obxobsessedbitch

a/n: so sorry for taking a couple of days to upload this, i wanted to make sure it was perfect!! this is my longest project to date and i'm so proud of it i love them sm. 💗.

pairing: dean di laurentis x childhoodbsf!reader

w/c: 5.2k (😭)

warnings: swearing, mentions of trauma (not detailed), drinking, alcohol consumption, hospital setting, injuries, hurt/comfort

summary: in which an on-ice accident brings fifteen years of hidden feelings to light in a boston hospital room

Hockey was a dangerous sport. Dean knew that, and he still chose to play. He skated his way through elementary school, high school and now college. 

Most people believed his trips outside at night were to the rink, that hockey was what calmed him down when he couldn’t sleep, or when he had too much on his mind and the world felt too loud. But hockey wasn’t what served that purpose, it was you. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

15 years ago

You and Dean met at age seven, in New York city. Both of your families had penthouses in the same building, which caused you to run into each other often.

Your friendship bloomed during a Christmas dinner that same year. Mother had instructed you to buy a lengthy list of products at the bodega next to the complex, and Dean’s mother had done the same. 

The two of you bumped into each other and got the grocery lists mixed up, causing you to buy the wrong ingredients for your families. When your mother realized what had happened, she went to Dean’s family flat in hopes of sorting things out. 

Instead of simply exchanging the products and leaving, Dean’s mother and her decided to host the dinner together, immediately clicking. That night, they both spent their time chatting while you two snuck out of the room, and went someplace else. 

“How many drinks in do you think they are?” he asked you, moving the horse on the board and killing one of your bishops. 

“I’d say about halfway through the second bottle, knowing my mother,” you answered, a huff coming out of both of your mouths. 

“Check,” he announced. 

“Not so fast, Di Laurentis,” you countered, bringing your queen to trap his king to the edge of the board. “Checkmate.” 

He saw it, your king would deliver the final blow, and he’d lost. For the first time, Dean Di Laurentis had been beaten by someone at chess. 

Despite being annoyed at himself for not predicting your move, he was glad to see your mouth shape into a grin, even if you bragged about the win for the following week. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

7 years ago

After that night, you and Dean declared that you were to be friends. Not just friends– best friends. So, even as the years passed, you two remained constants in each other’s lives. He told you everything, and you did the same. 

New York was your city, the space where you could just be the two of you. No outside pressure, no drama, and no complications. Christmases evolved into spring breaks and summer breaks as soon as you two had the power to decide where you wanted to go, which was around the start of high school, due to the lack of attention you received from your parents. 

Whenever people wondered if distance put a strain on your relationship, you both laughed. One of the best parts of being reckless teenagers was that you often took trains to see each other, stealing the apartment keys from your parents and spending weekends in the flats, switching penthouses every night. 

“Mine or yours tonight?” Dean asked you, putting the tray of blueberry muffin batter in the oven’s middle rack. 

“We did yesterday here, so switching it up would be nice, don’t you think? Plus, I think my mom left some of her good liquor over there,” you giggled, raising your brows and smiling. 

“Would you look at that? Her first good act of the decade,” he laughed.

“Tell me about it.” 

“I’ll bring our bags over there then. Should we go buy chips from the bodega or something?” he inquired, after opening the snack cabinet and seeing there weren’t any left. 

“Sure, but why don’t we go on a dinner picnic to prospect park or something, that’d be cool,” you suggested, putting the remaining dirty baking dishes in the dishwasher. 

“You are a genius, pretty girl, let’s go,” he said, grinning and placing a kiss to the top of your head.

“The muffins, idiot!” 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

This fall

Dean called you after every important thing in his life, because you were the most important person in it. Even if you two fought, which you didn’t do very often, you found your way back to each other, back to New York. 

Ever since you started college, you two saw each other often. With you studying at Harvard and him studying at Briar, the distance that separated you was smaller. 

That was why you’d showed up to every single game the Hawks played since the start of college. The boys often wondered who that girl in the opposing team’s stand wearing a Di Laurentis jersey that looked like it was years old was. They knew of you, but they’d never actually met you.

God, Dean never shut his mouth up when it came to you. 

“Y’know, G, she would have never mixed my white laundry with my colors,” Dean said, observing the disaster Garrett had created. 

“You will never shut up about her, won’t you?” Garrett asked him, and Dean shook his head.

“How do we know she’s even real? You talk about her like she’s an angel who fell from the sky,” Logan added.

Beau was quick to offer a response. “Oh, she’s very real. If you met her, you would think the same thing. Except Dean’s reaction is exaggerated because he's whipped.”

“See, that’s funny, because she’s my best friend,” Dean said, denying the last thing Beau said. 

“These things happen in Hannah’s romance books all the time, dude,” Garrett pointed out and all of the other boys started laughing at him. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

5 years ago

“My mom wants us to move to this really big but ugly house in Winchester, which is unfortunately very far away from where we live now, as you may have noticed,” you told Dean, turning around on the king bed to face him, the New York skyline illuminating your face.

“You don’t seem sad at all,” he mentioned, facing you as well.

“That’s because Winchester is way closer to the city, and closer to Connecticut, than where we are now. And that’s what matters,” you said.

“Does this mean we can make New York a monthly thing or?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“This means we can come every two weeks,” you said, a big grin plastered on your face. 

Dean pulled you close to him on the king bed and, in an attempt to hug you, ended up rolling both of you off the bed.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Present day

Finals week had been eating you alive. It was always bad, but this semester had been especially tough, due to your classes being graduate-level electives. 

You told Dean that you wouldn’t be able to attend the week’s game through FaceTime, and he wasn’t even mad. Dean could sometimes act very immature-like, but that never happened with you. He understood you needed to prioritize your studies. Plus, you’d been to every single game since Freshman year. 

That particular game was against an especially aggressive team, but the Hawks knew what to do. They had practiced drills to evade certain attacks over and over again, and they were more than prepared. Or so they thought. 

The opponents had turned out to be even worse than the team had expected, throwing illegal punches left and right, but Dean managed to stay away from the ones he deemed to be the most violent for the better part of the game. 

But when he saw a clear goal opportunity, he took it. Because he was Dean goddamn Di Laurentis, and he wasn’t scared of a couple state university players who had to throw everyone on the floor just to gain control of the puck. 

Skating quickly through the ice, Dean was too focused on what was ahead that he missed the player coming up behind him. 

Suddenly, he was on the floor, his ears ringing and his eyes unable to open. 

“Call her,” he said, unaware of the fact that nobody could hear his whispers.

When everything went to black, the only thing on his mind was you. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

13 years ago

“Dean, you’re going to get yourself killed!” you yelled at him as he skated through Wollman rink with astounding speed. 

“I got it, pretty girl!” he yelled back from the rink, grinning at you. 

After being bribed with hot cocoa, you agreed to go with Dean to the ice rink so he could practice his skating. He’d become obsessed about hockey, and even though he’d always loved the sport, you’d never seen him this dedicated. 

“If you’ve got it, push harder, come on! We don’t want you slacking, Di Laurentis,” you joked, moving your hand in circles. 

“On it,” he echoed, speeding over to where you were from the other side. 

“Y’know, it wouldn’t hurt you to try,” he said, crossing his arms.

“Just so you can check me into the boards and write it off as ‘practice’? No thank you, I’ve learned my lesson.”

“That was one time!” 

“Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen!”

“I’ll convert you one day, you’ll see,” he determined, making you roll your eyes sarcastically. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Present day

The call came in at seven pm. You wondered why the local Boston hospital was calling you, but picked up nonetheless.

“Hello ma’am, this is Dr. Abbott, we have you listed as Dean Di Laurentis’ emergency contact. Is this information correct?” the doctor asked, and your heart sank.

Dean. The hospital. A game. 

“Yes, that’s right,” you responded, standing up from your chair and going to fetch one of your coats. 

“We regret to inform you that we have Dean over in our emergency department”

A pit formed in your stomach. The emergency department. 

“He has been seriously injured and we request your assistance to the hospital to discuss things further”

“Is he awake?” you inquired, barely able to hold tears back.

“Not at the moment, I’m afraid,” said the doctor.

“’ll be there in thirty minutes”

After hanging up, you grabbed your keys and raced outside the house. The clothes you were wearing didn’t even cross your mind, for it was far too busy shifting through the possible injuries that could land Dean in the ER. 

Running down the stairs of your apartment building, another name appeared on your screen, calling you. 

Beau beep 🌾

You slid your finger through the cold screen, answering the call as fast as you could. Beau’s face popped up on the screen, and you felt a tiny sense of relief once you saw he was already in the hospital. 

“I assume they’ve called you already,” he said when he noticed that the oversized hockey jersey you were wearing, which was obviously Dean’s, sat under a big coat. 

“Yeah, they have. Who’s there already?” you wondered, finally reaching the lobby. 

Beau answered, but all sound felt muffled as you ran towards your car, rushing to get inside and be on your way to the hospital. 

Memories flooded your brain as you pressed your body to the car seat, which only made you want to get to Dean more. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

6 years ago

It was the last game of sophomore year, and you had taken a three and a half hour train to surprise Dean inside of the rink. Suited up in your Di Laurentis jersey, you waited for twenty more minutes until the players came into the ice. 

As soon as he spotted you leaning next to the box, he dropped his stick and ran to hug you, ignoring the comments he got from his coach and teammates. 

“What are you doing here, pretty girl?” he asked, a wide smile crowding his face. 

“I wanted to surprise you today. You kept mentioning how excited you were for this game, and I decided to buy a train ticket over,” you replied, mirroring his own smile. 

“Does your mom know you’re here?” his tone shifted, not concerned, just curious.

“We’ve been approved for a three day sleepover,” you reassured. 

“Di Laurentis, get into the rink!” his coach yelled, beckoning him inside. 

“Go get ‘em, Dean,” you told him, tapping the spot in his jersey that was over his heart. 

The game was going very well, Dean’s team leading by five goals. The crowd was cheering like crazy, screams echoing throughout the rink. Then came gasps, followed by a thick wave of silence. 

Dean had been knocked onto the floor with an insane amount of force, leaving him unresponsive. 

You ran from your spot in the stands to where they were carrying him out of the rink faster than the speed of light, pushing people off your way if you needed to. 

“Excuse me, young lady, you can’t be here. We’re escorting him to the hospital,” said the team medic. 

“I’m family,” you stated, standing your ground. 

After a moment of hesitation, the medic nodded and allowed you to go with the rest of the personnel. They placed Dean on a gurney inside an ambulance, and you interlocked your fingers with his during the journey to the hospital. 

You were terrified. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Present day

The feeling of terror inside you wasn’t any different this time. A cloud of dread rested above you on your way to the hospital, during which you’d remained on call with Beau. 

“What happened?” you asked him once your mind was as clear as it would get. 

“He lost consciousness after getting checked into the boards. The doc said he had a pretty severe concussion and the usual hockey injuries, but they put him into observation because his breathing was odd” Beau replied, trying to keep his tone as steady as possible to alarm you as little as he could. 

You didn’t know what to say. You just kept driving, your eyes on the road, your mind on Dean. 

“You know he’ll go on and on about how you’re his lucky charm and that’s the reason why he got hurt, right?” Beau joked, getting a small laugh out of you. 

“I can already hear him say it,” you said, the corners of your mouth turning up. 

Parking in the hospital lot took less time than expected, so you headed out of the car with shaky hands and stood in front of the automated doors of the ER, which allowed you to enter. 

Bright LED lights blazed into your eyes, and the sharp smell of sterile cleaning products, iodine and latex gloves penetrated your nostrils. Nurses rushed up and down the hallways, their hands busy at all times. The place was filled with despair and hope overlapping with one another, infinite possibilities streaming out of every patient.

The woman at reception shot you a pitiful look before setting the mug on her hand down and focusing her full attention onto you. 

