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zyafics · 3 days

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headspace | rafe cameron

pairing rafe cameron x female reader

summary when rafe hasn't seen you in twenty-four hours, he comes over to your house to check on you.

work count 1.0k

reader type academic weapon, burnout from studying (me), anxious, cries from being overwhelmed and pushes people away when busy

content fluff, suggestive tone near the end, rafe trying to be a good boyfriend, math (yuck!)

zya's notes was this purely self-indulgent? maybe. but it was a good writing break for me before i get back to linear algebra myself.

𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃 ⋆.˚ ⋆.˚ ⋆.˚ ⋆.˚

"What are you doing here?" You accuse, opening your bedroom door to discover your boyfriend standing behind it.

"I'm here to see you." Rafe says, taking in your appearance. You're wearing a borrowed tee of his, the name of his fraternity plastered in Greek letters, with shorts that's barely seen under the long material. "I've been texting you all day."

"You have?" You ask, your voice softening from the sharp undertone of your accusation. You're just so tired. "My phone's been on DND."

"Why?" He lets out a dry chuckle. He doesn't like the fact that you’ve been ignoring him. "You fuckin' someone?"

That earns him a scowl and Rafe knows he messed up when you pull on the doorknob, closing the limited space that allows him to see and enter your bedroom. "I'm not in the mood, Rafe. How'd you get in?"

He swallows hard. "Your mom let me in."

"She's home?" Your brows furrow together. You've lost track of time. You've been so busy that you didn't even hear your parents coming back from work. "Shit, what time is it?"

You abandon your post at the entryway and search for your phone in the messy covers of your bed. When you check the time, your heart drops. It's nearing midnight.

Rafe quietly slips into your room with his hands in his pockets and searches the place. He admits the first signs he looked for was the presence of another man. That you, in the twenty-four hours since he last saw you, have decided that he wasn't enough and that you found someone else. Instead, what he uncovers is your textbooks sprawled all over the floor, crinkled up sheets of papers surrounding your trashcan and your laptop and tablet propped on your desk with mathematical symbols and equations on the screen.

You weren't out finding his replacement. You were studying.

Your heart is racing, trying to figure out what to do next. You didn't even realize Rafe slipped to your side till his hand catches your wrist and pulls your attention away from your darkened phone screen.

"Hey." Rafe whispers, noticing the panic on your features. "Have you been studying all day? When was the last time you ate?"

Momentarily drawn away from your thoughts, you search your brain for an answer only to recall a distant memory of some yogurt and granola.

"I don't know." You admit. Your chest tightening at the look of concern that flashes across his face. "I can't think about that right now."

"You can't think about food?" He repeats, incredulous. "You're the one who's always trying to get me to try new places."

He was trying to make you laugh, relax, but all it does is set your lips into a flat line. He really is not living up to the role of good boyfriend right now.

"I have a huge exam coming up in two days and I still don't understand a single concept. And it's midnight." You explain, your breathing growing more rapidly as the realization dawns on you. "I shouldn't have gone out with you yesterday, I knew that, but I went when I should’ve stayed in—"

"Hey, hey." He shushes you, his hands sliding up to your shoulders. He knows you're about to descend into a spiral right now. He can't let it happen. "Look at me."

You do.

"It's going to be okay. You're a smart girl, you're going to figure it out."

You shake your head, not believing him, to the point that you're pushing away from his touch, reeling back as if you don't deserve his comfort. "No, Rafe, it's not. It's worth 20% of my grade and I can't recall a single thing. I've been studying all day and I feel like I'm about to go insane because I don't get it. I have never not gotten something this bad before."

You can't stop the tears from welling in your eyes, your bottom lip trembling. First and foremost, you can't believe you're crying over math right now but the emotions are too strong to ignore—you feel like you're about to combust.

"Baby." Rafe begins softly, taking a step forward and pulling you back in. You try to resist but his grip is too strong and you like being in his embrace. Even if you don't deserve it. "Take a breath. Come on, let's take a break."

"I can't." Your voice cracks, a tear falling down your cheek and wetting his shirt. "I actually think I'm going to fail and it scares me."

Rafe knows you always cared about your academics. Way more than he does. But, it's one of the things he admires about you. That fact that you're so smart, that you manage to fall for a guy like him. He doesn't know of any way to help in that department, but fuck if he isn't going to try.

"Alright, how about this?" Rafe pulls apart, the loss of touch causes you to whimper, but his hand tucks under your chin and lifts your gaze to meet his. "We're going to get somethin' to eat. Any place you want, I don't care how far, and I'll drive."

You open your mouth to counter but he cuts you off. "Then, we're going to come back here and I'll help you study. All night if I have to. We're going to figure this out together, okay?"

The plan sounds appealing but you're still hesitant. "You don't know anything about linear algebra."

"Fuck, baby, you can teach me." He states, causing a small smile to rise on your lips. That makes him proud. "Isn't that the best way to learn? When the student become the teacher?"

"Are you saying you're my teacher?" You tilt your head, teasing him. He loves that you're coming to yourself again.

He lowers himself to your level, stopping next to the shell of your ear. "I'm about to teach you a lesson if you don't get a move on." He murmurs, lightly slapping your ass and releasing you in one-go. You let out a little yelp, jumping back.

He tips his head to your closet. "Get change. We got shit to do."

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aemvnd · 2 days

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𝓇.cameron. ┆ let the world burn for you.

◟ ㅤᡣ𐭩ㅤㅤ ݁.﹒ based entirely on this song − trust me, you'll fall in love with it… it's very rafe coded . !!! ♡ྀི

"FUCK!!!" rafe screams furiously, boiling with rage because of you for the first time ever in your relationship, as you watch him curling his large, twitching hands into tight fists, his face scrunched up angrily, his cheeks a light shade of pink and a few beads of sweat lining his brow.

you stood frozen, heart racing but barely able to breathe, too in shock to move a single muscle, with your heart thudding rapidly against your ribcage, like a pounding fist—thump, thump, thump.

a long moment of silence passes, but you see rafe start to pace a few feet in front of you, before coming to an abrupt stop, startling you for a moment, causing a nasty, cruel, and amused smirk to curl up on his soft lips, pausing completely in front of you and letting out a breathless, almost lighthearted little chuckle that it's practically menacing, rubbing a large hand over his face.

and then, then, he turns to face you once again, looking even bigger and more intimidating than you've ever seen him before, his face completely blank, eyes dead, emotionless.

