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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Heart of a teenage girl
Pairing: Jack Abbot x nurse!reader
Wc: 4.8k
Description: Recently broken up, you end up drunkenly crying from watching teenage girls doing karaoke to sad Olivia Rodrigo songs. Cue your hot attending comforting you, who only hates two things: 1. Incompetence 2. His favorite nurse looking sad
Tags/warnings: idk why i included santos, drinking, r is drunk, age gap (r is in 20’s, abbot is 50), very much flirting, tons of teasing, jack refers to himself as daddy at one point (non sexual context), this man is a sweetie pie, and also as protective as a guard dog, slightly suggestive themes, many OR references, no allusions to r’s gender, petnames: sweetheart
Note: Not my best, but it’s pretty cute. Like you all. My cuties fr.
“I wish I was 13 again,” Santos murmurs, wistfully eyeing the pack of teenage girls who are currently moving in flashes of glitter, dancing uncoordinated steps on the karaoke floor.
You lean back in your seat, watching your friend with curiosity. “Really? Thought you had a dark past,” you playfully whisper the last part, so as to not accidentally trigger a serious conversation. That is not the mood you are in. You are in a floaty wonderland: surrounding loud, chirpy, noises kept at bay — thanks to the long island iced tea you're sipping on.
Trinity finally tears her gaze away, though it's impossible to ignore the delighted, uninhibited singing coming from the other side.
GUESS YOU DIDN'T MEAN WHAT YOU WROTE IN THAT SONG ABOUT MEEEEE….
Before she can expertly dodge your question, everyone — Shen, Walsh, and Mateo — come back with their drinks. You slowly rise to your feet and take a sidestep, so Mateo and Walsh can slip into the booth. Having already been squished enough, you're willing to take only the corner this time.
You settle in again, next to Walsh, the leather under you creaking with every drag of your thighs.
“Are you both always so fun at parties?” Emery sips through a straw, eyes darting between you and Santos.
“This one —” Shen points a thumb at you “— is already uptight as it is. And Santos is just a poor influence. Don't think I've ever seen her smile, actually.”
“Yeah, she only smiles on her day shift when huckle– Dennis gets pissed on. Or, something of the same sorts,” you join in, ignoring the dig at you.
However, everyone's attention is quickly stolen away by the lives of the party again.
‘CAUSE I STILL FUCKING LOVE YOU, BABE OOoooOohhhOOO
You cannot stifle your laughter anymore when Mateo cheers them on, hooting with his palms cupped around his mouth. The best part is that he looks genuine and sincere, rooting for them no hint of mockingness.
Yeah, you wish you could be 13 again.
It's your turn to miserably and longingly watch the teenager birthday party taking its full swing, completely drowning out the overlapping conversations — and petty arguing — of your colleagues.
You smile at one of the young girls on stage, giving her a lazy wave. Suddenly, she's flushing and whispering in her friend's ear, presumably about a “cool adult” that interacted with her. You wish you could tell her that even though you might look the part — the sitcom adult who sits in a booth with a friend group and drinks — your life couldn't be less boring.
You work at the PTMC, go home, watch TV, fall asleep in front of the said TV, and daydream of a certain honey-eyed doctor. Maybe he's your rebound crush after your recent breakup. Not to mention, a deeply inappropriate one, both work and age wise.
Speak of the devil.
Your face snaps up when you hear your name in that low, raspy, voice. You register his face, tired under the dim lights, and his perfect salt & pepper curls frazzled from the ride over. He's in a white t-shirt stretched taut across his pecs, and a simple pair of black jeans. Though, nothing about how he looks is ‘simple.’
“Doctor…” you speak slowly, narrowing your eyes, and making a show of thinking very, very deeply. You snap your fingers in front of your chin, Before pointing your index at him, “aha! Doctor Abbot, attending of the nightcrawlers. What will you drink?”
The corner of his lips quirk up, amused by your liquor-induced playfulness. “Two of whatever you're having,” he replies, smoothly stealing the glass right out of your hands, holding it in front of his eyes to examine the brown liquid.
“Long island?”
“Yep. L-I-I-T, it's pretty L-I-T. Lit. It means cool.”
“I know what lit means.” He takes in your sluggish blinks, the drop in your usually tight shoulders, and the almost giddy smile on your lips. “How many have you had?”
You hold up one digit, wiggling it back and forth for emphasis.
Jack tuts, “L-I-G-H-T-W-E-I-G-H-T”
“F-U-K-C-Y-O-U,” you proudly smile at your mature retort, mind completely unbothered that your mouth just sweared at your boss.
He shakes his head, contemplating if he should tell you that you spelled your insult wrong.
“Jesus…” he watches you carefully for a second, before handing your cocktail back to you. His thick fingers brush against yours, sending a jolt up your arm.
“Jack! Man, we thought you abandoned your children,” Shen exclaims, realising along with everyone the presence of the new arrival, and bringing you out of your head.
“Well, Shen, daddy's gotta come home.”
Daddy.
Well, technically, he is the attending, so he is the daddy. Daddy of the department, daddy of the floor, daddy of your–
Getting a little off-track there.
You clear your throat, trying to push the sinful thoughts away, putting them back in the compartment that only opens itself in sleepless, late, horny, nights.
“Do you wanna sit orrrr…?” Trinity trails off, jutting her chin towards the karaoke stage.
You bring your glass to your lips again, savouring the citrusy taste on your tongue. You expect to hear the scrape of a chair's legs dragged along the floor — Jack, as always, hauling an extra seat to sit at the head of the table. You always thought it was a way to maintain boundaries even outside the workplace, to make sure there's a tangible difference to avoid misuse of power dynamics. Your attending was quite easygoing, as far as bosses went, but that never deterred his ability to be responsible.
Instead, “Yeah, there's some space here.”
You don't realise you're being spoken to, until you look and everyone is staring expectantly at you. “Wha– oh.”
You try to visibly measure the space next to you, barely larger than your hand. You look back up at the towering man, raising his grey brows in impatience.
You move your ass.
As soon as he's shifting next to you, your senses are overwhelmed by his dominating presence. Your entire side is pressed against his. And he must've showered before coming here, because you can smell the soap he must use — cedarwood. You're thankful for the alcohol in your system, calming your nerves enough to not send a body-wide emergency signal.
“So…” you begin, taking in his face, which is so, so close to you. The disco lights of the place dance on his features, and you try not to chase the shine with your fingers.
“Sorry for crashing. Must be a bummer to have your boss here,” he speaks louder than usual, voice trying to carry over the singing, though his attention is on waving over a server.
You wait until Jack orders a whiskey for himself, continuing after the waiter leaves, “oh, you're not a regular boss. You're a cool boss.”
“Yeah? Is it because I yell a lot less than Robby?”
“That and more.”
“Care to explain, nurse?”
Biceps. Charming. Funny. Biceps. Competent. Sexy. Hardworking. Generous. Biceps.
“No.” You lean forward to catch the view of the little pop-stars again. It seems they've moved on from Olivia Rodrigo to…more Olivia Rodrigo. It's a song you've only recently heard — something about higher standards and expectations.