“Who are you here for, sweetheart?” she kindly asked, turning to type your response into the database.

“Di Laurentis, Dean,” you responded, fiddling with the charmed bracelet on your right hand. 

“He’s in the observation unit at the end of the hall. There’s a crowd of people outside, so you’ll see it,” she remarked, making you huff. 

Despite never having met them, you had a pretty good idea of who the people may be. Dean had told you all about his friends from Briar. Garrett, Logan, Tucker, Hannah and Allie. 

So, you had a pretty good idea of which group they were when you spotted them. Beau was also there with them, and his expression fully shifted when he saw you. Relief spread through his features, and he came over to give you a hug. 

“They wouldn’t let us see him because we’re too many and not his–” 

“Emergency contacts,” you finished the sentence for him, hugging him back. 

Handing your coat over to him, you looked for the nearest nurse to notify her of your appearance and ask her to let you into the room. 

“Is that..?” Logan asked Beau, raising his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, she is,” Beau responded, sitting down on a chair. 

“That isn’t Dean’s Briar Hockey jersey,” Hannah pointed out, observing the details of the embroidered 66 on your back. 

“It was his senior night jersey, Dean gave it to her so he could spot her at games in college,” Beau explained, mentally preparing himself to answer the flood of questions that he was sure would come. 

Before any of them could ask anything else, you came back with a nurse, room keys in hand. 

“Nice to meet you all, I’ve heard a lot about you. I’ll be right back,” you stated in a poor attempt to hide the shaky tone in your voice. 

All of the fear slowly melted away when you saw Dean laid down on the hospital bed, and you let out a breath you didn’t even realise you were holding. 

You stepped into the room and immediately sat on the chair next to his bed, lacing his uninjured fingers with yours. 

Suddenly, a rough, gravelly voice laced with painkillers spoke for the first time. “I know I’m handsome, but your gaze will burn through my face if you keep staring at me like that”

A bruise was starting to form on his jaw, and his hair was messy. His eyes, red from the painkillers the medical staff had given him, were entirely focused on you. 

“You idiot. You absolute, utter, stubborn idiot!” you exclaimed, your voice catching in your throat as you heard his own. You knew you couldn’t stay mad at him for long, you’d never been able to. 

Despite your tone, he simply smiled, his thumb tracing patterns on the back of your hand. The asshole was soothing you while he was getting lectured. 

“Missed you in the stands today. I didn’t have anyone to look at after scoring, it was kind of pointless,” he said, the corners of his lip tugging at his stitches, and he winced slightly at the feeling. 

“Do not joke right now, Di Laurentis. A doctor and Beau called me from the hospital–” your voice broke, tears threatening to spill from your eyes, “they said you got checked, hard, and you weren’t responding. They said your breathing was off.”

“Hey,” he squeezed your hand and pulled on your sleeve, waiting for you to get closer to him. “C’mere”

Once you moved the chair as close to the hospital bed as you could, Dean’s good hand came up to wipe one of the slow tears that had come out of your eyes. 

“I’m okay, pretty girl,” he reassured, interlocking his fingers with yours again. His fingers grazed your knuckles, softer than usual. “I’m here, I’m okay” 

Despite being in pain, Dean’s only preoccupation was to make the tears in your face disappear, because if he was asked to name the thing that he disliked most in the world, his answer would be seeing you hurt. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

2 years ago

The doorbell in Dean’s New York apartment rang, and Dean raced downstairs, expecting to encounter one of the packages he’d ordered. However, when he opened the door, he saw you. 

Clothes soaked, sobs shutting the sound of heavy rain out from the apartment. Without asking, he pulled you flush to him. 

“You’re okay. You’re with me,” his voice and warmth grounded you, reminding you that you were safe because you were with him. 

Dean ran his hands through your wet hair until your breathing evened out and you were ready to talk. “I trusted my mom when she said she’d changed, when she asked me to go down to their place for thanksgiving. But when I got there, she was only nice for twenty minutes. Then, she started screaming at me and telling me just how much of a failure I was and how she regretted me all together”

“She was drunk, wasn’t she?” he asked, looking down at you with eyes full of understanding.

You gave him a small nod, and he sighed in defeat. He’d known your mom as long as he’d known you, and there had always been a bottle of some sort alongside her, as a mandatory accessory. After your gesture, he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, and you two stood enveloped in each other in silence for quite some time.

There was nothing he hated more than seeing you suffer, whether that may be physical or mental. A close second, though, was seeing you cry. The moment tears were involved, Dean just wanted to hold you and run his hands through your hair to soothe you and prove you were safe when he was alongside you. No matter what.

That night, Dean and you curled up on the couch to watch one of your comfort movies, a nightly ritual you both did before playing a couple of games of chess and then going to bed. 

“What are we watching tonight, pretty girl?” he asked, arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him. 

“Will you cry again if I put The Notebook on?” you questioned, scrunching your nose up at him. 

“You know I will,” he affirmed, a raspy laugh coming out of his throat. 

“That is not very d1 hockey player and fraternity brother of you, Di Laurentis,” you teased, poking his side to get control of the remote. 

“There you are, thought you’d vanished on me”

“I could never vanish if you’re with me, you know that,” your voice grew quieter, more serious.

“And you know that I’m not the way you described while I’m with you,” his tone matched yours as his hand traced lazy patterns on your shoulder.

“Yeah, you’re yourself here,” you deadpanned, and Dean didn’t even dare deny it. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

3 years ago

Nobody had warned you and Dean about how nostalgic you would feel right before going off to college on your own. 

You and Dean had picked Harvard and Briar to be closer together than you’d ever been while not being in New York, but you couldn’t deny that you wished college wouldn’t stop you from driving out to the city every other week. 

It was your last night in the city before officially becoming college students, and you were both more scared than you’d let on. So, logically, you’d decided to go out and get pizza at the 24-hour pizza joint you had next door. 

“Should we dress up or just go like this?” you thought out loud, looking down at the oversized hoodie you were wearing, which you’d stolen from Dean.

“It’s 2 AM, no one will see us on the street,” he said, snorting at your comment. 

The walk to the pizza place was filled with laughs and memories, recalling the times where you’d showed up to his school and he’d showed up to yours, sometimes unannounced but never less welcome. 

Once you reached the joint, Dean went ahead and ordered both of your pizzas without asking. He knew your order off the top of his head. 

Emilio, the man at the register, smiled at the sight of you and Dean, unable to contain his happiness. He’d seen you two grow up and change together, and the way you two enchanted him was visible in his face every time you stepped into his shop late at night.

“Don’t stop coming by during holidays, kids! I’ll be expecting you this Christmas,” Emilio said as he handed you two your pizzas. 

“We’ll never stop coming here, Emilio,” You told the man and glanced at Dean, who was nodding. 

“Not when you make the best pizzas in New York,” Dean said, his mouth beginning to water. 

You and Dean ate your pizzas, sharing half of yours with the other person. The only thing left to do was walk back home. 

Even if the joint was just a couple of blocks from your apartments, it was easy to get distracted while walking around the city, especially if you were with Dean. Walking backwards while eating a slice of pizza, you didn’t notice you were about to fall into a puddle. 

Dean grabbed you by the collar of your hood and pulled you flush to him, preventing your fall. Suddenly, the air felt like it had thickened up, partially because of how Dean was looking at you. He was studying your face like it was his favorite subject and he never wanted to stop learning.

Dean’s hand moved to the nape of your neck and he opened his mouth to say something, your heart racing. Just when he was about to say it, a speeding taxi passed by next to you, shutting Dean up. 

“I’m gonna miss messing with you, pretty girl,” he said, moving you to his side by your waist and then letting you go. 

The tone in his voice was filled with things unsaid, things you were too scared to put out into the air. Because once they were out there, they couldn’t be reeled back in.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Present day

“You scared the shit out of me, Dean,” you whispered, staring at the boy you had known forever, the one who had been with you through everything, who you knew would never let you go. 

The knot in your throat did not seem to want to loosen unless you spoke  and mentioned what was truly on your mind, what you’d longed to say to him ever since you saw the hospital was calling you. 

“For a second, I wondered what would happen if you didn’t make it, what my life would look like without you in it. And I didn’t like it one bit. Because I don’t know who I am without you, Dean. Without you, I’m half of myself, you took the rest the moment we met, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love you, Dean. I think I always have”

Dean’s eyes were locked into yours, his breathing heavy and uneven. With your words, you’d completely shattered his facade, leaving him unfiltered. 

“When everything went black, death didn’t scare me. The only thing on my mind was you. Because if I left it all behind then, I wouldn’t be able to tell you how I’ve felt all of these years,” he said, and your eyebrows furrowed out of instinct. 

“You think I’ve been looking at you like this for fifteen years just because you’re my best friend? No, pretty girl, it’s because you’re my entire world. It’s always been you, ever since we played that damn chess game during Christmas break. I love you too”

The two of you let out a small laugh at the same time, one of the tiny habits you’d picked up from each other over the years. 

“Now come closer, if the nurses see me leaning in to kiss you, I might not make it out of this hospital after all,” he joked, making your face shift into a grin.

Careful of the beeping monitor beside you, and the wires attached to him, you closed the remaining distance between the two of you. His good hand escaped your grasp to settle on your jaw, and your own hands moved to the nape of his neck, fiddling with the blond hair that was there. 

The atmosphere didn’t completely change, it simply revealed what it had truly been all along. It was a reminder that all of the stolen glances, the gentle touches and the quiet nights filled with charged silence hadn’t been for nothing. 

Dean’s breath caught in his throat the moment your lips grazed his, and he couldn’t bear to wait any longer. Tentatively, he pressed your lips to his, tangling you in a kiss. It was hesitant at first, as if he couldn’t believe this wasn’t just one of his dreams, as if he wasn’t sure if you were even real. 

After letting out a sigh of relief, he kissed you like the world owed him something for keeping you away from him for so long, like it came as natural to him as breathing, like he never wanted to let your lips split from his ever again. 

When you finally pulled back, your forehead resting against his, you two kept your eyes closed for a few seconds. He opened his before you did, so you caught him looking at you like you’d just fulfilled his biggest dreams with a kiss. 

“So, does this mean you’re officially my girl now?” he whispered, his signature grin finally appearing on his face.

“I’ve been your girl for a while, Di Laurentis”

By the time you’d finished that sentence, Dean was already tugging you closer to him with his good hand to kiss you again, which made you giggle. Both of you had been waiting for this moment for a long time, and you wanted to make the most of it. 

Suddenly, there was a creak at the door.

“D, we come bearing gi– What the fuck!” yelled Logan, almost dropping the things he’d brought over from the vending machine. 

Garret came into the room and just stared at you two, flushed faces and intertwined hands. His face was a completely blank look, jaw hung ajar. 

You cleared your throat, running a hand through your messy hair and moving to stand next to Dean.

“What’s going on in there, G?” asked Beau from the door, making his way in. Once he saw your joined hands, messy hair, and the grin on Dean’s face, he quickly put the pieces together. 

“Fuck yeah, D! Finally! Took you long enough, idiots,” Beau said, beginning to clap. 

“The rest of you do not understand what a pain all of these years have been. I’ve had to wait since high school. This is such a big moment for me,” he continued, his face shifting onto a smirk. 

Tucker, hearing the commotion that was coming from inside, also decided to step in. “So this is pretty girl, huh? Nice to meet you too”

The boys laughed, but the flush on your face only deepened. 

“Guys, you’re ruining a moment!” yelled Hannah and Allie in unison from behind the boys. 

“Okay, okay, we’ll leave the two lovebirds be,” Logan replied, shooting Dean a knowing smile before leaving the room. 

The Hawks and Beau walked out, leaving you and Dean alone again. Beau’s cheers were audible, and he was telling every member of the group the story of your lives. 