"no," rafe answers simply, almost like a soft, mocking purr, before brushing past you and heading into the bathroom that was attached to his bedroom, leaving the door open, as if expecting you to follow along like the sweet, obedient little girl you usually are for him—rafe's head is already racing with ideas on how to convince you, to manipulate that pretty little head of yours to not leave him, he just has to remind you.

yeah, rafe thinks, nodding his head to himself, he'll just have to remind you that you're his and only his, that he'd let the world burn for you if you only asked, and then... a darker thought pierces his head—that if he can't have you, then nobody can.

after a minute, you slowly, and cautiously, follow him into his bathroom, seeing him leaning against the sink, his shoulders tensed up and his face twisted into something dark, something dangerous.

rafe can't understand how you made him like this, this fucking obsessed over you, this need to be with you forever, to always have you by his side and let everyone know that you're his.

and then, rafe realizes something else, causing his face to twist with almost hatred, because look what you've made him become, he thinks darkly, wanting to hurt something, or someone, but never you—you, his sweet, doting, obedient little girl—his, forever his.

without warning, rafe swiftly turns and smashes a large, murderous fist against his bathroom mirror, causing most of it to shatter, letting out a loud, furious scream, not caring or even realizing that you're most likely watching him, too absorbed into his rage to truly notice.

and then, when he hears small, pitiful sniffles and broken, breathy wails, shoulders shaking as you try and hold back your sobs—and god, it feels like something is restricting your throat, unable to breathe, like a fist is wrapped around your delicate neck... squeezing, squeezing, squeezing, and then, you gasp softly, noticing his bloodied, dominant hand, your teary eyes focusing on the way he is curling both of his hands into tight fists once again, anger still coursing through his veins, tiny glass shards stuck into his bleeding knuckles.

and perhaps, he may need stitches in his bleeding hand.

fuck, rafe thinks aggravatingly, already knowing that there is fear in your big, bloodshot eyes, all misty and doe-like and innocent, knowing how much you hate violence, especially whenever he is involved, which is most of the time.

"you're not leaving me," rafe then comments casually, as though the last twenty minutes of him screaming and lashing out at you, practically preventing you from leaving tannyhill, begging you not to leave him, that he'll be better, that he'll do better, that he'll change for you, baby, he had said, practically pleading you on his hands and knees, promising you.

that was all before he exploded into a fit of pure rage, after hearing you suggest to him that you guys should just take a short break, that you need some space, that you feel suffocated.

and then, without even glancing at you, rafe begins to walk by you, pausing for a moment in front of you with a thoughtful look on his face, a frown taking over his devilishly handsome features, before he lets out a small, humorless chuckle and presses a long, loving kiss against your forehead, swiftly exiting his bathroom and by extension—you, leaving you all alone, completely and utterly alone without a glance back towards you as he leaves.

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donatellawritings · 7 hours

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somnophilia with stepbro!rafe i’m begging

𝜗𝜚 porn link!

it was simple — rafe’s stepmother had so kindly asked that he watch over you for the night, you’d gotten caught drinking at the country club earlier in the week, therefore you’d been grounded for the weekend. so, here you laid, asleep on your stomach, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt from a gift shop on the mainland. your leg had been bent upwards, the hem of your long shirt bunched up at your lower back, your bare ass and glistening pussy on full display.

rafe was careful when he entered your bedroom, calvin klein boxers laying dangerously low on his hips as he took a precautionary glance behind his shoulder — despite the two of you being home alone.

gently pushing his knee into your firm mattress, rafe shifts himself to stand on his knees, fisting his pre-cum dripping cock in his warm hand as he licks over his dry lips, “fuck,” he moans, allowing a thick string of spit to drip down from his tongue onto his eager tip.

spreading the sticky spit along his shaft, rafe guides his fat tip into your tight hole, his stomach flexing at the warm squeeze of your pussy, “jesus fuckin’ chris—”

a slightly pained whimper leaves your drowsy lips as rafe continues to ease himself into you, “wha—”

pressing a firm and stilling hand on your lower back, your step brother fills you to the hilt, letting out a guttural groan as the squishy sound you pussy makes, “i know baby — shit — y’can take it,” he soothes, his voice strained and choppy as he finds a consistent rhythm to thrust into you.

raising your head from you plush pillow, you crane your neck to look at rafe, your doe eyes dewy as your jaw slacks open, “rafey … too much,” you hum, your head dropping down onto the pillow as rafe sends a harsh thrust into you.

egged on by the squelching of your slippery and sticky pussy, rafe’s hips slap against the meat of your ass with conviction. “y’doin so fuckin’ good, mama — m’gonna fuckin cum,” he groans, both of his hands now holding your stepbrother up as he ruts into you, the slick of your creamy cum smearing onto his pelvic bone.

letting out a cry of pleasure, you reach a hand behind you, your delicate hand closing around rafe’s strained wrist, your fingernail digging into his gold rolex.

“cum in me, please,” you sigh, half-asleep and half-fucked out as rafe sends a sharp slap to your asscheek.

spreading your asscheeks apart, rafe spits directly on your puckered hole, “gonna fill you up, yeah?” he huffs, watching as you nod wordlessly, mumbled cries leaving your lips as rafe eases his thumb into your tight little asshole, “ah, fuck — there it is, baby,” he hisses, a slight smirk tugging on his lips as your asshole tightens around his thick finger.

now sloppily thrusting into you, rafe grunts through gritted teeth as he massages his thumb into your puckered hole, his warm cum shooting into you as his free hand grips your hip, “hmph! too full, papi!” you whine.

sliding his thumb out of your hole, rafe relishes in the ‘pop’ that comes with its removal, laying a satisfactory tap of approval against your ass as he eases out of your pussy, “y’did good, kid,”

“thank you, rafey,” you shudder, exhaling a giggle as rafe presses wet kisses to your leaking pussy.

#asks #anon #obx #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron x reader #obx imagine #rafe cameron smut #rafe smut #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #stepbro!rafe #p<3rn link

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sunkissedrafe · 2 days

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thinking about icky stepbro!rafe who found himself jerking off in the bathroom after excusing himself from dinner.