THEY SEEM SO DESPERATE FOR LOVIN’, BUT BABY, I'M NOT…
The loud singing must have called for his attention too, because now he’s focusing intently on the concert since the first time he came here.
NOW I TAKE CAREFUL CONSIDERATIONS
I'M NOT KISSING ANY BOY THAT IS PASSIVE…
His eyebrows draw together in concern, and almost to himself, he murmurs, “they shouldn't be kissing any boys right now.”
“They're 13, grandpa,” your voice snaps his gaze to you again, “kissing at that age is normal.”
“I'm 50. Anyone under 25 is a kid to me. They—” he gestures to the pack, “—are practically toddlers to me.”
“To remind you, you also have staff in their 20’s working for you. We, very much, aren't kids.”
That makes him pause. If you would've blinked, you would've failed to notice how his gaze dropped to your lips for just a second, before flicking up.
The server brings his order, and Jack is quick to take a swig. “That's what I try to remind myself, too.”
“Do you think Stacy would mind if I join them?” you whisper in Jack's ear with the eager expression of a dog waiting for its owner. You're practically vibrating in your seat, knee bouncing from the third drink you definitely should've refused.
But it's not like you're the only one stupidly drunk. Santos and Mateo are at the pool table, losing to strangers. Shen is in a corner on a facetime with his wife — like, just go back home — and Walsh is nowhere to be seen. So, it’s a thing to wonder why you and your senior are still sitting glued together. You are drunk. What reason does the most rational man you know have?
“Who is Stacy?” He shifts, trying to maintain some semblance of a physical distance between you both, but you just end up closing the space again.
“The birthday girl, Dr. Abbot!”
“The 13 year-old on the karaoke with her friends?”
“Yes!”
Jack sighs, “you don't have to exclaim everything, you know.”
“YES, I DO!”
He physically recoils at your sudden raise in pitch. He takes in your erratic energy: the restless leg, the speedy talking, eyes blown wide. His palm slowly reaches out, firmly cupping your knee, bringing the bouncing to a halt. “Okay, exclaim away. But–”
“But?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, taking the deep breath of a man who wasn't expecting to babysit his drunk colleague today.
“Okay, this time, we let me finish talking. Yeah?” You immediately nod your head. In reality, you have no idea what he just said. You only heard the “yeah?” in his authoritative voice, and agreed.
“I'm very concerned you know her name.”
“Who? Stacy's?”
“Exactly. You're referring to a random teenage girl as if she's a close, personal, friend,” he explains carefully, like he's talking to a child.
“Nooo! She's not a friend, doc.”
“Of course, that would be creep–”
“But I want to be her friend sooo bad,” you whine, staring adoringly at Stacy and friends like they hung the moon. “Just look at them! They did Olivia, moved to Glee's soundtrack, and are now doing Olivia again. They're sooo cool.”
Jack shoots them a quick look and lets out a small huff of laughter when he sees the deep longing in your eyes, a pure look of awe.
He says your name, and your gaze darts straight from the stage, and into his eyes again. It always steals your breath when he calls you by your first name, anchoring you completely to him with just one word. One person should never have so much power.
“I'm cutting you off.”
“What?” Your mouth hangs open, words blurting out from shock, “like, from your life?”
“What? No–” he uses his free hand to pry the drink out of your hand. He lifts the glass, swinging it in front of your eyes, before setting it far on the table. Out of your reach. “From drinking. No more alcohol for you.”
A huge sigh of relief leaves you, and you dramatically clutch your palm to your chest. “That's nice. It would've been hard to work together with beef between us.”
“It's already hard to work with you, sweetheart,” he says under his breath, scanning your face for any signs of distress.
Your brows draw tight in confusion. Huh, what does that mean?
OH BECAUSE MY HEAD IS FULL OF POISON
AND MY HEART IS FULL OF DOUBTS…
The sound of collective cries panics you before you realise sad girl hours have started. You look from Stacy to her other two friends, fortunately not knowing their names. They're clutching the mics tightly enough that you're sure one of them ought to break the device. The singing is a little uneasy on the ears, but you find yourself softly smiling.
Then frowning.
And next you know, your eyes are welling up with tears when the song comes to an end.
IT'LL NEVER BE THE CURE
IT'LL NEVER BE…
Poor girls. They're crying thinking about their eighth grade crush, but they have no idea what's coming for them. One day, they'll be in their 20's and a stupid man with a stupid name will tell them he loves them, and they will believe him, even though he does nothing to prove it. Poor, poor, girls.
You're not sure if it's them you're upset about, since you feel like the only poor, poor person in this entire room.
“Are they okay?” Jack has forgotten his drink, attention fixated on the young girls. His hand unknowingly slides off your knee, hovering near the edge of the table, as if he's about to get up any second. “Why is the girl in the green dress crying? She can't possibly relate to this. Where are their parents?”
“I'm gonna go make sure–” He turns to look at you for assurance, but he sees a fat tear rolling down your flushed cheek. Suddenly, the concern in his eyes is replaced by panic. “Woah, hey, what's wrong? Do you feel dizzy? Overstimulated?”
His head tips down to map your face. You were fine just a few minutes ago. Now, you're tearing up, and your breath is hitching, and his hands are hovering unsurely near your face.
“It's just,” you sniffle, “it's just so…”
“Sad…?” He prompts.
“Yes!” Your eyes flash like he just invented a new word. “Exactly! See, you have the heart of a teenage girl.”
He shakes his head, “I'm 50, but thank you.”
“Why do you tell me you're 50, like 50 times a day? We get it, grandpa.” You sniffle again, trying to look at the stage. But Jack effectively blocks your view with his sturdy frame, instead offering you his handkerchief like some sort of a gentleman from a 60's rom-com.
You wipe your nose in what you hope is in a dignified fashion, barely hiccuping a thank-you to him. “Is it that you forget it too? And you have to keep reminding me so you don't forget it yourself?”
He sighs, finally swiping his thumb under your eye to brush the wetness away.
“Believe me, I try to forget it.”
As if catching up to what he just did, his hands rush towards the safe territory of your upper arms.
You nod thoughtfully, “that makes sense.”
“Yeah?” You watch as hope flickers in his eyes. He worries his lower lip between his teeth, as if contemplating if he should say something. “You understand why?”
“Mhm,” you nod again. “If I was 50, I'd be trying to forget my age too,” you say completely sincerely, eyes swimming with sympathy.
His head falls forward, and his shoulders shake. For a second, your drunk mind makes you believe you made him cry. But when he looks up at you again, he's flashing an amused grin, shaking his head at you.
“Real funny.”
“I wasn't trying to be funny.”
WENT TO THE DOCTOR AND SHE SAID I WAS FINE
BUT EVERY MOVIE THAT I SEE MAKES ME CRYYYyyYY…
Oh, no. When did they start singing this one? It's that song. The one you've had on replay since your breakup, the one you've been singing in showers, in cars, and in the kitchen.
You feel a fresh wave of tears clawing their way up again. Your lower lip juts out in a pout, and you flush in embarrassment when Jack's laugh dies. “I'm fine.”
He gently squeezes your arm, “up.”
