re his dad yet. I want him to be comfortable with you. He doesn’t truly understand the whole dad thing either, so I don’t want to confuse him. We call all hang out together first and then if I feel comfortable enough maybe you can take him on your own for a couple hours. I don’t trust you yet, Rafe. You broke that trust and I need time. But I believe everyone deserves a second chance. And I want Jackson to grow up with a dad who loves him. Something JJ and I didn’t have growing up.” 

He resists every muscle in his body not to hug you. “I can be that. I will be that.” 

He reaches over and you let him take your hand, “thank you for this.” He gives it a gentle squeeze, “you don’t know how much this chance means to me.”

~ 

A couple days later you and Jackson meet Rafe at his house, planning to spend the day there. Rafe had asked you a million questions about Jackson; his likes, dislikes, what toys he liked to play with, what he liked to do. He wanted to know as much as he could so he could be prepared for today. 

“Hey!” Rafe greets at the door, “What’s up little man?” 

Jackson’s shy at first and he peeks out from your shoulder at Rafe, muttering a quiet, “Hi.” 

“He’s a little shy. And he just woke up from a nap.” you follow Rafe inside and he helps to take the bag off your shoulders. 

“It’s all good. I understand.” He nervously wipes his hands on his shorts, “I got his favorite foods. The kitchen is stocked and-” 

“Toys!” Jackson gasps, wiggling out of your arms and immediately taking off toward the pile of toys. The jeep Ward bought him was there and a couple other new toys Rafe picked up.  

“Can I play?” Jackson asks, his eyes lighting up. 

“They’re yours! You can play with them all. After lunch we can take that jeep outside and you can ride around the yard.” Rafe says, taking a seat on the couch to watch him. 

“You didn’t have to get all these...” You sit next to Rafe. 

Rafe shrugs, “I know but he didn’t have anything here. I want him to be comfortable.” He slips off the couch and sits in the floor next to Jackson, helping him open the toys. Rafe teaches him how to play with a couple of them, showing him how they work. 

You couldn’t believe the change in Rafe. It was like a different man sitting in the floor. And the resemblance between the two was uncanny. Both had the same look of concentration on their face and you laughed softly to yourself after snapping a picture. Sarah had asked how it was going, so you sent her the picture. She was happy to know her brother was stepping up and also made a comment about their same look of concentration. 

As you stared at Rafe, a new feeling was starting to take form. A longing for something more and hope that maybe you could get your happy ever after and your dream of a family to become a reality.

Comments, likes, & reblogs are always greatly appreciated! I love to read your thoughts on it. 

[k2padfoot]

Texts with Rafe Cameron Pt.3

Rafe Cameron x Y/n

synopsis: Rafe being an obsessive controlling freak. mdni.

[drakestoes]

Someone write us some Junior Alba content I beg there’s nothing on tumblr this isn’t like us guys…

I mean drew? In kit? Gang what’s going on with y’all?

[featherandferns]

guilty as sin? (fic - part 1/2)

jj maybank x fem!routledge!reader | largely inspired by the bible

content warning: sexual content; mentions of parental abuse (physical abuse) | any questions for trigger warnings, feel free to inbox anonymously

word count: 14k.

blurb: when you, John B's half sister, return to Kildare after over two years of living in Colorado, your adolescent crush that you harboured for his best friend comes screaming back. Because you and JJ can't be together in real life, what's the harm in a fantasy?

“And this is your room.”

The syrup-coloured wood is the first thing your eyes meet when John B pushes open the bedroom door. There’s the vague lingering smell of teenage boy which he’s tried to air out, the window open ajar, and the clutter of his belongings has been moved to make space for your own. As you drop your duffel bag and step into the room, you take in the walls. There’s posters and prints stuck above his bed, dotted around on slats of wood separating windows: someone surfing; a rockstar smashing his guitar. An old skateboard deck is nailed into the wall alongside a license plate. The sheets are bright blue, the bed freshly made, and a clean towel is folded up at the foot. It’s well-lit with plenty of daylight flowing through the many windows. Homely and inviting.

“Is it, uh, alright?”

You turn to find John B leaning against the doorframe, hands in his short pockets. Smiling, you nod.

“It’s perfect,” you tell him. “I’m honestly chill with crashing on the couch, though.”

It’s pretty obvious this was his room: you feel guilty kicking him out.

He shakes his head and gestures with his thumb over his shoulder. “I moved into my dad’s room anyway. This has been the spare for a while.”

“Well, thanks,” you smile.

He nods, mirroring your content. “I’ll let you settle in and stuff. I moved all my crap out the closet so you can put your stuff in there, and the top bedside drawer is empty.”

“That’s perfect,” you say. You lift your bag with a grunt and dump it on the bed.

“I gotta go to work but call if you need anything. Shouldn’t be back too late.”

Unzipping your bag, you look to him. “Where’d you work?”

“Got this gig helping out at Ward Cameron’s. Don’t know if you remember him?”

“Course I do,” you snort. “The kingpin of Kildare, and your dad’s treasure hunting buddy.”

There’s a tense silence as your words catch up with you. You press your eyes shut, embarrassed.

“Shit, sorry. That didn’t come out how I meant it to.”

“It’s cool,” John B says, graciously gliding past it. “Anyway, he pays pretty good so can’t complain. Mostly just handy-man odd jobs.”

“Very noble work,” you joke.

With a quiet laugh, John B nods and backs out the door. He lingers another moment, contemplating saying something else. “Look, uh, I know it isn’t ideal circumstances, you coming back to Kildare and stuff, but I’m glad you’re here. Really. It’s nice having you back, sis.”

Your mood sobers, smile turning solemn.

“Thanks,” you quietly reply.

He nods once more and pats the doorframe in farewell. “Right, I’ll let you get unpacked. See you later.”

“See ya.”

When John B leaves – the front door shuddering against the house as it slams shut – you’re overcome with quiet. In Colorado, where you lived with your mom in the city, there was little nature. You forgot how peaceful Kildare is. Through the crack in the window, birdsong and cricket chimes accompany the sound of your unpacking. You turf out your clothes and take to putting them in the closet. Shoes and bags and bikinis. A jacket and a few sweatshirts. It was easy enough to plan for your outfits considering you’re only staying the summer. You remember the weather in Kildare well enough from when you used to live here.

Once you’ve unpacked your clothes, you find your paints. A box of watercolours which have seen much use and love, the hinges rusted and the inside of the palette smeared with dried mixed paint. Turning to the bedside table, you pull open the bottom drawer on accident. You come face to face with corny porno magazines, a box of tissues, two wrapped condoms and a half empty bottle of painkillers.

“Gross,” you mutter, slamming it shut. Yep, this was definitely a dude’s bedroom.

The top drawer is empty, like John B promised. You fill it with your paints and sketchbooks and pencils.

As the day ploughs on, the room becomes increasingly saturated with your personality. Postcards from Colorado, of the towns and cities you visited, photographs from school of your friends and classmates: you scatter them along them wall, amongst John B’s. Some of your favourite paintings, alongside artists which inspire you, join the mix. On the desk you add a few of your own books to the haphazard stack of abandoned homework and school reports.

At the bottom of your duffle bag is your penny board. You look around the room, searching for empty space to slot it without adding to already cluttered surroundings, and opt to slot it under the bed. Ducking down, you come face to face with a collection of empty beer cans. Clearly the spring cleaning only went so far. It’s noisy as you drag them out, but you’re certain you hear someone shouting. Pausing, sitting back on your haunches, you turn to peer out the open bedroom door. It’s silent for a moment, and then you hear footsteps.

“Yo! JB, you home?”

It’s a guy shouting. His voice sounds vaguely familiar. When he comes into the corridor, he glances into Big John’s bedroom (now claimed by your older half-brother) first. Blonde messy hair and well-worn combat boots instantly name him. JJ.  He turns to the spare bedroom and stops short the moment his eyes land on you, sat amongst a pile of trash.

“You’re not John B,” he says.

“What gave me away?” you reply with a lift of your brows.

There’s a long awkward moment where he stares at you. You can practically hear the cogs turning as he takes you in. When you lift your arm up to scratch the back of your neck, realisation dawns upon him. You imagine your scar on the outside of your elbow gave you away.

“Holy crap! Little Routledge?” he gapes.

You laugh. “Haven’t been called that in a minute.”

JJ steps into the room and you get to your feet. He tackles you into a hug. It’s too short, too sudden, and then he’s stepping away from you again, leaving you dizzy on your feet.

“The fuck? You’re, like, grown now,” he says.

Rolling your eyes, you reply, “well, I am sixteen.”

“The fuck!” he repeats. He then takes in where you’re standing, and the state of the room, and frowns. “Wait, what are you doing here? I thought you were in Colorado with your mom?”

“I was,” you say. You kick one of the cans out the way and fold your arms over your chest, shrugging. “I came back for the summer.”

“Oh, that’s sick!”

You laugh. It’s a nice reaction to have from someone who you haven’t seen for over two years.

“John B gave you his old room then?”

He walks into it as if it’s his own. You watch as he studies the new additions to the wall that you’ve added. Lingers on one of your paintings.

"Yeah, he’s moved into his dad’s, apparently.”

“Yeah, he moved in there a while ago,” JJ tells you. “I’ve been sleeping in here most of the time.”

Your mind flashes back to the bedside drawer stocked with teenage boy necessities. Ah, makes sense. You remember how JJ was when you were a dorky thirteen-year-old. At the ripe age of fourteen, he had girls fawning after him. He was shameless in his reputation. The conversations you overheard between himself and John B as he’d brag about his escapades are seared into your memory, as you felt your wasted preteen heart splinter with every tale. It’s no surprise now that he’s probably just as unruly. Especially considering how he looks. There isn’t much time to ogle though because he’s looking away from the décor, meeting your gaze again.

“That explains all the empty beer cans, then,” you say.

He cringes. “Yeah, uh, sorry ‘bout that.”

You shrug. “It’s cool. I need to toss ‘em out but I don’t know where the trash bags are…”

“Oh, right,” he says, breezing past you. His cologne lingers in the air when he leaves. There’s the smallest moment for you to catch your breath as JJ bangs around in the kitchen, and then he reappears with a roll of black bags. Tosses them to you and you catch. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

You begin to shove the cans into the bag and JJ starts to help. His black button-up gapes open as he leans over and it takes everything not to glance down his shirt like some pervert.

“How come you didn’t want to stay in Colorado for the summer, then?”

“Change of scenery,” you vaguely reply. It isn’t a complete lie, but it isn’t the whole truth either.

“Well, you chose the best summer to come back. Our mission this year is to have the best summer of all time.”

“Pretty lofty goal to set,” you chuckle.

JJ glances up at you, flashing you a grin. “Nah, we got it in the bag.”

You find yourself smiling back, held captive under his stare. When he takes the now full trash bag off you, tying it off, you snap out of it.

“So, where’s your brother at then?” he asks, heading out the room. You follow.

“At work. Said he does jobs for Cameron now.”

“Oh, yeah. Cameron sorta took him under his wing after his dad…went missing,” JJ replies.

You have a feeling that the way people talk about John B’s father is rather doctored.

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” you tell him, referring to Big John.

As you step on the porch, the sunlight warms your face. The floorboards creak as you make your way down them, to the garbage can outside.

“It was insane,” JJ says to you. He tosses the trash away. “I mean, we all knew Big John was a bit too into the whole royal-merchant thing but…we never thought it’d go that far, you know?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Scary.”

JJ looks at you a moment longer. Then, he laughs to himself and shakes his head. “Can’t believe you’re sixteen now.”

“Can’t believe you’re seventeen.”

“What? I look good or something?”

He does a small spin on the spot, arms held out by his sides. You roll your eyes, acting as if you’re unaffected. It’s hard to swallow the reflex reaction of yes.

“Or something,” you say.

JJ takes it in stride. “Well, you look pretty cute yourself considering you’ve been in the mountains for the last three years.”

“I don’t live in the mountains,” you snort. The word ‘cute’ rattles around your head like a pinball.

“You’re taller now too. Practically come up to my shoulders. I remember when me and John B could pick you up by your ankle like a marlin.”

“Yeah, I remember that too,” you not-so-fondly recall.

JJ grins and steps over to you. Despite both of your growth spurts, you still have to look up at him, and him down at you. His eyes are just as dreamy as you remember them. When you first left for Colorado, you hardly had time to pack. In the midst of chaos, taking a picture of your brother’s best friend didn’t seem all that important. Cut to you spending endless nights trying to remember his eyes, the exact colour and the exact shape. Trying to remember the dimples that popped out when he smiled. The pure joy in his laugh. The way your heart felt like it might explode whenever he looked at you, even if it were for a second.

But when JJ pats your head, your chest deflates.

“Well, see you around, little Routledge,” he says, stepping away. “Tell your brother I was looking for him.”

Because even after all these years, you’re still just John B’s little sister in JJ’s eyes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

You stare into your can of cider. In the night, the only light being that from the bonfire John B started up in the backyard, you can’t make out the colour of it. Just the swirling of liquid. You’d spent the last three days working on a watercolour of the marsh side to John B’s house, but you couldn’t capture the movement of the water quite right.

“Wait, I’m confused,” Pope frowns.

“What’s there to be confused about, Pope?” JJ sighs, seemingly exhausted from the questions. There had been an influx of them the minute John B brought you out of the Chateau. “His mom shagged her dad and boom, here she is.”

“Charming mental images there, JJ, thanks,” John B cringes.

You laugh into your drink.

“No, I get that. But…You used to live here, right?” Pope asks you.

You nod.

“But then you moved to Colorado?”

“Yeah?”

“But now you’re back here?”

“Apparently,” you say.

Pope’s frown deepens: apparently that cleared nothing up for him. You’ve never known someone so analytical. “This is complicated,” he observes.

“No shit,” Kiara quips.

It was complicated. Families usually are. You and John B had different dads, in short. Your shared mom cheated on Big John when John B was hardly a year old, putting you around 11 or so months behind him. She ran off to Raleigh with your dad to try and fix their tumultuous relationship, leaving you with Big John for practically thirteen years. Whilst he wasn't unkind to you, he never saw you as his. You supposed you were a reminder of his ex-wife's unfaithfulness. But John B treated you like blood, as did his friends.

Just after your thirteen birthday, your mom decided to flee the state, and she was taking you with her. It all came out of the blue. You weren’t exactly thrilled to go to Colorado. You liked Kildare, and North Carolina, and John B and his friends. Kiara was always nice to you. She never talked down to you, despite you being seen as John B’s little sister. You bonded over turtles and Bob Marley. JJ was different. He’d prank you with John B and tease you about your dolls, but he’d also patch you up if you fell and calm you down after a nightmare. Your crush on him evolved naturally over time. What started as childhood infatuation with the supposed delinquent of Kildare became real. You liked JJ. He was funny and rambunctious, but he had a kindness and tenderness that he kept hidden below. He was often at the house as his own family situation was far from perfect, so having him around became as familiar as John B’s presence. When you left, JJ gave you a hug that you wished would last a lifetime.

But you drifted away in Colorado. You didn’t have anybody’s phone number, save for Big John’s (which your mom refused to let you use), and you were too young to remember addresses to write to them. Social media was never something you latched onto and eventually it all faded away into a strange, dreamlike memory. Being back here is almost proof that you didn’t imagine the whole thing.

“We’re half siblings,” you say, whittling down your family history into a simple statement. “That’s all you really need to know.”

“Damn straight,” JJ whoops, downing the last of his drink. He crunches the can in his fist and heads to the cooler for another.

“You’re staying for the whole summer then?” Kiara asks.

You nod. “I’m tryna get a job at this restaurant in town to keep me busy.”

“Screw that. Just come smoke and surf with us all day, that’ll keep you occupied,” JJ grins.

He’s comfortable in himself, relaxing in a lawn chair, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. His t-shirt represents one of Kildare’s small-town establishments and his shorts are stained with dust and dirt from riding his bike.

“She’s the good one out of us lot,” John B announces, gesturing to you. “Out of all the Routledge offspring, she’s gonna go places. You’re not gonna taint that, JJ.”

“And by ‘all the Routledge offspring’ you mean yourself and her?” Pope checks.

John B nods fervently. “I’m telling you! She’s madly talented.”

“You’re drunk; it’s giving you beer goggles,” you dismiss, finishing your drink.

“You were always the creative one,” JJ remarks. Everyone looks over to him. “Me and John B would be out on the water and she’d be drawing it.”

“Maybe you can show us some of your stuff,” Kiara says.

You laugh and shake your head. “Maybe not.”

The alcohol wizzes up your body as you get to your feet and you take it as a good time to call it quits.

“I think I’m gonna head in.”

“What?”

“No!”

“Come on!”

You laugh, shaking off the group’s disputes. “I’m tired!”

“Lightweight,” JJ teases. You flip him off as you pass, ditching your empty can in the garbage as you go.

“Night guys!” you holler as you head back into the house.

“Night!”

The bedroom John B offered you is starting to feel less like a guest house. You shrug off your cardigan – it stinks of smoke from the fire – and close the door. Through the window, you can hear the group chattering.

Pope seems nice. He hadn’t been around when you lived in Kildare, but you recognised his name. Heyward was a legend on the Cut; you could see his dad in his eyes. Kiara was just as you remembered her, if not more consumed by her environmental activism than before. JJ was the most staggering change of all. He’d grown into his looks, matured around the face. Any puppy fat that you remembered from childhood had vanished. Lithe and lively, he was an American heartthrob, through and through.

As you do your skincare, you glance out the window. You can make out JJ, sat with his back to you. His arms are flailing around as he tells a story. You can’t make out the details through the window but the looks on everyone’s faces tells you it’s pretty damn entertaining. He was always the joker, humour hiding whatever was happening underneath like he was arming himself with a grin. The unexplained bruises on his face and the painful batterings on his body were never explained whenever he’d stay at Big John’s, when you were younger.

The moment he shifts in his seat, you dart away from the window, scared to get caught, and finish getting ready for bed.

A bad dream rouses you awake. It was about Colorado. The warped memories keep you from falling back asleep, no matter how hard you try. Sighing, you stare at the ceiling. The room is bathed in moonlight, cosy in the wooden interior, and you contemplate sitting outside for a bit. The same cardigan from earlier gets pulled on over your vest top and you slip into some crocs.

You head for the front door, creeping past John B’s room, and step onto the porch. There’s a warm, humid air in the night. The crickets and owls harmonise with the faint buzz of mosquitos who surround the porch light. That’s when you realise that it’s already on, and you’re not alone. JJ’s on the porch, laid out on the sofa. He’s smoking a joint. The smell of weed merges into that of the dying embers from the abandoned, extinguished bonfire. You rap gently on the wall as you approach, hoping not to startle him.

“Hey,” he says, looking up at the sound.

“Hey.”

“Can’t sleep?”

“No,” you say. “I thought everyone went home.”

“They did. I’m crashing here tonight. My dad’s…”

He falters, glances up at you, and shakes his head.

“Don’t need to bore you with it.”

“You’re not boring,” you hear yourself tell him.

Smiling, JJ offers the joint to you. You take it, sitting down in the red armchair at the foot of the sofa. The weed consumes your senses when you take a drag, hitting the back of your throat and dulling your thoughts.

“Haven’t smoked in ages,” you say.

“Big smoking community out in Colorado?” JJ asks.

You laugh. “Not where I live, no.”

He takes the joint back when you lean over to him. Tilts his head back as he takes another hit. He’s in the same clothes as earlier, hasn’t even taken off his boots; his hair is tousled like he tried to sleep but couldn’t. You’re caught in the act of staring at him. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even make a joke. Instead, he holds your gaze. It’s almost like a silent challenge: who’ll break first?