Dean pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles, and then looked at you again. It was the same look he’d been giving you since you were kids, but you saw it under a different lens now. 

His fingers, still interlocked with yours, traced patterns on the back of your hand. “Y’know, the second I get let out of here, we’re going straight to the city again”

“Are you feeling homesick, Di Laurentis?” you teased. The smile that cracked through your lips broke your act, though.

“If you’re with me, I’ll never feel homesick,” he retorted, leaving you puzzled.

“New York’s not my home, pretty girl. You are”

Dean Di Laurentis x Reader (y/n)

Summary: When y/n finds out that her drink has been spiked she has no one to turn to but Dean, her enemy. Dean finding y/n knocking at his door in her barely conscious state brings up clashing feelings.

TW: having a drugged drink at a party

Word Count: 4.8K

Dean Di Laurentis x Fem!Reader

warnings: angst, fluff, longing, swearing

summary: in which Best Friend!Dean finds out you’re in the hospital and immediately comes to your aid

wc: 1416

a/n: I was inspired by when I was sent to my hospital and my boyfriend had a similar reaction LOL

Study Buddy:

JJ HATES that Topper Thronton is his daughter's crush and tutor for her English lessons.

JJ, his perpetually sun-kissed blonde hair a little wilder than usual, wrestled with a stubborn outboard motor at The Wreck. Grease smudged his cheek, mirroring the storm brewing beneath his cool blue eyes. He was usually carefree, a laughing, playful Pogue through and through, but today, a certain tension vibrated beneath his skin.

His daughter, Stacy, all of sixteen and blossoming faster than a summer hibiscus, had been acting…different. Secretive smiles, hushed phone calls, and an unusual interest in Shakespeare, of all things. Shakespeare! Stacy’s literary tastes usually ran more towards dystopian YA novels and Instagram captions.

Yn, JJ’s steady anchor and the calm center of their often chaotic world, had tried to reassure him. “Maybe she’s finally decided to join the school’s drama club, JJ. Relax.”

Relax? JJ scoffed internally as he finally coaxed the motor to life with a triumphant roar. Relaxing wasn’t exactly in his Pogue DNA, especially when it came to his little girl. He was protective, fiercely so. He’d faced down drug dealers, navigated treacherous storms on the open ocean, and even eaten Kelce’s burnt cooking with a smile. But the thought of Stacy, his Stacy, entering the tumultuous world of teenage romance? That sent shivers of parental dread down his spine.

Then came the bomb. Stacy, all wide-eyed innocence, had announced she was having a study session. “English,” she’d chirped, “with Rafe.”

Rafe. The name landed in JJ’s gut like a lead weight. Rafe Cameron. Rich kid, Kook royalty, and possessor of a smirk that JJ instantly distrusted. Rafe Cameron, who just happened to be the same age as Stacy and suddenly interested in verb conjugations. Right.

JJ’s mind, usually a chaotic but effective whirlwind, went into overdrive. ‘Tutoring’? In her room? With the door closed? On a Saturday afternoon when the beach was calling? Absolutely not. His protective instincts, already simmering, reached boiling point.

“Tutoring, huh?” JJ had managed to say, his voice deceptively casual as he wiped grease on a rag. Yn, ever observant, shot him a warning glance. Stacy just nodded, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Yeah, Mr. Thornton said I could use some extra help with Hamlet."

Hamlet. JJ knew a tragedy was about to unfold, and it wasn’t going to be on stage. He plastered on a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. “Well, that’s…great, Stace. Just let us know if you need snacks or, you know, help understanding…to be or not to be?” He punctuated the last bit with unnecessary air quotes.

Stacy rolled her eyes, a very teenage, very effective dismissal. “Dad, seriously. We’re fine.” And with that, she'd disappeared into her room, the door clicking shut a moment later.

JJ’s head nearly exploded. He paced the small living room, muttering under his breath. Yn, leaning against the counter, watched him with an amused glint in her eyes. “Okay, Pogue, deep breaths. She’s sixteen, JJ. Boys exist.”

“Yeah, but Rafe exists, Yn! Rafe Cameron! It’s like sending a lamb to a pack of…well, you know.” He struggled for a suitable analogy that wasn’t overtly violent. “A pack of…slightly dodgy seagulls!”

Yn chuckled, shaking her head. “He’s probably just helping her with homework.”

“Homework that requires closing the door? In her bedroom? Come on, Yn! Think like a Pogue for once!” JJ threw his hands up in exasperation. He couldn’t stand around doing nothing. He needed intel. Pogue intel.

And so Operation: Shakespearean Spy began.

First, recon. JJ, channeling his inner stealth operative (which mostly involved recalling dodgy maneuvers he’d used to sneak into movie theaters as a kid), tiptoed towards Stacy’s bedroom door. He pressed his ear against it, straining to hear. Silence. Suspicious silence.

He tried the doorknob. Locked. Of course, locked. Teenage bedrooms were fortresses these days. He considered kicking it in, John B style, but Yn would probably kill him before Rafe even got a scratch. Subtlety was key, however unnatural it felt to JJ’s impulsive nature.

Next tactic: Window Peeping. He slipped out the back door, grabbed a rickety old beach chair, and positioned it strategically beneath Stacy’s window. He scrambled onto it, wincing as it wobbled precariously, and peered into the room.

Curtains drawn. Foiled again! JJ grumbled. This was harder than smuggling beer past security at a Pogues vs. Kooks bonfire. He needed a better vantage point.

His eyes landed on the rusty ladder leading to the roof. Perfect. He could access the roof above Stacy’s room and maybe, just maybe, get a glimpse through the gap between the roof and the wall.

Climbing the ladder with the grace of a drunken raccoon, JJ finally reached the roof. He crawled on his belly towards the edge, peering cautiously down. There it was! A small gap, just big enough to offer a sliver of a view into Stacy’s room.

He positioned himself carefully, one eye squinted, the other pressed against the gap, feeling like a ridiculous, overgrown gargoyle. What he saw made his blood run cold.

Not because of anything untoward. Quite the opposite. Stacy and Rafe were…reading. Actually reading. Hamlet, to be specific. Rafe, looking surprisingly un-Kook-like in his earnestness, was explaining something in the text, pointing to the book with a surprisingly well-manicured finger. Stacy was listening, nodding thoughtfully, her brow furrowed in concentration.

JJ stared, dumbfounded. Tutoring. They were actually tutoring. Shakespearean tutoring. His elaborate spy mission had been thwarted by…literature.

But wait. He squinted again. Rafe’s hand lingered on Stacy’s arm a little longer than necessary when he pointed something out in the book. Stacy blushed, a delicate pink creeping up her neck. And Rafe? Rafe was smiling at her. Not a smug Kook smirk, but a genuine, almost…sweet smile.

JJ’s protective instincts flared up again, this time mixed with a healthy dose of confused paternal panic. He couldn’t just stand by and watch potential hand-holding and…smiling. He needed to intervene. But how to do it without completely embarrassing himself and Stacy (too late for the first part, probably)?

An idea sparked in his mischievous brain. He scrambled back to the ladder, descended with slightly more haste than grace, and darted back into the house. Yn was still in the kitchen, humming to herself, oblivious to the covert operation unfolding.

JJ grabbed a saucepan and a wooden spoon, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Yn raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing trouble brewing. “What are you doing, JJ?”

“Tactical diversion, babe. Pogue style.” He grinned, a classic JJ grin that promised chaos and hilarity. “Trust me.”

He crept back to Stacy’s room, saucepan and spoon held aloft like weapons. He took a deep breath, and then banged on the pot with the spoon with all the enthusiasm of a one-man marching band. BANG! BANG! BANG!

“FIRE DRILL! FIRE DRILL! EVERYBODY OUT!” JJ yelled, his voice comically loud.

Stacy’s door flew open, revealing a bewildered Stacy and a thoroughly startled Rafe. Stacy’s eyes widened in mortification as she took in her roof-climbing, saucepan-wielding father. Rafe just blinked, looking utterly confused.

“Dad! What in the world are you doing?” Stacy hissed, her face turning a shade of red that rivaled a ripe tomato.

JJ, unable to suppress a grin, brandished the saucepan and spoon. “Just checking for smoke, sweetheart. Safety first, you know. And loud noises are important for fire drills.” He winked conspiratorially at Rafe, who still looked like he wasn’t entirely sure if he was awake.

“There’s no fire, Dad! We’re just…studying!” Stacy practically groaned, pulling Rafe further into the doorway as if to shield him from JJ’s ridiculousness.

“Studying requires ventilation, Stace. Gotta let the knowledge air out. Plus, you know, snacks. Studying makes a Pogue hungry.” JJ pushed past Stacy into the room, surveying the scene with exaggerated scrutiny. He sniffed the air dramatically. “Smells…intellectual in here. And slightly…teenagery.”

Rafe, finally finding his voice, ventured a tentative, “Uh, hi, Mr…uh…”

“Maybank,” JJ finished, extending a hand that was suspiciously greasy from the outboard motor earlier. Rafe shook it gingerly, clearly unsure what to make of this whirlwind of a father.

“So, Hamlet, huh?” JJ said, picking up the book and flipping through it with mock seriousness. “To be or not to be…classic stuff. Lots of angst. Teenage angst, even. You guys getting into the teenage angst of it all?” He nudged Rafe with his elbow, winking again, this time a little less conspiratorially and a little more…threateningly playful.

Stacy groaned again, burying her face in her hands. “Dad, please! You’re embarrassing me!”

“Embarrassing you? Sweetheart, embarrassing you is my superpower. It’s in the Pogue handbook. Right after ‘how to hotwire a golf cart’ and ‘the best way to catch a flounder with your bare hands’.” JJ grinned at Rafe, who managed a weak smile back.

Yn finally appeared in the doorway, shaking her head and stifling a laugh. “JJ, come on. Let’s leave them to their…angst.” She gently steered JJ out of the room, pulling him away from the scene of his hilarious (to him, at least) intrusion.

As they retreated, JJ could hear Stacy’s exasperated voice, “Rafe, I am so sorry about my dad. He’s…he’s a lot.”

JJ chuckled, wrapping an arm around Yn’s shoulders. “A lot of love, babe. Just a lot of love for his little girl. And a healthy dose of Pogue paranoia. Can’t be too careful with Shakespeare and Kooks, you know?”

Attached at the hip:

JJ's son, Ethan is attached to his father and clings to him like a second leg.

The salty air of the Outer Banks hung thick with the scent of brine and sunscreen as JJ Mayfield attempted to navigate the crowded deck of the Phantom, not with a surfboard under his arm, but a wriggling, giggling baby attached to his hip like a particularly determined barnacle.

Ethan, all of ten months old, was a miniature version of JJ himself, sporting a shock of shaggy blonde hair, though his eyes were a warm, hazelnut brown inherited from his mother, Yn. Currently, those hazelnut eyes were fixed adoringly on JJ, his tiny hands gripping the fabric of JJ's worn-out shirt with the tenacity of a professional rock climber. Deep dimples, mirroring JJ’s own, punctuated his beaming smile.

“Dude, you look like you’ve grown a human limb,” John B drawled from where he leaned against the mast, a smirk playing on his lips. Kiara was beside him, filming the scene on her phone, while Pope snickered, adjusting his glasses. Yn, perched on a cooler, simply watched with a gentle, amused smile.

JJ shot a glare at John B, which was somewhat softened by the rosy hue of fatherly affection warming his features. “Ha ha, real funny, Routledge. Maybe try carrying around fifteen pounds of pure, unadulterated love for five minutes and then talk to me about limbs.”

Ethan, sensing his father's tone, let out a happy squeal, burying his face into JJ's neck. JJ automatically tightened his grip, his rebellious streak momentarily subdued by an overwhelming wave of tenderness. He was JJ Maybank, pogue royalty, the king of questionable decisions and even more questionable dives – and now, inexplicably, he was a dad. And a damn good one, if he did say so himself.