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

he was desperate for a release- it’d been weeks since he last got to touch you. you’ve been rambling on and on recently about how it’s “not a good idea, rafe, we’re gonna get caught eventually. as much as i want to, we… we might need to call this little situation quits.” and he knew you were right, it was so wrong. he knew he had a real problem when the entire time you lectured him about it he was imagining sliding his cock between your juicy, glossed lips, shutting you up as his cum drips down your eager throat.

at dinner he thought you were teasing him on purpose- batting your fluffy lashes and touching on his arm when you asked him to pass you a fork. your petite fingers felt like massive weights against his skin, his body hyper aware of the sensation of them dragging away slowly. he watched the way you seemed to eat messy on purpose, letting food dribble down your chin only to bring a finger up to swipe it away, slowly sucking it clean as your eyes locked onto his own.

when he can’t take the tension anymore, he slides his dining chair back from the table with a screech across the floor. he feels the stares of the rest of you sitting at the table, but in true rafe fashion he honestly couldn’t give any less fucks as he strides away to the downstairs bathroom.

his forehead is sticky with sweat as he leans over the sink, his knuckles white as they grip the counter in an effort to hold himself steady. his brain is fuzzy, dazed and swimming with thoughts of your silky legs brushing against his own, the way your little skirt was riding up as you shifted in your seat during conversations with the rest of your family. he could swear he saw a peek of your lacy panties hugging tight around your warm pussy, and, oh, what he’d give to be inside of it right now.

his breath comes out in sharp spurts as he roughly fists his length, jerking up and down while he imagines you bent over the counter, just like that one time last month. he can almost feel it- the way your velvet walls suck him in in a way that shows you need him. each thrust makes you whine and cry, your arms reaching behind you to dig your nails into whatever skin you can grab.

rafe pumps himself until he’s panting and on the edge of release, his strong bicep flexing with every quick motion. he knows he’s been in here a suspicious amount of time, he can hear the rumbling voices reverberating through the walls. his abdomen grows hot and tense, every fiber of his being tingling as he reaches his peak and shoots his load, hot ropes of cum painting the marble sink he imagines you on your knees, tongue out and ready to receive it. he wipes his brow with his sleeve and stands up to his full height to peek at his reflection and fix his disheveled hair.

with a quick swipe across the sink he coats his fingertips in his own sticky release, running the water to rinse the rest down the drain. his footsteps echo steadily down the hall as he makes his way to the table, everyone too engrossed in their meals to acknowledge his return. everyone but you, of course- your doe eyes flick over to him and a smile pulls across your plush lips as he adjusts in his chair.

“you got uh…” he brings his fingers to your chin, swiping away something you both know isn’t there, before slipping his two fingers into your mouth and across your tongue. “you had somethin’ on your face.”

the salty taste is unmistakable, and so are your burning cheeks as you watch your stepbrother return to his meal like nothing had happened.

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

he is so icky gross :(( <3

taglist: @stepbrorafe @bunnycvnts @hewwokitti3 @pinkribboncoco @rafesgiirl @beautifuldisaster88 @mousie101 @laniirackssss @ditzyzombiesblog @brooklynadoresdior

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letsgofullpogue · 2 days

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monday mood

via ig - netflix

#rafe cameron #outer banks #obx #drew starkey #outer banks cast #obx cast #instagram

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starkeyisthelastname · 7 hours

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how would be stepdad! rafe with his daughter aftercare? like after rough sex😭

It was like a switch would go off in his head. No longer was Rafe the ruthless and brutal man that had just pounded your guts in with a nine inch dick. Instead he became softer, more gentle and would do anything to make his princess feel better. He knew how hard he could get, and your poor pathetic princess cunt was feeling it.

“Hey babydoll, wake up for me. Yeah?” Rafe’s tone soft as you had drifted off in the few minutes he had been gone. He ran the warm wash cloth between your aching thighs, carefully cleaning your swollen parts from the damage he had done. He noticed you wince, taking this time to run his hand through your silky hair. “Shh.. gonna make it feel better.” He whispered, setting the cloth to the side to then easily pick you up.

He would let you relax in the bath he had run for you all while he changed the sheets to your bed. You had completely soaked them after all. His teenage self would have completely called him a bitch for doing all this, but the man he was now was different. (At least that’s what he tried to tell himself.)

Hearing the faint “Rafey” coming from the attached bathroom, he would walk in to see the pout on your exhausted face. His still naked frame would lean against the doorway, raising a brow as you began to speak.

“Need you.” You would mumble, voice hoarse from the constant moans you had let out throughout the evening.

Normally he would have rolled his eyes, always hating females who were clingy. You were different though and he would quite literally do anything for you after he fucked you like daddy’s little true whore. He would step in behind you, letting the warm vanilla scented water soak his own muscles as you laid back against his broad chest.

“Can we watch a movie after?” You asked him softly, thick lashes peering up at him as he squinted his own eyes back open.

Chuckling tiredly, he leaned down to kiss your head. “Yes princess. Just nothing too girly and shit.” He hummed, never being in the mood to continuously watch 2000s romcoms.

“Bring it on?” You asked with a grin, his statement falling on deaf ears.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #step!dad rafe #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron blurb #obx smut #obx #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey smut

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prettys0bbing · 22 hours

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p!link!!

rafe pounding into you after listening to you be bratty and jealous for half of the day. using it both to punish you and find a way to prove to you that he only wants you. “can’t use your fucking words anymore? gotta have an attitude everytime a girl even says hi to me?” he grunts, leaning over you to play with your clit and distract you from being able to answer him. rafe bites your shoulder before taking a grip on your hips, pulling you back to meet each thrust. “gonna show you baby. this pussy is all i need.”

#mayspeaks! ˚✧₊⁎#obx x reader #rafe cameron #obx #rafe cameron smut #obx smut #rafe cameron headcanons

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maiiuelle · 3 days

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˚❀˚ one thing about jj, he’s a heavy sleeper. he’ll sleep through just about anything (see above), except for when you try to weasel out of his arms in the middle of the night. even then, he doesn't wake up all the way, just curling his heavy arm around your waist to pull you back in. ˚❀༉‧₊˚.

#my inbox is open! ‧₊˚.#im so obsessed w jj right now its unreal #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj x reader #jj #obx #jj maybank gif #jj maybank headcanon

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lovesphases · 2 days

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Hiiii 💓

I would love to see something from reader girlfriend's organized a bachelorette party for her and Rafe freaking out lol

stoppp he would totally tweak the fuck out he is such a weirdo

"no. absolutely not." your fiancé stands in front of you, his arms crossed against his chest.