Before you have any mind to be confused, your world tilts when you're suddenly hauled off your seat. You sway on your feet for a moment, before Jack steadies you, firmly planting his hands on your elbows.
“Are we finally going to join Stacy?”
“No. Not while you're doing your best impression of a kicked puppy.”
I CAN'T SLEEEEEP
I CAN'T EAAAATTTT
I THINK YOU'RE WHAT'S WRONG WITH MEEEE…
A soft sob escapes your throat. What is wrong with you?
“Nothing. Three-drink-you is just not as fun as two-drink-you,” Jack assures you, his fingers twitching at your elbows without his permission, stuck between staying noble and wiping away the hot tears that are rushing from your ducts again.
Oh. You hadn't realised you'd said that out loud. You can't believe you're breaking down in front of your attending. Because of a breakup song. Because you're drunk. That's, like, top 3 tell-tale signs you need some help. Or, another drink. But you're quite sure that four-drink-you is a horny you, so, maybe not.
The surrounding noises get muffled when Jack spins you around, and starts walking you towards a hushed corner. He swiftly steers you away from any table, chair, or a group of people that comes in your way, before you even register it.
You're disappointed when his hands drop to his own sides, when you're both tucked away in a corner. You look around, and the lights are even dimmer in here, painting everything a dull shade of yellow. There's a door behind you, presumably leading to a bathroom, because you can see the universal signage for a male. Before you can ask Jack to move from here, you notice a lock on the door.
“No one's gonna come here. Talk.”
You clear your throat, managing to speak through your watery throat, “It was just really–”
“Sad? Yes, we covered that,” he catches the sharp edge in his tone, and quickly smoothes it over, gentling himself for you, “but as sensitive as you are, I know that you're not really sobbing because some little girls are crying along to a sad Taylor Swift song.”
“It's Olivia, not Taylor.”
“They're all the same.”
You immediately gasp, narrowing your eyes at his disgusting comment, “I take my words back. You have the heart of a cold, unfeeling, man.”
Jack bites the inside of his cheek to not burst out laughing. “I'm sorry. Will you please tell me why you're worrying yourself over an Olive song?”
“OLIVIA!”
He raises his palms in surrender, but instead of giving up like you'd expect anyone to, he apologises again. Now he's looking at you expectantly, as patient as a saint, and you feel your sob story tumbling out of your mouth.
“I had a break-up recently. And it's,” you click your tongue in frustration, “I don't even miss him. He was a mistake. A big one. But…”
“But?”
You sigh, “I don't know. It's humiliating. Can we go back?”
“What's humiliating?”
You scramble for words but all that comes out is, “this! You! Here!”
“I'm humiliating?”
“Gosh, no. You're– you're not. You're anything but. You're sweet and patient and kind–” you immediately lock your lips when you realise you're verbally fawning over the man in front of you. “That's not what I mean.”
“So, I'm not sweet and patient and kind?” His eyes are crinkling with amusement, and you would want to wipe that smile from his face if it wasn't so goddamn beautiful.
You take a deep breath, “what I am trying to say is, It's humiliating because we work together. You're my senior. Like, super, super senior.”
“And that makes me unempathetic towards one of my staff having a meltdown in a public place?”
“Okay, I think we're throwing the word ‘meltdown’ a little too easy here.”
Jack pretends to ponder for a moment, observant brown eyes scanning your face slow enough to make you squirm. “I think not. Look at yourself.”
You immediately straighten up. “Huh, do I look like a mess?” Your hands rush to your face, trying to harshly rub the messy tears away.
His eyes immediately soften. “No, hey, that's not…You just look so upset is all. Otherwise, you look fine. Good. As always.” He says it like it's obvious, like it's a rule he learned in medical school.
Almost hesitantly, he pries your wrists away from your face, leaving them in his grip, hanging between you both. You have no option but to look straight at him.
“I'm sorry. You've just caught me on a bad day.”
“What do you mean? I'm having a really good time.”
You let out a watery laugh. “You don't have to make me feel better.”
“Gloria is always on my ass about keeping staff happy. Consider this a part of my duty.”
You have a good couple of inches between you, but the distance seems really, really little right now. You're not sure if it's him or you who takes a step closer. Probably you, since his thumb is stroking the side of your wrist, and you're feeling floaty again.
“I'm not sure this is what duty looks like, Jack,” your voice comes out barely more than whisper.
He tuts in disapproval when you use his first time, voice dropping an octave lower. “No, it doesn't. You should be thankful. Robby just yells at people and tells them to pack it up.”
“Don't joke.”
“If I stop joking, I'll have to tell you that you have no reason to cry for a fuckin’ idiot who owned forty different colors of the same polo t-shirt.”
For a second, you're taken back enough to not speak. “How…how do you know that?”
“Used to see him everyday when he would pick you up, remember?” He reminds you as you watch irritation flare up in his eyes, “and he was 20 minutes late. Every single day.”
“20 minutes is not a lot. He was, after all, picking me up.”
“If you're gonna do something, do it right. I wouldn't even be 2 minutes late for someone who spent the entire night working their ass off.”
You downcast your gaze to avoid his sharp eyes. “Shame you're not the one picking me up, then.” You try to play it off as a joke, but it only comes out as wistful.
“Shame,” he murmurs. “So, you don't miss him?”
You shake your head. “No, but it gets lonely.” You sigh before continuing, admitting with a hint of shame, “I like the whole routine — the dates, the places, the high while it lasts.”
“So? Go on a date again.”
“Right,” You laugh in self-deprecation, “It's not like I've queues outside my door, people waiting to take me out.”
“Impossible. Look at you,” he replies, without missing a beat. You examine his face, trying to gauge the intent behind his words. Mindless affirmation or meaningful compliment?
“You're just saying that,” you whisper.
“What reason do I have to lie?”
“Getting me off your hands, and back to your whiskey again.”
His breath mingles with yours when he tips his face forward, gaze locking in on your soft lips. “I'm not so eager to get my hands on whiskey. I've got better things going on for me,” he speaks, voice dropping low and intimate.
“Like me having a meltdown?”
“Like you allowing me to be here for it.”
“Of course. You're sweet and patient and kind.”
“Pray tell. Don't let me stop you from singing my praise.”
“And…calm and funny and…” you pause, trying to even out your shallow breaths, “incredibly, stupidly, frustrating.”
“Careful. Still your attending.” Irony is that right as he's saying it, he's letting go of your wrists to cup your hips instead — long fingers curling around the fabric of your shirt, settling heavy and firm, grounding you in place.
“You're not acting like it.”
He playfully squeezes your hips, “why am i frustrating?”
“Because…sometimes, I come to the shift, and I get to hear from Santos that somebody decided to play the hero and got shot. And I'm obviously never there, because it all happens during the day shift.”
“You worry?”
“You're not a man with ill styling choices. I can worry.”
“As long as you don't cry.”
“Are you one of those people who don't like people crying? You get all awkward and uncomfortable?”
His hand drags up your arm to swipe across your cheekbone, brushing over the dried tears. “I don't like when you cry. It makes me frustrated and insistent.”
“Insistent to do what?”
“To fix whatever caused it. Or whoever.”