“Can I say something kinda inappropriate?” he asks.

“I feel like you have to, now.”

JJ grins at that, amused. “You’re way cuter than I remember you.”

“Oh? You mean sweaty thirteen-year-old, chalk-highlight-pink-hair wasn’t cute?” you joke.

Shaking his head, he adds, “No. Well, yeah, but not in the way you are now.”

Your stomach tightens and heart constricts, and you wish you had the joint to have something to distract yourself with. You hope you sound calm and collected when you say, “thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“Oh, you’re too kind,” JJ jokes. He takes another long, deep drag. “Is it nice? Being back in Kildare?”

You glance off to the marsh. You forgot to check the time when you got up but judging from the endless navy blue of the sky, it’s still late.

“Sure.”

“Sure?”

You look back to him. “It’s better than Colorado.”

“So, you’re not missing home then?”

The blunt is passed back to you. Taking a drag, you ponder his question. “I don’t think I know where home is right now. I don’t think it’s Colorado, but I don’t know if it’s here either. Maybe I don’t have one.”

JJ doesn’t say anything and you remember yourself. Laughing self-deprecatingly, you shake your head.

“Sorry, think this joint’s going to my head. That was dramatic.”

“No, no, I get ya,” JJ assures. “I know what you mean.”

“You don’t like Kildare?” you ask him.

His expression darkens like a shadow has cast over him. “It depends.”

“Hm,” you say. Nothing more is said on the matter. You get the sense that JJ was vague on purpose.

Pulling your legs into your seat, you glance around at the clutter on the porch. A surfboard is lent against the nett lining of the porch; a rusting duck ornament balances on one of the beams. What looks to be a broken radio sits beside a half-full bottle of rum on a small table by the couch.

“I think it’s good for John B, having you back.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” JJ smiles. “He sorta spun out when his dad disappeared. You’re kinda the only family he has left.”

“You’re his family too. Been around longer than I have,” you tell him.

JJ’s smile softens. He glances away from you, fiddling with the paper of the joint, almost as if he’s flustered. “Thanks.”

“So,” you say, “you got some poor girl on this island falling after you?”

“Rude of you to assume there’s only one,” JJ grins wickedly.

You roll your eyes.

“What about you? Some West Coast jock waiting for you back in the home state?”

The sarcastic ‘har har’ that he gets has JJ frowning, bemused.

“Definitely no guy, and definitely no jock.”

“Now that I find hard to believe,” JJ says.

Before you can ask what he means by that, or spiral out by thinking too much about it, JJ’s getting to his feet. He puts the blunt out on the window ledge, ditching the empty butt in a filthy dish. Stretching his arms over his head, sighing, you watch as his t-shirt rides up. The tensing of his abdominal muscles is like torture. God, to run your hands up his chest, over his shoulders, tangle them in the salt-soaked strands of his hair…

“Right, night Little Routledge,” JJ says.

You blink away from his chest and meet his gaze. There’s a strange expression on his face, one you don’t recognise, and you want to scrutinise it and find out what it means. But it’s gone in a flash, as is he as he heads back into the house. You watch through the window as his silhouette drops onto the pull-out sofa.

It takes a minute to regain your composure.

You can’t think of JJ like that. He certainly doesn’t think of you like that, and that childhood crush has long been put to bed. Shaking it awake is the last thing you need right now. Besides, he’s John B’s best friend. Your brother’s best friend. The same brother who’s taken you back into his house, offered you a room, free of charge, without complaint or question. And it seems like John B needs as many people around him as possible right now. But it’s hard to maintain that line of thought, when as you lie back down in your bed, desperate to get some sleep, you can vividly picture the slit of JJ’s chest that you were privy to just moments ago when you close your eyes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

You follow Tom through the restaurant. He’s the supervisor, eighteen and a fresh high school graduate. It’s hard to keep up with him as he points things out: waiter’s station; kitchen; storeroom…You’d forgotten how overwhelming job orientations can be.

“And this,” he pushes a door open, “is the staff room.”

You glance in and take in the messy pile of shoes, the overflowing trash can, and the three coat pegs overwhelmed with bags and hoodies.

“Love what you’ve done with the space.”

Tom laughs. He closes the door and leans against the doorframe. Broad shouldered, he stands taller than you by a couple inches.

“So, what made you want to work here?”

“I’m really interested in not being broke,” you reply, making him laugh.

“You new to the island? Feel like I haven’t seen you around?”

“This island that small?”

“Or you’re just that unforgettable,” he smoothly returns.

Your face fires up. Laughing nervously, you shift your stance. “I just moved in with my half-brother for the summer. Need something to keep me busy for a few months.”

“Ah, sweet. Anyone I’d know?”

“Dunno,” you say. He starts back into the main restaurant building. They haven’t opened yet. It’s void of life. “John B Routledge?”

“Oh shit, yeah. JB,” he says, flashing you a grin.

He’s charming in a disarming way. The kind of face that a modelling agency would swipe up because of his easy marketability.

When the two of you approach the bar, there’s a girl stood polishing wine glasses. She looks to be about your age, maybe a couple of years older. Her smile is sweet and welcoming like warm hot chocolate on a winter’s night.

“Hey, Lizzy. This is the new starter,” Tom introduces.

“I’m guessing I got the job then?” you ask him. He nods. With that, you offer a hand to Lizzy.

“Nice to meet ya,” she says, shaking it. “Could do with more girls around here.”

“Happy to help,” you reply.

“So, you think you can cover a shift tomorrow night? I figured cause you’ve waitressed before it shouldn’t take too long for you to learn the ropes here,” Tom says.

You nod. “Sure. Sounds good.”

“We’ll see you tomorrow then,” he says.

You bid farewell to himself and Lizzy, seeing yourself out the front door. The restaurant is in the heart of the cut, surrounded by other small businesses and hipster start-ups. You begin the journey home, plugging in your headphones and submerging yourself in Reggae music. Children play in the local park and preteens chatter as they speed past you on their bikes. There’s a warm breeze that brushes past you; it smells of sea water and fried fish. You’re passing the harbour. Eyes land on Heyward’s store, the logo just as you remember it from all those years ago. It’s surreal being back.

When your phone buzzes, you pause your sightseeing to check it. It might be John B asking after the interview. Your throat closes up when you see your mom’s contact pop up. A text. ‘Call me back.’

Just like that, you’re dragged out of Kildare and are back in Colorado.

It’s impossible to ignore the text, but you do your best either way. You don’t even remember half the journey to the Chateau as you walk through the door. JJ is home. He’s sat at the messy dining table, eating a bowl of cereal and scrolling through his phone. Tugging out your earbuds, you give a small wave hello.

“How’d the interview go? That was today, right?”

“Smashed it. Got the job,” you say.

“Oh, sweet. Congrats.”

“Thanks.”

You ditch your bag by the door along with your phone. Taking the seat opposite him, you sit cross-legged on the wooden chair. The sketchbook you’d abandoned earlier lays dormant. Opening it up, you flick to your latest piece of the marsh. It’s coming together rather well. You’d decided to add the H.M.S Pogue, sat harboured on the grass. JJ peers over his bowl to the painting.

“Holy shit. That’s sick,” he says through his mouthful of Captain Crunch.

“Thanks,” you smile. “I’m pretty happy with how it’s come out, considering how old these paints are.”

JJ watches as you crack open the aforementioned watercolours. The smell of artificial paint teases the air. Dampening a thin brush in the mason jar of water, you dip into the blue.

“They bad quality or something?”

“A little. They best ones are Winsor and Newton, but I can’t justify spending over twenty bucks on paints.”

“Why not? You’ve clearly got a gift,” JJ says.

You hate how casual he is when he says things like that to you. Like it doesn’t knock the breath out of you like a sucker punch to the chest.

“S’just practice,” you mumble.

You can feel his gaze as you paint. Resting your chin in your hand, you work at the water under the jetty, trying to perfect the shading. You want to feel as though you can walk into the painting; like you could drown in the crystal clean waves.

Painting had become an escape when you were in Colorado. Whatever you could remember of Kildare, you’d paint. When that well ran dry, you began to paint places you wished you could go. Anywhere but the dilapidating family home you’d found yourself in. Secret gardens made of twisting ivy and crumbling, ornate statues hidden amongst orchids and rose bushes. Cosmic planes with make-believe ice cream stations snuck onto Mars and Venus; whales which bathed in the stars and caught a tan in moonbeams. Underwater societies full of sea kelp and multicoloured coral reefs, with octopi hiding amongst crabs and shellfish.

You glance up to find JJ transfixed on the painting. There’s a crease between his brows as if he’s the one concentrating. It makes you laugh, quiet and under breath, and he looks up. Holds your stare.

“That’s amazing, that you can just do that,” JJ says, remarking to your work.

You swallow the sickly rush that his words give you. His tongue dampens his lower lip, tantalisingly slow. You feel it hit somewhere deep inside of you. Something in the air shifts.

Then, so quiet neither of you can be sure he really said it, he utters, “you’re amazing.”

“Yo!”

The door swings open with your brother’s arrival. Your head spins over your shoulder to the front door. John B stands holding a bag of takeout burgers in the air beside his head.

“Y’all hungry?”

“Hell yeah,” JJ says.

When you look to him, it feels as if you could have imagined the whole interaction had just moments ago. JJ’s sat in his seat as he was before, unfazed.

He abandons his cereal and follows John B into the kitchen like a starving dog, begging for food. You place your paintbrush back into the water and join them. John B unpacks the burgers and fries onto half-clean plates. You watch JJ toss a fry into the air and catch it, whooping in celebration. A plate is handed back to you, over John B’s shoulder.

“Beef burger with cheese, no pickles.”

“Thank you,” you sing-song, taking the plate off him.

JJ turns around and looks at you with faux disgust. “No pickles?”

You shake your head, heading back to the table. JJ and John B join you with their own quick dinners, and the three of you eat. You tell John B about the summer job you secured, and he tells you and JJ about Sarah Cameron and her new boy-toy Topper. JJ says he’s “biceps without a brain” when you ask which one Topper is.

“That can’t be his real name,” you snort.

“Oh, it is,” John B replies.

“His name is almost as dumb as he is,” JJ sniggers.

There’s the sound of chewing and swallowing.

“Two official weeks into summer,” John B randomly announces.

You quirk a brow. “Two weeks since I came back to Kildare.”

JJ holds his cup of soda up in a toast. John B wipes his mouth and raises his own, as do you. The three of you clink cups, smiling at the stupidity. As you bring your cup to your lips to drink, you find your eyes meeting JJ’s across the table. He holds your gaze as he sips, swallows and licks his lips of the sugar. You feel it hit somewhere deep, deep inside of you. JJ looks back to John B and starts recounting his tales of the day fishing, leaving you stumped.

What the hell was that?

~*~*~*~*~*~*

As your days in Kildare stretch on, your imagination becomes your most loved and loathed place all at once.

The Pogues had taken you under their wing without a second thought. It felt as if it wasn’t just because you were John B’s younger sister. Kiara would spend hours talking to you about music and star signs. Pope would discuss books and artists that he’d read about, falling into a huge debate about whether Andy Warhol is as legendary as everyone makes him out to be (the answer is, of course, yes). You and John B connected as brother and sister, filling that hole of ‘family’ that had been taken from both of you within the past year. Movie nights sharing popcorn and critiquing corny horror films, and mornings spent tending to the yard and fishing at the jetty: you felt yourself coming back bit by bit, in the company of the brunette.

But spending time with the Pogues came with spending more time with JJ. That little childhood crush that you’d claimed had succumb a long, undisturbed slumber…Oh, she had been awoken. Him staying over more and more on the pull-out when him and his dad ‘got into a thing’ meant the throw pillows smelt like his cologne and soap. He’d offer you his sweatshirt when sat around the bonfire on evenings drinking, and the warm distinct smell of him would consume you, drown you in the pheromones, affecting you like some pathetic animal in heat. Days spent surfing and sunbathing at the break gave you space to shamelessly ogle his bare chest, splattered in sea water, scorched and tanned with sunlight. The ripple of his lats when wearing his useless muscle tees as he waxed his board in the surf shack. His jawline strong and steely when annoyed or focused, with faint blonde stubble a week after shaving. But you swear he knew how it affected you. Swear he knew it drove you crazy whenever he’d fleetingly touch your back, brushing past you in the kitchen to grab a drink, or adjust your grip when helping him fix up his bike. When sharing a blunt on the porch (as you often did when sleep couldn’t come), he’d take his time passing it to you, fingers brushing. Innocent, incidental touches that felt calculated and planned. The way his eyes would gaze into yours, like he could read your thoughts and decipher your wants. A vague, barely-there smirk to his lips, constantly tortured by his tongue and teeth…

God, your whole body feels as if it has been on fire for the past week.

You blame your overactive thoughts of JJ on your boredom. Working at the restaurant hadn’t been sufficient distraction from the mess that is your life right now. Even now, as you stand before the till, typing through an order for the kitchen and bar, you feel your mind wandering. To thoughts of the Chateau, and to a certain blonde-haired guy sprawled on the pull-out sofa, shirtless, back on proud display…

“You gonna be much longer?”

“No, I shouldn’t be,” you say to Tom.

You hope your embarrassment doesn’t read on your face. It’s not as if he could hear your thoughts, so you’re not sure why you feel caught in the act. You finish selecting the sides for table 16 and press ‘store table’. Stepping to the side to grab some side plates, Tom takes over the till.

He’s nice. Makes you laugh a lot at work, as you slander rude tables and gush over those that tip an extra twenty.

After depositing the side plates at the table, you head to the bar to run the drinks you put through. Lizzy is mixing the cocktail you ordered. She pours rum into a shaker and then passionfruit puree.

“Can I ask you something?” you say to her.

She glances over. The two of you had gotten closer at work. You were hoping to hang out with her one time down at the beach, or maybe grab lunch after a morning shift. She runs a hand over her buzzcut hair style and nods.

“Do you think there’s such a thing as bad thoughts?”

“Bit deep to be asking that at eight o’clock at night, don’t you think?” she smirks.

You roll your eyes. As she goes on making the cocktail, you elaborate. “I have this dumbass crush on this guy which I know I shouldn’t have…I just feel bad for thinking about him so much.”

“Well, that’s dumb,” she snorts.

There’s the loud rattle of ice against stainless steel as Lizzy shakes the cocktail. Then, as she strains it into a martini glass, she looks up at you once more.    

“Who’s this guy? Do I know him?”

“Maybe.”

Her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. “Is it Tom?”

And, no, it isn’t Tom, but maybe saying it is means she won’t keep digging. You’d rather keep your embarrassing years-long infatuation with your brother’s best friend close to the chest. So, you do your best to look meek as you nod.

“Holy shit! Well, if it makes you feel better, he’s totally into you,” Lizzy tells you.

“He is?”

“Hell yeah. Guy practically ogles you across the room,” she says.

You glance over to Tom. He’s stood before a table, talking away, scribbling down their order on a notepad. At the feeling of being watched, he looks up and meets your gaze. You flash him a small smile and he mirrors it quickly before returning his focus to the task at hand.

“So, do you?”

“Think there’s such a thing as bad thoughts?” Lizzy checks. You nod. She ponders the question whilst garnishing the cocktail. “No. No, I think only actions talk. I mean, I think bad things all the time about customers who are dicks. I could put glass in their drinks: that’d show them sort of thing. But I don’t actually put glass in their drinks, so I’m off the hook. Nobody’s the wiser.”

It’s a somewhat extreme example but it gets the point across. You take the tray and nod.

“I mean, maybe fantasising about it might be cathartic. Get it out your system, you know?” Her sly wink speaks volumes as to what these ‘fantasies’ are about. You roll your eyes.

“Thank you for your advice, Lizz. I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Anytime sunshine.”

With that, you walk over table 16 and deliver their drinks. The rest of the shift passes by rather quickly. You end up making a bet with Tom that you can sell more pints of larger than him and come up victorious, leaving work with an extra ten dollars in your pockets.

The streets are painted sunset purple, orange and pink. You spot John B’s campervan, known as The Twinkie, in the parking lot; he’d promised to pick you up after work tonight. But as you walk up to the passenger side, you realise it’s JJ behind the wheel. You’re not sure if the feeling of your organs shrinking is a good thing or a bad thing.

“Where’s John B?” you ask, climbing in beside him.

“Nice way to say, ‘hi JJ, it’s so good to see you!’”

“Okay, hi JJ,” you say, rolling your eyes. He starts the engine. “Now, where’s my brother?”

“He had to go do something for Cameron.”

“At ten at night?”

“Dude, I just work here, a’right? I do as he says so he lets me stay on his sofa,” JJ says. You laugh.

The radio kicks on and ‘Downtown Lights’ starts to play. You look out the window as he drives, watching the houses fade into overgrow and trees.

“Hey, you hungry?”

“Starved.”

“We can swing by a Wendy’s on the way home, if you wanna,” JJ says.

You smile as you look over to him, nodding. With that, he takes the next left and the two of you make your way in comfortable silence to the drive through. At the worker’s request, JJ recounts his order: two hamburgers, both with cheese, one without pickles. Oh and a large Pepsi.

As he pulls forward to pay, you say, “you remembered I don’t like pickles?”

He glances over to you like you’re stupid for even asking. “Course.”

Food secured, Pepsi in the cupholder for you both to share, you start the journey to the Chateau.

“Feed me a fry?”

You laugh and oblige. It’s the least you can do, considering he bought you takeout, after all. You turf one out the brown paper bag and hold up to his lips. His breath fans against your fingers as he takes it. Chews and swallows. You managed to tear your eyes away. That man could yawn and you’d be mesmerised, you swear. It’s pathetic.

“Thanks.”

“Course.”

The ride back is over way too soon. You take what’s left of your food and your bag, opening the door. “You staying over tonight?”

JJ contemplates a moment before shaking his head. He studies his hands as they run up and over the steering wheel when he says, “no. No, I gotta go home sometime.”

“Right,” you quietly say. The last fight him and his dad got in was ugly. He came over, shaking with anger, a purple bruise forming under his eye. It scared the shit out of you to let him go back there alone. “Well, thanks for the food.”

JJ looks up from the steering wheel and takes you in. His lips move, like he wants to say something, but he seems to abandon the thought. You take it as your cue to leave.

“See you soon.”

“Yeah. See you soon, Little Routledge.”

You hate that nickname. The resentment is thick to swallow as you say goodnight, stepping out the van.

John B isn’t home when you walk into the Chateau. The lights are off, dirty dishes piled up in the sink. The sofa bed is unmade from the last time JJ slept on it. You contemplate crashing on it for the night, just so you can feel as if you’re near to him, but you know that’s insane. If John B were to find you there, he’d only be concerned that something was wrong with your own room, either way. So you trundle back to your bedroom and strip out of your uniform. Makeup rinsed off and teeth brushed, you crawl into bed and drift off easily.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

His lips are hot and wet on your skin, kissing down your stomach. Your breathing’s laboured like you’re fighting an adrenaline rush. He seems to notice, laughing darkly against your tummy.

“So wound up already and I’ve barely touched you,” JJ croons in his southern drawl.

Your eyes slip shut, fighting back a whimper as his fingers dip teasingly into the waistband of your panties. A moan finally lets slip at the sensation of his lips pressing against your crotch, over the cotton.

“You want it?”

“Please,” you whisper.

“Yeah? You want my mouth?”

“Yes, JJ, please.”

It’s embarrassing to beg but you don’t have much left in your mind other than thoughts of him to even care.

Fingers knotting into his hair, you try and coax him lower still. And he obliges. Drags your panties down your legs like time is a luxury. You wonder if he likes teasing you; if it brings him pleasure like the feeling of his hands on your body does for you. He leans back on his haunches and runs his palms up and down your thighs, staring at you exposed pussy. His shark tooth necklace sits against his toned chest and you’re jealous of how close it gets to be to him.