“It’s kinda cute, actually,” Kiara admitted, lowering her phone slightly. “He’s like your shadow, but, you know, way smaller and less likely to steal boats.”

“Hey!” JJ protested, feigning offense, even though a small grin tugged at his lips. “I resent that! And for the record, I only borrowed that boat. Temporarily.” He winked at Ethan, who responded by dribbling a bit of drool down JJ’s shoulder. “See? He knows I’m innocent.”

Yn chuckled, her laughter like the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. “He knows you’re his favorite jungle gym, J.”

The truth was, Ethan wasn't just clingy, he was essentially glued to JJ. It had started subtly, a preference for JJ's arms, escalating into full-blown meltdowns if JJ dared to put him down for more than five seconds. Yn, bless her patient soul, had tried everything – cuddles, toys, distracting him with shiny objects – but Ethan was a JJ-seeking missile.

“It’s separation anxiety,” Pope declared, adjusting his glasses again, sounding like a seasoned child psychologist. “Perfectly normal at this age. He’s just… um… particularly attached to JJ.” Pope’s analytical tone couldn’t quite mask the amusement dancing in his eyes.

JJ rolled his eyes, but secretly, a part of him, the vulnerable, loving part he usually kept fiercely guarded, swelled with pride. Ethan loved him. Like, really loved him. It was a bizarre and wonderful feeling.

“Attached is an understatement, Pope,” JJ muttered, shifting Ethan slightly as he tried to retrieve a beer from the cooler with one hand. “This kid thinks my leg is some kind of high-rise condo.”

Later that day, they were at the Wreck, the usual Pogue hangout, the air thick with the scent of fried seafood and salty tales. JJ was attempting to eat a basket of shrimp, a challenging feat given the tiny human appendage currently latched onto his arm.

“You gonna share with your mini-me, J?” Kiara teased, watching as Ethan’s eyes tracked every shrimp JJ lifted to his mouth.

“He’s got his own mushy peas, Kie,” JJ retorted, nodding towards Yn who was expertly spoon-feeding Ethan from a small container. “This is daddy fuel.”

Suddenly, Pope, in a moment of uncharacteristic impulsiveness, reached out and gently tried to detach Ethan from JJ’s arm. “Let’s see if he’ll come to Uncle Pope for a bit.”

The reaction was instantaneous and dramatic. Ethan’s face crumpled, his adorable dimples disappearing as his eyes widened in horror. He unleashed a wail that could rival a foghorn, his tiny body arching backwards towards JJ as if Pope had just tried to steal his last lifeline.

JJ, shrimp forgotten, instinctively pulled Ethan closer, cradling him protectively. “Woah, woah, buddy, it’s okay, it’s just Pope.” He glared at Pope, a hint of his bad temper flickering in his blue eyes. “Dude! You scared him half to death!”

Pope recoiled, holding up his hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry! Just… curious.” He looked genuinely bewildered by the intensity of Ethan’s reaction.

Kiara, however, was doubled over with laughter, tears streaming down her face. “Oh my god, Pope, I think you just broke the baby!”

Even John B was chuckling, shaking his head in disbelief. “Dude, that kid is velcroed to you. You’re stuck with him for life, JJ.”

Yn, ever the calming presence, gently took Ethan from JJ, murmuring soothingly. Surprisingly, Ethan calmed down almost immediately in her arms, though his eyes remained fixed on JJ, a silent plea for reassurance.

“He’s alright, Kie,” Yn said, her voice soft but firm, shooting Kiara a look that silenced her laughter. “He’s just… sensitive.” She glanced at JJ, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “And maybe a little bit spoiled by his dad.”

JJ puffed out his chest, a playful smirk returning to his face. “Spoiled? Nah. Loved? Absolutely.” He reached out a finger and gently poked Ethan’s chubby cheek, and the baby responded with a gummy smile, his earlier distress forgotten.

Later that evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, JJ sat on the porch of the Chateau, Ethan nestled asleep on his chest. Yn was beside him, her head resting on his shoulder, the familiar comfort of her presence a balm to his often-restless soul.

“He’s really something, isn’t he?” Yn whispered, her voice filled with love as she watched their son sleep.

JJ looked down at Ethan, his heart swelling with an emotion he couldn’t quite articulate. It wasn’t just love, it was something deeper, something primal and fiercely protective. This tiny human, this clingy, demanding, drool-covered creature, had completely rearranged his world, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“He is,” JJ agreed, his voice softer than usual. “He’s… perfect.” He gently stroked Ethan’s soft hair. “And yeah, he’s a stage-five clinger. But hey,” he shrugged, a hint of his usual smart-alecky tone returning, “at least I know someone will always be happy to see me, right?”

Yn chuckled, nudging him playfully. “He’s happy to see you because you’re his personal snack dispenser and fun-time daddy. But yeah, he loves you, J. We both do.”

JJ leaned in and kissed Yn’s forehead, a genuine, affectionate gesture that spoke volumes. He was JJ Maybank, the wild card, the pogue who lived life on the edge. But he was also JJ, Ethan’s dad, Yn’s partner, and in the chaos of fatherhood, amidst the clinginess and the sleep deprivation and the constant worry, he had found a kind of happiness he never knew existed.

Ethan stirred in his sleep, nuzzling closer to JJ’s chest, his little hand reaching up to grip JJ’s shirt again. JJ smiled, deep dimples carving themselves into his cheeks. Yeah, life with a velcro baby was chaotic, messy, and sometimes downright hilarious. But it was also filled with a love so fierce and pure, it made even a pogue like JJ Mayfield feel grounded and whole.

The Sock Crisis 0f 7:03 A.M:

JJ tries to dress his baby girl in socks with tiny bows. She kicks them off with the fury of a goddess. JJ gasps, clutches his chest, and whispers, “She’s rejecting beauty.” He spends the next hour designing custom socks with embroidered affirmations like “I am adored.”

The Outer Banks sun, a familiar, benevolent old friend, streamed through the slightly grimy windows of the Chateau, illuminating dust motes dancing in the salty air. It was a lazy Tuesday, the kind of day that felt like a deep, contented sigh. The rhythmic wash of waves on the shore was a constant, soothing percussion to their new life, a life that was somehow both radically different and exactly the same.

In the center of the living room, surrounded by a delightful chaos of baby blankets and half-empty coffee mugs, JJ Maybank was engaged in a battle of wills. His opponent was small, cherubic, and currently possessed the leg strength of a world-class kickboxer.

Delphine Maybank, six months old and the undisputed queen of the Chateau, regarded her father with wide, startlingly blue eyes—a perfect mirror of his own.

“Okay, Delphi-doodle,” JJ murmured, his voice a low, conspiratorial rumble. He held up his prize: a pair of minuscule white socks, each adorned with a perfectly formed, impossibly tiny pink satin bow. “This is the final frontier. This is high fashion. Your mom picked these out. You like your mom, right? Of course, you do. She’s the best. So, by the transitive property of coolness, you will love these.”

He pinched one sock between his thumb and forefinger, a surgeon preparing for a delicate operation. Delphine gurgled, a sound that could have been agreement or a threat. JJ chose to interpret it as the former. He gently captured her kicking foot, a chubby little thing with toes like perfect pearls, and began to ease the sock on.

The resistance was immediate. Her leg stiffened, her toes curled into a tight fist.

“Easy now, my fierce little mermaid,” JJ soothed, his shaggy blonde hair falling into his eyes. “It’s just cotton. It’s for your own good. Sand is coarse. Floors are… floory. We must protect the precious feet.”

With a final, heroic push, the sock was on. The tiny pink bow sat jauntily on her ankle. JJ beamed, his signature dimples carving deep into his cheeks. “See? Perfection. You look like a tiny, adorable CEO of a company that makes… I don’t know, professional bubbles.”

He reached for the second sock. It was a fatal error.

With a shriek that was part battle cry, part indignation, Delphine launched her socked foot into the air. The leg moved in a furious, precise arc, a blur of motion that a martial arts master would have respected. The second foot came up in a synchronized attack.

Flick.

The sock, the one he had fought so valiantly to put on, was launched through the air. It sailed in a perfect parabola over the couch and landed with a soft, pathetic plop in Pope’s abandoned textbook on marine engineering.

JJ froze, the second sock still clutched in his hand. He stared at his daughter’s now-bare foot, then at the sock lying defeated across a diagram of a ballast tank. She wiggled her toes with triumphant glee.

A sharp, theatrical gasp escaped JJ’s lips. He clutched his chest, his blue eyes wide with horror. Yn, who had been watching the entire spectacle from the kitchen doorway with a mug of tea in her hands and a smile playing on her lips, raised an eyebrow.

“JJ? You okay over there?”

He didn’t look at her. His gaze was fixed on his daughter, a look of profound, soul-shattering revelation on his face. He whispered, his voice trembling with manufactured drama, “She’s rejecting beauty.”

Yn snorted, a laugh bubbling up. “JJ, she’s a baby. She’s rejecting the concept of things being on her feet.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head slowly, his expression deadly serious. “No, you don’t understand, Yn. This wasn’t just a kick. This was a statement. A philosophical declaration. She looked at that perfect, tiny, aesthetically pleasing bow… and she said, ‘Not today, societal pressures. Not today, conventional attractiveness.’”

He slowly sank to his knees on the sandy floor, a fallen soldier. “My daughter… is a minimalist.”

Yn walked over, her bare feet silent on the worn floorboards. She set her mug on the coffee table and knelt beside him, her gentle hand coming to rest on his back. “Or, and hear me out, the bow tickled her ankle.”

“It’s a crisis of identity!” JJ insisted, his voice rising. “What’s next? Is she going to reject the little duckies on her onesie? The concept of a sunhat? Will she one day look at a sunset over the marsh and just… shrug? My heart can’t take it.”

“Your heart is being a little dramatic,” Yn said, her tone laced with affection as she scooped Delphine into her arms. The baby immediately snuggled into her mother’s shoulder, cooing contentedly, her bare feet kicking gently in the air. “See? She’s perfectly happy. She just doesn’t like things constricting her powerful kicking limbs.”

But JJ wasn’t listening. A spark had ignited in his eyes, the familiar, wild glint of a man possessed by an impulsive, brilliant, and probably terrible idea. It was the same look he got before trying to surf during a minor hurricane or deciding to build a potato cannon out of PVC pipe and hairspray.

He shot to his feet. “That’s it. I’ve got it.”

“Oh no,” Yn murmured, bouncing Delphine gently. “I know that tone. That’s your ‘I’m about to make a huge mess for a very small reason’ tone.”

“It’s not the beauty she’s rejecting,” JJ announced, pacing the length of the living room. “It’s the emptiness of it. The bow is just a bow. It’s superficial. It has no substance. It doesn’t speak to her soul.”

“Her soul is currently concerned with milk and naps, JJ.”

“Precisely! We need to nurture her soul! We can’t just put meaningless ornamentation on her. She needs… she needs substance. She needs inspiration. She needs… affirmations.” He stopped pacing and pointed a finger at the offending sock in the textbook. “The socks have failed her. So, I must build a better sock.”

And with that, JJ Maybank, Pogue for life, loyal friend, and impulsive madman, pivoted on his heel and marched towards the back room where a jumble of forgotten projects and miscellaneous junk resided. Yn sighed, a sound of pure, loving exasperation. She looked down at Delphine, who was now sleepily gumming the collar of her shirt.

“Your dad,” she whispered, kissing the top of her downy head, “is a beautiful, magnificent weirdo. You’re going to have so much fun.”

An hour later, the Chateau’s kitchen table had been transformed into a textile laboratory. JJ had unearthed Yn’s old sewing kit, a collection of embroidery floss in every conceivable color, and a pack of plain white baby socks he’d found buried in a drawer. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth just slightly. The shaggy blonde hair was held back by one of Delphine’s elastic headbands, a bright yellow one that clashed wonderfully with his sun-streaked locks.