Your throat dries up, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. “It's not recommended to go causing trouble in the name of nurses.”
“What if it's a pretty nurse?”
Red rushes to your cheeks, and you feel yourself warming up. You urge the alcohol in your system to deliver you courage, but all you feel is like wet noodles in front of him.
“That's not a valid reason,” you murmur.
“My floor, my rules.”
“Careful. Next thing you know, it's 20 missed calls from HR.”
“Shit,” he says, not sounding concerned in the slightest.
You clear your throat, “now that I'm not actively sobbing, we should head back. Somebody will notice we're gone.”
“They're all too busy being idiots. Besides, there's nothing to notice. I'll just tell them–” your eyelids flutter when he lightly blows air into your right eye, “–there was something in your eye.”
“And you were helping me while using your bedroom voice?”
Jack sputters a small laugh, “oh, this is not my bedroom voice.” His hand on your hip moves, leaving a trail of fire up your side, settling high on your waist. “Or my bedroom hands. Or my bedroom acts.”
Your eyes flutter close, and heat melts low in your belly, leaving an ache between your thighs. Your thoughts wander, trying to imagine his ‘bedroom acts.’
You snap your eyes open before your body can take control from you, and start acting on its own accord.
“HR. 20 missed calls,” you breathily say, not sure if it’s him or you you’re trying to remind.
He sighs as he backs away from you, and you feel sharp dissatisfaction at the loss of his burning, comforting touch. He holds his arm out towards the small hallway from where you both entered. “Pretty nurses first.”
I KNOW THAT THE BAR CLOSES AT ELEVENNN
I HOPE YOU NEVER FINISH THAT BEEEERRR…
What do you know? Your colleagues were indeed too busy being idiots to notice any change. You sit in the booth again, next to Jack, watching the girls be happy and bright again.
You on the other hand feel disappointment settling deep in your chest. You're suddenly wishing that you hadn't urged Jack to come back out here. Something could've happened. Something you had been wishing and hoping for. And now you have let the moment pass.
OOOO, ONE NIGHT, I WAS BORED IN BED
AND STALKED YOU ON THE INTERNET…
“So, I'm gonna leave.”
You turn to look at him, trying very hard not to let your dismay show, instead sweetly smiling at him and nodding your head a little too quickly.
A pause.
“You can leave 10 minutes later. I'll be in my truck.”
Your brows snap together in confusion, lips parting to say something, but Jack is already getting up, grabbing his leather jacket from where he kept it in the booth.
“They're idiots, yes, but it's better if they don't see us leaving together.”
You scramble for words but nothing comes out.
‘CUZ I ALWAYS HAD A VISION OF US STANDING LIKE THIS
ALL PRESSED UP IN THE BATHROOM LINE…
“Where will we go?” you dumbly ask.
Jack shrugs, “dates, places, chasing the high while it lasts.”
Your heart leaps out of your ribcage, body unable to do anything but watch his back as he walks towards the door. Your lips open. And close again.
What.
Deep breaths. It’s chill. All good. Just a normal hangout with Dr. Abbot. Surely, nothing will happen.
Fuck.
You give a final glance towards the cheerful trio of girls, a luminous grin finally breaking out on your face.
They'll be okay. So will you.
You take out your phone and tap the screen awake. One minute passed, nine more to go.
KISS MEEE AND I MIIIGHTT
KISS ME AND I MIGHT DROP DEAD.
Sigh…i missed my husband. Now everyone say, “thank you, stacy” and then everyone who liked this, please glaze all over me. Likes, comments especially, and reblogs increase one minute of my lifespan.
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hello?
the ending 👨🍳💋
suspect is 6'1 and is....drinking people's blood...?
౨ৎ @reginaphalangelobster
SWEET CREATURE!
026. mean girl
warnings . . . curse words, mean reader, literally a one day time skip from last chapter lol. probably could’ve made it more clear that the “drinking plan” with j just meant a small heist…
“You can’t be grouchy right now.” Pope pulls his face from between your legs, looking up at you with a bored expression.
You sigh dramatically, sitting up and letting your skirt fall back down around your legs, covering you up. The drive back to the city was spent smacking his hand off your thigh when he subconsciously let it drift. He’d glare at you for a moment and relent, but the cycle started all over again. Now, the two of you are in his apartment with your legs spread as you’re perched up on his counter. “How was your night out with J?”
“You were thinking about J while I was—“
You interrupt him with a grimace, “ew! Shut up! Don’t even say that!”
He leans his arms beside you, sighing softly. “Why are you grouchy, then?”
You bite your bottom lip nervously, unsure of how to voice yourself. You know you’re a good person. You don’t view yourself as a loathsome person who no one can get along with. But you often wonder why people like you. Why do they put up with your attitude and anger and worries, just to be around you? And when they do put up with it, it’s hard for you to accept. Even harder to accept when they finally get rid of you.
“Are you hiding something from me?”
He doesn’t look taken aback by your question, his eyebrows furrowed as he takes you in. “Like what?”
“You tell me, Andrew.”
“Andrew?” He’s amused, the corner of his mouth quirked up.
You nod, “yeah, some lame ass advice J told me.” You sigh dramatically once again, “are you cheating on me?”
He huffs, “I’m not cheating on you.” He pauses and you can tell it’s a strain to speak his next words, “you’re the only one I want.”
“Until the next one.” You chime with a scoff.
His grip on your chin isn’t tight, but it’s enough for him to force your eyes onto his. “There’s no next one.”
“Until there is.”
“You’re incredibly—“
“Gorgeous? Smart? Funny?” You interrupt with a small smack to his chest. “You’ll tell me if I annoy you, right?”
“You don’t annoy me.”
“You are such a liar.”
“I don’t lie.”
“He lies—“
“Shut up.” His lips press to yours. It’s a tender kiss, his hands cupping your face as his lips move against yours. It doesn’t last very long, your mouth chasing him when he pulls away. “I can promise you, there’s no one else. You don’t annoy me. You’re not too much for me. You are very pretty. Anything else I need to cover?”
You hum, a grin plastered on your face as you lean your chin on his chest. “Tell me my ass is fat.”
“Your ass is fat.”
You hum, content by how well he obeys. “You’re the only old man in my life who listens to what I say.”
“How many old men do you have in your life?”
“Nunya. Keep eating me out.”
authors note . . . me vs putting in my hyperfixations and rn it’s those shitty vertical movies. love you give me your thoughts
taglist (closed) . . . @theariespov @slytherclaw1978 @manilovewomen1 @harhar0777 @cassierins @hhusbuds @shitface-t @firstlyferrari @marauvderss @vesperazhier @love-pluto-love @peachyfckingkeen @wylewhims @byfragonard @xreader1989 @inbred-eater @verygentlementrash @sagelovesbooks @callmestgalex @robinavitchabbotslut @momdancingtomcr @pr3ttygirlavenue @cherryybombbthoughts @tatoda @cosmicneptune @buckystwilight @iansunibrow @cosmosnkaz @feminine-ominon @caterppillar @milestellerismybf @scream4mami @niyizh @4ngelest @4rtem4r @miauforme @archxve @ellieslaces @edynmeyer1 @sunbonesss @tojiramisu @xoxabs88xox @stylesonlyangel4 @flirtism @viviannagiorgini @mimiunfiltered @tumbletune @croissant31 @beths-shoelaces @iriths
shes so not means hes just saying what she wants
being a bitch actually saves you a lot of time
they’ll think you’re a bitch anyway for having some reasonable boundary so you might as well just be a bitch sometimes and save yourself the trouble, the time, the energy, the money, etc

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Barbie Doll
Paring: Jack abbott x nurse!reader
Wc: 2.7k
Description: You and your new boyfriend haven't had sex yet. Though, getting drunk for the first time — and seeing your gorgeous boyfriend take care of you — awakens that dormant part. Or, you being a drunk mess trying to get him to fuck you, and him fighting his self-control.