“Fuck,” JJ groans as you open your legs.

He leans back down and nuzzles your inner thigh, pressing a sharp kiss with his teeth, sucking in the skin and relishing your pleasured yelp. It feels as if he’s marking you as he leaves the hickey: mine.

“Been dreaming ‘bout this.”

Before you can let out another pathetic plea, JJ situates himself between your legs and goes down on you. Eats you out like a man who’s been lost at sea, like a man starved. Sighs at the taste of you on his tongue, kissing at your thighs as if to catch his breath, dragging you closer and closer to the edge. The damp of his tongue laps at your clit and your legs lock around him in a vice. He’s indefatigable, insatiable and…it’s too much.

“I can’t,” you whine hopelessly. Your fingers grasp at the sheets, eyes clenched shut.

“Come on,” JJ preens. “Wanna see you come.”

He leans close to your ear, taking your lobe between his teeth, and slips a finger into your seeping hole. Your orgasm comes like waves crashing over splintered rocks; breathing jagged and vision blurring behind eyelids. Somewhere in the euphoric haze you cry out his name. Flashes of colour blending into a mercurial high as he works you through your ecstasy, unrelenting.

You gasp awake.

Had you been sleeping?

Your forehead is damp with sweat, throat parched and chest heaving. Anyone would have thought you’d have just sprinted three miles. When you sit up in bed, you register the pulsing between your legs and the telltale stickiness of your thighs.

Shit. Good thing there’s no such thing as bad thoughts.

Wiping at your face, your skin feels red hot. You venture to the bathroom and drink water from the faucet. Making eye contact with yourself is too hard right now, considering you just had the most incredible wet dream about your brother’s best friend. Now that the high is passing, you’re overcome with shame and guilt. You’re delusional. Maybe you should submit yourself to be sectioned. Would be a good way to kill some of these summer weeks…

Heading back to bed feels like returning to the scene of a crime. Instead, you head out onto the porch, dressed in nothing but a t-shirt and panties. John B’s a deep sleeper, you’ve come to learn. You’ve never heard him get up in the night, in all your moments of insomnia. There’s no risk of crossing paths with him out here.

Stepping out onto the paint-peeled floorboards, you notice he forgot to turn off the porch light when he came home. Great, I guess I know where my wage is going. But as you head to your favourite red armchair, ready to gaze out at the marsh and watch the waterside plants dance in the breeze, you freeze.

JJ’s on the sofa. And he’s awake. You can tell just from where you’re stood.

Before you can flee back to your room, the floorboard creaks. JJ jolts up and looks around, eyes landing on you. You swallow. The moment you lay eyes on him, part of your dream comes screaming back to you. The way your voice cracked as you cried out his name, tumbling over the edge. You quickly shun away the thoughts, slamming them closed in a box, before your body can lose itself to the fantasy once more. Please God tell me that I didn’t actually scream his name.

“Hi,” you dumbly say.

“Hey.”

“I thought you were staying at your place tonight,” you say.

JJ shrugs. “Change of plans, I guess.”

“Oh.”

He looks back ahead at the armchair, back to you, and you can’t help but pull a face akin to holy shit what the fuck do I do? When he holds up a joint, you decide to stay. Panties are just the same as a bikini anyway, and he’s seen you in those. You make sure to wear your cutest ones when he’s surfing with you. The ones that are tight in all the right places and hug your figure in a way that you wished he would. Oh my God, shut up. You wordlessly take the joint as you quickly step past him, planting yourself in the armchair. You pull your legs up and sit atop of them, taking a long drag to try and calm your racing mind and heart. Inspecting the floor seems a good thing to do, suddenly. The divots in the wood from worms and the strips of paint. Looking up, you find JJ’s eyes trained on your legs. His gaze diverts when you lean forward, offering him the blunt again. As he lifts himself to take it, you see him wince, and now in the light of the porch, fully taking him in you, you can make out the bloody cut beside his eye.

“Jesus Christ, JayJ.”

“It’s fine,” he reflexively says. He takes another hit. “Just need some self-medication.”

“Bullshit. You need to clean that thing ‘fore it gets infected.”

“Be my guest,” JJ scoffs.

With that, you get to your feet and head back into the house. The first aid kit is under the bathroom sink. It’s probably the least dusty thing in the whole room. Returning to him, you forget all about the reason that you got up in the first place and shove it to the back of your mind. This was more important than worrying about some dumb dream. Shoving his legs off the couch, you force him to make space for you. You place the first aid kit on your lap and open it. JJ keeps smoking. The smell of weed clouds your senses. Picking out a disinfectant wipe, you turn to him.

“This’ll sting,” you say, opening the packet.

“That’s what she said.”

You frown. “What kind of kinky ass sex are you having?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he grins.

For a moment dread drops down your body, chilling your spine. Did he hear you? No, no he couldn’t have. You probably didn’t make a noise. He’s just being his usual, salacious self.

You take his jawline in hold gently between your fingers. The bone is hard beneath the soft of his skin; fine stubble scratches your fingertips. Leaning up, you try not to get distracted in his eyes as you dab at the cut. You apologise as he hisses. It doesn’t look as intimidating when clean of blood, which is more than a relief. You dip back into the first aid kit and offer up two band aids. One is plain nude and the other Hello Kitty.

“Take your pick.”

He rolls his eyes with a small smile and grabs the Hello Kitty one, holding it out to you. You shift onto your knees, bending over him to plant it over his cut. You notice a bruise forming on his cheek bone on the other side, and a cut lip. You should have insisted he stayed over when he dropped you off. He looks up, as if he can hear your thoughts, and meets your gaze. You can’t seem to find it in yourself to move away.

“It’s not your fault,” he quietly says.

You swallow. It’s scary how easy he can read you. Makes you worry what other thoughts he can tell from your face. “Wished you just stayed here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Hate the thought of you going back to that house.”

“That’s sweet,” he smiles. “But if I didn’t go, I wouldn’t have you here taking care of me.”

“Oh, was it all part of your masterplan?” you joke, finding your smile again. His seems to grow at the sight.

“Something like that.”

When his lips press to yours, you’re taken aback. It feels like fire, searing hot, and you flinch like you’ve been burnt. You gape at him, wide eyed, and it seems to register what he’s just done. You both move to put as much space between you as possible, as if trying to keep the blaze from spreading.

“Shit, I—”

“I should go back to bed,” you hurry out.

JJ nods. “Yeah, yeah. Course.”

In your scramble to get back to your feet and back in your room, the first aid kit falls to the floor, the contents spilling out. You cuss and drop to your knees, rushing to retrieve all the clutter. JJ joins you, passing you gloves and bandages. You find some nerve to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he says. The sincerity in his voice…It’s painful.

“It’s okay. I don’t…It isn’t…”

You sigh. Your speech is just as messed as your mind. Closing your eyes, gathering your words, you take a deep breath. Looking back to JJ, you shake your head.

“We can’t.”

“I know,” he replies, almost sadly. Nods once more. “Yeah, I know. I’m just…high. And tired.”

“Right. Course.”

And whilst his excuses should sting, they don’t, because you don’t believe them. JJ smokes enough weed to not be affected all that much by half a joint. But you don’t argue. Instead, you close the box and go to head inside. You stop in the doorway.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you say.

You spare him one last glance. He’s on the floor, head hung and back to you, and you consider staying. But you don’t. You go straight to bed, acting as if a fresh start tomorrow will reset the entire thing.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

In the morning, JJ’s gone. John B doesn’t seem to have even realised he’d stayed over. You find your older brother in the kitchen, washing up the dirty dishes. Swiping up a towel, you come to help.

“Hey. Sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” you lie. “You?”

“Like a rock,” he grins. “You still up for that keggar tonight, at the boneyard?”

“Oh shit, that’s tonight?”

“Yeah. All the others are going,” John B says.

“Yeah, I’ll go. I think I’m catching a ride with Lizzy from work.”

“Alright. Just stay safe.”

“I will,” you drawl. He smiles at you before turning back to the washing up. “Hey, John B?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For letting me stay here.”

“Yeah, course,” he says. He pauses his handy work, turning his attention to you. “You’ve always got a bed to crash on here, even if child services are up my ass.”

“I appreciate it. I really needed to get out of Colorado.”

The seven missed calls from your mom slip into your mind. Her texts go unanswered, but she knows you read them. You don’t want her to think you’re in danger. Talking to her is just too much right now.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I needed you back too,” he says. “Things have been kinda messy since my dad…disappeared. I don’t know what I’d do if I was on my own.”

“You’re never gonna be on your own, though,” you smile. “The Pogues would do anything for you. It’s actually kinda scary.”

John B laughs at that. “Yeah, yeah, they’re, uh, not the smartest.”

“Apart from Pope,” you point out. He nods, smiling as he looks back to the soapy water.

“Yeah, apart from Pope.”

“JJ cares about you a lot,” you feel the need to add. His voice last night, apology ready, after your kiss, echoes in your mind.

“I know. I feel like you two are the best things in my life right now,” John B admits. The guilt multiples by tenfold with that. You fix your face when he looks to you. “So, thanks.”

“No worries, big bro,” you reply, nudging his shoulder with yours.

He laughs. “Thanks, little sis.”

With that, you both continue cleaning the pots. The shame from last night gets shoved down into the deepest, darkest pit of your stomach, and you try to go about your day without sparing another thought to JJ.

On the way to the keggar, Lizzy grills you about your ‘crush’ on Tom. “He’s gonna be there tonight, I think.”

“Oh, really?” you say. You know you don’t sound enthused. It’s too much effort to pretend.

“Everything good?” she frowns, glancing away from the road.

You nod and plaster on a smile. “Yeah, yeah. Just tired, I think.”

“Couple drinks in you and you’ll be wide awake, I promise,” she assures.

Nodding, you shift in your seat and look out the window. Your skirt rides up in the processes. It’s a little short but it’s so ridiculously hot tonight, you can’t seem to care. A crotchet style crop-top dresses down the outfit. You don’t want to seem like you’re trying too hard for a beachside keggar. As you pull up closer to the boneyard, cars line the roads. Lizzy finds a spot and parks. You grab the crate of Budlight and her the box of White Claw, and you hop out the car towards the beach. Her stories about work and school have brightened your mood.

She’s tall and remarkably cool in a way that you never will be. She has stick and poke tattoos on her knees and elbows, and nine piercings on one ear. Her nose ring and snake bite piercings are far from intimidating on her cherub like features. The buzzcut has been dyed neon blue, standing bright against her dark skin. As you pass groups of teens, she shouts hello to those she recognises and shares the odd bro-hug.

You add your drinks to the pile of booze before grabbing a can, cracking it open. A quick scan of the scene tells you that the Pogues are still pre-drinking at the Chateau. You’d managed to dodge JJ so far.

“This is a pretty decent turn out,” Lizzy tells you, swigging from her can.

“Know a lot of people here?”

“Sure,” she says. She points to a gaggle of polo-shirt wearing pretty boys who look like they could snap you with one finger. “Those are the gym rat kooks. That tall blonde Topper is with the princess of Figure Eight, Sarah Cameron.”

JJ was right: biceps without a brain. You watch as he shotguns a drink and cracks the can on his forehead. Sarah Cameron, blonde hair straight flowing down her back, does not look impressed.

“And her brother Rafe. That guy’s all kinds of whacked out,” Lizzy mutters. You follow her finger to spot a tall, short haired guy. He looks unapproachable, even from far away.

“Yo Lizzy!”

You both turn to find a crowd of girls and guys. One of them is waving at Lizzy and she waves back.

“Come on, I know these guys. They’re cool,” she tells you, taking your hand and guiding you over.

You’re introduced to everyone and soon enough are roped into beer pong and shots. It’s fun though. Everyone’s having a laugh, cheering each other on. You hear about some good spots to grab food and learn Michael, Lizzy’s closest friend, can drink you under the table. A few hours in and there’s a comfortable buzz to your bones. You haven’t thought about the Pogues, or JJ, or the fleeting kiss all night. As you laugh along to one of Michael’s soccer stories, someone taps you on the shoulder. You turn around to come face to face with Tom.

“Hey,” you smile, squiffy.

“Hey! I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

“Yeah, I came with Lizzy.”

“Hey, Tom,” she smiles before sending you a more than suggestive look. Oh, shit. The lie. “Hey, why don’t you go get my girl a top up?”

Before you can contest, she’s taking your half full can out of your hand and coaxing you away with an assuring smile. Tom takes it in stride and walks with you to the coolers. He grabs two cans of beer, passing one to you, and you cheers him.

“How you finding Kildare?”

“Good.”

“Yeah? You been hanging with John B’s crowd, right?”

“Most of the time, yeah,” you smile, nodding. He makes a face before taking a drink. You frown. “What?”

“Nah, nothing. They’re just kinda…well, I mean, some people think they’re bad news.”

“Some people, huh?” you say cautiously.

“Just reputations and all that. Like that JJ guy. He’s got slippery fingers, if you know what I mean,” Tom says, wiggling his own in demonstration.

Suddenly this conversation is very unappealing. You glance off to Lizzy and the others. “I should probably get back to them. Thanks for the drink, though.”

“No, hey, no,” Tom says. He grabs you by the wrist. “Come on, I was being a dick. I’ve had one too many. Let’s just hang, alright? I really wanna get to know you.”

You look between him and Lizzy and sigh. Taking a swig, you shrug. “Alright.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tick you off.”

“I like the Pogues. They’re a good group,” you feel the need to defend.

“No, yeah, they are!” Tom agrees. You can smell the stench of liquor on his breath. “I just don’t want you to get corrupted by them.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just, you’re new here—”

“And so I’m clueless on how to judge people?” you finish sardonically.

Tom rolls his eyes and it makes your anger tick. “Come on, you don’t gotta be a bitch about this.”

“What did you just call me? You know what? Forget it,” you scoff, snatching your arm away from his hold. “Have fun drinking on your own.”

But you don’t get very far before he’s grabbing at you again. “Calm down, would you? Just gimme—”

“Let go!” you demand.

His grip only tightens. The strong front you’re putting on begins to crumble under the panic of this guy is way bigger than me.

“Just quit bitching and we can talk,” he says harshly.

“I don’t want to talk. Now please let go of me,” you firmly return.

He doesn’t let go. Keeps chattering away, insisting that you have to hear him out.

“Let go, Tom!”

“Everything good here?”

Your wide eyes look away from Tom and land on JJ, and your whole body relaxes. He’s looking at you and the panic must read clear on your face because his demeanour changes in a split second. Jaw tight, he turns to Tom.

“I think you should let go, man.”

“You think I’m gonna listen to you?” Tom scoffs.

JJ takes another step towards him. He towers over Tom by enough to be intimidating. “Think you should listen to her.”

“Oh, I get it,” Tom snarls. He lets go of you and you can feel your skin breathing. You rub at the pink marks, easing the sting. Tom gets into JJ’s face, undeterred from a fight. “You wanna keep John B’s sloppy sister for yourself, huh?”

JJ’s fist flies at Tom’s face, making an ugly, visceral sound as it lands on his left cheek. You gasp. Nearly knocked off balance, Tom stumbles on the sand. The commotion has drawn in somewhat of a crowd. Before you can intervene, Tom’s throwing hands. He aims an upper cut to JJ’s jaw but he’s quick to dodge, landing his own punch instead by Tom’s eyebrow. That one seems to deter him. He trips backwards. The chanting of the crowds egging it on makes you feel sick. You’d just finished patching JJ up last night, and you’ve seen his anger before. It takes control quickly and blinds him to reason. The last thing he needs is to wind up in a cell. So, before he can land another hit, you’re stepping forward and grabbing at his arm, stopping him.

“Come on, let’s just go,” you say pleadingly.

His chest is heaving with anger, breathing short and jaw heavy set and tense. He hesitates, looking between yourself and Tom. He’s still cradling his last hit, trying to regain his composure. Sighing, JJ lets you lead him away. Tom’s heckling is laced with slurs directed at you, and you have to keep a steady grip on JJ to keep him from going back.

“He’s not worth it, JayJ,” you mutter.

“You’re so wrong,” JJ darkly returns, but he doesn’t go back.

Away from the beach, back on the road, you let go. He paces for a moment, trying to calm himself. Tugs off his cap and rakes his fingers through his hair, breathing deep and slow. You don’t speak: just let him go through the motions. Babying him through this isn’t going to help anyone.

Whilst violence isn’t the answer to anything, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t grateful for JJ’s help.

Letting him cool off, you take a seat on one of the fallen tree trunks.

“Hey.”

Looking up, JJ walks over. He’s mostly back to himself.

“You okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No. Just freaked me out a bit. He’s not usually like that. He’s just drunk.”

“Like that’s an excuse,” JJ scoffs. He takes the spot next to you, sitting worryingly close.

The culmination of last night and tonight makes your head spin. The effects of the alcohol vanished the moment Tom took a hold of you. Now you just want to forget the whole thing.

“Wanna get out of here?” JJ asks.

You turn your head to face him and smile smally, nodding.

“Come on. I brought my bike.”

His red bike is parked beside the Twinkie. He climbs on first and offers a hand to help you onto the back. Your arms slot around his middle, circling around his taught chest, pressing yourself against him. Face resting on the middle of his back, you try not to inhale the smell of him. It might be too much for tonight. His calloused hands on yours have you shifting your hold, ensuring your tight against him like a backpack.

“Good?”

“Good,” you quietly reply.

He kicks off the stand and starts up the engine. You pull away from the keggar and up the road, zipping down the isolated streets. There’s nobody around at this time. Not a soul in sight. It feels so right, wrapped up against him like this, safe in his presence. Tom was wrong: JJ wasn’t bad news. Sure, he was a klepto, but he was the same guy who learnt how to sew to fix your favourite pair of shorts when you were little. The same guy who stepped up when some dirtbag was harassing you. The same guy who remembered you don’t like pickles on your burgers. Who looked at your paintings as if they were Picasso.

Somewhere along the ride, one of JJ’s hands comes to rest on your own. You don’t ask why and don’t pull away. Just let the reassuring weight of his hand on yours stay there and ground you to him like an anchor. Here, flying through the night, you can pretend like all the other shit doesn’t matter. It’s just you and him.

He starts onto a dirt track, slowing down, and a house emerges. Pastel yellow painted exterior hidden behind porch netting. There’s clutter of engines and fishing gear amongst surfing supplies. He pulls to a stop and kicks on the stand, turning off the engine. It’s quiet now, without its rumble. “Your dad home?” you can’t help but ask, staring at the front door.

JJ shakes his head. “No. He’s out on Friday nights. Kinda the only routine he has.”

You don’t ask where and he doesn’t expand. You step off the bike and watch as he clambers off too. Fixing your skirt, you wait for him to talk. He doesn’t. “I should probably head back,” you say. You’re not entirely sure why you came to his place instead. You’d assumed when you got on the bike that he’d take you back the Chateau.

“I mean, we can share a joint first if you want. Help you calm down and stuff, after that shitshow,” JJ half-chuckles.

There’s something heavy in the humid air. It’s hard to describe, hard to place, but you can feel it like static electricity. You find yourself nodding. He nods too and starts up to the house, hands in his black short pockets. You watch his feet sink into the grass and guide your eyes up his figure. His shoulders are tense, dressed under a thin t-shirt. He ditches his cap on the kitchen counter when you walk through the door. Through the house, past the neglection, and to his bedroom. He flicks on the light and clears his throat as he goes to his desk drawer.