"raaafeee. don't be ridiculous its a bachelorette party every bride gets one." you stomp your foot, frustrated with your boyfriends stubbornness and possessiveness.

"well you're not like every other bride are you? fuck you want a bachelorette party so bad for? jus' gonna go party with all your hoe friends? get some strippers? huh? is that it?" he grabs the back of your neck, tilting your head so you have no other choice but to maintain eye contact.

"first off, don't talk about my friends like that. second, everyone on the island- scratch that, everyone within a 500 mile radius knows im yours." you give him your best puppy dog eyes, knowing he can never resist you when you look up at him like that.

"y'know what- fine. but im coming with and if you think of pulling any shit, i’ll drag you out of that place so fast. understand?" he lets go of your neck, lightly tapping your cheek.

"thank you so much rafey!" you squeal, jumping up and down. you jump into his arms and place a messy kiss on his lips.

"yeah? you really wanna thank me kid? better get on your knees and show me just how thankful you are."

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron drabble #rafe cameron prompt #jj maybank #jj maybank smut #⋆.˚ asks ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚#drew starkey #drew starkey smut #jj maybank prompt #rafe #rafe cameron x reader #rafe imagine #rafe obx #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #obx #outer #outer banks

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tetragonia · 2 days

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In Sync

Rafe Cameron x F!Pogue!Reader

warning: 18+, smut, consensual sex, unprotected, foreplay, virgin reader (implied?), and yeah it's just all that. also no mention of (y/n)

words: 1k

note: this is a continuation from this fic where Rafe and reader were in an enemies-to-lovers situation, but you can read this fic separately since it's just them doing it for the first time after getting together

A Wave of Feelings (pt 1) | In Sync (pt 2)

You would laugh at yourself a month ago for the current situation.

You, a Pogue, slept with a Kook? And let alone the Rafe Cameron? The one who used to yell and throw remarks at you? The one who always got into a heated argument with you?

You couldn’t even bear to be in the same room with him and look at yourself now.

Laying down beside him, making out for the first time since twenty minutes ago with the blond. You could feel Rafe’s strong arms, how big and sturdy it was. You could smell his cologne, a perfect mixture of earthy vetiver, refreshing citrus notes, and salty sea breeze. It evoked the rugged beauty of Rafe, how reckless and impulsive he’d be, but also passionate and vulnerable.

You trembled at his touch, as Rafe kissed you harder. Your hand naturally, slowly reaching down, tracing his lower abdomen and making him twitch under your touch. You could hear a soft grunt coming from his lips, his breath becoming heavier. Your hand slipped under his pants, stroking slowly. Rafe let out a soft groan in pleasure, his hand gently petting the swell of your breast.

You gasped at the sudden pleasure. Butterflies washed your belly and you whimpered at the sensation of it. Desire flooded both of you that night.

“Oh, you stroke better than myself, Princess,” he said with a huff, before moaning louder because you felt the urge to stroke harder and faster. “You’re so good, Princess. Don’t stop.”

Rafe breathed heavily, kissing you harder. He bit your lips, touching his forehead on yours. “Oh, fuck. You’re so good,” he shuddered.

You stroke him hard and constantly, wiggling beside him. In between kisses, you couldn’t help but to moan as Rafe’s strong fingers brushed your nipple.

“I’m so close, Princess.”

It was not your first time together, but you always shuddered from the sensation. It felt warm on your hand, dripping to your wrist. You smiled when Rafe put half of his weight on her, panting.

“You’re so good,” he whispered before pushing you gently to the bed. He now towered over you, fully stripped of his pants. His hands softly helped Val to undo her shirt, throwing it to the floor as they don’t need it anymore for now.

You started to breathe heavily as adrenaline took you.

Slowly, Rafe got down, kissing your breast and closed his mouth around a nipple. His tongue swirled around yours, gently biting and sucking it. You gasped and shut your eyes tightly, fingers crawling Rafe’s bare shoulder.

“Rafe!”

You couldn’t help but cry his name. It was insane. He was insane.

“Yes, Princess?”

Rafe’s right hand traced your chest and belly and you shivered. He continued, finding a soft spot on your clit and rubbing it softly.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, unable to let out a full word. You tried so hard not to scream, biting your lower lip as he worked faster.

“Yeah? Do you like it?” Rafe asked, kissing your jaw and then your neck. He buried his face on the crook of your neck, moaning your name softly, “Gosh, you’re so wet, Princess.”

And it just flooded, you were down all over him. Bad.

“Good girl,” Rafe smiled, kissing your lips gently before he got up and spread your legs. He let you breath out first, letting out a whimper and a pleasure moan.

“You’re so beautiful,” he continued. He left you speechless.

You could see his handsome features from the dim light. Rafe exhaled, taking the view. You laid naked in front of him–under him.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he said in disbelief. “How did I miss this? How did I throw arguments when I could’ve just thrown myself at you?”

You chuckled, feeling the same. These past years, all you and Rafe exchanged were arguments and hatred. How you hated him so much, so much that you only thought of him. How you both eventually found each other in ways you couldn’t explain. How deep your connection actually was.

Rafe touched his cock, rubbing it slowly with his saliva. You gulped.

“It’s huge, Rafe,” you let out a shaky breath when Rafe put himself between your thighs. He started to caress yours with his fingers, before he brushed your fold with his tip softly.

You moaned, “Rafe–”

“It’s going to hurt a little,” he said softly, as gentle as he could. “Tell me if you want to stop.”

Then Rafe pushed it gently, slowly letting himself relax inside her. The anticipation made you squirm and held the sheet tightly, suppressing another whimper.

“Rafe!” a moan slipped out of your mouth, screaming his name in pleasure and pain. “I have never taken anyone before.”

Your eyes were shut, back arching.

“Eyes on me, Princess.”

You tried to open your eyes, looking directly at him. Shivers went down your spine, it felt so good.

“Oh, you’re so tight,” Rafe let out a soft grunt as he started to hump his hips towards yours. His hands were everywhere, you were not surprised anymore.

Rafe can be rough, but this time he was very gentle.

“Yes,” you gasped. “Don’t stop. Please. Please.”

Rafe lowered his body, still humping. His mouth searched for your nipple, as he licked and swirled it softly. Rafe kept sucking, biting and leaving red marks on it. Chills ran down your spine when he humped faster.