He worked with the frantic, focused energy of an artist in the throes of creation. He sketched designs on a napkin, muttering to himself.

“Okay, the font needs to be encouraging, but not pushy,” he mumbled, holding a needle up to the light. “Something with a gentle curve. Serifs? No, too formal. She’s a sans-serif kind of baby. Approachable, modern.”

Yn, with Delphine sleeping soundly in a carrier strapped to her chest, leaned against the doorframe, watching the master at work. The first finished product was laid out on the table for inspection. On the cuff of a tiny white sock, stitched in a surprisingly neat script of bright blue thread, were the words:

I am adored.

“Okay,” Yn admitted, a smile tugging at her lips. “That one’s actually pretty sweet.”

“Sweet is the baseline,” JJ said, not looking up from his second attempt. “We’re building an empire of self-esteem from the ankles up. We start with the foundational truths.”

He held up sock number two, embroidered in a cheerful yellow.

My potential is limitless.

“A little lofty for someone whose main goal is to get her own foot in her mouth, but I like the ambition,” Yn commented, pushing off the doorframe to get a closer look.

JJ was now working feverishly, a whirlwind of thread and cotton. He seemed to be entering a new, more personal phase of his designs. The next pair, stitched in a Pogue-appropriate sea green, was laid out.

The left sock read: My dad is a legend.

The right sock countered with: My mom is the actual boss.

Yn laughed out loud, a clear, happy sound that filled the small kitchen. “Okay, now you’re just using our daughter’s feet for your own propaganda.”

“It’s not propaganda if it’s true,” JJ shot back with a grin, his dimples flashing. He didn’t miss a stitch. He held up his latest masterpiece, this one in a fiery red. “This one is for her rebellious spirit.”

I will not be contained.

“Oh, that’s going to be fun when she’s two,” Yn noted wryly.

He lined them all up in a row on the table: a tiny gallery of foot-based encouragement. There was a purple one that said I am a force of nature. A bright orange one declared I will master the tides. And, his personal favorite, stitched in black thread on a white sock in a passable imitation of a tattoo font: Pogues for Life.

“It’s a complete collection,” he announced, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He looked immensely proud, like he had just solved world hunger. “It’s a wardrobe of empowerment. She won’t kick these off. These… these have meaning. They speak to her.”

“They’re socks, JJ,” Yn said, her voice soft with amusement. She walked over and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder to survey his handiwork. Delphine stirred in the carrier, making a small, sleepy sound. “They are the most ridiculous, over-the-top, and wonderful socks I have ever seen.”

He turned in her arms, his hands coming to rest on her waist. He looked from her, to their sleeping daughter, and then back. A wave of something soft and vulnerable crossed his features, the smart-alecky bravado melting away for a moment.

“I just… I want her to have everything, you know?” he said, his voice quiet. “Even the stuff I never knew I was supposed to have. Like… socks that tell you you’re awesome.”

Yn’s heart melted. She leaned in and kissed him, a slow, sweet kiss that tasted of salt and tea and home. “She knows she’s awesome, JJ. Because she has you.”

“And you,” he added, his thumb tracing a line on her cheek. “Okay. Moment of truth.”

He selected the first pair, the foundational truth: I am adored. He took them with the reverence of a priest handling sacred artifacts. Yn sat down at the table, gently shifting Delphine from the carrier onto her lap. The baby blinked her big blue eyes open, now rested and alert.

“Alright, my little goddess of chaos,” JJ said, kneeling before her once more. “Round two. Prepare to be… affirmed.”

He took her chubby foot, significantly more compliant this time, and slid the sock on. He did the same with the other. He sat back on his heels, a nervous creator awaiting the verdict of his harshest critic.

Delphine looked down at her feet. She saw the socks. She saw the neat blue embroidery. She kicked one leg out, then the other, testing the fabric. A gurgle of delight escaped her lips.

JJ’s face lit up. “She loves them! See? She feels the positive energy! I knew it! It was never about the socks; it was about the message!”

He was beaming, triumphant, a veritable genius of paternal intuition.

And then, with the same divine fury as before, Delphine’s legs became a blur.

Flick. Flick.

The affirmation socks—I am adored—were launched in tandem. One landed in the fruit bowl with the bananas. The other sailed clear across the room and disappeared behind the fridge.

Silence descended upon the kitchen, broken only by Delphine’s happy, sock-free gurgling.

JJ stared at his daughter’s bare feet, wiggling with the joy of liberation. He stared at the empty space where the socks had been. His face was a perfect mask of disbelief.

Yn bit her lip, trying desperately to stifle her laughter, but a snort escaped. Then another. Soon, she was shaking with silent, breathless giggles, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

JJ slowly turned to look at her, his expression utterly bewildered. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked back at his daughter, who was smiling a wide, gummy smile directly at him.

Finally, he spoke, his voice a whisper of pure, unadulterated awe.

“Okay,” he said, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Okay. I get it now.”

“Get what?” Yn managed to choke out between laughs.

JJ’s blue eyes were sparkling with a fresh, even more absurd theory. “She is not rejecting beauty. She is not rejecting affirmations.” He leaned in conspiratorially, his voice dropping low. “She is rejecting the very concept of clothing. My daughter… is a nudist.”

Bikini Bottoms:

Yn's bikini top falls off in the hot tub; JJ's ogling of her doesn't help matters.

The hot tub at the Chateau had seen better days. Better decades, actually. It was the kind of relic you'd find in a junkyard and think, wow, that's a health hazard, before walking away. But JJ Maybank had dragged it onto the back deck, patched a leak with flex seal and a prayer, and declared it "the pinnacle of Pogue luxury." The water was perpetually a few degrees too hot, the jets sounded like a dying walrus, and the filter hadn't been cleaned since the Obama administration.

But it was theirs, and on a humid North Carolina night with the fireflies blinking lazily over the marsh, it was perfect.

Yn-- was elbow-deep in the water, her hair piled into a messy bun that was already starting to unravel from the steam. She had her eyes closed, letting the too-hot water scald the tension out of her shoulders. Finals were over. The Kooks had been surprisingly quiet for a whole forty-eight hours. For once, nothing was actively on fire.

JJ was across from her, lounging with his arms draped over the cracked plastic edge, looking like a wet raccoon that had just won the lottery. His blonde hair was plastered to his forehead, and he had that particular grin on his face—the one that meant he was either about to say something incredibly stupid or incredibly charming. Usually, it was both.

"This is nice," Yn-- murmured, not opening her eyes. "Peaceful. Relaxing. You're being quiet."

"Don't jinx it," JJ said, his voice a low, satisfied rumble. "I'm savoring the moment. The silence. The ambiance. The view."

Yn-- cracked one eye open. "The view of the marsh?"

"Sure," JJ said, his grin widening. "The marsh. That's definitely what I was looking at. Very scenic. Lot of... mud. And grass. Beautiful."

Yn-- snorted and closed her eye again. "You're a menace."

"Menace is a strong word," JJ said, shifting in the water. "I prefer 'visionary.' Or 'chaos architect.' Or 'the best thing that ever happened to that bikini you're wearing.'"

Yn-- felt her cheeks warm, and it wasn't from the steam. She was wearing a tiny red bikini—the one she'd had since eighth grade, which was a testament to either her dedication to thrift or her refusal to admit she'd grown since then. The top was a triangle situation held together by a single, questionable string around her neck and another flimsy string between her shoulder blades. It had been a gamble when she'd put it on.

She'd lost.

Because as she shifted to swat at a mosquito buzzing near her ear, she felt the unmistakable twang of the neck string snapping.

And then, in slow motion, the top drifted away from her body like a scarlet leaf in autumn, disappearing into the bubbling, murky depths of the hot tub.

For a solid three seconds, there was silence.

Yn-- froze, her arms still half-raised, her brain buffering. The hot water lapped at her collarbones, and she was acutely, painfully aware that she was now chest-naked in a hot tub with the single most unhinged person on the Outer Banks.

She looked down. The water was too cloudy with chlorine and who-knows-what to see anything.

She looked up.

JJ was staring.

His mouth was slightly open. His eyes—those stupid, impossibly blue eyes—were wide and fixed. His brain, she could tell, had short-circuited. The grin had vanished, replaced by the slack-jawed expression of a man who had just witnessed a miracle and wasn't sure if he should pray or take a picture.

"JJ," she said, her voice dangerously calm.

He didn't respond. He blinked once. Slowly.

"JJ," she repeated, a little sharper. "My top fell off."

He nodded. Still staring. Still not blinking.

"Can you... help me find it?"

Another nod. Another blink. "Mhm."

But he didn't move. He didn't even look for it. His eyes, the traitors, stayed locked on the general vicinity of her chest, which was now partially obscured by a few bubbles and the faint, shifting shadows of the water.

"JJ," she hissed, snapping her fingers in front of his face. "Eyes up here. Up here."

He blinked several times, and for a second, his gaze flicked to her face. Then it dropped back down. "Nope. Can't do it. Sorry. The pull is too strong. I'm like a moth to a flame. A very pale, very wet, very... topless flame."

"Oh my god." Yn-- made a grab for the water, sweeping her arms in a wide arc, trying to feel for the fabric. The jets chose that moment to kick on at full blast, churning the water into a frothy, opaque mess. The sound of the dying-walrus motor filled the night, and whatever hope she'd had of locating the bikini top by feel vanished.

"Little help here?" she said through gritted teeth.

JJ leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his chin propped in his hands like he was watching a nature documentary. "You know, I'm getting a really good look at the marsh from this angle."

"I hate you."

"You don't hate me," he said, utterly unbothered. "You're just saying that because you're naked and I'm being an unhelpful gremlin. Which, fair. But also—" he gestured vaguely with one hand, "—this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I'm not gonna rush it."

Yn-- felt a hot flush of embarrassment, but underneath it, there was something else. Something that smelled a lot like amusement. This was so classic JJ. Any other guy would have fumbled, apologized, gone into a panicked search mode. Not him. He was treating this like the highlight of his year.

"Once in a lifetime?" she repeated, arching an eyebrow as she sank lower into the water, letting it rise to her chin. "You say that like you're expecting me to spontaneously combust after tonight."

"No, no," JJ said, waving a hand. "I'm saying you're gonna get wiser. Smarter. You're gonna start wearing bikinis with industrial-strength clasps. This is the last time I'll ever see you in a flimsy, poorly-constructed, incredibly—" he paused, tilting his head, "—generous piece of fabric. I'm savoring the moment."

"Generous?"

"Very generous. Top-tier. A+ material. The strings were doing the lord's work, and they finally gave out. RIP to those heroes. They died for a noble cause."

Yn-- splashed a wave of water at his face. He didn't even flinch. He just sputtered a little, wiped his eyes, and grinned at her with that crooked, infuriating smile.

"You're not even a little embarrassed, are you?" she demanded.

"Embarrassed?" JJ's brows shot up. "Babe, I'm thriving. This is the best thing that's happened to me since I found a hundred-dollar bill in a dead fish's mouth."

"That's disgusting."

"That's luck, Yn--. Don't knock the fish."

She shook her head, but a laugh bubbled up in her chest despite herself. The situation was so absurd, so unbelievably JJ, that she couldn't even stay properly mad. Here she was, topless in a disgusting hot tub, while her pseudo-best-friend-slash-crush sat three feet away, watching her with the unhinged delight of a raccoon who'd just discovered a trash can full of leftover pizza.

"You realize I can't get out of the hot tub now, right?" she said, gesturing with a frustrated hand. "I'm stuck here until you find my top. Or until I drown. Whichever comes first."

JJ considered this, tapping his chin. "Hm. So you're saying... you're trapped. In a hot tub. With me."

"I'm saying I'm trapped in a dirty hot tub with a menace to society, yes."