You stand, leaning against his door until it clicks closed, and look around his room. There’s a world map pinned to the wall but no markings on it asides from one: Kildare, North Carolina. Print outs of palm trees and pressed, framed butterflies and leaves seem less innocent when placed between posters of models on the beach. The floor is a mess of dirty clothes and empty beer cans. Several dead vapes litter near the overflowing bin, and cigarette and joint buds scatter the windowsill and beside table. But the smell of JJ hangs strong in the air; it makes you smile to yourself.

“Alright,” JJ sighs. The desk drawer slams closed and he turns around, holding up a fresh joint and lighter. His initials are scratched into the metal: JJ. He sits on the bed and places the blunt between his lips, flicking at his lighter. You watch him take a drag and take it off him when he offers it over.

No words are shared as you pass the bud for several minutes. You both glance around the room, at the floor, at the ceiling, anywhere but each other.

“How’s your face?”

“Huh?” he asks, finally meeting your eyes.

You nod to his cheek. “Your cut from the other night?”

“Oh, right,” he mumbles. He lifts a finger and strokes it absentmindedly. “It’s alright.”

“Good.”

JJ hands you the joint again, you take a drag, you pass it back to him. That same feeling from earlier, when you first climbed off the bike, has only amplified.

“So…”

You brave clearing the distance between you. You take the spot next to him on the bed.

“We gonna talk about it.”

“What’s there to talk about?” JJ deflects, studying the floor.

“Well, you kissed me,” you eventually reply, taking the joint back. “So, there’s that.”

“I already told you,” he sighs. “I was tired and doped up.”

When you say nothing, he looks up at you. "What? You think I'm lying?"

You take a drag. Shrugging, you honestly reply, “yeah, a little.”

He holds your gaze as if challenging you to back down. You don’t. Beating around the bush won’t help anything here, and its obvious you can’t go back to acting like it didn’t happen. You can’t move past it until you know why he did.

“S’just weird,” JJ mutters, looking away. “What happened last night, with me and you. S’just weird.”

“Yeah, it was weird for me too,” you agree. Swallowing, you take another hit. “But not bad weird, right?”

JJ’s head lifts once more. His eyes flash across your face like he’s searching for some kind of trap. He sucks his teeth in contemplation. “No. Not bad weird.”

Your heart stutters, breathing shaky and unsure. You feel your eyes dart down to his strawberry pink lips, and his to yours. But then he’s shaking his head. “What are we doing?”

“I don’t know…” you breathe. You’re transfixed on his lips. Can’t move away, can’t bring yourself too. The blunt in your fingers is burning away, ash dropping to the floor, but you don’t care. All of it, everything but JJ, is white noise.

The moment you flit your eyes up to his, something shifts in him. His jaw ticks as he clenches it. Your brows pull in thought but there’s no time for you to ask.

“Fuck it.”

His lips are on yours within a breadth. He consumes your senses like a drug, dulling down anything else until all your thoughts are on him. He grabs for the blunt in your fingers, haphazardly putting it on the bedside table, and then his hands are sliding up along your sides, up your back, into your hair. One finds purchase on your cheek, and you rest your jaw in his hold like a bird settled in its favourite branch. The way he holds you like you’re something holy is different to how sinful his kiss is. It’s pure passion: raw, animalistic heat from weeks of build-up. And, God, it feels so right. The way his tongue brushes against yours, warm in your mouth, heavy in your head. The nip of his teeth on your lips and the fanning of his breath when he has to break for air. You’ve never been kissed like this before, not by anyone. It’s dizzying.

Until it isn’t, and he’s pulling away. His forehead rests against your own. You’re both panting. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” he says.

You slide a hand up his neck, tracing his jawline with your fingers. He practically melts under your touch, eyes slipping shut. “I know,” you whisper distractedly. Your thumb traces his lower lip. It’s swollen from your kisses.

He blinks his eyes open. “I’m serious. He can’t know.”

“He won’t,” you say, going to reconnect your lips.

But JJ stops you. “No, he can’t. He’d…God, he just can’t.”

You want to cry, seeing the moral dilemma weigh on JJ, feeling you share the burden. But the thought of walking away from this, of not feeling every inch of him, of never hearing him fall apart, makes you want to sob.

“Maybe just one time,” you murmur. Your finger traces down his chin, along the centre of his neck. “And we can just get it out of our system.”

“Yeah,” JJ mumbles. “Yeah, one time.”

“Yeah?”

You meet his gaze. His pupils are dilated, heavy with lust, and you feel your body ignite. “Touch me, please.”

With that simple mark of consent, JJ’s unchained. He doesn’t hold back when your lips reconnect. Somehow it becomes deeper, rougher, better. It’s such a strange oxymoron, the way he touches you and kisses you. You pull away to remove your crop top, and he takes the moment to strip off his shirt. The two of you are shameless as you take in the other. Reaching out a hand, you run your fingers up his chest in the way that you’ve imagined so many times before. It’s funny how in your head, you’ve already done it. His eyes dip down, watching your hands explore. You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his left pectoral, then his right. Sighing, his chest drops up and down with uneven breathes.

“So pretty,” you say through your kisses.

His fingers tether into your hair. There’s a slight tug that sends ripples of pleasure through your body in ways that it shouldn’t as he pulls you away, guiding your lips back to him. As he crawls atop of you, you inch up the bed, skirt riding up. You settle on our back. JJ’s greedy in his touch. Strokes your skin, explores your body, like it’s his own. And in a way it is because you’d give him anything if he asked. When his fingers slip behind your back, searching for the clasp of your bra, you lift yourself onto your elbows. He holds your gaze as he unfastens it, guiding it off your shoulders, helping it off your arms.

“Fuck,” he sighs.

A smile teases at your lips. It takes a certain type of guy to make you blush at the sound of his curses. Your head rocks back, eyes sinking closed, as his lips latch around your nipple. A hand palms at the skin, teasing your breast, exploring your reactions. You sigh out your pleasure, bringing a hand up to mess with his hair. It’s better than you imagined. Tops every fantasy, every wet dream, every sinful thought. And it’s only just begun.

“So fucking sexy,” JJ groans, kissing up your body until he finds your lips.

You don’t want him away from you. He looms over you, encasing you in the safe, consuming feeling of his presence, trapping you in the smell of his cologne and soap that you’ve tried so desperately to avoid. Through the kisses and love bites marked into necks and collarbones, you feel one of his hands ghost the outline of your figure. Traces down so slowly like you might not even notice. Down, down, to your panties. It’s there that he sweeps over your cotton covered mound. You sigh against his lips in anticipation.

“I know you’ve been thinking ‘bout this,” JJ says.

His voice is just as you pictured it: deep and crooning, his Southern accent at forefront. You want to bottle it like brandy and drink it until you black out. His lips work down your neck as he lightly circles your clit over your panties and you can’t stop your moan.

“I heard you, the other night.” Your eyes shoot open. JJ meets your gaze. He’s dying, the desperation clear as day on his face. His eyes themselves could send him straight to hell. There’s the shadow of a smirk.

“Were you thinking of me, whilst you were getting off?”

You go to push him away. The last thing you need is for him to tease you about it and make fun. But he doesn’t let you. Instead, he kisses just below your ear.

“Cause I think about you. Every night since you’ve been back. Can’t jack off to anything else,” he confesses into the crux of your ear. Your only reply is a small, surprised gasp. Your body’s ablaze with his words.

His fingers finally dip below your panties, sliding between your soaking folds. He groans at the sensation and you feel your legs give way. He works at you for a while, toying with you like it’s a side hobby. You’re only half aware of the sounds you make. One of your hands has situated itself on his upper back, nails scratching at the skin. JJ can’t seem to keep his mouth shut. It’s one blasphemy after another, and it drives you deeper and deeper into the abyss. He seems to become impatient. He removes fingers to push your underwear down. You kick them off at the ankles with a small giggle.

The moment his finger sinks into you, you swear you’ve seen heaven. JJ worships you, taking his time to inch you closer and closer to the edge. Another finger, then another. The stretch is heaven. Your back arches off the bed, mouth agape, brain dumb with pleasure. He won’t be quiet. He whispers praises into your ear. Narrates his own fantasies he’s harboured about you. Know you’ve been teasing me with those tiny bikinis. I wish I fucked you on the porch the other night. The moment his thumb swipes over your clit, you know you’re close. And then he’s bending his fingers just slightly, hitting that spot. You abandon all religion: this is the only type of prayer you need.

JJ has the audacity to laugh as you climax. You grasp uselessly at his body, the bedsheets, anything. You use a shaky hand to push his fingers away, overstimulated, and he finally relents. Starts kissing at your neck like a Goddamn vampire.

“That good, huh?”

You can’t really formulate words. You just drag his face to yours, kissing him senseless. When you inevitably part for breath, JJ leans back. He pinches your chin between two fingers, gnawing at his lower lip, and parts your lips for him. Your body pulses at the submissiveness he’s placed you under. Then his used fingers are slipped into your mouth. You close your lips around them, holding his gaze as you suck them clean. The salty distinct taste is unfamiliar but not necessarily unpleasant. He gives a small laugh, like he’s in disbelief.

“Fuck. Why did we wait so long to do this?”

You pull his hand free, taking grip on his shoulders. Pushing him against his bedroom wall, you move to straddle him. His hands fall onto your hips. Somewhere in your heady make-out, you rock yourself back on him. JJ groans; his head knocks back against the wall. He’s rock hard. It must be torture. You shuffle off him to make room to pull his shorts off. They join the mess of clothes on the floor. The tip leaks precum, straining painfully. You go to jack him off but JJ stops you.

“I won’t last,” he admits, half-embarrassed.

You nod, biting back your smile. “You got protection?”

“Top drawer,” he says, nodding to the bedside table.

You lean over and dig about before finding a condom. You come back, tear it open, and gently slide it over him. He lets out a shuddering breath at your touch, eyes clenched shut in concentration. It makes you feel slightly guilty for letting him indulge you for so long, but this will pay it back.

Straddling him once more, you steady yourself with one hand on either shoulder. His find home on your hips once more, and he helps you line up. Then you slowly sink down onto him. The stretch stings despite the earlier efforts. Head hanging forward, mouth falling open in silent moans, eyes clenching shut, you take him in. JJ’s mumbling praises, eyes transfixed on where you connect, spurring you on. Taking me so good. Jus’little more. You rock against him, using whatever energy you have to ride him. He helps guide you, head resting against the wall. You love that he isn’t quiet. Love that you’re on top and can see every ripple of pleasure course through him, reflect on his face. But when his eyes slip shut, you take a hand and guide his face to yours. Pressing your forehead against him, you lean forward and steady yourself with a hand on his chest. The new angle is euphoric. You moan and whine against his lips, eyes staring into his own. It’s the most hideously lewd symphony as the two of you chase your highs. There’s only one thought in your mind. And when JJ comes unannounced, shuddering as he finishes, never looking away from your eyes, only one thought is in your mind.

If it can only happen this once, it has to be perfect...

to be continued (part 2 will be released later this week)

[rafestyles]

should've known it was a matter of time pt. two || rafe cameron

author's note: if you haven't read part one yet - read it here. thank you so much for the love on the first part!! i haven't written anything in so long, but i'm going through something horrible (being completely addicted to rafe cameron). anyways - i hope you enjoyyyy :)

warnings/content: toxic!rafe, pogue!reader, maybank!reader, fem!reader

the next morning finds you perched on the bed, eyes trained on the sunlight as it spills over the horizon. at the sound of rustling, you turn your eyes below to catch rafe still sleeping on the floor - the rise and fall of his chest moving at a steady rhythm. anxiously biting your nails, you wrestle with your thoughts as you try to map out your next move.

last night, as you attempted to drift off, the words he sadly muttered to you echoed in your mind: “you forget i used to know you, y/n.”  your past self - the one who didn’t know everything that would happen - keeps urging you to tell him the truth about the diary, to confess. but this version of you, the one who’s learned the hard way, knows better. you can’t trust him, not after everything and especially not when he’s making deals with his father. 

getting frustrated with yourself, your feet hit the floor with a sharp sense of urgency. you pace towards the window, heart pounding in your chest. one thought rings through your mind: you need to get out of here. now. you know your brother and friends are on their way - they’re coming for you, they always do - but that doesn’t mean you should sit back and wait, that feels like surrender. 

you steal one last glance at rafe before drawing the curtain back and tapping hastily on the glass. the guard standing in front turns around, his brows furrowing in confusion before you speak, praying he can read your lips. “go get mr. singh.”  you subtly gesture towards the door, “i need to talk to mr. singh.” 

as he begins to turn away, the sound of rafe’s groggy voice suddenly breaks through. “shut up! shut up! shut up!” he demands as he stands, reaching you quickly and gently grasping onto your arm, “what are you doing?”

you yank your arm away, “like i owe you an explanation.” you snap, shouldering past him as you stalk towards the door. “think for a second” he demands, scrambling to follow, “y/n, wh-what are you doing?”

you pound on the door, your voice desperate, “hello?” rafe steps closer, desperation lacing his tone. “y/n, what are you doing?” he reaches out to touch you again. “don’t - don’t touch me.” you beg, raising your hand to halt him.

to your surprise, he actually listens to your command, his hand clenching once before dropping back to his side. for a brief moment, a look of defeat flashes in his eyes but you watch as it quickly turns back into anger. 

ignoring him, you twist back to resume pounding on the door, “hello? i need to talk to mr. singh!” you call out, your voice firm. 

rafe dares to step closer to you, his voice a soft whisper as he speaks, “you’re lying about this diary thing.” it’s not a question - it’s a statement and you refuse to look at him as you shake your head, “no.” 

he scoffs, voice dripping with disbelief.  “you know where it is.” you squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head again, “no.” your voice barely audible, “i don’t.” 

abandoning your efforts at the door, you turn back into the room. rafe shifts with you, his eyes sharp and trailing your every move. “you don’t? okay.” he shrugs, but his tone betrays his frustration.

“you wish.” you mutter under your breath as you make your way towards the window, determined to get the guard’s attention again. 

“okay, listen - i wouldn’t tell me either.” he says, his voice low but frantic, “but he’s never going to believe we don’t know something, y/n.” 

you block his words out, rapping your knuckles against the window, “hey!” you plead, your voice rising, “hey!” 

rafe catches up to you, his hands laying gently but firmly on your shoulders as he turns you around to face him. his expression is intense as he speaks, “he killed that guy, y/n. don’t you get it?”

“hey!” you snap, shoving at his shoulders, desperate to get him off of you. your eyes lock for a heated moment as the only sound echoing through the room is your heavy breath. 

“look around, y/n.” he shakes his head, resigned, “i’m the only friend you got.” 

before you can respond, the sharp sound of a lock turning breaks the tense moment. rafe spins instantly, moving to shield your body as the door swings open.

you step around him without hesitation, your posture stiff but determined. “baby” he whispers desperately behind you, his voice raw. the nickname sends a shock through your body, but you push it aside, keeping your focus. 

“i need to talk to mr. singh.” your tone firm as you stand facing the guard directly. the guard’s gaze sweeps over you, assessing. “i have something to tell him. it’s urgent.” you insist.

as the silence lingers, you glance back at rafe to find him flexing his jaw angrily, his gaze burning a hole through yours.  “yes.” the guard finally responds. relief has no time to settle before a hand clamps down harshly on your shoulder. refusing to flinch, you force a nod, allowing him to guide you out of the room.

as you pass through the door, you steal one last glance at rafe. his eyes widen in panic as he takes a step forward. before he can speak, the door slams shut and the sound echoes through the hallway as you find yourself alone with the guard. 

–

“i lied,” you state firmly, standing in front of singh as he sits leisurely at the table. His eyes fix on you as you take a steadying breath. “i know about the diary.” 

he exhales sharply, a look of satisfaction crossing his features, but you continue on before he can respond. “i don’t have the original, but i can get you a copy.”

singh leans forward in his seat, reaching to grab a grape from the bowl in front of him. he pops it in his mouth with a smirk, “i’m relieved to hear you say that, you know.”he says smoothly. “may i offer you something to eat?”

“i’m not hungry,” you reply, your voice flat. 

“relax, nothing’s gonna happen to you now. you’re cooperating, and i don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

you inhale through your nose, trying to keep your composure. “i just want to get you what you want,” you say tightly, “and then i want to leave.”

the room falls silent for a moment as you gather your courage to say the next part, “look - i know where it is. but,” you hesitate, your voice faltering, “i have to go by myself. alone.” 

singh chuckles darkly, shaking his head as if he’s amused by your audacity, “but how would i know that you’d come back?” he leans back in his chair, voice dripping with condescension. “i need some collateral.”

“rafe’s here.” you offer, your voice quiet but resolute, “keep him.”

he scoffs, pushing himself up from the table “rafe.” he repeats, almost laughing as he strides towards you. “how did someone so young get into so much trouble?” 

he circles you and you turn to follow, “look, i know where the diary is. and if you let me go, i promise you, i can get it to you.” 

he halts abruptly, pivoting his body to face you again, “you know, i built this fortune myself from nothing.” his expression hardens as he steps towards you, “from absolutely nothing.” he points a finger at you, his tone taking on a darker note, “do you know how that happened, miss. y/l/n? hm?” 

“i can assure you, it wasn’t by being a fool. don’t waste my time.” he snarls, his voice low and menacing. 

you stand frozen, your heart pounding as fear coils tightly in your chest.

“the diary holds the key to the ultimate conquest, and that, my young friend, miss. y/l/n, is my destiny.” he points to his chest with emphasis, his eyes blazing with obsession.

you swallow hard as he leans in closer. “so you need to tell me where it is,” he hisses, “or i’m gonna -” 

the sharp ping of his phone cuts him off. he pauses, his jaw tightening as he glances at his device. after a moment, he exhales and walks towards the table, picking it up. you turn with him, watching as his expression shifts, a mocking smile spreading across his lips.

“hm,” he murmurs thoughtfully, chuckling as he reads the screen. “amazing.” he mocks, his eyes flicking back to you, “a text from our friend jimmy portis.” he waves his hands theatrically, “from beyond the grave, apparently.” 

alarm slams through your body as realization crashes down - this could only be your brother’s doing.

“it seems mr. portis has captured your friends,” he sneers, turning the phone to face you, showing you the picture of john b. and sarah on the screen. you swallow around a lump in your throat as he barks, “ryan!” 

the door creaks open and the guards steps inside, “get the big trucks and meet me in the back in three minutes.” singh commands without looking up. 

“copy.” the guard replies before disappearing back through the door.

he types a reply on his phone and gestures towards another guard. “get miss. y/l/n.”

“mr. singh, please -” you begin, but the guard grabs you roughly by the shoulders, steering you toward the stairs.

“please don’t hurt my friends! please!” you plead desperately, struggling against the weight of the guard. “please! please don’t hurt them, please!” 

“that depends, miss. y/l/n.” 

“Please.” you cry out again, tears stinging your eyes.

singh smirks, already turning away, “we’ll continue our chat later. i look forward to it.” he strides towards the exit as the guard pushes you towards the bedroom door. 

the door swings open and your eyes instinctively find rafe’s. he steps towards you immediately, concern etched across his face.

“inside.” the guard commands, pushing you past the threshold and slamming the door behind you. 

rafe’s hands gently grip your shoulders as he bends his knees slightly to try to meet your gaze.. “y/n, what happened?” he whispers, his voice low and urgent.

you can’t look at him. your eyes fixate on the space behind him, dread pooling into your stomach at the thought of singh’s men trailing after your brother and friends. 

“y/n..?” he murmurs again, his voice softer now.

you step back, letting the edge of the bed catch you as you sit down. rafe follows, kneeling directly in front of you. his eyes search yours, pleading for answers.