“Yeah? Do you like it, baby?” Rafe asked you as you tried to take his hard cock. You closed her eyes in pleasure, still unable to answer.

“Answer me, Princess.”

“Y–Yes, please,” you pleaded. He was so good. You clenched around his cock, and another groan slipped from him. He’d be surprised how your bones didn’t break with your back arching high like that.

“You’re so wet for me, Princess. You’re so good,” he kept reassuring you as your head spinned with pleasure and desire. You both moved in sync, as you could feel his cock twitched hard inside you.

“Oh, I’m going to come,” his voice was deep and breathless, as he spurted on the bare skin of your stomach. Rafe moaned, loud, losing breath. He jerked and it spread all over your tummy, some was on the sheet. It was intense and addicting.

“Oh, fuck. Orgasm never felt this good,” Rafe lost himself in pleasure, shutting his eyes before bending down and kissing your lips. “You’re such a good girl.”

You smiled. “I wish we’d be fucking instead of fighting all those times.”

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manheeiim · 21 hours

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love hurts - rafe cameron

summary: in which you start to doubt rafe's love for you | warnings: drugs, mentions of overdosing, toxic relationship, reader slaps rafe, manipulation | genre: established relationship, angst | word count: approximately 1370

Lately, things have been rougher than usual between Rafe and you. I mean, sure, things were always kind of rough between you guys, but lately it'd been a bit more.. noticeable, if that makes sense.

He wasn't home often. When he was home he was often in a bad mood. You guys barely went on dates anymore. He wasn't texting you as much throughout the day the past few days either.

You were pretty much just left alone at home, lonely, while he went out to work. You knew that he was only out so much because he was working so much, but you were just tired of it lately. And truthfully, the working so much isn't what really bothered you, it was his lack of outward attention to you when he was around lately due to his bad moods.

Rafe had gotten home from being out working today, in yet another obviously bad mood so it wasn't a shock to you that shortly after he'd gotten home, he was sniffing up some coke to make himself "feel better".

You never really liked him doing coke. Any drugs really, but coke especially, considering how addictive it was and how obviously addicted he was. You were constantly worried that one day you'd come home and you'd find him dead from an overdose. It scared you.

You talked about how you didn't like it several times but Rafe only brushed you off. He did a lot of things for you but this was one thing he wasn't giving up, at least not any time soon.

You didn't really like being around him when he did coke, leaving the room when you saw him taking out the baggy with the white powder in it. He was fine with it and didn't bother you about it.

So, when you walked into the kitchen, you weren't exactly planning on him doing coke on the counter. You held your breath as you slowly walked over. When you walked over and lightly held onto his arm, he didn't even flinch as he continued slowly sniffing up the powder. It was when you spoke that he got annoyed.

"Rafe..." You quietly said and he already knew why you were saying his name.

"Y/n, don't." He said as he put his arm that you were holding onto out in front of you, lightly pushing you away as he went back to snorting the drugs.

You pouted, looking at him, watching as he slowly killed himself. You looked at him for a few moments before you lightly slapped his arm in annoyance.

Rafe looked up at you annoyed, "What's the problem?" He asked.

"You don't care about me." You whined and he just furrowed his eyebrows. Before he could even say anything back, you left the room, going upstairs to your guys' bedroom.

He stood in the kitchen, annoyed at what you said and also annoyed that you'd just walked off before he could even say something. He took some deep breaths as he tried to calm himself down before he went upstairs after you, wanting to ask what the hell that was all about, even though deep down, he knew.

You're sat on the bed, your knees curled up to your face as you wrap your arms around your legs and softly cry. You really were starting to feel uncared for and unloved by him. You're startled by the sound of the bedroom door opening and you look up to see Rafe coming inside. You looked away from him as you continued to cry.

"What's wrong, Y/n?" Rafe asked, trying to hold back but you could easily tell that he was really frustrated right now. You don't say anything as you look away. "Y/n, look at me." He sternly said and you looked over at him, sniffling as you wiped your tears.

"You don't care about me anymore." I said with a red face and pouty lips.

Rafe's eyebrows furrowed again as he closed his eyes for a moment, "What the fuck are you talking about?" He asked.

"You're barely home anymore, all you do is work. You barely even text me or call me throughout the day when you're out. When you're around, you pay no attention to me. I swear you hate me or something." You complained. Rafe let out an angry sigh at your words as he rubbed in between his eyebrows. "I mean, do you even love me anymore?" You then went on to say.

That was his breaking point. "Hey!" He loudly shouted. "Hey!" He shouted again, not as loud. "Watch your mouth." Rafe told you. "Of course, I love you, don't say something stupid like that ever again." He harshly said.

"No, you don't." You quietly said back.

"You don't know what the fuck you're saying." Rafe said. "Y/n, I work so much because I love you. I mean, we need money to survive, don't we? You want all those stupid clothes? Then, I have to work. I know that it's been more than usual lately but sometimes there's just times like that, there's nothing I can do about that." He told you. You let out a small sigh, you guessed he was right.

"I get that, Rafe, but when you are home, it just seems like you don't even care that I'm around." You said.

"Oh, so I'm the bad guy here because I'm tired after working all day long to provide for us?" Rafe asked.

"No, I never said that." You said, exasperatedly.

"I'm just tired out, you understand that, don't you?" Rafe then asked.

"I know, I just.." I trailed off, silent for a few moments. "You never listen to me when all I'm doing is caring about you." I said.

"I'm listening right now, Y/n." Rafe told you, letting out a sigh.

"Well, there's something you never listen about." You mentioned.

"Yeah? What's that? What are you going to complain about now?" Rafe then asked.

"I don't want you to do coke anymore!" You said.

"Here we go..." Rafe said, clenching his jaw as he sniffed.

"I know you're not going to listen to me but I'm scared all the time. Scared that I'll find you dead sometime!" I said, crying.

Rafe just looked at you. He wasn't going to give it up that easily and seeing you like this did make him feel bad, because, well he loved you. He always felt bad when you talked about this, but he was too self-involved to not make a change or even try to make a change when it came to drugs, not yet at least.

"I just.. I want you to know that." You quietly said, breaking the silence, as you cried, wiping your tears.

Rafe let out a sigh as he paced around the room a few times. You watched as he brought the palms of his hands to his eyes, holding them there, something he always did when he was frustrated and/or about to cry.