"That's the best news I've heard all week." He settled back against the edge of the tub, stretching his arms along the rim, looking like a king surveying his domain. "Alright. We've got options."

"Options?"

"Option one: I look for the top. I find it. I hand it to you. You put it on. The magic ends. We go back to being normal friends who wear clothes in hot tubs."

"I vote option one."

"Option two," JJ continued, ignoring her, "I don't look for the top. We stay here. Maybe I order a pizza. We make a night of it. You get out of the tub in a towel. I die happy."

Yn-- pinched the bridge of her nose. "Those are not options. That's one option and a hostage situation."

"Hostage situation is a strong word. I prefer 'staying put for the aesthetic.'"

"JJ."

"Yn--."

"Find the top."

He sighed—a long, dramatic sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his soul. "Fine. Fiiiiine. But you're gonna owe me for this."

"Owe you? It's your hot tub that ate my bikini!"

"My hot tub is innocent," JJ said, holding up a hand solemnly. "It's a neutral party. It was just doing its job—providing a warm, relaxing environment. It didn't ask for your strings to betray you."

"My strings didn't betray me! They were old! This bikini is ancient!"

"Now you're blaming the victim," JJ said with a disappointed click of his tongue. "Classic. Very classy, Yn--."

She splashed him again. He laughed, throwing his head back, and for a split second, the tension broke. It wasn't even about the top anymore. It was just them—two idiots in a broken hot tub on a summer night, one of them completely unbothered by his friend's nudity, the other desperately trying not to laugh.

But then he made a move, and she forgot to breathe.

He pushed off from his side of the tub and started wading toward her, his movements slow and deliberate, a predator in board shorts. The water sloshed around his chest as he got closer, and Yn-- instinctively pressed her back against the tub wall, her arms crossing protectively over her chest.

"Easy," he said, his voice dropping to something softer, more amused. "I'm just looking. Remember?"

"JJ, don't you dare—"

He stopped directly in front of her, close enough that she could see the water droplets clinging to his eyelashes. His blue eyes were bright, lit up with a mischief that was pure, undiluted chaos.

"Relax, Yn--. I'm a gentleman."

"You once stole a golf cart and drove it into a Kook's pool."

"That was a social experiment," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "And for the record, the golf cart was fine. Mostly. The pool wasn't, but that's not the point."

"The point is you're not a gentleman."

"The point," JJ said, leaning in just a fraction, "is that I'm not gonna look if you don't want me to. I'm a lot of things—a menace, a nuisance, a low-level felon—but I'm not a creep."

Yn-- stared at him. For once, he was serious. The grin was still there, but it had softened into something real, something that made her stomach flip.

"Then what are you doing?" she asked, her voice coming out smaller than she'd intended.

He tilted his head, considering her. "I'm enjoying myself. You know how rare it is for something good to just... happen? No plan, no scheming, no universe conspiring against me?" He glanced down at the water, then back up at her. "This is a gift, Yn--. A weird, slightly awkward, very poorly timed gift. I'm not gonna waste it by acting like it's a big deal."

"It is a big deal. I'm—" she gestured vaguely at herself, "—I'm naked. In a hot tub. With you."

"And?" JJ shrugged. "It's just a body. Everybody's got one. Some of them are cooler than others. Some of them have—" he made a vague gesture near his own chest, "—you know. Features. But at the end of the day, it's just skin. I'm not gonna freak out about it."

"You're not gonna freak out about it," she repeated flatly. "You literally just said you were 'thriving' and called it a 'once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.'"

"I said opportunity, not disaster. There's a difference. Opportunity means I'm enjoying the surprise. Disaster means you're crying and I'm apologizing. Different vibes."

Yn-- wanted to be annoyed. She really did. But the way he was looking at her—not like a piece of meat, but like a puzzle he was having a lot of fun solving—made her chest feel tight in a way that had nothing to do with the water temperature.

"You're impossible," she muttered.

"Impossible to ignore, you mean." He grinned, the mischief flooding back. "Now. About that top."

"What about it?"

"I could try to find it. But I gotta warn you—my hands are gonna be all over the bottom of this tub. I'm gonna be poking around. Feeling things. It's gonna be a whole thing."

"Feeling—" She sputtered. "You mean feeling for the top, right?"

"Sure," JJ said innocently. "What else would I be feeling?"

"I hate you."

"You keep saying that, and yet you haven't gotten out of the tub."

"Because I'm naked, JJ!"

"Fair point." He waggled his eyebrows. "Alright. I'll do the noble thing. I'll search. But I want compensation."

"Compensation?"

"Yeah. I find the top, you buy me a pizza. And not that cheap stuff from the gas station. I'm talking full-on, hand-tossed, extra cheese, pepperoni situation. The works."

Yn-- stared at him. "You're blackmailing me for pizza."

"I'm negotiating for pizza. There's a difference."

"You're the worst."

"And yet, you keep hanging around. Must be my charming personality." He gave a little bow, then dropped his gaze to the water, squinting into the murky depths. "Alright. Here goes nothing."

He reached down, his hand disappearing into the water, and Yn-- felt her breath catch. He was inches away from her, his shoulder brushing her knee as he leaned forward. The jets were still churning, making it impossible to see what he was doing.

"Oh, I feel something," he said, his voice muffled by the water. "And it's... warm. And... stringy."

"That's probably my—"

"Wait, no. That's a leaf." He surfaced, holding up a soggy brown leaf between two fingers. "Gross. This tub is a biohazard."

"JJ. Focus."

"I'm focusing! I'm searching! You don't rush a treasure hunt, Yn--. That's how you miss the good stuff." He ducked under again, his hand sweeping across the bottom. She felt his fingers brush her ankle, and she yelped.

"Did you just touch my foot?"

"Accident," came his muffled voice from under the water. "Maybe. Could've been on purpose. I'll never tell."

She kicked out, splashing him, and he surfaced with a sputter, water streaming down his face. His hair was a wreck, plastered to his forehead in chaotic waves, and his grin was so wide it was almost cartoonish.

"You're a menace," she said.

"You've mentioned that."

"You're the reason I can't have nice things."

"The only nice thing you had was that bikini, and it gave up on you, Yn--. That's not my fault. That's bad craftsmanship. You need to shop at better stores."

"I got it at a thrift shop."

"Ah." JJ nodded sagely. "The thrift shop. Where dreams go to die and bikinis go to betray their owners. Makes sense."

Yn-- laughed despite herself. She couldn't help it. There was something infectious about his energy, something that made even the most mortifying situations feel like an adventure. Here she was, topless in a broken hot tub, and she was laughing.

"Alright," JJ said, rubbing his hands together. "One more try. If I don't find it this time, we're gonna have to come up with a new plan."

"What kind of plan?"

"I'm thinking towels. Maybe a dramatic exit. I'll carry you out of the tub like a damsel in distress. You'll be wrapped in a towel, I'll be the hero, and we'll never speak of this again."

"You'd enjoy that way too much."

"Probably." He grinned. "But you'd enjoy it too. You love being carried. You've got that princess energy."

"I do not have princess energy."

"Babe, you literally demanded I find your bikini top like I'm your royal subject. That's princess energy."

"That's common decency energy!"

JJ just laughed and dove under again, his hands sweeping across the bottom. This time, she felt his fingers graze her thigh, and she jerked back with a shriek.

"JJ!"

"I'm looking!" His voice was a little too gleeful.

"You're just feeling me up!"

"I'm feeling for the top," he said, surfacing with a scandalized expression. "How dare you accuse me of such impropriety. I'm a gentleman. I told you."

"You are not a gentleman."

"I'm a gentleman adjacent. I'm in the neighborhood of gentleman. I can see gentleman from my house."

Yn-- grabbed a handful of water and threw it at his face. He took it like a champ, shaking his head like a dog and blinking water out of his eyes.

"Okay," he said, wiping his face. "I'm starting to think this top is a lost cause. It might've gotten sucked into the jet. Or it's dissolved. Or it's in another dimension."

"JJ."

"I'm serious! That thing is gone, Yn--. It's gone, and you're gonna have to accept that. We're gonna have to adapt. Evolve. Move on."

"Move on," she repeated flatly. "You want me to move on from my bikini top. The thing that is currently covering absolutely nothing."

"Look at the bright side," JJ said, gesturing with both hands. "You've got a great story. 'That time my bikini betrayed me in JJ's hot tub and he was absolutely no help.' It's a classic. You could tell it at parties."

"I'm not telling anyone this story."

"You will. Trust me. It'll be your go-to icebreaker. 'Hi, I'm Yn--, and I once flashed a guy in a hot tub.' People will love it."

"I hate you."

"Your hatred is noted and will be ignored." He settled back against the edge of the tub, crossing his arms behind his head like he was on a tropical vacation. "Okay. New plan. We wait."

"We wait for what?"

"For the top to resurface. It's buoyant, right? It's got to float eventually."

Yn-- looked at him with an expression of pure disbelief. "You want me to sit here, in this hot tub, naked, waiting for a tiny piece of red fabric to float up out of the depths."

"Exactly," JJ said, nodding encouragingly. "Patience, Yn--. It's a virtue."

"It's not a virtue, it's a trap."

"A trap that involves you staying in a hot tub with me. How is that a trap? That's a gift."

She wanted to argue. She really did. But the absurdity of the situation had fully settled in, and she was tired of being embarrassed. It was JJ. He'd seen her at her worst—covered in marsh mud, screaming at a Kook from a moving boat, sobbing over a failed test. This was just another notch on the weirdness belt.

So she leaned back against the tub, letting the water lap at her shoulders, and tried to relax.

"You're not going to help me at all, are you?" she asked, her voice resigned.

JJ tilted his head, pretending to think. "Define 'help.'"

"Help like 'looking for the top.'"

"Pass."

"Help like 'offering me a towel.'"

"Also pass."

"Help like 'not staring at my chest.'"

JJ considered this. "I don't think that's in my skill set. I'm gonna be honest with you, Yn--. I'm a visual learner. I need to see things to understand them. It's a medical condition."

"You are impossible."

"Impossibly charming?"

"Impossibly infuriating."

"Same thing, really." He grinned at her, that stupid, crooked grin that made her stomach do flips. "You know, for someone who's currently topless in a hot tub, you're handling this remarkably well. Most people would be screaming or crying or making a scene."

"Most people have dignity."

"And you?" JJ asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I've been hanging around you too long. My dignity got lost somewhere in a marsh two years ago."

"I'm honored," he said, pressing a hand to his chest. "I've been a bad influence. That's goals, honestly. That's the legacy I want to leave behind."

"Your legacy is going to be 'he annoyed everyone to death.'"

"Better than being boring," JJ said with a shrug. "I'll take it."

They fell into a comfortable silence, the only sounds the churning jets and the distant chirp of crickets. Yn-- had stopped trying to cover herself—it was pointless in the murky water anyway—and JJ had stopped actively staring, which was progress. The tension had shifted from mortifying to something almost... natural.

And then, because the universe had a sense of humor, the top floated up between them.

It rose out of the churning water like some kind of mythical creature, a soggy scrap of red fabric that had clearly been through a war. It bobbed gently on the surface, strings trailing behind it like a sad little jellyfish.

Yn-- stared at it.

JJ stared at it.

Then, in perfect synchronization, they both looked at each other.

"Would you look at that," JJ said, his voice dripping with false surprise. "It resurfaced. Must be my lucky day."

"JJ," Yn-- said, her voice flat. "Give. Me. The top."

He reached out and grabbed it, holding it up by one string like it was a captured flag. The soggy fabric dripped water onto his face, and he didn't even seem to notice.

"You know," he said, turning it over in his hands, "I've got to say, this is a lot less impressive wet. It was doing some heavy lifting earlier, but now? It's just... sad."

"JJ."