“please tell me what happened.” 

when he’s met with your silence, he stands back up, pacing around the small room. his patience begins to fray. “what happened?” he demands, sharper this time.

you exhale a breath, the tears threatening to pool over as you run your fingers through your hair anxiously. the words refuse to come as terror grips you.

rafe huffs, annoyance cutting through his worry. “you’re gonna have to talk to me at some point. okay?” 

finally, you lift your head, your voice cold and detached.“do i have to remind you of everything you’ve done?” 

his movements still, his body going rigid as your words hit him. 

“you killed peterkin.” you state bluntly, your expression unreadable. “do you remember that? and everything you’ve put your sister through?” 

he steps towards you, frustration radiating off of his body. “peterkin? i was protecting my father, okay? i did what i had to, so… don’t.” 

he turns away again, pacing furiously before dropping into the chair across the room. “i’m as much a victim as she is.” he mutters.

you stare at him, incredulous, “a victim?”

 “no?” he snaps, his voice rising as he gestures widely. “think about it, okay? what did i get from shooting peterkin, huh? nothing. okay? i had nothing against her. i liked her, y/n.” his voice breaks slightly, “you think i wanted to make that choice?”

his movements become frantic as his emotions boil over. “what i did was a gift from me to my father for… for him, and i got screwed because of it, okay? so don’t get that look when i say i’m a victim, all right? i am!” 

the outburst makes you flinch and he notices. his shoulders sag as his voice softens, “i will admit though, what i… what i did to sarah.,” he pauses, and you look over at him as you watch his eyes glisten with unshed tears.

“what i tried to do, um…what i tried to do to sarah. i admit that was wrong.” he looks at you as you watch him crumble, tears spilling over as his voice cracks,“i know that. all right? so you don’t have to remind me.” 

he runs his hands over his buzzed head,  standing as he begins to pace the room again. a small sob breaks past his lips as he exhales a deep breath, attempting to control himself. after a brief moment, he starts slapping his hands against his head repeatedly. 

acting on instinct, you stand and close the distance between you. you take his wrists gently, your thumbs brushing soothing circles over his pulse points. you watch as he struggles for words, “she was family. i never should’ve touched her, you know?” he says suddenly, looking at you through his tears, “i should’ve never touched her, but, you know, i just lose control in moments like that and i don’t know what happened.”

“i know.” you whisper. when he gets like this, you know how hard it is for him to regain his control. only allowing yourself to hesitate for one moment, you take a steadying breath before pulling him into an embrace.

he freezes before you feel his body relax slightly, “i’m trying.” he murmurs against your shoulder, his voice raw, “i’m trying to get better.” 

when he seems calm enough,  you take a step back, “i know,” you say softly, meeting his gaze.

but his face hardens again, the desperation momentarily replaced by defiance. “it doesn’t matter. all i’m saying is that i’m not the bad guy you think i am, okay?” he sniffs, his tone defensive. “but even if i was - even if i was just ‘bad rafe cameron’” he gestures between the both of you, his voice breaking slightly again, “you got no choice.”

the tension in the room sharpens as you snap,“and what about me?” 

he falters, face crumpling slightly.

“what about when you made me choose between you and my brother? between you and my friends?” your voice cracks as the tears finally fall.

he exhales and begins to pace the room again. “y/n…” he starts but you cut him off. 

“don’t,” you mutter, shaking your head. “i don’t want to hear it.”

“y/n, i -”

“seriously, rafe. don’t,” you beg, your voice barely above a whisper. “forget i asked.” 

he freezes, his frustration evident as he runs a hand over his head, “you may… you may not want to trust me,” he finally speaks, “okay? but i’m your best bet.”

you remind silent, the weight of his words sinking in. slowly, you sit back down, your gaze dropping to the floor.

from the corner of your eye, you see rafe kneel in front of you again. his hands rest tentatively on your knees, warm and grounding. 

“i got a boat that can get us off island, okay?” he says, quietly, “but first, we gotta get out of here, and it is better if we work together.” 

before you can respond, the sound of vehicles outside the window pulls your attention. your stomach sinks as you realize singh’s men are on the move. you stand quickly, stalking towards the window and pulling the curtains open.

“they’re leaving?” rafe questions, his voice breaking the silence.

“they’re going to find john b.” you say softly, dread evident in your tone as you turn back to face him, “and your sister.” 

you begin pacing, your mind racing as you try to formulate an escape plan.

“sucks for them.” rafe murmurs, his words making you stop in disbelief. “that’s good for us though. this may be our only shot at getting out of here.” 

the anguish on your face is enough to make him pause, but you shake your head, a look of determination washing over instead.

“you’re right,” you say finally, your voice resigned. “let’s make a plan.”

rafe nods, determination hardening his features. “let’s make a plan.” he repeats.

[pixelated-pogues]

Shaved Confessions (j.m)

Pairing: JJ Maybank x reader

Summary: An innocent moment of watching JJ shave turns into a little more.

Warnings: Fluff, slight suggestive content

Word Count: 1.6k

Gif creds: @cherryusa

“JJ,” I call, entering the Chateau without knocking first. John B always gave me shit for drumming my knuckles against the front door before entering his house, so I’ve finally broken the habit.

“You’re at my house more than you’re at your own, Y/n, it’s really not necessary to knock. Just come on in and let your presence be known,” he’d chuckled one day after answering the door to find me shyly twiddling my thumbs.

“In here,” he responds from the bathroom, leading me towards his voice. I find him hunched over the sink with his toothbrush hanging half out of his mouth, his eyebrows furrowed as he runs his fingers over the stubble on his chin. His hair is damp and disheveled, the towel wrapped haphazardly around his neck indicating that he’d just gotten out of the shower. “You like what you see?” My eyes lock onto his boyish grin for a split second before rolling back into my head.

“Just surprised by the fact that you actually shower. I always assumed you thought a dip in the ocean did the trick,” I quip back, shrieking when his towel whips against my bare thigh in retaliation.

“Oh shut up,” he smiles, throwing the towel back over his shoulders before spitting the toothpaste into the sink so he can rinse his mouth out. “That accusation holds no weight when you’re always telling me that I smell good.”

“Touché,” I hum, pushing past him to sit on the toilet. He gives me the side eye, ensuring that I catch the wink he sends my way before rummaging through the drawers to find his shaving cream. “Damn, you got a hot date tonight that I’m crashing by being here?”

“Bold of you to assume that you’re crashing my date instead of being it,” his eyebrows raise for a brief moment before he returns his focus to smearing shaving cream across his jawline. A sarcastic laugh falls from my lips, but the awkward cough that follows kills it’s credibility. JJ’s lips twitch knowingly, but he doesn’t say anything, instead he drags his razor across the left side of his jaw, ridding it of the stubble.

“That seems like a satisfying process,” I hum after roughly thirty seconds of comfortable silence.

“It is,” he agrees, turning the faucet on to clean cream off the razor. He moves to continue shaving before his movements pause. JJ straightens up, angling himself towards me, “You want to try it?” The question takes me off guard, my cheeks burning under his curious gaze. I opt for nodding rather than trusting my voice, standing from my position on the toilet to meet him at the sink.

“Sure,” I shrug, taking the razor from his hand. “The angle’s going to be a little awkward though.” JJ nods in agreement before hooking his hands around my waist to hoist me onto the counter in front of him. “You’ve gotta give a girl a heads up before man handling her, J,” I giggle, steadying myself with his shoulders.

“Noted, ma’am,” he comments, his own laugh mixing with mine before he situates himself between my legs. “Better, though?”

“Yeah,” I breathe, gesturing for him to look to one side so that I can focus on the task at hand. I gently hook one hand behind his neck to keep my grip steady, unintentionally sucking in a breath before carefully continuing the job. We stand in silence for awhile, JJ’s fingers mindlessly drawing shapes on my legs attempt to steal my focus but I reel my thoughts in rather than allowing them to make something out of such a small gesture.

“You look really cute when you’re focused like this,” JJ points out, just before I’m finished with the last section of his face. My eyebrows crinkle together at his words, a slight scoff escaping my throat while I rinse the razor one last time.

“I do not,” I huff, steadying my free hand against his neck again, my thumb resting right again his jaw. His adam’s apple slowly bobs at the touch, his tongue swiping across his lips before they curve into another smile.

“Yes you do,” he whispers, just as I finish up. I roll my eyes at him, moving to remove my hand from his neck but he halts my movements with his own, catch my hand with his to keep it in place against his skin. “In fact, you always look really cute. God, how’d I get so lucky to have you in my life?”

“JJ, what the hell are you saying,” I murmur, unable to fight the blush erupting across my cheeks. He’s always unapologetically flirted with me but it’s always been in a joking manner. The tone in his voice makes me believe that this time is different. “You sound love sick.” My voice wavers at my own words, disbelief evident as they rolled off my tongue. His eyes search mine for a moment, clearly an act of contemplating if he wanted to say what he was thinking while I remain frozen in place.

“Maybe I am,” he admits so easily, no hint of laughter evident in his words. I never thought he could be so focused on me before, his eyes seemingly swimming over every aspect of my face as an attempt to gauge the effect his words have on me.

“Don’t play with me,” I sigh, discarding the dirty razor into the sink. My voice low and unsteady. I’ve always wondered and desired for his attention to be on me in this way, to solely have his undivided attention as more than just his best friend, but now that this reality is unraveling in front of me, I can’t help but feel as though he’s joking around and tooling with my emotions. “I don’t think this is funny.”

“I don’t either,” he murmurs, casually catching my loose strands of hair with his fingers so that he can hook them behind my ear. His hand reminds in that position, his palm gently resting against my cheek as his eyes focus solely on mine. “Who said anything about playing? I’m being dead serious.” Another sigh rolls off my tongue, but I can’t keep myself from leaning into his palm, my eyes closing at the effortlessly comfort that his touch brings. “God, you’re so beautiful, Y/n.”

Now my eyes are snapping open with his admission, my head lifting to lock with his gaze long enough to assure myself that he’s being genuine. “JJ,” I begin, but immediately close my mouth when he shushes me, clearly not finished.

“God,” he murmurs, dragging his thumb across my jaw. “I’ve been in love with you for so damn long that it physically hurt me to keep it to myself anymore. I know we’re best friends, but I’ve always felt like we’ve been more than that beneath the surface. I just didn’t want to say anything in case I was wrong, but I couldn’t go another second without telling you the truth.” He pauses for a second, sucking in a sharp breath as he’s met with silence. “Please say something,” he breathes, both hands finding a home on either side of my face. My eyes flutter closed while I intentionally take a moment to cherish the feeling bubbling in my chest right now. “Tell me I’m not the only one that feels this way.”

“Kiss me,” I whisper, internally jolting as the words slip off my tongue before I can catch them.

“What?” he chokes out, his grip on my face tightening in the slightest so that I’ll look at him. My eyes flutter open to meet his gaze once again.

I lean forward in the slightest, just enough to where our noses nearly graze one another. “Kiss me,” I command gently, my heart skipping a beat when I catch his endearing expression just before he leans in, breaking the space between us to cement the truth that both of our heart have been living in denial about for ages. That we’re two best friends who were always destined to fall in love.

I gasp the moment our lips collide, my hands instinctively pulling him flush against my body while he takes the opportunity to fight for dominance, winning almost instantly. My fingers tangle themselves in his hair as he trails his lips down to my neck, the unexpected contact earning a breathy moan from me. He reattaches his lips to mine immediately following the noise, quickly hooking his arms under my thighs to hoist me into his embrace again, not breaking contact as he effortlessly carrie’s me to his bedroom and closes the door, pinning my body against it as his fingers swiftly twist the lock. He presses me into the faux wood of the door, slightly grinding his hips into mine with a husky groan.

“JJ,” I murmur breathlessly as he makes his way back down to my neck, his kisses growing more desperate with every passing second. “Hey,” I stop him, hooking a finger under his chin to force his attention onto me. “I’m all yours if you mean everything you said. I’ll let you prove it to me unless you’re gonna go changing your mind tomorrow.”

“Wouldn’t take any of this back if my life depended on it,” he mumbles, before turning around and dropping me onto the soft covers of his bed. “Count this as proof, you’re tied to me forever.”

I blink up at him, blindly shuffling backward toward the headboard with a daring smile dancing on my lips. “Oh, I’m tied to you forever?” I pause, deepening the intense stare I’ve locked onto him while nibbling at my lip. Sparing him a slow, unquestionably seductive, once over before meeting his eyes again, I muster a taunting smile. “Why don’t you prove it?”

The expression on his face twists into something more feral, an exasperated groan bubbling from his chest as he launches himself on top of me, earning a surprised squeal in response.

————————

A/n: I’m currently dusting off some of my drafts in celebration of season fours oncoming release, when reading this one, I simply had to finish and share it with anyone willing to give it a read.

Tag list: @thelocalpogue @maaybanks @drewstarkey @ssjiara @bluebirdsbluebells  @spilledtee    @maebanks  @poguemackin @tomfreakinghollandneedsaoscar @outerbongs @ilovejjmaybank @marvel-writer @astrydis @hijohnd @pogueslandia @scenesofobx

[fiction-is-life]

A and B kiss while sitting together on a (surf)board. with topper! please and thank you <333

also, i came across that prompt on a prompt list on here. and it immediately made me think of topper for som reason!!😌

Surfing Lessons

Author’s Note: Thank you soooooo much for your patience in waiting for me to write this! I have had some major writer’s block lately, but I wanted to get something out before season 4 premiers! I hope this satisfies a little bit of your Topper cravings! And thank you for being such an amazing person!

Warnings: bratty sisters, the ocean, hurried writing (will probably go back to edit later), fluff

~

“(Y/N)!!!!!  Please!!!!!!” your whiny little sister pleaded again.

You rolled your eyes and groaned.  “Oh my goodness, for the last time, I do not want to take surfing lessons with you!  You can go by yourself if that’s how you want to spend your vacation,” you replied, trying to tan on the beach before going into the water for a while.  

“But they are doing lessons right over there, and mom said you have to go with me!”  She stomped her foot, kicking up a little cloud of sand.  You looked past her to where you could see some older lifeguards helping kids balance correctly on the surfboards, and it looked harmless enough.  They weren’t even in the water.  No chance to fall and embarrass yourself.

You sighed, “Fine.” You marked the place in your book and placed it into your beach bag. “But you owe me one, Mackenzie.” 

“Yay!!!!! Thank you, (Y/N)!” she squealed as she took your hand and dragged you over to the lessons. 

As you arrived, rubbing the soreness from your arm, the older instructors turned to greet you both, smiles on their slightly wrinkled faces. “Ah, thank you for joining us! We hope you are ready to learn how to surf and stay safe while doing it!” the one said.

“Over here we have our 10-12 year old lessons,” the other instructor said to Mackenzie before looking at you. “And over there we have our teen lessons with Topper and JJ.” The man pointed to a spot much closer to the ocean where two teenage boys stood with their boards in hand. They saw the instructor pointing and waved, welcoming smiles on their faces - handsome faces it is worth noting. They looked very nice and you were sure they were excellent instructors, but their proximity to the actual ocean concerned you.

You turned back to the instructors who had already started to teach Mackenzie how to stand on the board. “I’m not so sure if I’m ready for those lessons yet; this is my first time surfing, so maybe I should stay here with Mackenzie,” you explained, an irrational fear sweeping over you.

“Oh, don’t be a baby, (Y/N). Go over there for your lessons; I bet you I’ll be over there soon enough cause I’m gonna be a natural.”

You huffed and rolled your eyes once again, annoyed that your little sister had called your bluff so easily. “Fine, I just wasn’t sure if you could handle being by yourself,” you stated before marching closer to the shore, your cheeks growing red as the two boys came into better focus. 

Very handsome indeed.

They were both blond, but the one with lighter hair flashed you a charismatic smile, mischief in his eyes. “Hi, I’m JJ, what’s your name?” he asks smoothly.

You smiled back shyly, “I’m (Y/N).”

JJ’s smile grew. “Where are you -”

“Hi, (Y/N), my name’s Topper, and I’ll be your instructor today.” The other boy cut off the lithe blond’s smooth talking. Both you and JJ’s heads snapped to look at Topper. Topper saw the anger in JJ’s eyes as he looked over your head and gave an innocent smile - too innocent. “What, J? You took the last student. And look, here comes another right now.” You all three turned to see a fourteen year old boy come loping down over the sand. Topper waved to JJ. “Have fun, man,” he said, a laugh barely suppressed in his voice.

As Topper turned to walk a little farther down the beach, you followed, taking the opportunity to ogle his physique. His golden tan made his rippling back muscles stand out in sharp relief. You almost got caught staring at the place between his lower back and upper thighs when he turned around on a dime. 

That smirk returned, his eyes sliding over you slowly. Guess you hadn’t been as sly as you thought. “Let’s get started,” that deep voice of his making you shiver, no longer nervous about the water.

~

“Alright, (Y/N), you have the basics down.” You felt the loss of Topper’s heat as he stepped back from helping you balance.  You turned toward him. “I think you are ready to go in the water, and just in time, too, there are some pretty great waves coming now.”

You looked at the waves rolling in; they didn’t look too big, but you were still scared you may fall. “I don’t know, Topper…” 

He smiled sincerely, his eyes warm and surprisingly understanding.  “Don’t worry, (Y/N), I’ll be right with you the whole time,” he reassured.

You bit your lip, finally nodding. “Okay, Topper, I trust you.”

The next thing you knew you were paddling on your board, Topper a few feet away on his own board, watching your technique and coaching you. 

“Alright, (Y/N), here comes a good wave, so get ready to stand on my count. 3….2….1….Now!”

You stood quickly, trying to remember to balance as the wave started to take you. You felt a moment of pure exhilaration - the water kissing your skin, Topper shouting triumphantly in the background - before the wave grew too strong for you, knocking you off balance. You shrieked as you fell off the board and under the wave. You tried to raise up so you could breathe, but the wave kept pushing you down, relentless. Your panic rose to a fever pitch before you felt a strong arm wrap around you, pulling you up. You clung to your savior, your hair stuck to your face and obscuring your view as he pulled you up onto his surfboard and into safety.

Warm hands pushed the hair out of your eyes as his other arm held you to his chest. You blinked the saltwater out of your eyes and smiled sheepishly at Topper. “Thank you for saving me, Topper,” you whispered. 

“I’m just glad you are okay…and that you need a few more lessons,” he intoned, leaning in slowly. 

“Yeah, I think I’ll need a lot more lessons,” you agree huskily, closing the small distance between you.

Your lips met and the kiss was all sunshine and summer. You could taste the saltiness on Topper’s lips from the water, and you smiled into the kiss as Topper’s arms pulled you in impossibly closer. One of your hands slipped into his hair, tugging on the slightly knotted ends from the breeze. You pulled away slowly after a moment, savoring the memory right there and then. You pecked Topper’s lips quickly once more, not knowing what to say as he took your hand in his tenderly.

He shook his head in disbelief, a smile lighting up his whole face. “I’m so glad I was quicker than JJ,” he exclaimed, kissing you again.