You hesitantly stood up, you don't know why you did, but you did. You then got up and went over to him. He slowed down, stopped, and looked down at you, removing his hands from his face.

You didn't say anything as you wrapped your arms around his muscular body, resting you face against his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you as close to him as possible.

"I love you, Y/n. I don't want to hear you saying that I don't again. I do, I always will." Rafe softly told you.

"I'm sorry." You apologized.

"I'll.." there was a few moments of silence, "I'll try and be better when I'm home with you. I shouldn't be working as much as I have soon. I just have to get one big project done and that's it, then it'll be like before." Rafe said.

It was rare for Rafe to apologize and say things like this. He only ever really apologized to you.

"I love you, Rafe." Was all you could find the words to say in response.

"I know you do, Y/n." He softly said. "I love you too." He then told you.

-- link to my masterlist

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miley1442111 · 3 days

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but daddy i love him- r.cameron

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a/n: yes, i am a swifty- sorry lmao.

intended for fem!reader

summary: based off of but daddy i love him by taylor swift

pairings: rafe cameron x fem!reader

warnings: happy ending, talk of fighting, kissing, marragie, pregnancy

the tortured poets department masterlist

I forget how the West was won

I forget if this was ever fun

I just learned these people only raise you

To cage you

Sarahs and Hannahs in their Sunday best

Clutchin' their pearls, sighing, "What a mess"

I just learned these people try and save you

'Cause they hate you

You ran through the Midsummer's party tears flowing freely down your face. Your parents had given you a final ultimatum. Break up with Rafe or be cut off from them and kicked out. They didn’t approve of him, he was too immature. He was bad for you.

The Outerbanks was a small place, everyone thought they knew everyone. Rafe was a party boy, yes. Rafe did drugs and rank too much, yes. Rafe didn’t give a shit about others most of the time, yes. But all of that was before you. Before he got better, for you. Though all anyone ever saw was the playboy with too much of daddy’s money.

Too high a horse for a simple girl

To rise above it

They slammed the door on my whole world

The one thing I wanted

You weren’t perfect either. You were a Kook too. Your family worked with the Cameron’s. You’d grown up with Rafe. You were done with their impossible standards. You had to be their perfect daughter, you didn’t want to be anymore.

You ran straight into Rafe, who was chatting with his dad.

“Baby?” He questioned, worry coating his words. “What’s wrong?”

“M-my parents,” you cried into his chest, his hands pulling you close to him as he led you somewhere less public. “T-they’re going to kick me out if we don’t break up!”

Rafe’s face set into an emotion he rarely showed, genuine upset. He felt for you, obviously. He regretted his past actions and guilt ate at him everyday. He’d done everything to try and show your parents that he was good. Good enough for you anyways, even if he didn’t believe it himself. He thought he was evil, that you deserved better. But he wasn’t a strong enough man to shy away from your unconditional love and kindness. Your beauty and grace. Your intelligence.

You.

Now I'm runnin' with my dress unbuttoned

Scrеamin', "But, Daddy, I love him

I'm havin' his baby"

No, I'm not, but you should see your faces

I'm tellin' him to floor it through thе fences

No, I'm not coming to my senses

I know he's crazy, but he's the one I want

Your father turned the corner, a hardened look on his face. “You’ve made your choice?”

“Dad, I love him!” You cried to your father, begging him to see how much you cared for each other.

“He’s not good for you! He’s dangerous!” Your father shouted back. Ward walked in, attempting to quell the situation.

“Sir, please-” Rafe started but your father silenced him with a punch to the face. You cried as Ward held your father back from hurting an apologising Rafe. After what felt like hours, though truthfully, it was minutes, Sarah came in to take you away from the situation, driving you to Tannyhill as you sobbed silently in the passenger seat. She brought you up to Rafe's bedroom and sat with you until you fell asleep.

Dutiful daughter, all my plans were laid

Tendrils tucked into a woven braid

Growin' up precocious sometimes means

Not growin' up at all

He was chaos, he was revelry

Bedroom eyes like a remedy

Soon enough, the elders had convened

Down at the city hall

You woke up to Rafe’s arms around you, his comforting scent engulfing you. For a moment, everything felt alright.

“Morning baby,” he smiled softly. You looked up to see his face. He had a split lip and a black eye, clearly the fight had progressed after you’d left.

“Rafe,” you whispered, brushing a finger over his bruising softly. He tried to hide his wincing, but you saw right through it. You felt a sickening blame settle in your stomach. “I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he whispered, changing your position so that he could put a hand on your cheek. He pressed a kiss to his cheek and allowed for comfortable silence before he spoke again, a certain insecurity in his voice. “I don’t mind what choice you make, I love you more than anything but I don’t want to take your family away from you-”

“You. I pick you,” you said, the most certain thing in your mind was that you loved Rafe and that Rafe loved you. You felt that the only thing you’d ever know was Rafe.

“Baby…” He started, trying to reason with you. “They’re your family-”

“And you’re the love of my life.”

"Stay away from her"

The saboteurs protested too much

Lord knows the words we never heard

Just screeching tires and true love

Months and months of your parents attempting to get you back, threatening the Cameron’s, calling you everyday begging you to come home, you’d walk out of the house and there they would be, screaming and shouting, calling you all sorts of names.

You stayed by his side and he stayed by yours.

And I'm runnin' with my dress unbuttoned

Screamin', "But, Daddy, I love him

I'm havin' his baby"

No, I'm not, but you should see your faces

I'm tellin' him to floor it through the fences

No, I'm not coming to my senses

I know he's crazy, but he's the one I want

Midsummer’s came around again, you felt good. Rafe and you had both finished your college degrees and you were a working psychologist and he was working in a family-friends business. You’d moved out of Tannyhill into a charming cottage on the edge of the island, surrounded by trees and grass, your dream home.

Rafe and you stood hand in hand as the entire island stared at the two of you. Everyone knew what had happened, the island was a small place after all. You wore a beautiful dress and Rafe’s eyes were on you all night, you ditched the party and danced on the beach. There was no music, but the moment was too perfect to not want Rafe as close to you as possible.

“Thank you for staying,” Rafe whispered into your ear as he held you to his chest. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Thank you for being there for me,” you smiled back. “You’re the most caring man in the world.”