"I'm just saying! It's like seeing a magician's trick revealed. The illusion is shattered. The mystery is gone. This flimsy piece of fabric was holding all the power, and now it's just... wet."

"Give. Me. The top."

He looked at her, his eyes dancing. "Okay, fine. But I want something first."

"What?"

"A thank you."

"A thank you? For what? You didn't do anything!"

"I provided moral support," JJ said, holding the top just out of her reach. "I was your emotional anchor in a time of crisis. I kept you calm. I made you laugh. I deserve a thank you."

Yn-- stared at him. "You just want to watch me squirm."

"I want a little gratitude," he corrected. "There's a difference. Squirming is a bonus."

She took a deep breath, counted to three in her head, and then said, through gritted teeth, "Thank you. For absolutely nothing."

JJ beamed. "You're welcome! I accept this praise in the spirit in which it was given."

"Now give me the top."

He held it out to her, and she snatched it from his grasp. The fabric was cold and wet and completely useless, but she clutched it to her chest like a lifeline.

"Turn around," she ordered.

JJ raised an eyebrow. "Babe, I've been looking at you for the last twenty minutes. What's one more second?"

"Turn around or I will drown you."

"Fine, fine." He put his hands up in surrender and turned his back to her, but she could hear the laughter in his voice. "Don't take too long. The view back here is terrible."

She fumbled with the strings, trying to tie them behind her neck. The knot was slippery, the strings were too short, and her fingers were trembling with a mix of exasperation and something she didn't want to name.

"Need help?" JJ asked, not turning around.

"I'd rather die."

"Suit yourself. But the offer stands. I'm very good with knots. I can tie a mean bowline. A hitch. A—"

"JJ, shut up."

"Just saying. I've got skills."

She finally managed to tie the top—badly, but it would hold—and took a deep breath. "Okay. You can turn around."

He turned, and his face fell into an exaggerated pout. "Aww. It's back. Boo."

"Stop being a child."

"Never." He waded closer to her, and she instinctively backed up against the tub wall. He was in her space now, close enough that she could smell the salt and chlorine on his skin, close enough that she could see the little flecks of green in his blue eyes.

"Thanks for not making it weird," he said, his voice softer.

"You made it incredibly weird."

"Yeah, but not bad weird," he said. "Fun weird. Weird weird. The best kind of weird."

She shook her head, but she was smiling. "You're lucky I like you."

He grinned. "I know. I'm the luckiest guy in the Cut."

Then, before she could say anything else, he reached down and scooped her up out of the water. She yelped, grabbing onto his shoulders for balance as water streamed off both of them.

"What are you doing?!"

"Princess energy, remember?" He was grinning that stupid grin, water dripping from his hair onto her face. "I told you I was gonna carry you out. I'm a man of my word."

"JJ, put me down!"

"Nope. This is happening." He started walking toward the edge of the tub, his grip firm around her legs. "You're gonna be wrapped in a towel, I'm gonna be a hero, and we're never gonna speak of this again."

"You just said you were never gonna let me forget this!"

"New plan," JJ said cheerfully. "I'm gonna remind you every single day. For the rest of your life."

The first day of school:

As Finn prepares for his first day at a local preschool, JJ faces his own fears about being a single dad in the Outer Banks community.

The Outer Banks sun was already slinging streaks of gold across the sky, painting the marsh grasses in fiery hues, but inside the Cameron bungalow, chaos reigned supreme. At the epicenter of it all was JJ Maybank, a whirlwind of nervous energy disguised as nonchalant cool, and his four-year-old son, Finn.

“Dude, seriously? We talked about this,” JJ sighed, running a hand through his already messy shaggy blonde hair. Deep dimples punctuated his exasperation as he knelt in front of Finn, who was stubbornly planted on the floor in bright blue superhero pajamas. “First day of preschool. Big boy pants. Remember?”

Finn, all blue-eyed innocence and a miniature version of JJ’s rebellious charm, shook his head with the unwavering conviction only a four-year-old could muster. “Superhero pants are big boy pants, Daddy.”

JJ’s carefully constructed facade of carefree dad was cracking. He prided himself on being laid-back, letting Finn explore, but today, his own internal anxieties were bubbling to the surface, threatening to spill over like a rogue wave. Preschool. It felt monumental. Not just for Finn, but for JJ too. He wasn’t exactly the picture of PTA dad material. Tattoos snaked up his arms, his vocabulary was more salt-laced than sugar-coated, and he still occasionally got mistaken for a teenager himself, despite the undeniable evidence of his son.

He’d spent weeks agonizing over this. Would Finn be okay? Would the other kids accept him? More importantly, would the parents? The Outer Banks, for all its laid-back beach bum charm, could be surprisingly judgmental, especially when it came to straying from the norm. And a single dad, especially one who looked like he’d just rolled off a surfboard and into fatherhood, well, that was definitely straying.

He took a deep breath, reminding himself of Yn. Be patient, her gentle voice echoed in his memory. Yn, who had the kind of serene calm he desperately wished he possessed. He missed her steady presence keenly this morning, the quiet confidence she exuded, the way she could always see the good, even in his most impulsive moments.

“Okay, look, buddy,” JJ tried again, softer this time, his voice betraying a vulnerability he rarely showed. “Superhero pants are awesome for, like, saving the world. But preschool’s… different. It’s like your first big adventure, okay? You gotta look the part. Adventurers wear… explorer pants!” He grabbed the khaki shorts he’d painstakingly picked out, holding them up with a flourish.

Finn’s expression remained unconvinced. “Explorer pants are boring.”

“They’re… stealth pants!” JJ improvised, his smart-alecky wit kicking in. “They help you sneak up on fun! Like, you can sneak up on the cookie jar, or… or the crayons! Imagine sneaking up on a whole box of crayons!”

This seemed to pique Finn’s interest. His blue eyes widened slightly, the mischief JJ knew so well glinting in them. “Sneak up?”

“Yeah!” JJ seized the opportunity. “Silent ninja-style sneak-up! And explorer pants are the best for that.” He even demonstrated a comical ninja sneak, tiptoeing around the living room.

Finn giggled, a sound that instantly melted JJ’s anxieties a little. “Okay,” Finn conceded, though still with a hint of defiance, “but can I wear my superhero shirt?”

“Deal!” JJ grinned, scooping Finn up in a hug. He ruffled Finn’s hair, softer and finer than his own sun-bleached strands. “You’re gonna rock preschool, kid. Just like your old man.” He said it with bravado, but inside, a knot of uncertainty tightened. He hoped he was right. He hoped he could rock this dad thing too.

Just as they were halfway through wrestling Finn into the offensive khaki shorts – a task requiring more strength and strategy than JJ anticipated – Finn suddenly stopped, his face crumpling.

“Seashell!” he wailed, his voice thick with impending tears.

“Seashell?” JJ echoed, momentarily confused.

“My lucky seashell!” Finn clarified, his lower lip trembling. “I need my lucky seashell!”

JJ’s heart sank. The lucky seashell. Of course. Finn had found it on the beach weeks ago and had declared it his lucky charm, carrying it everywhere. JJ had dismissed it as a childish whim, but now, staring at Finn’s distraught face, he understood. For Finn, this wasn’t just a seashell; it was a tangible piece of comfort, a talisman against the unknown terrors of preschool.

“Okay, okay, don’t panic,” JJ said, trying to sound calmer than he felt. Panic was definitely rising. They were already running late, and now a frantic seashell hunt? This day was determined to test him.

He scanned the chaotic living room, a familiar landscape of scattered toys, half-finished drawings, and JJ’s perpetually misplaced tools. “Where did you last see it, buddy?”

Finn sniffled, pointing vaguely at a pile of blankets in the corner. “Maybe… bed?”

They tore apart Finn’s bed, then the toy box, then the kitchen table, then the couch cushions. The seashell was nowhere to be found. Time was ticking by, each second amplifying JJ’s anxiety. He was supposed to be the cool, collected dad, the one who handled everything with a smirk and a shrug. But right now, he felt anything but cool. He felt flustered, inadequate, and utterly terrified he was going to screw this whole preschool thing up for Finn.

His mind raced. What if Finn had a meltdown at school? What if he couldn't make friends? What if he cried for him all day? What if the other parents judged him, saw him as the screw-up everyone always expected him to be? He could practically hear the whispers, see the pitying looks. JJ Maybank, single dad? Yeah, that’ll last.

Just when despair threatened to engulf him, the familiar roar of the Twinkie, John B’s beat-up VW bus, echoed outside. Thank god. He’d called John B in a moment of pre-preschool panic, needing backup. And John B, bless his adventurous soul, had actually shown up, Pope in tow.

The door burst open, and John B swaggered in, radiating his usual sun-kissed, carefree energy. Pope followed, his ever-present calm a welcome contrast to JJ’s internal turmoil.

“Maybank mayhem, huh?” John B grinned, taking in the scattered living room and JJ’s frazzled expression.

“Seashell emergency,” JJ explained, running a hand through his hair again, making it even messier. “Finn’s lucky seashell is MIA, and preschool starts in, like, five minutes.”

Pope, ever the problem-solver, immediately started systematically searching under the furniture. John B, in his own inimitable style, offered moral support. “Dude, chill. Preschool’s not rocket science. It’s, like, finger painting and naptime. Finn’ll crush it.” He clapped JJ on the shoulder, his easy confidence a surprisingly comforting presence.

“Easy for you to say,” JJ muttered, still frantically searching behind the curtains. “You’re not the one sending your kid into the lion’s den of… of… glitter glue and judgmental moms.”

John B laughed. “Judgmental moms? Dude, we’re in the Outer Banks. Moms here are more likely to judge you for not knowing how to surf than for being a single dad. Relax. You’re JJ Maybank. You can handle anything.”

Pope, who had been quietly and efficiently searching, suddenly straightened up, a triumphant grin on his face. “Found it!” He held up the lucky seashell, nestled amongst a pile of blocks.

Finn squealed with delight, snatching the seashell and clutching it tightly to his chest. “Thank you, Pope!” he beamed. “You’re the best!”

Relief washed over JJ. He felt like he’d just defused a bomb. “You’re a lifesaver, Pope,” he said, genuinely grateful. “Seriously, you are.”

“Just doing my civic duty,” Pope shrugged, a slight smile playing on his lips.

“Alright, Kook,” John B clapped JJ on the back again. “Let’s get this little dude to preschool before they think we’ve kidnapped him.”

As they piled into the Twinkie, Finn happily clutching his seashell, the tension in JJ’s shoulders began to ease. John B and Pope’s easy banter filled the bus, a familiar soundtrack to their Outer Banks life. They teased JJ about his “dad panic,” but their teasing was laced with genuine support and understanding. They knew JJ. They knew he was more than capable, even if he doubted himself sometimes.

Arriving at the brightly colored preschool, Finn suddenly became shy, clinging to JJ’s leg. The boisterous energy of other kids and parents milling around seemed to overwhelm him.

JJ knelt down, looking Finn in the eye. “Hey, remember? Stealth pants, lucky seashell… you’re ready for this adventure, buddy. I’m proud of you.” He gave Finn a reassuring squeeze. “And… I’ll be right here when you’re done, okay? Waiting to hear all about sneaking up on those crayons.”

Finn sniffled, but nodded, still clutching the seashell. With a deep breath, JJ walked him to the classroom door, where a smiling teacher greeted them. Saying goodbye was harder than JJ expected. He felt a pang of something akin to heartbreak as Finn, small and brave, walked inside, his lucky seashell clutched tight.

He lingered for a moment, watching through the window as Finn tentatively joined a group of kids building with blocks. He was okay. He was going to be okay. And so would JJ.

Turning away from the window, he found John B and Pope leaning against the Twinkie, watching him with knowing smiles.

“See?” John B said, gesturing towards the preschool. “Told you he’d crush it.”