~

My Masterlist

Taglist: @adventuresinobx @bradleybeachbabe @starkeyobx @penny4yourthoughts @topperscumslut @drewbooooo @honeybear-yammy @gillybear17 @hoebx @spinningintheshadows @fangirlfree @get0ut0fmyr00m @poppet05 @graywrites20 @yellowbitchs-blog @laneyy003 @hydraironcaptian @honeybuzzzzzz​ @powellsugarbaby​ @ietts @art3mas @haven247

[chiaraanatra]

✧⋆˙ 𝑂𝐵𝑋 𝑚.𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ๋࣭ ⭑

I'm looking for love, looking to cum, looking for something to fuck till it's numb. - Savage by Landon Tewers

《 navi 》 《 rules 》 《 inbox 》 《 ao3 》 《 tag list 》

∘₊✧────✧₊∘ ! 18+ MINORS DNI ! ∘₊✧───✧₊∘

── 🤍- Fluff  | 🖤- Angst  | 💜- Smut | ✧- Request ──

✧⋆˙ Rafe Cameron ๋࣭ ⭑

𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑡𝑠: - 12:05 am 🖤💜 𝑏𝑙𝑢𝑟𝑏𝑠 : - Long Distance 🤍🖤💜

✧⋆˙JJ Maybank ๋࣭ ⭑

𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑡𝑠 - Lavender Girl 🤍 𝑏𝑙𝑢𝑟𝑏𝑠 : - Place For My Head 🤍

✧⋆˙John B. Routledge ๋࣭ ⭑

𝑏𝑙𝑢𝑟𝑏𝑠 : - Cloud 9 🤍

✧⋆˙ Boys React ๋࣭ ⭑

- Self-Soothing 🤍

∘₊✧ ────── updated 7·2·24 ────── ✧₊∘

──💜𝑊𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑏𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑑? 𝐿𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒💜──

Gif by @maybankxw with edits by me

DISCLAIMER: 1) My blog may contain explicit content that some may find sensitive! Your media consumption is your responsibility! Minors please DNI!! 2) My works are not to be copied, reposted, translated, or used without my permission. AO3 & Tumblr are the only platforms I post on, under the username ChiaraAnatra. If you see my works anywhere else, please let me know!

[loomis-maxima]

I feel so rebellious using em-dashes all willy-nilly. You'll never stop me, never, ever, ever. Honestly I can't describe how much I love this Rafe fic and writing it is just so 😏🥰😍 I literally cannot wait for you guys to read it. I hope you guys are ready for dark!rafe + corruption <3333

[rafeandonlyrafe]

hey yall! it's rafeandonlyrafe (aka kt/katie). sorry for any panic i may have caused by deleting my old blog but it was a secondary account under i blog i really wanted to get rid of! so im back with this username as my main account and will be going through the process of reuploading all my old fics, but not tonight, because im seeing the other zoey in the morning!!

my old blog was football/soccer fanfiction and i recently became uncomfortable with writing for them. i received a lot of negative messages about this choice, so i decided the best thing i could do for myself was to completely start fresh. i would have warned people but it was a very rash decision that had to be done for my mental health, and i feel SUCH a big weight off my shoulders now just having this account.

also also i will be taking a littleeeee step away from writing only because im working on something REALLY exciting... a novel! that i'm planning to self publish on amazon. im sure it won't be good, but i've always wanted to write a full length book and i have some free time right now to write it so im going to go for it! i will not stop writing fics but they probably will slow down (even though i know i wasnt exactly consistent before)

[k2padfoot]

In the Quiet Hours

Rafe Cameron x Y/n

summary: A sleepless night at Rafes leads to a heated run in with Ward, uncovering dangerous secrets and dragging you into a deeper mess.

warnings: *TW* violence, sexual harassment, fear, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff.

The night in the Cameron house was unnervingly quiet, with only the soft hum of the AC breaking the stillness. You had been lying beside Rafe for hours, staring up at the ceiling unable to sleep. The heat combined with the swirling thoughts in your head made it impossible to fall asleep. So you decided to slip out of bed, careful not to disturb Rafe’s peaceful slumber, and headed downstairs for a glass of water.

As you reached the bottom of the stairs, the dim light from the kitchen caught your eye. Your steps slowed, it was late—too late for anyone else to be up.

You pushed open the door to the kitchen and stopped dead in your tracks. Ward was stood by the sink, a half empty glass of whiskey in his hand, his eyes immediately locking onto you as you entered the room. There was something unsettling about the way he looked at you, his gaze lingering a little too long, a little too intently.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Ward’s voice was low, almost a growl as he set his glass down and took a slow step towards you. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You tried to keep your composure, forcing a small smile as you replied, “Just need to get some water.”

Ward’s smile widened, but there was nothing friendly about it. “Water? At this hour?” He stepped closer, the space between you shrinking rapidly. “You know, there’s a much better way to take care of your thirst.” He slurred.

You felt your stomach churn at his words. “I should get back upstairs,” you said quickly, but when you turned to leave Ward’s hand shot out, grabbing your wrist. His grip was rough as your heart began to race.

“Why the rush?” he asked, his voice dripping with a fake sweetness. “Rafe’s out cold. He won’t even know you’re gone.”

You tugged at your wrist, but Ward’s grip tightened, his fingers digging into your skin. He pulled you closer until you could feel the heat radiating off of his body, his breath warm against your face.

“Ward, please,” you whispered, trying to keep your voice steady despite the panic rising in your chest. “Let me go.”

But instead of letting you go, he leaned in even closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “You’re too good to be wasting your time with my son. You deserve someone who knows how to treat a woman, knows exactly what she needs.”

Your breath hitched, fear tightening its grip on you. Ward’s free hand trailed up your arm, sending a shiver of disgust down your spine. “I could give you things no one would ever could,” he continued, his voice laced with something dark and twisted. “Just say the word, and I’ll make you feel things you’ve never felt before.”

You tried to pull away, but Ward was relentless, his grip like a vice. “Ward, stop,” you pleaded, your voice trembling now. “I’m in love with Rafe.”

“And that’s supposed to mean something to me?” Ward sneered, his hand moving to your waist, pulling you even closer. “Rafe doesn’t deserve such a pretty thing, he’s useless sweetheart.”

The way he said “sweetheart” made your skin crawl. You opened your mouth to say something, scream, anything at all, but before you could the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall.

“Ward, what the hell are you doing?”

Rose’s voice cut through the air like a knife, she stood in the doorway eyes wide with shock as she took in the scene. Ward’s grip on you loosened and he stepped back, his expression quickly shifting to one of feigned innocence.

“Nothing Rose,” he said smoothly, though his voice carried a slight edge. “Just a little late night chat.”

Rose’s eyes narrowed as she looked between the two of you, clearly not convinced. “Go back upstairs,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Now.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You quickly moved past Ward, avoiding his eyes as you hurried towards the stairs. As you reached the bottom, you could still feel his gaze on you, burning into your back.

You rushed up the stairs, returning to Rafe’s room as quickly as you could. The darkness of the room was a stark contrast to the burning anxiety in your chest, and for a moment, you just stood there staring at the bed where Rafe lay sleeping, his breathing deep and even.

You wanted to crawl back into bed, wrap yourself in Rafe’s arms and pretend nothing had happened, but the thought of it made your stomach turn. How were you going to explain what just happened? How could you even begin to tell Rafe what his father just did to his girlfriend?

Your thoughts were racing, tangled up in fear and confusion. You didn’t want to wake Rafe. You didn’t want to burden him with this, not when you weren’t even sure how to process it yourself. The last thing you wanted was to make things worse between him and his father, but the weight of what just happened felt suffocating and you knew you couldn’t just go back to bed and pretend everything was fine.

Without thinking, you turned and slipped into Rafe’s bathroom. The cold tiles under your feet grounded you just enough to keep the panic at bay as you shut the door behind you. You sank to the floor, your back against the cool wall, and pulled your knees up to your chest wrapping your arms around them.

The quiet of the bathroom was almost too much, the silence allowing your thoughts to race unchecked. You replayed the scene over and over in your mind, Ward’s voice, his touch, the way he looked at you. It made you feel sick, like you wanted to scrub your skin raw just to get rid of the memory. But no matter how hard you tried to push it away, it lingered, festering like a wound.

You sat there for what felt like an eternity trying to collect yourself, trying to figure out what to do next. But you couldn’t stop the tears that began to well up in your eyes, hot and stinging as they slid down your cheeks. You buried your face in your hands, desperate to muffle your sobs that threatened to escape, not wanting to wake Rafe and force him to see you like this.

But Rafe had always been attuned to you, even in his sleep. It wasn’t long before you heard him stirring in the bedroom, the sheets rustling as he reached out for you. When his hand met the empty space, you heard him sit up, his voice groggy and thick with sleep.

“Baby?” Rafe called out softly, the concern already creeping into his voice when you didn’t respond. You could hear him getting out of bed, his footsteps soft as he walked around the room searching for you. “Where’d you go?”

You tried to stay quiet, hoping he might just go back to bed, but when he reached the bathroom door there was no hiding from him. He knocked gently, the sound soft but insistent. “You in there?”

You took a shaky breath, trying to compose yourself before answering. “Yeah… I’m here.”

The door opened almost immediately and Rafe stepped inside, his eyes narrowing with worry when he saw you sitting on the floor, tears streaking your face. He was by your side in an instant, dropping to his knees in front of you, his hands gently cupping your face as he searched your eyes.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” His voice was laced with fear and concern, his thumb brushing away a tear that slipped down your cheek. “Why are you crying baby? Did something happen?”

You wanted to tell him you were fine, that it was nothing, but the words stuck in your throat, your voice betraying you with a broken sob. Rafe’s expressions shifted from worry to alarm, his hands tightening on your face as he tried to get you to look at him.

“Talk to me,” he pleaded, his voice cracking with desperation. “What happened?”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the moment you met his eyes the dam broke and everything came pouring out. “I-It was your dad… Ward— he…” your voice trembled as you struggled to find the right words. “He cornered me in the kitchen, he—he said things, Rafe, disgusting things, a-and he wouldn’t let me go…”

Rafe’s entire demeanor changed in an instant. His eyes darkened with a fury you’d never seen before, his jaw clenching so tightly you could see the muscle twitch. He pulled away from you, his hands dropping to his sides as he stood up abruptly, fists clenching and unclenching as if he was trying to keep himself from exploding.

“That stupid piece of shit,” Rafe growled, his voice low and dangerous. “I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

“No Rafe, please,” you cried, scrambling to your feet and grabbing his arm before he could storm out of the bathroom. “Don’t leave.. Please don’t leave.”

Rafe stopped in his tracks, turning to face you, his expression softening the moment he saw the fear in your eyes. The anger drained from him just as quickly as it had appeared, replaced with a deep concern that twisted his features into a pained expression.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, pulling you into his arms and holding you tightly against his chest. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You cling to him, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as you buried your face in his chest, breathing in his familiar scent. It was grounding, comforting, even as the storm of emotions raged inside you.

“It’s not your fault,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his chest. “Just.. please just stay with me.”

Rafe’s arms tightened around you, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, his voice etched with emotion. “I’m here okay? I’m right here.”

You nodded, the tension in your body slowly beginning to ease as you let yourself relax in his embrace. He gently guided you back down to the floor, sitting with you, his arms never leaving your body as he held you close trying to offer you some semblance of comfort.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered again, over and over, his voice breaking each time. “I should’ve protected you.. I should’ve known.”

“Rafe, stop,” you whispered back, lifting your head to meet his gaze. “You couldn’t have known, this isn’t your fault.”

He shook his head, tears welling in his own eyes now as he looked at you, his expression filled with regret and self-loathing. “I just.. I never wanted something like this to happen to you. You don’t deserve this, you deserve so much better.”

You placed your hand on his cheek, your thumb brushing away a tear that escaped. “Don’t, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” you said softly, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. “I just need you with me right now. That’s all I need.”

Rafe’s eyes softened and he nodded, his forehead resting against yours as he let out a shaky breath. “I’m here,” he whispered again. “I’m not going anywhere, I’ll be right here as long as you need.”

You closed your eyes, feeling a sense of relief wash over you as you leaned into him, letting his presence soothe the raw edges of your emotions. Rafe’s hands ran soothingly up and down your back, his touch gentle and calming as he whispered soft reassurances into your ear.

For a long time the two of you just sat there on the bathroom floor, wrapped in each others arms, the world outside fading away as you found solace in each other. Rafe kept murmuring apologies, but you hushed him each time because the only thing that mattered right now was that he was here with you, holding you together when you felt like falling apart.

And as minutes ticked by, you started to feel a sense of peace returning, knowing that no matter what happened next you wouldn’t have to face it alone. Rafe was here, and for now, that was enough.

[whytheylosttheirminds]

Woke up to see I’ve passed 1k, thank you all so much for being here, for being patient with my writing schedule and for supporting everything I’ve shared so far. Each of you means so much to me you have no idea!!! 🫶🫶🫶

Now I’m off to work on I remember everything’s last few chapters, the first few chapters of a new series I’m in the early stages of, and some more one-shots - all of which I hope to post in the next few weeks 💗

[featherandferns]

daylight - seven

jj maybank x fem!reader | part 7 of the daylight series | read part 6 here

content warnings: none

word count: 2.7k.

blurb: with JJ gone the next morning, you distract yourself with work and reunite with Barry at the garage. The next day, following a surf day at the beach, you find yourself worried that this thing with JJ may do more damage than it's worth.

Just as he had when the two of you fell asleep at the Chateau; JJ is gone in the morning. You’re groggy as you turn over in bed. Picking up your phone, you find a text from Mimsy. It’s a winking emoji accompanying a picture of her in a guy’s bed, with Darren’s sleeping back facing the camera. Laughing quietly, you text a reply requesting a debrief later. You open the Pogue group chat next and scroll through the typical banter-like chatter. Kiara mentions a surfing day soon and you reply, telling her tomorrow would be better than today.

You had a photography gig lined up today. A photoshoot of a new, hippie-style smoothie bar that had opened near Figure Eight by some trust-fund college graduate. They were willing to pay you a hundred for the pictures alone and another twenty-five if you edited them on their behalf. After that, you needed to edit the pictures from the Country Club gala since you got side-tracked last night.

With the mundanity of your morning routine, it’s hard to believe JJ had been around the night before. If it weren’t for the polaroid pictures which have your face light on fire (and are promptly stuffed at the bottom of your sock drawer), you’d think you might have hallucinated the whole thing. You’d be lying to say that you weren’t a little crestfallen to not find a text from JJ. 

It feels strange to drive your car after hitching so many lifts with JJ in the Twinkie. It’s when you’re halfway to the smoothie bar that your car makes a concerning, clunking noise. After the incident a couple months back, you’re ready for the thing to start steaming again. Thankfully, it doesn’t, but it prompts you to visit Barry’s garage after your photoshoot. 

Wandering into the garage, the smell of cigarettes hits you hard and strong. There’s old sixties rock playing through the speakers, the quality crackly, and you venture the isles looking for a worker. You end up poking your head into the main body-works section, rapping politely on the open door. 

“Hello? Anybody here?”

A man grunts and appears from behind a car. It’s Barry. He’s got an oil streak on his cheek and his sleeves are rolled up, revealing his fading tattoos. He eyes you up from across the room. 

“Do I know you?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m JJ’s friend? We came by here a few weeks back now,” you say, semi-awkward. Barry wags a finger at you as his memory jogs. 

“You’re the one with the busted radiator, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” you smile. “Listen, uh, it’s making a weird noise again and I don’t know squat about cars. I was wondering if you could give it a look? I’d be more than willing to pay, even for a glance over.”

Barry shoves his hands in his overall pockets and shrugs. “Course. JJ’s friend, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, anything for that kid,” Barry’s gruff voice says. He wanders over to you and follows you out to your car. Cracking open the bonnet, he talks as he inspects the engine. “You know, that kid’s pretty smart with these things, too. He’d make a hell of mechanic. You could’ve just asked him to check it over for you.”

“Oh. I mean, he checked it out when I broke down but I didn’t know he was that savvy with it,” you reply. 

“Hell yeah. Shame his dad’s such a bastard cause he’s got a hell of a mind for mechanics, too,” Barry chuckles, sounding almost sad as he does. “Poor kid got dealt a rough hand.”

“Yeah, uh, I get the sense he has a tricky relationship with his dad,” you tentatively say.

Barry spares you a glance. His eyes hold years of grief. “Don’t think his old man knows how lucky he is to have that kid around.”

Your mind darts back to the photo on the pinboard of his child. Smiling sympathetically, you nod. “He’s pretty special.”

“Damn straight,” Barry grunts in agreement. Then he continues inspecting your car in silence. 

You liked Kildare. The people were genuine and real. They looked out for each other on the Cut; offered a helping hand, generous with loans and handiwork. Sometimes it seemed quality of character was more important than money. You liked that way of thinking. Maybe if everyone took that line of thought onboard, the world could be a brighter place. 

“Well, I don’t see anything wrong,” Barry concludes, closing the bonnet. “Might’ve just been a screw or something shifting, or the brakes after going over a pothole. I wouldn’t stress.”

“Thanks,” you say. “I just thought it best to check it out.”

You reach into your pocket and pull out your wallet, fishing around for some dollar bills. Barry frowns at you and shakes his head. 

“You ain’t gotta do all that,” he says. 

“I insist,” you reply. “I mean, you’ve already helped me out for free before.”

“Nah, you’re good,” Barry returns. “Just leave us a good review or something. Could do with some more customers these days.”

You glance at the garage with that. It looks old and rickety, with dust stained windows and a tin roof. The font of the sign that lines the store is reminiscent of the seventies. You wouldn’t be surprised if it hadn’t been updated since then. 

“You know,” you say, looking back to him, “I do some photography. I’d be happy to pay you back by taking a few shots for some promo.”

He quirks a brow. “You any good?”

You dig out your camera from your bag and open the gallery, holding it out to him. Flicking through the shots of the smoothie bar, you let him take his time. His lips purse and brows raise, seemingly impressed. 

“These are pretty good. You sure you wouldn't mind?” he asks, handing it back. You smile and shake your head. 

“It’s the least I can do,” you reply. 

“Alright. You got yourself a deal. Come by whenever and we’ll get it sorted,” Barry returns, sticking out his hand for you to shake. You do so gladly. “What’s your name by the way?” 

You tell him. A sombre smile softens Barry’s wrinkled features. “That’s what we were gonna name my little girl.”

You’re not sure what to say and so you smile kindly at him. As you drive back home, you can’t help but feel as though you’ve made a friend. There’s the nagging feeling to tell JJ about it all but you don’t. Besides, he still hasn’t texted you since last night. 

The next day you go surfing. Walking up through the dunes, you find the Pogues on the beach dressed in swimsuits. Kiara is sitting on a towel, rubbing sunscreen into her leg, whilst the guys stand around talking. Their boards are scattered around them. Pope spots you first and waves. You wave back with your free hand, the other holding a White Claw. You’ve barely reached them before JJ’s hooking an arm over John B’s shoulder. 

“Hey, hey! Take a picture of us!” 

“She literally just got here,” Kiara scolds. 

Rolling your eyes, you entertain JJ. Fishing your camera out of your tote bag, you click it on, hold it up and take a mediocre shot. “Happy?”

“Yep,” JJ grins, letting John B free. 

Kiara stands up and grabs her board, dressed in leopard-print bikini bottoms and a plum-shaded bikini top. Before she can move, you blurt out for her to hold still and snap a sideways photo of her. 

“We didn’t just invite you here to be our personal photographer,” Pope assures you. 

Laughing, you ditch your tote bag on the towel. “I don’t mind. You guys take good photos.”

JJ wanders over to you, pinches your can of seltzer to have a swig, and looks out to the sea. “Waves look pretty decent today, right?”

“Hell yeah,” Kiara grins. Looking at you, she asks, “you joining?”

“I’m gonna take some shots first,” you smile. JJ passes you back your drink; you down it and place the can in the methodical ‘trashbag’ Kie brought. Ditching your shirt and shorts, you join the others to wander down to the waterfront, everyone talking over each other. John B and Pope wade out into the water with Kie, and then they start paddling deeper into the depths. JJ lingers beside you for a moment. 

“You sure you don’t wanna join?”

“I will in a minute,” you say. Lifting your camera, you add, “the lighting’s just really good today.”