Rafe blushed, he wasn’t unused to your compliments, though he still got giddy when he remembered you truly did love him. He never thought he’d ever be called ‘caring’ or ‘thoughtful’, but here he was. Here he was, dancing on the beach with the love of his life.

“Marry me,” It wasn’t a question he had asked. This was a promise. This was a dream. You looked up at him, a shocked smile on your face.

“Really?” You asked.

“You need me to beg?” He joked and you laughed, pulling him in for a kiss. He would’ve begged.

I'll tell you something right now

I'd rather burn my whole life down

Than listen to one more second of all this bitchin' and moanin'

I'll tell you something 'bout my good name

It's mine alone to disgrace

I don't cater to all these vipers dressed in empath's clothing

Wedding planning was amazing, though it brought up certain feelings of sadness for you, knowing your family wouldn’t be a part of it. You picked out your dress with Wheezie and Sarah and a couple of your friends. Your ‘something borrowed’ was from Sarah, a beautiful necklace with a heart locket. Your ‘something old’ would be from Ward, a watch Rafe’s mother used to wear.

There's a lot of people in town that I

Bestow upon my fakest smiles

Scandal does funny things to pride, but brings lovers closer

We came back when the heat died down

Went to my parents and they came around

All the wine moms are still holdin' out, but fuck 'em, it's over

After a few months of planning, the word got around and your parents showed up at your door, wanting to apologise and to be a part of your life again.

“Fuck,” Rafe breathed out as he closed the door behind your parents. “That was a complete 180.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled humorlessly. “What should I do?”

He wrapped his arms around you, his hands on your waist. “You should do what you want.”

You rolled your eyes and he smiled. “Helpful,” you sighed sarcastically.

“Seriously, if you want them at the wedding, have them at the wedding. If you want them in our life, have them in our life. It’s up to you baby,” he smiled, pressing kisses all over your face.

“I’ll think it over,” you whispered to him.

Now I'm dancin' in my dress in the sun and

Even my daddy just loves him

I'm his lady

And, oh, my God, you should see your faces

Time, doesn't it give some perspective?

And, no, you can't come to the wedding

I know it's crazy, but he's the one I want

You didn’t allow your parents at the wedding, but you let them back into your life. You were happy that they’d come around and were now supportive of you and Rafe, but you were also weary of how much they’d approve of.

You adored Rafe, Rafe adored you. All of the Outerbanks had their feelings about you two, and you let them. You didn’t care, you were happy. Happier than you’d ever been.

Screamin', "But, Daddy, I love him

I'm having his baby"

No, I'm not

But you should see your faces

But, oh, my God, you should see your faces

(He was chaos, he was revelry)

When both you and Rafe’s eyes landed on the tick of the pregnancy test, you knew you were exactly where you were meant to be. He pulled you into his arms, celebration and excitement filling both of you.

You loved each other.

That was enough.

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donatellawritings · 9 hours

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୨୧ how sugardaddy!rafe found his favorite little muñeca

rafe wasn’t entirely sure as to what it was that piqued his father’s need to go on vacation every few months out of the year, but he wasn’t against it. since returning back to tannyhill, following his brief collegiate stint, rafe needed an outlet — a place where he could go and blow a few tens of thousands of dollars and not be reprimanded, a place where he could lose himself in copious amounts of coke without judgement, a place where he could be the man — the one who was needed, the one who had all the answers.

so, when ward came up with the brilliant idea to send his eldest of kin to the island of culebra, puerto rico — just to keep his volatile son out of trouble … rafe was quick and eager to oblige.

the villa was immaculate, completely renovated from the ground up, with the pristine view of the clear turquoise waters that crashed against the powder white sand. but what caught rafe’s bright baby blues was the little puerto rican girl who stood bent over, tiny white shorts sucked in the soft fat of your plush ass as you carefully picked at the bright fuschia hibiscus flower that grew alone in the patch of crisp green grass. shiny blown out hair cascaded down the small of your back as rafe tongued the inside of his cheek, watching closely as you straightened your posture, the shorts now almost entirely swallowed by your plump ass.

rafe couldn’t help himself, but continue to ogle at you, his bloodshot eyes carelessly drinking in the way your bronze skin shimmered under the sun, as well as the cute hot pink heart-shaped glitter tattoo that sparkled on your lower back. and fuck, it took everything in him to not shove his hand down his pants with the way the fat of your ass sat all heavy and perfectly curved against the flimsy fabric of your shorts.

smiling to himself, rafe obnoxiously clears his throat, causing you to flinch and whip your pretty little head at him, all wide eyed and open-mouthed, “uh, don’t think y’should be pickin’ at other people’s flowers, huh?” he questions, his voice dripping in a condescending cadence as you immediately drop the pretty flower from your small fist, allowing it to fall at your sparkly pink toes.

remaining silent, you awkwardly shift on your feet, blinking your wispy lashes together as you close your mouth, “i’m sorry, i just — hmph,” you sigh, your nose scrunched in frustration as you struggled to find the right words … in english, at least.

cocking his head to the side, rafe chuckles at your fussy state, his stringy bangs masking the way he incessantly stared at the way the swells of your breasts bounced against your one size too small lily pink triangle bikini top. judging by your thick accent, rafe could tell that communicating with you would be a bit of a struggle — lucky for you, he considered himself to be a proactive man of sorts.

taking a step closer to you, rafe feigns a sigh of disappointment, even going so far as to pinch the bridge of his nose “i don’t know, i may just have to tell someone that y’just comin’ here and makin’ a mess of things — i can’t have that, sweetheart,” he shrugs.

your little heart thumped rapidly against your chest as you bit down into your pouty bottom lip, swallowing thickly as you brought your terrified gaze to the ground.

deciding to twist the knife, rafe nudged the point of your chin with the side of his signet-tinged index finger with squinted eyes, “y’parents never taught y’how to talk to people, huh?” he questions, his pupil-blown eyes searching yours as you parted your swollen lips.

furiously shaking your head, you take a short breath, “i-i dunno how — the words are h-hard,” you speak, your voice small and mousey as your eyes meet rafe’s intimidatingly blue ones.