Tags/warnings: Established rlsp, Drinking, r is drunk, lots of flirting, highly suggesting themes, lots of mentions of sex, huge age-gap (reader in 20's, abbott is 50), size difference, horniness lol, slight allusions to dom!jack, use of pet names: sweetheart, baby, honey (would u guys like "kid" lol?) (sorry, i have issues. i think.)
Note: This is my first fic, and i wrote it in one go. While I tried to make the reader very neutral in terms of characteristics — the fic is highly self-indulgent (i, too, am horny for abbott), and you may see some mentions of reading having hair, reader being in heels.
“I kind of want to get shitfaced.”
Jack did not turn to look at you. He just huffed into his cup of black coffee, held closely to his lips. The kind of black coffee that made you wrinkle your nose. You proudly liked yours with a bit of milk in it. Okay, a lot of milk. To the point, Jack called it a milkshake.
His eyes remained fixated at the screen of his phone, straining even with his reading glasses, to read the daily news on a bulletin app you downloaded on his phone.
“What about your policy against having fun, and letting yourself go for more than two minutes in a row?” Jack asks in his low voice, scratchy from the coffee. His eyes finally find yours, as he takes a slow sip from his cup. His eyebrows raise at you questioningly, holding your gaze.
Damn him and his gaze. Even after 6 weeks of dating — and pining for a lot longer than that — he sure could still make you feel like a puddle.
You're only able to speak once he turns to his phone again. “Uh, excuse you, I'm a very fun person, thank you very much. Yesterday, I put a fake ‘your computer is down’ screen on Shen's laptop,” you tell proudly.
“Dear god. He did not go into a cardiac arrest from your…prank?” Jack's voice caught on the word “prank” as if it deeply amused him.
You narrowed your eyes at your boyfriend (still hard to say that), shifting close enough to him on his couch that your knee knocked against his thigh. Your entire body faced him, while his faced the front — a tiny whine left your lips.
Jack turned his attention back to you as you spoke again. “You know it's the loss of control I hate. Don't you think I also feel like getting all loose-lipped and dancing on top of tables and flirting with strangers?”
His eyes softened a fraction when he saw the small frown on your lips. He sets his phone face-down on the arm of the couch, before shifting so his upper half faced you too. “Okay, what brings this on? You know I just like teasing, I don't think there's anything wrong with being an alcohol virgin.”
You rolled your eyes at his choice of words. “I want to know what it's like. It makes everyone so…” your hands do a weird dance in front of your chest, trying to find a proper word. Your attending swiftly moves his cup a bit to the left, so your hands wouldn't knock it all over yourself.
“Joyful,” you finished.
“Okay, but let's not dance on table tops and flirt with strangers,” he takes off his reading glasses and perches them next to his phone. When his eyes find you again, they're equal parts amused, and that softness that only seems to show up when you're in the room.
“I would never, I'd feel bad for giving you stress at your age.”
He lightly smacks your hip that's not smushed against the couch, “Brat.”
You grin widely, “You'll be there, right?”
“With a camera and a mic. My beautiful, sensible, nurse, looking like an absolute fool,” he tugged at a loose strand of your hair, his eyes shining with endearment.
Your little baby blue sling looks absolutely ridiculous hung over his shoulder. “What did I tell you before leaving?” His voice strains with the effort of all the workout he got in today. He's struggling with unlocking the door, because your purse keeps slipping down his arms.
You were a disaster. While your favourite doctor made sure you only stuck to fruity drinks that gave you a pleasant buzz and not regrets — you still managed to outdo yourself in terms of being a mess.
You challenged a man twice your size in an arm wrestle. You advised 3 different women to break up with their boyfriends, “Mine's handsome and kind. You guys stay safe, though.” And, finally, broke the heel of your left boot making you even more unbalanced than you already were.
“That Dr. Robby is a little shit with no self-preservation inst-”
“The other one, honey.”
You went silent for a moment, searching your hazy brain as the door opened in front of you. Jack gently guided you in, before locking the door with a sharp click. His rough hands sneak up your arms, tugging the jacket at your shoulders, and shrug it off you to safely hang it on his coat rack.
“That I shouldn't carry my bag if I couldn't keep it safe?” you say, looking down at him, as he sets his knee on the floor. His hands that cut and heal skin with such precision, are deftly working the zipper of your boots. He gently helps your feet out of the pair, patting your calf, before rising to his full height again with a groan.
Without your size boosters, your head was once again leveled with his chest. Jack nodded, leaning his head down so you didn't have to crane your neck as much.
“But I had my ID and pepper spray in there,” you justified, your lower lip jutting out in a pout.
Jack's hand pats the right-side pocket of his hands, “ID,” his voice rumbling as if coming straight from his chest. “And you don't need pepper spray. You have me.”
But you're not registering a word he says, not when he looks like this. His salt and pepper curls are all ruffled from your bar visit. His simple black tee is pulled taut across his biceps, making them look just as delicious as they do in his SWAT uniform.
His fingers snap in front of you, “Eyes up here, sweetheart.” You look in his honeyed eyes again. God, why haven't you guys had sex already? You seriously can't remember why.
“Why haven't we fucked?” You blurt out. Oh, the alcohol doesn’t make you Joyful. It makes you blunt.
Your boyfriend freezes for a second, before letting out a deep, throaty laugh. His hands settle on your shoulders. With a slight bend of his knees, he manages to stare completely and directly into your eyes. “Wow, thought we went to the bar, not to a seminar for clear communication.”
You capture both his hands and slide them down, so they're firmly on your hips. After humming in satisfaction, you take a step closer to him, your chest brushing his. “Answer me.”
As if suddenly realizing you both are still standing in the entryway, Jack starts walking you backwards, swiftly maneuvering you so you don't hit the kitchen counter. “I'm your attending, honey, I don't answer to you,”
You furrow your brows, staring up at him with irritation. You press yourself even closer to him, your palms settling on his hard stomach. “Like hell you don't. I want to know why me and my gorgeous boyfriend haven't made good use of every room in this too-big-for-you house.”
Jack sighs deeply, his fingers unconsciously tightening around your hips. He takes a seat on one of the low kitchen counter stools, so he doesn't have to keep looking down at you. His arms completely wrap around your waist, pulling you in until you're standing between the hard muscle of his thighs.