“Alright,” he shrugs, walking into the waves. Looking back to you, he loudly adds, “you look hot in that bikini, by the way!”

You hide your fluster with an eye roll, waving him off into the water. A cheeky, knowing grin turns away from you as he paddles out, calling out to the others. As the sun beats down on the beach, you adjust the camera settings and focus on one friend at a time. Kiara dips in and out of the waves, curly hair flowing behind her, face set in focus. John B and Pope bend and lean, tightening their cores, the shadows of the rolling water enhancing the beauty to their form. Naturally, JJ is your favourite. Maybe it’s the smile on his face, brimming and bright, like he was born in the sea and destined to surf its waves. He makes it look easy. Rakes a hand through his hair from time to time, like he’s taking a leisurely stroll down the street. When he catches your camera on him, he points to you with a holler. You manage to snap a shot before he bails. The next one you get is of him, sinking into the aquamarine waves. You take that as your cue to ditch your camera with the rest of the belongings, snatch up your board and join them in the waves. JJ cheers you on as you pass him by, a little rusty in your technique. They were right: it was perfect weather for it. The water was tamer today than it had been in other sessions. Not as brutal in its churning of you when you bail off. 

Somehow, the five of you find yourself sat atop of your boards in a circle, chatting away as the sun dries your water-speckled bodies. 

“I think that’s it’s completely unjust,” Kie complains in her environmentalist spiel. She looks to you, “I mean, it’s–”

Her brows knit as she looks at something on your neck. 

“Is that a hickey?”

You glance down, lifting a finger to your skin, and realise that the shabby concealer work you’d done that morning had rubbed off on your t-shirt and washed away with the sea water. The picture of abashed, your eyes dart down to the water. 

“Uh…No.”

“Yes it is!” Kie grins. 

Pope paddles over and investigates it like a doctor might.

“Definitely not a rash or a burn.”

“I will push you off your board, Pope, I swear to God,” you grumble. He takes a wary paddle backwards. 

“Who the hell did that to you?” John B sniggers. 

Your eyes glance fleetingly to JJ, hopefully without the other’s notice. He’s sat watching it all unfold with a proud, shit-eating grin. Asshole. 

“Nobody.”

“So you’re saying it’s a phantom hickey?” Pope jokes in his bizarre Pope way. You push him off his board with that. He crashes into the water as the others laugh. Through their laughter, you overhear Kie talking to JJ. 

“Why do you look so smug?” 

“We should probably head back to shore,” you announce, “me and JJ gotta start heading to work soon.”

Turning away, you start paddling back to shore before anybody can argue. Never much to dwell, the group happily abandons their line of questioning and follow. On land, you dry off and dress. John B and Pope start battling over a bag of chips and Kiara has taken off collecting stray pieces of litter along the beach. JJ wanders up to you and pinches your butt. Spinning around, you glare at him. 

“Thanks for your help back there,” you say lowly. 

JJ shrugs, grinning, “fun watching you squirm.”

You swat his leg with your towel and he cusses with a laugh, hopping away from you. “Dry off. We got work in fifteen.”

JJ mimics you in a high-pitched echo but does as you say, rubbing himself dry of salt water. The five of you share the load as you walk back to the Twinkie. JJ drives, dropping the others at the Chateau before taking the both of you to the Country Club.

“Our deal still on?” JJ asks you. 

“Hell yeah. Get ready to pay up,” you grin. 

The two of you had made a bet the other day, about who would hear the phrase “excuse me” more. You debate  bringing up the other night, as the two of you ride to work, but you pull up to the country club before you have a chance to muster-up the courage. 

Venturing into the staff room, you and JJ open your respective lockers and begin to change into your uniforms. 

“Listen, I hear it way more than you do,” you say to JJ, referring back to the ‘excuse me’ battle,  as you pull on your blouse. “‘Excuse me, miss, can you take a picture of me and my family?’ ‘Excuse me miss, can you get one of me and my wife?’”

“Oh, come off it,” JJ sniggers. “ ‘Excuse me sir, get me one of those shrimp cocktails.’ ‘Excuse me sir, I need a refill.’”

“Your customers sound a lot less polite than mine,” you snort. 

“Tell me about it,” he grumbles. He tugs his shirt off and you watch the muscles of his back ripple. As JJ buttons up his work shirt, he turns to you and smirks. “You might wanna cover that up.”

You glance down to once more find your hickey poking out. Buttoning up your blouse, you shoot him a half-amused glare. “Next time can you put it in an easier to hide place?”

“Nah,” JJ leers, clearing the distance between you. His fingers reach out to brush at your collarbone. “You have a spot right here that makes you squirm.”

The intensity of his unwavering stare traps you in place like you’re under Medusa’s watch. Someone walks into the staff changing room - Larry, from the kitchen - and JJ takes a step away from you, turning back to his bag.

“Hey man,” he nods to Larry. 

“Yo.”

And just like that he goes about getting ready as if he hardly knows you. Sends you a cordial smile and nod as he departs, with a fleeting “see you later”.

It shouldn’t sting as much as it does. And maybe it wouldn’t, if it weren’t for Tyler. If it weren’t for how screamingly familiar it felt to how you spent six months of your life in Vancouver.

That softness in JJ’s eyes, hidden behind laughter and rambunctious shenanigans and even anger, at times, reminds you of Tyler. Brings back that girlish thought: that all girls want a guy to look at them like that, and only them. Have that gentleness saved just for you. It reminds you of how you felt with your ex. How he used to be different around you in an inexplicable way. Soft, kind, vulnerable. Real. He’d hold you and spin you around, and make you feel safe and special, until you realise that it only happened when he was with just you. That around everyone else, even your friends, he was distant and distracted. He wouldn’t hold your hand. Wouldn’t kiss your lips, let alone your cheek. Leave you to fend for yourself in conversations, like treading water in the sea, whilst he and his family sat, relaxing on a yacht only feet away. Relied on the excuse ‘I was going to…’ and became a master at apologising. Slowly, with time, it stopped feeling like a privilege to know only that side of him when nobody was looking. Instead, it began to feel like a curse. And JJ, with his smug silence at the beach and passivity in the changing room, you were worried that you might be retracing your steps.

That thought leaves a bad taste in your mouth from the moment you leave the changing rooms, and it lingers like stale coffee on your tongue long after the end of your shift. 

read part eight here!

taglist:

@princessuki21 | @psyches-reid | @heybank | @avengersgirllorianna | @rrosiitas | @yourmumstoy | @jjsfavgirl | @void21 | @fictionalcomforts | @gsp420 | @redhead1180 | @wearemadeofstardust0 | @mrs-jjmaybank | @ifilwtmfc | @heybank | @lilyw1235 | @belle101200

[alx1q]

⭒˚‧ ︵‿⭒ཐིཋྀ ཐིཋྀ⭒‿︵ ‧˚⭒ ⭒˚‧ ︵‿⭒ཐིཋྀ ཐིཋྀ⭒‿︵ ‧˚⭒

!! Many of these story’s will be 18+.minors DNI, you will be blocked !!

────────────────────────

Rec lists!

Obx

Rafe Cameron!

Jj Maybank! - in the making

Sarah Cameron! - in the making

Bullet Train

Tangerine - in the making

⭒˚‧ ︵‿⭒ཐིཋྀ ཐིཋྀ⭒‿︵ ‧˚⭒ ⭒˚‧ ︵‿⭒ཐིཋྀ ཐིཋྀ⭒‿︵ ‧˚⭒

Credit!

Lace divider - @canibalias

Other divider - @pandefresas

[pixelated-pogues]

Gucci Induced Heartbreak (r.c)

Pairing(s): Rafe Cameron x Reader; JJ Maybank x best friend!reader

Summary: The girl from the Gucci store captivated Rafe's attention, and you never got it back. JJ helps gather the remnants of your broken pieces.

Warnings: Cursing, cheating, angst, asshole Rafe :)

Word Count: 5.7k

A/n: MY WORK IS ORIGINAL AND IS NOT TO BE COPIED OR REPOSTED ELSEWHERE. Be kind. DON'T steal other people's writing, thank you.

Gif Creds: @seredelgi

I wish I was that girl from that Gucci store She never wore any makeup and she owns couture I got pimples where my beauty marks should be I got dry skin on my elbows and knees

I never liked her, wanted to be like her Hate how you look at her, 'cause you never saw me Like I was an arm piece, like I was an ordinary girl

“Rafe, why do we even have to go to Gucci? We’ve had a hundred conversations about how ugly all of their products are. How many times have you insisted that their stuff looks like it’s modeled after the tackiest pieces you’d find in your grandmothers house?” You groan, not understanding why he’s suddenly so interested in a store that he’s always hated. Rafe rolls his eyes at your displeasure, continuing to guide you down the busy street toward Gucci. “Why waste time ogling over things that cost more than your bike?”

“Because, Y/n, there’s a pair of sunglasses that Ward absolutely despises, and I want to buy them for our trip to Boca next week, to piss him off,” he explains, making a point to hold the gaudy door open so that you can walk in. You shoot him a displeased glare, begrudgingly walking past him into the overly air conditioned building, immediately crinkling your nose at the strong scent that wafts into your nose upon entering. The Pogue side of you immediately switches into overdrive at the proper atmosphere of the building. There are countless couples and shoppers ogling over various overpriced products, each of them looking straight out of a vogue magazine with their perfectly pressed clothing and expensive accessories. You can’t help but feel out of place in the vast room, the only sense of normalcy you feel comes from Rafe’s arm slithering around your waist to guide you through various display cases.

“Rafe Cameron, it’s good to see you again,” a sickly sweet voice muses, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Your eyes follow the voice, confusion clouding your features due to the unexpected greeting. Your eyes fall on a woman that can’t be much older than you. She’s naturally gorgeous, no sign of makeup adorning her face as she shoots your boyfriend a, much too, friendly smile. Bile rises in your throat at the sight of her inadvertently scanning over Rafe with a hungry expression, completely oblivious to your presence.

"Ah, Marissa, the pleasure is all mine," Rafe's flirtatious tone only adds fuel to your inner fire, confusion coursing through your veins at their being on first name basis. Unsolicited insecurity embeds itself into your chest the longer you witness them staring at each other. The woman's beautiful attributes and unwavering confidence makes the crisp air in the room feel like it's choking you out. You're convinced that if you walked away right now, neither of them would notice, and that fact makes you wish it was possible to combust in the thin air. You suddenly feel very aware of the weight of Rafe's hand on the small of your back, the normally comforting touch feels fiery and tainted against the fabric of your shirt.

"Who's your friend?" Marissa questions, not tearing her eyes away from Rafe's as she nods in your direction. The boldness in her lack of even sparing you a glance only makes you feel smaller and more out of place.

"Girlfriend," you speak before you're able to catch yourself, noticing the way Rafe's hand dropped to his side the second Marissa addressed you. You look in his direction, expecting an introduction, but opt to speak for yourself when he doesn't. "I'm Y/n."

She shoots you an overly cheery grin, reaching to shake your hand. "Y/n, that's a pretty name." You can tell she's being inauthentic by the way her voice grows slightly more shrill as the complement rolls from her tongue. Her focus doesn’t stay on you for too long, her eyes dancing to Rafe again, the insincere complement she’d uttered seemingly wasting away with the passing moments. “Can I help you find anything?” The flirtatious tone comes back the second he’d focus returns to Rafe, making your blood run cold at the way he clearly appears to be eating up her attention.

You willingly become a shadow in the conversation, opting to watching their interaction unfold as though you’re nothing more than an irrelevant fly on the wall. While the flirtatious demeanor and seductive heart eyes she’s pointing at Rafe emit a sour taste in your mouth, all you can focus on are the stars in Rafe’s eyes as he drinks her in. The sudden suspicion that Gucci sunglasses weren’t Rafe's actual intention behind stopping at this god forsaken store hits you like a ton of bricks, making you feel embarrassed by the fact that he dragged you into this interaction with zero regard of how it'd make you feel to see him so engrossed in another girl.

You decide right then and there that you don't like this girl. This apparent goddess, in Rafe's eyes. Yet, the reason for the dislike can't fully be attributed to the way she's shamelessly undressing him with her eyes. While that fact is a valid reason for your dislike in her, a bigger part of you dislikes her because you envy her. You envy the way that Rafe's soaking in her presence, latching onto her every word. You envy the way that he looks at her like she formed the stars in the sky, because he's never looked at you like that. Not even the first time he he'd admitted to being in love with you.

Being in the the presence of another woman that Rafe seemingly idolizes makes him feel like a stranger next to you. Rather than being Y/n Y/l/n, the girl who tamed Rafe Cameron by teaching him what it's like to be loved, in this moment, you feel like a nameless bystander. Nothing more than an ordinary girl. And it leaves you spiraling, standing invisible as they carry on in fruitless conversation.

I wish I was special I'd give all my special Away to a loser Now I'm just a loser

Standing in the Gucci store, silenced by insecurity and frustration, all you can do is feel envious of Marissa while harboring a major resentment for your boyfriend. The entire situation makes you feel ridiculously small, a wave of sadness settling into your chest the longer you remain unaddressed. Everything in you screams at you to move, to at least excuse yourself and pretend to scale the items in the store while the two catch up, but your feet feel glued to the tile floor below them.

Your sadness only grows when self deprecating thoughts begin trickling to the forefront of your mind.

Maybe if I wasn’t entangled in friendships with the Pogues. Maybe if I learned to bite my tongue and smile pretty during business events. Maybe if I let Rafe do whatever he wanted, be it coke, be it dealing, be it getting handsy with other girls at parties. Maybe, just maybe, I’d be deemed as special in his eyes. Maybe I’d have even an inkling of what this girl has that makes her so special. Maybe I wouldn’t be and feel like such a loser. Your brain relents, causing your hands to tremble and your breath to catch in your throat. Your eyes sting with tears of humiliation, but you quickly blink away all evidence of them. The last thing you need is for either of them to catch you getting emotional.

God, Y/n, you’re so pathetic. You scold yourself, forcing a tight-lipped smile when their conversation ends and their focus returns back to you. You notice them that, in the midst of their conversation, Rafe secured the sunglasses he came for. They’re now perched on the edge of his nose as his arm moves to snake around your waist again, the comforting touch feels insincere now that you’ve witnessed the way he looks at her.

“Ready to go,” Rafe asks, glancing down at you the second Marissa walks away to assist another customer.

“Yeah,” you hummed, your voice feeling poisonous on your tongue.

I used to be special But you made me hate me Regret that I changed me I hate that you made Just like you

You gon' hear mouth, you could kick me out You say I'm too wild, you gon' hate me now

"You're too wild, Y/n," Rafe's voice was condescending and low when he addressed you. His hand ripped through his previously styled hair after slamming the driver's side door, locking you both into the confined space. His eyes pierced through you, clear disapproval etched onto his expression as he glared deep into your eyes. The pressed suit he wore to the business event was wrinkled, no longer pristine due to being jostled in his manhandling you while dragging you out of the club to save himself further embarrassment.

You couldn't contain the bitter laugh that bubbled from your chest after he uttered those words, disbelief replacing the anger you were feeling when he shamelessly allowed that woman to throw herself all over him in front of everyone, knowing you were standing right there. "Of course that's all you have to say to me right now," you snorted, breaking eye contact to slide the uncomfortable heels from your feet. You needed something else to focus on outside of his insufferable gaze.

"What the hell else am I supposed to say? You know how important this event was for my family, and you just had to make a scene and ruin our chances of a normal night of business," he seethed, ripping at his tie. "Jesus Christ, you're a fucking child."

"I'm the child," you released an incredulous scoff, the insincere smirk on your painted lips growing. "That's right, I'm the immature one in this relationship. Have you stopped to realize that I wouldn't have caused a scene if you had enough respect for me to keep other women's paws off you? Hm? You didn't seem too concerned with your reputation when she was trying to rip your jacket off."

"That's enough," he barked, slamming his fist against the steering wheel, earning a startled jump from you. Your reaction gave him enough reason to compose himself. He sucked in a sharp breath and blinked his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose before straightening in his seat with a clenched jaw, finding you with his eyes again. "That's enough, Y/n. Your insecurity in yourself isn't enough reason for an unprofessional outburst in public. I get that you're half pogue, but that doesn't mean I need you flaunting it during business dinners like it's some special prize. Reputation may not be a big deal to you, but it matters a whole lot to Ward. If you want to keep him from forcefully extracting you from this equation, you'll hold your tongue next time your pride feels threatened by another woman."

Your jaw dropped at the audacity he had to utter those words to you. Of course he couldn't, or wouldn't, see your side. Of course he wouldn't admit that he should've had enough respect to politely deter the woman's advances. In Rafe's eyes, he's never wrong. Conflict and disappointment always fell on everyone else when it comes to him.

"Your insecurity isn't enough reason for an unprofessional outburst in public." "..hold your tongue next time your pride feels threatened by another woman." Rafe's words echoed through your mind the entire way home that night, your heart heavy with their hurtful connotations which you couldn't help but accept over yourself during the drive. It was one of the many times you were left to accept false realities over yourself after a situation that could’ve been shut down had he spoken up for your relationship.

You’ve always felt that having your feet on both sides of the island, being half pogue & half kook, made you special with your ability to understand both sides. Yet, Rafe always makes a point to remind you that your Pogue side makes you a liability, it hinders you from being extraordinary. At first, you told him off about it, throwing his antics right back at him whenever he declared that being half pogue was a major flaw. As the months dragged on though, the constant reminders, warnings, and arguments were tiring. You love Rafe and every arrogant, infuriating, slightly manipulative aspect about him. So, you stopped letting him hear your mouth. You stopped talking back and instead took everything that he had to say about your inescapable flaws, internalizing them. Eventually letting them silence you completely as you became the cookie cutter girlfriend he appeared to want.

That’s what you do when you’re in love. You compromise, no matter what it costs you. Right?

Boy, you got me fucked up, now I'm gettin' fucked up Thinkin' 'bout us fuckin', why you'd have to fuck her?

"Rafe, what the-" you stop in your tracks, jaw falling slack, at the sight of him in bed with another girl. "Rafe, what the fuck." Your voice comes out low and bitter, eyes trying to make sense of the scene in front of you as they scramble to separate from each other, clearly surprised by your presence. Rafe clamors out of his bed, swiftly pulling his boxers back on while you stand unmoving, in complete shock. Your fight or flight reflexes appear nonexistent as you freeze completely, the room spinning as Rafe approaches you.

"Y/n," he begins, eyes lacking any trace of sympathy as he grasps your face in his hands. "You weren't supposed to see this."

"You told me to come over an hour ago," you spit, shocked that any words rolled from your tongue in your seemingly vegetative state. "How am I supposed to believe that you didn't want me to see you fucking another girl?"

"It's nothing personal, baby. This is on me," he continues, resisting the urge to turn around at the sound of his guest shuffling out of his bed in nothing but his t-shirt.

"Obviously this is on you," you agree, words dripping with malice. "You're a piece of shit, and in case it isn't obvious, we're done."

With that, you shove him away from you, feeling accomplished when he stumbles backwards, managing to catch himself before he crashes to the floor. "I hope she was worth it." Your breath catches in your throat when the girls identity registers in your mind. The girl from the Gucci store. Marissa. The realization hits you like a freight train, carrying you out of Tannyhill hastily. Your brain solely focused on exiting the house as fast as possible.

****

"Y/n," JJ calls after noticing you approaching them on the beach. He rushes to embrace you once you’re close enough, the water droplets on his tan skin dampening your clothes. "We didn't think you were coming." A light smile forms on your lips when he blots at a wet spot on your shirt with an apologetic grimace.