JJ managed a rueful grin. “Yeah, well, almost crushed his dad first. Seashell drama was intense.”

Pope chuckled. “Parenting. It’s a wild ride.”

JJ leaned back against the Twinkie, feeling the sun warm his face. He was still nervous, still unsure of himself, but as he looked at his friends, at the familiar Outer Banks landscape stretching out before him, he realized he wasn’t alone. He had Finn, and he had John B and Pope.

gossip!girl!jj x pogue!reader… your costume becomes reality and jj loses his mind…

cw: swearing, mentions of sex, suggestive, mentions of babies & pregnancy, heavy spoilers of season 4 of one tree hill!!

creds to @rafesbabygirlx for the inspiration on the halloween background 🫶🏻

maybejj’s halloween event

warnings: shooting, blood, mentions of smut

author's note: who wouldn't love a vampire girlfriend who is a little bit crazy and also deeply in love with you?

the vampire lore is wonky bc I decided to just use the best bits of my favorite vampire medias and add a little bit of my own spice to it

kinktober masterlist

warnings: mostly fluff, mentions of sex (including oral sex)

author's note: I had this idea but no brain to write a full fic, so I thought "why not headcanons?" and here we are

kinktober masterlist

Warnings-: slapping, aggressive jj, rough smut, kinda mean! Jj

You had been at this for hours, crying your eyes out while jj pounded into you. “You’re so pretty aren’t ya,” he said slightly slapping your cheek, his fat cock was relentless inside your walls.

“Jj I- I can’t anymore,” you sobbed as jj clenched his jaw and hit your insides harder, his hand shot out to grab your neck holding it firmly with the threat looming over you. “Your gonna take what I give you and shut that pretty little mouth of yours,” he said pulling your hair, your ass was already bruises from the absolutely brutal spanking you received not too long ago. Jj had gotten to know you had skipped two whole meals for the third time that week and honestly he had enough of your shit. So here you were overstimulated, hysterical and so so so sore.

“I- I’m sorry I swear! I won’t do it again-,” you were cut off by a harsh slap and jj’s angry demeanour. “You said that the last time,” he said through gritted teeth as he delivered another slap to your face before saying “and the time before that.” You knew right after this you’d be eating whatever healthy meals JJ had gathered up for you with a gigantic water bottle that he’d expect to see finished. Jj finishes inside you before setting his forehead against yours and holding your jaw tight. “I better not see you trying to skip meals again otherwise we’re gonna go straight to the belt.”

only you get to call him jackson . . .

cw: clingy!boyfriend!jj x reader, fluff !!

JJ’s legs were thrown over yours on the couch, chin on your shoulder as you scroll on your phone. He’d been like this for the past hour, touching you like you’ll disappear if he lets go. “I missed you,” he mumbles, even though he’s been with you since the sun rose this morning. His fingers lazily draw circles on your thigh, rings clinking together when he shifts.

You smile, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “I’m right here, clingwrap.”

JJ ignores that. Then he adds, dead serious, “You’re not allowed to leave me. Ever.”

You scoff. “What about work, Jackson?”

He melts at the sound of it. Jackson. No one else calls him that. Not even his friends. To them, he’s JJ, always has been—loud, reckless, a little unhinged. But to you? He’s Jackson. Soft and warm and real.

He nuzzles into your neck with a small smile. “Say it again.”

“Jackson?” you repeat with a giggle.

A pleased hum leaves his lips. “Mmm. Just like that. Sounds so pretty coming from you.”

“You’re such a weirdo,” you laugh, leaning your head against his.

“I don’t care. No one else gets to say it. Just you. If anyone else calls me Jackson, I’m fighting them.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”

JJ pulls back, eyes serious now—like he means it. “I’m not kidding. That’s your name for me. You gave it meaning, you know?” His voice softens, “Jackson didn’t mean anything until you said it.”

You freeze, heart doing flips. “That’s… weirdly poetic for you.”

He grins, a little proud. “I can be deep.”

Then he tugs you until you’re laying on his chest, legs tangled. His hand slides under the back of your hoodie, warm and possessive. “I like when you say it when I’m sleepy,” he murmurs against your temple. “Or mad. Or when you’re all cute and bossy.”

“Jackson, get your hands outta my shirt.”

He gasps. “Hot.”

You swat his chest, and he catches your hand easily, lacing your fingers with his. “Don’t test me, Maybank.”

He makes a face. “Ew. Everyone else calling me Maybank? Normal. You calling me Maybank? Hate it. Feels illegal.”

You laugh so hard your stomach hurts, and Jackson is right there, eyes on you like you hung the damn stars. He presses a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. “Seriously though. It’s yours. That name. Jackson. You made it soft.”

You go quiet, your fingers playing with the hem of his sleeve. “I like that,” you admit. “That it’s mine.”

“It’s all yours, babe. I’m all yours.” He kisses you again—slower this time, and you believe he’s yours.

jj never gets grossed out. he's the kind of guy that wouldn't even mind eating you out when your on your period. if you fuss about it and say its gross, he'll look you straight in the eye and say “dollie ive had mold in my mouth before, nothing grosses me out.”

he'll lay you down on his bed, no towel because he doesnt care if you make a mess, not that you can anyway— he'll suck everything up. he loves how sensitive you are when you're on your period, every gasp you let out when his tongue flicks your clit just eggs him on.

he doesnt mind that you're bloody, doesnt mind the metallic taste, maybe even enjoys it too much. he shoves two fingers in, curling them up and pulling against that deep spot in you. rotating the pads of his fingers around your cervix, because the lord knows how long those fingers are. he moans into you like he's more pleasured by this than you are. he's rutting into the edge of the mattress as he presses his face deeper into you. so so turned on just because of how good he's making you feel.

when you tell him you're close and start squirming, he'll hold you down with one hand, palm pressing on your abdomen, thumb and index on either sides of your folds, holding you open so he can suck at your clit. and when you cum, you best believe he's devouring it. he moans at your taste, tries to push his face deeper into you— like if he tried hard enough he'll be able to eat you out for the rest of his days, like he lives for this. so yeah, jj never gets grossed out.

cw: JJ x reader, smut, rough sex, (semi) public, degradation, daddy kink.

summary: dom!jj teaches you a lesson on submission. MDNI

< rough sex, edging, orgasm denial, squirt, exhibitionism, mean!jj, dom!jj, daddy kink, subby!reader, spanking, slapping (happens once), multiple positions >

a/n: this is kiiiinda unedited, im ovulating lol

He's pounding into you mercilessly, his hands hold your hips up at an angle so his dick can hit your cervix at every thrust. Your eyes are closed, its too much for you to handle. All you can focus on is the cold feel of his rings digging into your waist and his sharp grunts above you.

"open your eyes" he commands from above you. When you dont register his words through the stimulation you're receiving, he stops. He stops all movement until your eyes shoot open in protest. You need him.

"eyes on me or im walking outta here princess"

Its a threat you know he'll make good on if you dont listen to him. He's a punisher, If you dont submit you'll get punished. Fuck, you can't have that you need his dick in you.

"...Sorry" you mutter under your breath.

SLAP.

He slaps you across your face. "Louder baby, I couldn't hear" He feigns faux sympathy, furrowing his brows as he uses two fingers to calm the red mark forming on your cheek.

"Sorry Daddy" You whimper, loudly.

"Good girl"

He's back to rutting into you. His hand now wrapped around your throat. He's cutting off your airflow. He's watching as your eyes roll back into your head. Choked sobs and moans escaping your open mouth, gasping for air.

His pelvis hits your clit deliciously at every thrust. The bundle of nerves threatening to push you off the edge at every touch. Your back arches and he knows you're close. He pulls out. Sadist.

"JJ- Please" A pathetic whine leaves your body, aching for the feel of his cock.

He doesn't say a word when he flips you over. His hand pushes your head into the pillows as he pushes into you slowly. His thrusts are slower now. Painfully slow.

You can't even protest with how you're being held down. All you can do is try to move back into him, trying to regain the friction he's deprived you of.

SMACK.

He gives a sharp smack to your ass. Leaning down over you so he's speaking to your ear now- "Don't act like a fucking slut"

SMACK.

"Or I'll fuck you like one"

Oh how you wish he did just that. You moan against the pillow, a wordless plea. He accepts.

His hands reclaim their place on your hips as he drills into you again. His balls slap against your clit with every grind. Hes slowly pushing you to your climax.

"You wanna cum mama?" He taunts. There's that cruel tone again. You can tell by his demeanor that you weren't allowed to cum. He wasn't going to let you.

In a desperate attempt, you shake your head- no. But he knows better. He feels how you're clenching around him. He seeing how your back arches. He knows you're close.

SMACK.

"Liar."

Fuck. He caught you. You're fucked now. He pulls out. This is your punishment. He puts on his boxers and walks out.

No, No, No. You're scrambling to follow him but your legs are wobbly. You call his name- no response. You follow him into the kitchen- sweaty and naked. You're mind is so hazy you don't even care if the rest of the pogues saw you walking naked around the chateau begging JJ to come back to bed.

Whiny 'Please' and 'I'm Sorry's leave your mouth in an attempt to sooth his anger. Finally, he stops in his tracks. The pogues are outside in the cat's ass. One look toward the door and they'd see you and JJ. Risky. Just how he liked it.

He motions you to stand in front of him. You're looking straight at the hot tub filled with people. He's behind you. "Warned ya' not to act like a slut"

SMACK.

You jump at the sudden contact. He's bent you over now. "Be loud. Let them hear." He says as he starts bullying himself into your little cunt. He's holding your hands behind your back, pulling you up so your tits are bouncing up and down at every thrust.

Your eyes threaten to close but you know better. You couldn't do anything JJ wouldn't be pleased with. So you keep your eyes open, You're looking straight at the group, Hoping none of them took back at the house. How would you explain this to them?

But, Maybe, Just maybe a little part of you wanted to get caught by the way your pussy clenched tighter around JJ.

"Knew you were just a little slut, mama." He seethes in your ear. His thrusts are harder now, It feels like he's splitting you in half. Little 'uh, uh, uh-'s leave your mouth at every rut of his hips into you. You bite your lip in hopes to keep quiet.

SMACK.

"I said 'let them hear' didnt i?"

Daddy gets what Daddy wants. You stop let go of your lips. Any worry leaving your body as you feel his ringed fingers swipe at your clit. Fuck. Let them hear. You're a moaning, whining, sobbing mess in his hands. If he wasn't holding you up, you'd be a puddle on the floor.

You were close. Every push of his dick against your cervix teeters you over the edge of ecstacy. As if an act of mercy, he kisses your temple.

"Cum for me baby"

That's all it takes for you to burst. A loud moan leaves your mouth, surely catching the group outside's attention as your orgasm bubbles in you. Your release paints a white ring around JJ's still moving dick. It's as if you've been fucked into another dimension the way your ears ring and you lose all sense of your surroundings.

He wasn't done with you yet. He holds your boneless body up as he carries you back into his room. He's laughing at your mindless state. Who knew he could be so mean? You couldn't lie and say it wasnt making you wetter.

As you lay on the bed, looking up at him, he's pushing in again. Chasing his own climax now. He's drilling into you faster and harder. He's assaulting your walls with no regard to how overstimulated you were getting. Afterall, Daddy gets what daddy wants.

His fingers find your clit again, "Cum with me princess"

You feel him getting closer with how his thrusts were losing their momentum. His fingers getting more erratic. He pinches your clit with his thumb and index finger. Your body jerks at the slight pain before pleasure washes over you as you squirt around him. Thats all the motivation JJ needs to bottom out in you, he presses against the bulge in your tummy as he shoots warm white ropes of his cum in your womb.

He collapses on top of you, exhausted. He gives your shoulder a few kisses as you both pass out, his dick softening, still inside you as your combined release drips out of your cunt, dirtying the sheets under you. That was a problem for when you woke up.