“Because we work at a hospital, we're either busy or tired. And…it's hard to find a footing with sex. You tense up whenever my hand slips under your shirt, you've talked about how insecure you get. And me…well, I'm not what I used to be.”
Your eyes soften, “But do you want me?” Your lips graze his jaw, your hands palming the hard plane of his chest.
Jack shifts in his seat and takes a deep breath, “What do you think, baby?” his right hand moves an inch lower with exaggerated slowness, settling on the top curve of your ass, his thumb stroking the curve.
You let out an entirely pathetic whimper at his breathy voice, his lips brushing your temple. You move back your face, so you can watch him again. His eyes look darker than they actually are.
“I see this as a good opportunity that we should seize, doctor.” His throat catches at the ‘doctor’. Oh, you are not a fair player.
“Well, I don't like my medical staff being inhibited. Perhaps, sometimes when you're horny and sober, we can continue the procedure.” His breaths are coming in shallow, his hard thighs squeezing around you to completely lock you in. His hands have not stopped moving, the one on your waist has moved north to tangle in your hair at the nape of your neck.
A petulant whine leaves your lips as you bury your mouth in the crook of his neck. “But-”
“No buts. I have no intention of being between your legs in a state you won't even remember anything in.” The rasp in his voice so close to your ear directly travels to the your belly, already coiling tight with tension.
The imagery makes you groan: His mouth working between your legs, his jaw shining under the dim lights, stopping for a moment to say, “Louder, baby. Your doctor can't hear you.”
Your lips slip from his neck, replaced by your forehead. His lips brush against your hair, the gentleness so different from what his body is suggesting.
“Kids and their hormones,” he teasingly says. That makes you pull yourself back. Because that's rich coming from a man whose pants are getting visibly tighter.
“Is that so, grandpa?” Your eyes are entirely fixated on his lips. Your own bottom lip has caught between your teeth.
His thumb comes up to free your lip so you don't hurt it, “Careful, brat.” His hand stays on your face, and you lean heavily into his palm, blinking at him. The strap of your top has conveniently fallen off from its place, and Jack is staring like a man who's just discovered shoulders, tracking the soft curve of it, following the slope of your neck, where your pulse thrums rapidly.
Leave it to him to have a gaze that weights at least a 300 pounds.
Your palms drop from his chest to his waist, brushing your fingers against the waistband of his pants. A soft “uh-uh” leaves his mouth as he slowly shakes his head, though he makes no move with his hands to push you away.
“You're palming at me like you're a little girl, and I'm your favorite barbie doll.”
“You are my favorite barbie doll, Dr. Abbott,” it leaves your mouth in a soft, needy, whine.
His shoulder shake slightly from laughter, the comforting rumble filling the room, subsequently reaching every tensed part of your body, and taking its place there too, perfectly fitting every crook and corner.
“I am a 50-year old man with a military background, who spends his nights managing an entire floor of medical staff. My day hobbies include being a buddy to SWAT and getting shot at.”
You look at him, as if to say “so?” and hearing the adoration — despite the choice of words — in your voice completely decentres him. “Glad to be your favourite barbie doll, honey.”
He finally freezes when your wandering palm brushes against the hard ridge in his pants, practically begging to be freed. You let out a little gasp as you feel his size, even with a barrier of rough fabric.
A low groan leaves him, his hand sharply capturing your bold wrist against his own chest, heaving up and down. For someone just talking about being 50, the man's heart is sure beating with a fast thump-thump-thump, like a teenage boy catching his crush in a 2-feet vicinity. Your name leaves his mouth, dirty and like a prayer at the same time.
“Let me help you, doctor. Please” you say sweetly, voice coated in silk and need and whatever poison this man mixed in your drinks.
A pause.
He gets off the stool in a sudden motion, his hands grip your forearms, and starts walking you backwards in the general direction of the bathroom.
“You are a pain in my ass. And, frankly, a horny mess.”
“Speaking of horny and my ass-”
He doesn't let you complete the sentence before turning you around, his broad chest hovering over your form from the back. “Nope. You have lost the privilege of looking at me before you've taken a cold shower.”
You tilt your head back to look at him, excitement glinting in your eyes, “together?”
“No, you pervert.” Your boyfriend opens the door to the bathroom and lets you both in. Before you can even complain, his rough palms are gripping the back of your thighs, swiftly lifting you up on the counter. You let out a little squeal, squeezing your thighs at the display of his strength.
Show-off.
So fucking hot, though. It's like he was made by Lana Del Rey's mind.
Jack doesn’t stop, though. He finds his way behind the glass that separates the shower from the rest of the bathroom. His practiced hands mess with the settings until he's satisfied, and comes back.
He stands in front of you again, crossing his arms over his chest. His muscles strain at the motion, trying to escape their way from the tight shirt. You pout at his slut-ishness. A walking, talking, thirst trap. If he was an actor, he would surely have his fare share of editors.
“How am I supposed to not get wet when you manhandle me?”
“Jesus,” he mumbles, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes to lull some of his composure back into him. He silently thanks his military discipline, or you would currently be spread on the soft sheets of his bed, waking up his neighbours.
He takes a deep breath, eyes scanning you again. His fingers come up to pinch your chin in a soft embrace, “Shower. Clean. Mind and body both. And then, we will sleep. Got it?”
Heat pools low in your belly at his authoritative voice. God, how did you land this man?
“Sir, yes, sir.” You watch his gaze get heavy at the word. He leaves his hold on your chin, pats your hip, and exits the bathroom.
Guess you know what you'll be calling him, when he finally lets you do what your body is begging you to do.
You find him on his bed, wearing only a pair of low hung worn-out sweatpants. His back is slumped against the pillows, fingers locked behind his head as he stares at the ceiling.
He finally looks at you, crawling on his king-sized bed, trying to make your way over to him. It seems the shower un-possessed you. You look soft, sleepy, tired, and utterly his.
He holds out his arm and you immediately curl up into him, your icy-cold nose finding the hollow of his neck. “Hold me,” you murmur.
“One second, honey.” Before he can properly embrace you, he pulls up the thick duvet and arranges it to cover both of you. His left arm is trapped under your body, fingers pressing against the small of your back to pull you closer. His other hand brushes the hair back from your face, watching your heavy eyelids.
“There you are,” he softly rumbles before pressing the softest, most lingering kiss on your temple. A low sigh of satisfaction leaves you. You're still inhibited, but the tiredness has caught up.
“You didn't like the freaky me?” You ask, your jaw cracking with a yawn right after.
“I like every-you, unfortunately. It's a weakness in the ED.” His fingers are still moving in your hair, scratching your scalp in a way that turns your brain to mush. You push your face even deeper in his neck. Hell, you would live inside his ribcage if he ever allowed it.
You let out a soft giggle, hiking your thigh over his hip so no part of you is separate from him. “Can we have a proper conversation about sex tomorrow?”
Your boyfriend murmurs a “yes, baby,” against your forehead.
“Okay, goodnight. Gonna have some good wet dreams.”
“Shut up, and go to sleep, sweetheart.”
If anybody even reads this, and ends up liking it - pls feel free to glaze me in comments, asks, or dms. likes and reblogs appreciated as well <3 also, do yall think im funny?
this was so fun to read i love
SWEET CREATURE!!