"I wasn't," you hum, keeping your voice and stature light. "Last minute change of plans but I'm here and I brought snacks for everyone. Maybe a bit of alcohol for me." JJ's eyebrows furrow, his eyes subtly doing a once over on you, knowing fully well that you only willingly provide alcohol when shit hits the fan or there's something worth celebrating. Kie runs to greet you before he can question it, immediately dragging you towards the rest of the Pogues. You refrain from meeting the concerned look JJ's been sending your way since you walked onto the beach.

"You're drunk at five o'clock on a Tuesday, Y/n. What gives?" JJ asks, knowing full well that your filter disappears after a few drinks. Everyone’s seated in a circle on the sand playing a game of truth or dare, letting the afternoon sun dry your wet clothes.

“You’re supposed to say, Y/n, truth or dare. You can't just assume I'm picking truth,” you state matter of factly, taking another swig of the drink in your hand. Silently testing JJ with the sarcasm lacing your slurred words.

“Okay, you got me, Y/n, truth or dare?” His eyes are expectant, clear anticipation showing in his raised eyebrows.

“Dare,” you wink, a shit-eating grin on my face at the sight of his shoulders deflating in defeat.

“I dare you to jump off the dock, alone,” he huffs, obviously displeased by the obvious deflection.

“That’s too easy. You’re too kind to me, J,” you giggle, kicking your shoes off. You shrug your flannel off and take a big breath. “Rafe cheated on me.” You’re bolting toward the dock, enjoying the feeling of the wind whipping against your face at the break of dawn before you can catch any of their reactions. You miss the looks of shock plastered on all of their faces, and the way JJ immediately rushes after your retreating figure, calling your name as you sprint to the furthest dock without a second glance. Your speed and coordination shocks you due to the sheer amount of alcohol coursing through your veins, but you don’t falter, allowing your feet to carry you over the aged boards as you anticipate the fall.

“Y/n,” JJ shouts from behind as you near the edge of the dock, the sound of the waves crashing below only adding to your adrenaline high, which started the second you dropped the bombshell of your ended relationship on them without second thought. You reach the last of the dock before he can stop you. Your foot beats against the wood one last time before you shoot into the air, arms out as though you’re taking flight. Time slows as you stare at the horizon before the view is torn away when you collide with the water.

The sheer momentum from running, partnered with the crashing of the waves, drags you further and further into the waters depths. Rather than fighting against the current, your body freezes, instinctively letting the breath inside your lungs escape in a mass of bubbles, slipping away for several moments. Peace floods your chest as the water tears the weight of the last several hours away. You let yourself go with the waves, body unmoving while the water takes its course.

The next thing I know, I’m being dragging out of the ocean and onto the beach. There’s a series of yelling as my body falls limp against the sand. The weight of someone’s body comes over me, their hand softly, yet firmly, smacking against my cheek in an attempt to pull me back to a conscious state. In a matter of seconds I’m sputtering and coughing up the water I’d sucked in moments before, my lungs screaming for a breath of fresh air as my eyes fly open, immediately falling on my friends who are gathered around me in a panic.

“What the hell was that Y/n?! What were you thinking, you could’ve gotten yourself killed,” JJ exclaims, his hands falling on my shoulders now that I’m awake.

“JJ, let her breathe,” John B instructs, carefully dragging JJ from his position on top of me while Kie and Pope help me sit up. JJ follows John B, his hands flying everywhere while he rambles incoherent words while John B does his best at consoling him.

“Here,” Kie breathes, draping a towel across my shoulders which I gladly accept. I tap her hand gently as a silent ‘thank you’ my eyes instinctively drifting back to the horizon where the sun has fully began setting. Heaviness welcomes itself back on my chest with the reality crashing back onto me like the waves did moments ago. My body constricts on itself, my arms tangling themselves around my legs when they fold against my chest. There's a heavy ringing in my ears, drowning out Kie and Pope's voices asking if I'm okay.

"Y/n," Kie's voice sounds distant, but you feel her collapse next to you, promptly throwing her arms around your trembling frame. She pulls your head into her chest, her hand running up and down your back in a comforting manner while your eyes remain fixed in front of you in a daze.

"I didn't mean to scare everyone," you whisper, voice trembling with the tears stinging the back of your eyes. "I just needed it to stop for a second. I can't believe I thought he changed."

"Oh Y/n," she pouts, pulling you closer to her. The tone in her voice is what sends the tears pouring down your cheeks partnered with strangled sobs. More bodies surround the pair of you as you unfold, becoming a blubbering mess of heartbroken cries.

"That was stupid," JJ scolds, dropping on his knees in front of you, cupping your face in his hands to give himself a little extra assurance that you're okay. His thumbs swipes at the ongoing mass of tears pouring down your cheeks, the frown on his lips creasing his brows together as he studies you. "Being the idiot in the group is my job. I don't need you trying to take my spot." His words successfully lighten the dim mood, earning a watery laugh from you as he pulls you against his chest. Shooting John B a sad look as your body molds against him, his heart still hammering in his chest due to the fact that he'd nearly lost you to the high tide of the sea.

I don't wanna see you, why'd you have to treat me Like I was an ordinary girl?

A few weeks later, you're at the boneyard with the Pogues, and a good half of the island, enjoying a kegger to take advantage of the crispy summer breeze.

"Do a shot with me," you command to no one in particular, unconvinced that any of the random people around you by the fire actually heard the request. Your eyes blearily search the group to see if any of them make even the slightest move to humor you through shots.

"Come on kid," JJ interrupts your haze, his hand on the small of your back as he helps you off the stump you're seated on. "I'll do one with you."

"This is why you're my favorite," you gush, shamelessly leaning against him as he guides you toward the booze table.

"If taking a few shots with you is what it takes to be your favorite, I should've been your favorite person a long time ago," he jokes, slipping a disposable shot glass in your hand, humoring you. You graciously tip the cup in his direction as a wordless "thank you," your blushed cheeks beaming with the smile you're directing at him. He notices that it doesn't quite reach your eyes, but chooses not to comment on it. Knowing that your hurt from Rafe's betrayal is still so fresh and that you're utilizing alcohol to cope tonight, he doesn't want to be the one to distract you from the attempted progress.

"You've always been my favorite person," you admit. Though there's still a lighthearted aura around the two of you, your words drip with a sincerity that doesn't go unnoticed by him, humbling the heavy heart in his chest as he studies you.

"Good," he hums, knocking his cup against your gently. "You've always been my favorite person too, and it'd be really awkward for both of us if you didn't reciprocate the feelings. Now, what do you say? Can we drink to that?"

"Hell yeah, we can drink to that," you giggle, knocking your cups together one more time before welcoming the stale liquid into your mouth, letting it coat the walls of your dry throat. JJ smiles fondly at you, watching as you immediately turn to find another drink, mumbling incoherent words in his direction. Once you find the beer you were looking for, you slide one into JJ's hand, accepting the arm he throws over your shoulder to lead you back to where the rest of the Pogues are seated.

The rest of the night carries on for several hours until your alcohol driven carefree energy depletes, welcoming your sleepy drunk side with open arms. Your eyes droop as you fully lean into JJ's side, who's got his arm draped across your shoulder as he carries on with a few tourons who'd seen him surfing several days prior.

"Yeah, man, I'm going back out tomorrow if you want to join," he tells them, catching the exhaustion oozing from your position against his side. "Listen, we've got to get out of here, but I'll be at that same spot around noon. Meet me there if you guys are free." Each of them nod, a few of them dabbing him up before the two of you retreat.

You grumble into his shoulder at the movement, having been enjoying the opportunity to get comfortable where you two were standing.

"Tired sweetheart?" he asks, scanning the plethora of people in hopes to find John B and the rest of the group. He tuts his tongue at the sight of Pope, practically dragging you to where he's seated next to Kiara. You simply nod against his chest, shivering due to the temperature that's dropped drastically since the sun disappeared over the horizon. "Yo, Pope, round the troops. Princess needs sleep." Pope glances in your direction, nodding in understanding before ending the conversation he'd been in. JJ follows his friends retreating figure for a second before turning the two of you around to make the short trek to the Twinkie. You'll be able to get comfortable while Pope gathers the rest of the Pogues, and that's JJ's sole focus due to the fact that you're fighting to keep your eyes open.

Several minutes later, the rest of the group is filing into the Twinke, sliding into random spots around the van as John B starts the ignition.

"We good? Everyone's here?" he asks, shifting the van in reverse. After being assured that everyone is accounted for, he pulls off of the beach, making the short drive back to the Chatteau.

"Alright, sleepyhead, let's get you inside," JJ instructs, shaking your sleeping figure awake one the van pulls into the driveway. Everyone files out before JJ moves to help you up.

"Too much moving," you grumble, folding against the seat you've been napping in. "Just let me sleep in here."

JJ rolls his eyes at your antics, not releasing your arm from the gentle hold he has on it to help you out of the vehicle. "No can do, sweetheart. You'll be complaining for the next week about how your neck hurts from sleeping like that, and I refuse to endure that. If you sit up long enough, I'll let you ride my back into the house." He smiles when you straighten up at his words, immediately climbing onto his back which he promptly offered you. His arms hook around the bottom of your thighs to steady you against him, making sure that you're situated before he guides you into the house, passing all of the Pogues to get to the guest room.

"Home sweet home," he breathes, carefully setting you on the bed to find more comfortable clothes for you to sleep in. "Here you go, tiny."

You smile at the nickname he'd given you back when you were in elementary school, gladly accepting the small pile of clothes he hands you. "I'm gonna change in here," you inform him, your smile growing when he immediately nods, spinning to face the wall so that you have privacy to do so.

The second you're both changed, JJ switches the light off and meets you by the bed. He tucks you into the covers, combing his fingers through your hair as he sits in the space next to you. You hum at the feeling, unable to keep your eyes from drooping further.

"You're lucky you're my favorite. I don't just give my bed to anyone," he teases after a few seconds of favorable silence, his heart swelling at the way his presence seems to ease the emotions swirling behind your tired eyes.

You scoff at him, thinking back to the amount of times he's shared this bed with other people. "Actually," you begin, but pause, unsure of what you're even thinking about saying before the question rolls from your tongue. "Can you stay with me? I don't really want to be alone."

He blinks at you from his spot, barely making out your features before he nods. His voice is steady as he murmurs, "Of course." He accepts the spot next to you as his own, unsure why he feels so shy about sharing the bed with you. Having grown up together, you've fallen asleep together countless times. You've even crashed in his bed here, and vice versa, but that doesn't stop a humble feeling from spreading through his chest as you cuddle into him.

I wish I was special I'd give all my special Away to a loser Now I'm just a loser I used to be special But you made me hate me Regret that I changed me I hate that you made just like you Just like you

"I hate myself," you breathe after several moments of silence. The utterance of your inner truth brings a fresh round of bitter tears to your eyes, which you hurriedly wipe away, hating the bile rising up your throat at the brief moment of vulnerability.

"Don't say that," JJ hums, reaching to brush your hair away from your face. His voice is stern, but there's an undertone of sadness to match the look in his eyes.

"It's true," a forced laugh bubbles from your chest, furthering the anguish threatening to burst out of you. "I hate myself so much." There's a heavy silence after the words roll from your tongue, JJ's hand lingers on your cheek for a moment before falling dormant against the mattress, along with all of the words he clearly wants to say. "Why couldn't I have just been enough?" The words were whispered more to yourself than to JJ, it was meant to be an unspoken thought but your mouth opted to spew it regardless. Normally you'd feel embarrassed for unintentionally allowing yourself to be vulnerable, but the heaviness in your entire being is consuming all of the excess energy you have left, so you can't force yourself to care.

"Woah, woah, woah," JJ's voice intercepts you from your inner turmoil again, your eyes tearfully meeting his. The look on his face makes your heart clench further, the sadness in the pit of your stomach churning into guilt prompted by over sharing. “I can’t, in good conscience, be your best friend and let you bash yourself on that assho-on Rafe’s account. Y/n, I’m going to say something, and I really need you to hear me.” He pauses, eyes scanning your face to ensure that he’s got your full attention.

He opens his mouth to speak, but closes it, instead moving to cup your face in his hands so that your eyes lock solely on him rather than insecurely bouncing all over the dark room. “He has you convinced that you’re a million things, but everything he’s forced into your head is wrong.” He takes a deep breath, wiping a stray tear away with his thumb. “You are more than enough, you understand? I get that you might not be able to accept that right now, but that’s the full truth. And I’ll be right here proving it to you until you believe me, you got that? No pogue left behind, ever. Especially not you. Especially not on some lowlife kook, who didn’t know how great he had it’s, account. I need to know you’re hearing me.” He finally pauses in the middle of his short rant, hands and eyes remained delicately locked in their original position, acting as glue holding your pieces together. He stares deeply into your eyes, silently searching for his answer before speaking again. “Are you hearing me?”

Your lips wobble at the interaction, eyes unable to bat away the reservoir of tears threatening to spill over your eyelids. Unable to trust your words, you nod, your hands gripping the front of his t-shirt for support.

“I need to hear you say it,” he murmurs, his expression soft yet stern.

“I’m hearing you,” you choke out, before erupting into a full on sobbing fit. He quickly shifts to wrap his arms around your shoulders to pull you flush against his chest. Your back twinges at the awkward position you're in, but the emotions bubbling from your chest keep you from having the energy to care as you fully break down against him, your hands balling themselves in the back of his shirt.

Weeks worth of a broken heart, self deprecation, anger, replaying scenarios over and over in your head, and various other emotions unapologetically pour from your chest while he steadies you against him, his comforting antics not faltering for a moment.

“I’ve got you,” he breathes into your hair, kissing the crown of your head. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

"He's such an asshole," you tearfully groan, feeling ridiculous for wasting your time on the king of the kooks. "God, I feel like I molded myself into exactly what he wanted me to be, and for what?"

"Rafe's blind, Y/n," he responds, pulling back s he can rest his chin on top of your head. "And you're far too kind for a guy that didn't accept all of the qualities that make you so special."

You can't help but physically cringe at the word. You stopped feeling special the second Rafe convinced you that your Pogues side was a hindrance to your personality, a flaw in your relationship. The moment you realized he viewed that side of you as an eyesore, you did everything in your power to shield it from him, and seemingly lost yourself in the process.

"I don't feel special," you state with a sigh, wiping the leftover remnants of tears from your cheeks. You're over crying over the man who climbed in bed with another woman.

"Just because you don't feel special doesn't mean you are," JJ hums, snaking his arm around your waist. "I'll spend the rest of my life proving it to you if that's what it takes to make you believe it."

A sad laugh sounds from your chest at his promise, knowing that JJ means everything he's said. "I don't know what I did to deserve you, Maybank."

*************************************

A/N: Here's another draft that I finally dusted the spiderwebs off of and finished up. I hope y'all enjoy it!

Tags: @thelocalpogue @maaybanks @drewstarkey @ssjiara @bluebirdsbluebells @maebanks @poguemackin @tomfreakinghollandneedsaoscar @outerbongs @ilovejjmaybank @marvel-writer @astrydis @hijohnd @pogueslandia @scenesofobx @maybankslover @fallingwallsh

[fiction-is-life]

A Dish Best Served Hot

Summary: You get exactly what you want all in one eventful outdoor movie night.  Set during season one.

Warnings: Plotless smut, kinda bitchy reader, language, mention of guns/weapons, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, creampie, clit slapping, mention of oral (fem receiving)/face riding

~

“Baby, please,” Topper whined in your ear.  It was surprising he was being as quiet as he was.  

“Someone will notice, Top,” you whispered back.  

He groaned into your neck and dug his fingers into your waist where they rested.  “Everyone is focused on the movie.  Nobody is even looking at us,” he reasoned.  

“Topper…”

He kissed your neck, his soft lips making you shiver.  “You’re just so beautiful, baby, I can’t help it.  Just let me slip it in under the blanket; nobody will notice,” he spoke as his lips found the sweet spot on your neck.  

You bent your neck to give him more access, and he took the opportunity to bite your neck lightly, immediately soothing the sting with a swipe of his tongue.  

You reached back to palm his crotch with one hand, finding a small wet spot where his precum had been leaking onto his shorts.  You licked your lips as a smirk grew on them.  “Hmm, you really do need this, pretty boy.  Leaking onto your shorts and making a mess,” you hummed, teasing him.

His grip tightened on your waist, and he moaned into your neck.  You took your hand away at that, denying him any pleasure.  “It’s a pretty big risk, Top; I don’t know if I want to take it,” you said as you crossed your arms over your chest, pushing your breasts up and driving your boyfriend even wilder.

His nose nuzzled your ear as he pulled you in closer, playing the doting, cuddling boyfriend for anybody who happened to be looking.  “If you let me do this now, I’ll sit you down on my face until you are crying for me to stop later,” he practically growled.

A flood of honey-wetness soaked your panties at this.  You nodded your head, not trusting your voice.  You felt Topper’s lips curl into a smile.  “Good girl.”

Very carefully, Topper lifted you onto his lap, having already freed his cock from his shorts.  He arranged the blanket on top of you securely before lifting your sundress up enough to shimmy your panties down your thighs.

While everyone was focused on the most dramatic part of the movie, Topper managed to slip his cock into your dripping pussy.  It took a few thrusts, but he finally bottomed out.  You took deep breaths, trying not to cry out at how well he filled you.  “You feel even bigger from this angle, Topper.  I can feel you in my fucking stomach,” you whimpered.  

You almost blew your cover when you felt a large, warm hand press down on your belly, making you feel the bulge there even more prominently.  “You ready for me to move, baby girl?  Think you can handle it?”

You clenched around him, giving him a taste of his own medicine.  “I’ll take that as a yes,” he groaned.  

Topper started to thrust quickly yet shallowly, trying to minimize the chance of anyone noticing.  You let out a cry when he hit your g-spot.  You were lucky that a jump scare had happened at the same time, but you still looked around you to make sure nobody had noticed.  

Your eyes locked on a pair of blue ones a few rows in front of you.  You smirked, leaning your head back onto Topper’s shoulder casually.  “Maybank noticed us, baby.  He’s looking right at me,” you whispered.  

Topper’s thrusts became harder at this, making you bite your lip.  “Let him look.  He just knows he’ll never have the hottest girl on the island.  Serves him right for putting a gun to my head,” he huffed.  

You could see the tent growing in Maybank’s cargo shorts, and your face lit with an idea.  “Touch my clit, Top,” you demanded.  

Your face twisted in a silent moan when Topper’s fingers ran through your slick, gathering it up before slapping your clit.  He rubbed your clit in tight circles, making the growing knot in your stomach intensify.  His thrusts quickened, and you could feel him twitch inside of you, just as close as you were already. 

“Cum inside me, Topper, please,” you whimpered, making sure JJ could read your lips.  

“Oh, fuck, baby, your killing me,” were the last words you heard before you were being stuffed full with hot spurts of your boyfriend’s cum.  The feeling alone was enough to make you cum hard, but the rough pad of Topper’s finger on your clit and the fact you were being watched had you coming completely undone.  Your vision blacked out and you were loud enough to draw a few concerned looks your way.

When you caught your breath, you opened your eyes to see Maybank’s still on you.  Not breaking eye contact, you brought Topper’s hand to your lips, sucking his cum soaked fingers in your mouth.  You cleaned them off, letting them slip out of your mouth with a satisfying ‘pop’.

You reached up and tilted Topper’s head down to give him a lingering kiss.  You settled back into his arms, electrified yet sated.  The last thing you saw before closing your eyes was JJ Maybank storming off, his dick looking painfully hard, and you smirked, getting exactly what you wanted out of the night - and you couldn’t wait for Topper’s skilled tongue to clean your pussy of his cum later.

~

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