“well, y’gotta learn, yeah?” rafe shrugs.

with bright and naive eyes, you let out an excited gasp, “you can teach me?” you question, swollen lips pursed together as rafe licks over his pink chapped lips, taking another step closer to you as his rough hand grasps the side of your face.

you were a naive little one, a bit too welcoming … but he could fix teach you.

bringing his thumb to curve around your jaw, rafe shushes you, “y’shouldn’t be walkin’ around stranger’s houses dressed like that — your daddy ever teach you that?” rafe lightly pushes your head back, a shit-eating grin now playing on his handsome face as you obediently answer him with a forceful shake of your head.

your bambi eyes now welled with embarrassed tears, you gently attempted to pull your face from the young man’s tight hold, “yo no tengo …” you whimper softly.

shifting your face, rafe raises a corrective brow at you, “english, kid,” he scolds.

poking out your fat bottom lip in a wobbly pout, you lightly stomp your foot in frustration, “i don’t have a daddy,” you whine, a warm teardrop rolling down the apple of your cheek as rafe tutted at you with a knowing nod to himself.

“that’s the problem, huh? y’don’t have a daddy to keep y’little ass in line,” rafe mumbles, bringing his thumb to mush against your swollen and somewhat sticky lips as you stare at him with confused, yet needy little eyes.

letting go of your jaw, rafe runs a hand through his greasy hair, before swiping at the corner of his mouth with his finger, “listen kid, m’gonna take care of you, yeah? buy you whatever girly shit y’like — maybe even take y’home with me one of these days —”

“like a daddy?”

letting out a huff, rafe takes in the way you reach down to grab ahold of the wilted flower, boobs nearly spilling out of your bikini tops as you fist it tightly in your grip, “yes, but i’ll be your daddy —”

“papi!” you beam, a wide smile stretching your swollen lips as you bat your cutesy stacked lashes together, “that’s your name?” you ask politely, reaching your small hands to tug on the waistband of your shorts, unknowingly pulling them further up your ass.

“rafe is my name, pretty girl — but y’can call me papi, okay?” he coos, swiftly snagging the flimsy flower from your hand, causing you to pout as you roll your eyes, leaving rafe to snap his fingers at you, “hey — don’t start that shit, now come here and let me fix y’up,” he commands, internally satisfied with the way you quickly removed the frown from your face and walked over to him, the tips of your toes meeting the tips of his sandals.

curling a ginger underneath the waistband of your shorts, rafe softly pulls on the stretchy fabric, taking a mental note of the frilly thing you wore underneath. placing the flower in your shorts, rafe carefully secures the band of your shorts to hold the flower upright, you dainty belly button ring also catching his watchful eyes.

craning your neck to get a look of your cute new accessory, you scoff with excitement, “aye, es muy bonita, papi!” you squeal, rushing to swing your arms around rafe’s tense and warm neck.

lightly patting the top of the curve of your asscheek, rafe gently pulls you away from him, “listen, kid — y’can’t just trust every person you meet, yeah? not everyone is going to be nice like your papi, hm?” he clasps his hands around your bare shoulders, biting back a smirk as you nod feverishly.

“tell me that you understand,” rafe pushes, silently encouraging you with a small squeeze of your shoulders.

“i und-understand,” you breathe out.

bringing a hand to barely pat your cheek, rafe reaches his free hand down to tug the hem of your shorts down to cover your ass, “good girl — now why don’t y’come with daddy and i’ll buy y’some pretty clothes,” rafe hums, massaging your cheek with his thumb.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron x reader #obx #obx imagine #rafe cameron smut #rafe x reader #rafe smut #rafe imagine #sugardaddy!rafe

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rafesfavgirl · 1 day

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rafe cameron dating a swiftie

lol lowkey wrote this just for me but just in case there's fellow swifties out there who also happen to be rafe girls, here ya gooooo <3 i also need to replenish my creative juices w a nap so… yeah :) promise i’ll have another fic up soon!!

pairing: bf!rafe x swiftie!reader

context: you're a swiftie dating rafe cameron.

words: 325

warnings: reader's a MAJOR swiftie

you didn't even have to ask for eras tour tickets. rafe immediately got them for you when it was announced, and used ward's card to do it.

speaking of the eras tour, he 100% went with you.

and you definitely got him to dress up as "the heartbreak prince". he didn't put up as much of a fight as you thought—anything to make you happy.

"why do you listen to this shit?" "shut up rafe!"

he's taylor's biggest hater and will NEVER admit to listening to her with you in the car.

he definitely knows the words to a few songs though.

you hiding your smile when he begins singing along to taylor in the car.

always making him slow dance to taylor swift songs with you in the kitchen—he loves it more than he'll ever admit.

you singing and screaming taylor's saddest songs like you guys are broken up.

rafe getting annoyed when you do.

"we're not broken up, you know."

while he "hates" her, he never misses a new album listening party with you.

will gift you every single one of her vinyls and even get you a record player to play them in.

gets you swiftie merch during every drop.

folklore's lowkey his favorite album.

his favorite songs are "wildest dreams" and "style".

"tall and handsome as hell, huh?"

him grinning ear to ear at you as you sing along to her love songs in the car—he likes to think you sing them just for him.

rafe standing outside your window with a speaker playing taylor swift when you get mad and stop talking to him.

"you're such a swiftie boyfriend, you know that?" "shut the fuck up, no i'm not."

him knowing the names of all her albums just because he likes to buy them for you.

he always puts on the stolen versions and you always scold him for it.

"this isn't taylor's version." "oh my god what's the difference?"

reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated <33

#rafe cameron #rafe #cute rafe #outer banks #obx #rafe obx #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe x reader #rafe x y/n #rafe outer banks #rafe with swiftie #rafe hcs #rafe cameron hcs #rafe cameron fluff #rafe fluff

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featherandferns · 2 days

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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. Your mom had split from John B’s dad when he was three years old. She ran off to Raleigh, in North Carolina, and met a guy pretty quick. That’s when you came into the picture, born almost a year behind John B. Their relationship was rocky, to say the least, and at some point your mom decided that it may be best for you to get to know your half-brother whilst her and your dad “figured things out”. What was meant to be a short stay at Big John’s house became a four-year affair. Then, at thirteen, your mom decided to flee the state, away from your dad, 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)

#jj #jj maybank x reader #jj x reader #obx #outer banks #obx fics #outer banks fic #obx fic #obx preference #outer banks preference #jj preference #jj maybank preference #routledge!reader #jj x routledge!reader #brothersbestfriend!jj #brothersbestfriend!jj x reader #jj x fem!reader #jj maybank x fem!reader #fem!reader

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