025. kidnap
warnings . . . curse words, grinding, lewd conversation, kidnapping????? unserious ofc, is reader overreacting? maybe but u know the drill. want to point out that it’s been a two week timeskip from the cabin/cath coming back. it may seem like the plot shifted but it’s coming…… mwahahahaha
authors note . . . okay.. well.. hi… love you. tell me ur thoughts and I love you and did I tell you I love you also wait.. they’re being vague cause they’re gonna do criminal stuff… not drunk LOL I just don’t want to rework this LMAOAOA
taglist (closed). . . @theariespov @slytherclaw1978 @manilovewomen1 @harhar0777 @cassierins @hhusbuds @shitface-t @firstlyferrari @marauvderss @vesperazhier @love-pluto-love @peachyfckingkeen @wylewhims @byfragonard @xreader1989 @inbred-eater @verygentlementrash @sagelovesbooks @callmestgalex @robinavitchabbotslut @momdancingtomcr @pr3ttygirlavenue @cherryybombbthoughts @tatoda @cosmicneptune @buckystwilight @iansunibrow @cosmosnkaz @feminine-ominon @caterppillar @milestellerismybf @scream4mami @niyizh @4ngelest @4rtem4r @miauforme @archxve @ellieslaces @edynmeyer1 @sunbonesss @tojiramisu @xoxabs88xox @stylesonlyangel4 @flirtism @viviannagiorgini @mimiunfiltered @tumbletune @croissant31 @beths-shoelaces @iriths
shes is so insane (realest)
hadnt checked twitter since december and it made me follow a weirdo from politics omg
⠀⊹ patchin’ up ; 𝓜𝐚𝐭𝐭 𝓜𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐤 ࿐ ׂ
⠀𓂅⠀ 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁 ⁺ ꒱⠀fluff, est. relationship, implied nurse!reader.⠀⠀⠀wc,⠀364%.
⠀©⠀𝒇𝗂𝗅𝗍𝗁𝗀𝖿⠀᭝⠀2026.
blood coated the blue latex gloves you wore on your hands, medical supplies from a first aid kit littered the coffee table and couch around you. you placed the last few stitches into matt’s skin, cleaning off the area of his wounded abdomen again before placing a gauze pad over it.
“thank you, nurse,” he glanced up in your general direction, eyes shifting behind his glasses to find the mark in the air where your chest rose and fell with your breathing. “how will i ever repay you?”
you chuckled at that, removing your gloves and placing all the leftover supplies back in the box. “depends, what’re you willing to give me?”
“oh, well, i can give you a lot, actually. just name your price.” he smiled while you rolled your eyes, understanding the nod of an innuendo he was pitching.
“you barely survived last night, matt. and you’re lucky you have a sweet enough girlfriend in your bed to patch you up,” you shut the first aid kit and stood up after collecting all of the trash, discarding it in the trashcan in the kitchen.
“sooo, that’s a... no? to the innocent thanks i wanted to give you?”
“yeah, what you wanted was totally innocent,” you snorted. “c’mere,” you whispered as you made your way back over to the couch, bending down to place your lips on his.
two quick smacks of kisses is what you gave him before standing back up and pulling away, giving him a light slap on his shoulder. “oh– come onnn!” matt groaned at the loss of you, trying to grab your arm to pull you down, but you were quicker.
“get up, we’re already late,” you grinned. “let’s try to actually make it to the office before you bleed through your shirt and i have to repack your gauze.” you tossed his blazer towards him, watching him catch it with ease before walking to your shared bedroom to grab your heels.
all matt did was sigh, listening to you click clack around the apartment as he reluctantly stood up and buttoned his shirt, wishing you could’ve spared him at least another minute for some more ‘innocent’ kissing.

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im so happy s3 of iwtv is gonna be on netlix because prime takes like 100 years and netflix is putting it out on monday yeyyy
let's look like papa
Re-watching supernatural is like cheating on a diet, I skip all the episodes I hate, then only watch the ones with Cas or something good in them.
Bitter Taste [ JJ Maybank x Reader]
Synopsis: When you're forced to move in with your aunt on the figure eight after your mothers passing, you struggle to fit in. You're not quite a Kook, but you can't call yourself a Pogue anymore either. When you meet JJ Maybank, he makes his dislike for you clear, at least until you spend some more time together. requested here!
Word Count: 12.1k
Warnings: not spellchecked, Grief and loss of a parent, rafe cameron, mentions of abuse. Em dashes used but I just love them so much guys istg this is not ai
The house feels empty. It's too big and void of people compared to your old place, and sound seems to echo through the halls. You moved to the outer banks a few months ago after your mothers passing and haven't been able to get used to the changes. Your aunt is what people on this island call a "kook" which now, you guess, by extension makes you one too.
It sounds cool in theory. Living in luxury, having enough money to buy and do whatever you want. But you're more alone now than you were before.
Before this you lived in a small, shabby house in what felt like an even smaller town. But you're mother made it feel bigger than it was. She had people over all the time, cooking meals for strangers with the little that you had, inviting neighbors with holes in their roofs over when a storm was coming. There was always noise, and nothing was ever dull.
Somehow, surrounded by rich kids and boats and holiday homes, the silence is deafening. Grief seems to expand here, with nothing left of your mother to remember. And nothing of your old life to keep close. Maybe that's why, despite your newfound Kook status, you enjoy hanging around in the cut.
It reminds you more of home, of the people you left behind and of the mother you lost. There's an older woman that works in one of the small shops in the cut, who always calls you honey and sweetie pie when you come in. She reminds you of your old neighbor Mrs. Davis. So much so that you accidentally called her that once.
But the woman didn't take it personal, introducing herself as Trudy Bills. She then laughed through a joke, "guess that's why I'm always paying 'em." and you tried for a smile when she added "guess you don't have to worry about that so much, do you honey?"
Not now you don't. Your aunt and her boyfriend seem to pay for everything without a second thought. It's not how it was 3 months ago when you had a secure job at the gas station, working nights to support you and your mother while she worked days at a local laundromat.
Despite the struggles, you know you were happier back then than you are now.
As you walk through the cut you wonder if you'll ever fit in. Maybe you could find a place on this side of the tracks, the one that seems a little more familiar despite not being home. You hear one of the Cameron girls made a place for herself with some Pogues, and even though she's more outcast from the Kooks now, it sounds like the grass might be greener for her.
Maybe it could be greener for you as well.
You've got a bag of sour candy in your hand that you bought from Trudy's store minutes before. You pick through it now, trying to find the good flavors and avoid the bad. That's when the group appears. You've seen one or two of them around before, but now it seems the gang is all here.
And amongst them is none other than Sarah Cameron. And Kiara Carrera. You've only heard her name in whispers before, and maybe this is why. She's found her way to the cut just like Sarah. Your heart beats faster in your chest at the thought of making friends, or even just being a part of something at all. You've been wandering the cut and the figure eight alone for three months now, and you're tired of it. Maybe that's what gives you the confidence to extend your bag of candy out to the group as they pass.
"You guys want some?"
Whatever conversation they were having comes to a halt. A blonde boy, steps forward, pushing past his bandana wearing friend to stick his hand into the bag of candy. "Don't mind if I do." he takes out a handful, but you let him. You offered after all.
You try for a smile, as the boy with the bandana around his neck sticks his hand into the bag and takes out a singular sour peach ring, unlike his friend.
"Do you guys know any good places to eat around here?" You say it mostly just to open up conversation, your throat feeling tight from the awkwardness of it all.
"Yeah," a small relief swarms you when you catch sight of Sarah's warm smile. "Kie's dad owns a place, the wreck? I don't know if you've heard of it." She gestures to Kiara, and you nod along as she continues. "Otherwise there's Mrs. Bills convenience store if you're just looking for a snack, or a bar and restaraunt called Salty dog back that way." She waves behind her and you follow her hand despite the fact you can't see the bar from this distance.
You hold up your bag of candy, now almost empty thanks to the blonde boy munching away in front of you. "I got these from Mrs. Bills earlier. But thank you for the other options."
Sarah's smile is so unbelievably disarming, and you force yourself to keep your gaze on her, if only to keep your nerves at bay. Kiara takes a sour bear from the blonde boys palm, popping it into her mouth. "Are you just visiting?"
This is going well, you think. Shaking your head, you clutch a little tighter to your bag of candy. "I just moved here actually. I think I live two houses down from you. Kiara Carrera, right?"
As soon as you say it, the mood of the group changes. The only person that doesn't seem to take this news like a personal threat, is Sarah. Kiara nods at your mention of her name.
"So you live on the figure eight?" she asks, cautious despite the fact she too has a white two story mansion in the area. You nod, trying to keep your head held high despite the change in energy.
"Yeah, I do."
The blonde boy throws the last of his candy into his mouth, and through chews says, "You probably shouldn't be asking us for restaurant recommendations then princess. We won't have what you're looking for."
You stutter, trying to change the perception of you the group already seems to be building. "No, I think Sarah's recommendations were—"
The blonde cuts you off, "Were you planning on talking to the rest of us or just the Kook's you recognise?"
His harshness has you taking a step back. There's a bite to his tone you don't like at all, and it has you on the defense before you can think the better of it. "What is wrong with you?"
The blonde laughs, looking to his friends in something like disbelief. "What's wrong with me? Really? Ask any one of your kook buddies and they'll give you a list Sweetheart."
"I was being nice to you!" you push back the wobble in your voice, taking a step toward the blonde.
A third boy, one with a backwards cap and striped button up, steps forward. "JJ's just not a fan of Kooks." he says, extending a hand to you. "I'm Pope."
You tell him your name as you scan the group "I'm not a Kook." you say, giving his hand a quick shake before shifting your eyes back to JJ. But even as you say it, you know it's not true. You are a rich kid now, even if you weren't before. You have privileges that people on this side of the island don't have.
"Yeah, not a Kook." JJ mumbles, "tell that to the pool in your backyard."
"JJ, stop." It's Sarah, the only person here you think might be on your side. Maybe you are best to stick with the Kooks. Especially if the Pogue's treat you like this.
"JJ?" you step forward, keeping your shoulders back and head up despite the fear of confrontation in your beating heart.
He tilts his head condescendingly, "yeah, princess?"
You reach out and grab his hand, shoving the almost empty bag of candy into his palm. "Keep it, since you're so fucking sour already."
You turn back to Sarah, gesturing behind her "You said the bar was this way?"
She nods, and you can see the apology in her eyes. "Yeah, just round the bend. You can't miss it."
"Good," You breathe, already moving. "I need a fucking drink."
-
The next day you try a different approach. You walk around the figure eight, trying to get a lay of the land as best you can. If you're stuck here you may as well find ways to enjoy it.
You walk past Kiara's house, and then Sarah's the farther you go, but you don't see either girl in sight. You do however see a boy on the balcony of the Cameron house, scrolling through his phone with a scowl. You don't wave or say hi. He doesn't seem all that approachable, and after yesterday's fail, you don't feel like making any more enemies.
You've almost made it to the next house on the street when a somewhat booming voice calls out to you. "I haven't seen you around before."
You turn to find the scowling boy from before at the edge of the balcony, looking you over from head to toe.
"Do you always keep tabs on people walking down the street?" you reply, lifting a hand up to cover your eyes as the sun beats down on you. It's hot out today, and you've heard the marsh is nice, but you don't want to risk running into Sarah's group of friends again.
"Are you a Pogue?" the boy asks, and you want to roll your eyes. What is it with this town and their classist bullshit?
"No, at least not according to them."
The boy frowns leaning on the railing. It's painted a bright white, reflecting the sun back onto him.
"I just moved in a couple of blocks down the street." you say, to clarify. Maybe you should just accept it. You are a Kook.
The boy nods, gesturing to himself. "Rafe Cameron."
Sarah's brother, you note. You call your own name back up to him, and he seems to realize how unpractical this conversation is.
"Did you want to come inside?"
Under any other circumstance maybe you would have declined, but it's scorching out and you don't feel like trekking all the way home in this heat without a rest. Plus, you're so fucking lonely that you'll take any company that isn't your own.
So that's how you end up inside the Cameron house, gawking up at the ceilings, the paintings on the walls and the size of the kitchen. You thought your aunts house was impressive, but it's no match for the Cameron mansion.
"You like it?" Rafe asks, and you can tell he's a little confused by your awe of the place. You're supposed to be a kook after all.
"Yeah, it's just...huge."
"Yeah." he says it more like 'no, duh.' and that makes you want to curl in on yourself a little.
"Sorry, your place is just way cooler than my aunts." it comes out weirdly misplaced, and you have a feeling you should just leave before you make things worse for yourself.
"You said you live in figure eight right?"
You feel the interrogation starting. This won’t end well.
_
And it didn’t. You tried explaining that you just moved here, that you were still adjusting to a life of luxury after years of going without. You thought the boy might find it endearing, to hear about your family, and where you came from. But no. He in less than kind words labeled you as a poser, a Pogue in sheep's clothing. And you left before anything more could come of it. It's a shame really. Not just because you wanted to make friends so desperately that it was getting hard to breathe. But also because Rafe Cameron was kind of cute. Or was, until the real him came shining on through. You wonder if he's the reason why Sarah ran for the hills. If maybe her whole family acts that way, and so she tried to distance herself before she could become like that too. Or maybe you're just looking too far into things that aren't your business.
You wander slowly back home, not wanting to return to that empty house. Your aunt spends as much time as she can drinking wine with "her girls", always out on a yacht somewhere you aren't invited. Which is fine. It's her way of coping with the loss of her sister. Or at least that's what you like to think. Sometimes it's better to make excuses for those who don't see you, rather than admit you're invisible.
You're sweating by the time you make it back to your street, and as you round the corner to another set of large and expensive houses, you wish you'd walked just a little bit slower. Or maybe a little faster, if it had helped you avoid the situation in front of you by a minute or so. As you come up toward the Carrera household next to yours, you see the blonde boy from the other day leaning against a pretty beat looking pickup truck.
He catches sight of you around the same time you do him, so there's no walking back the way you came.
"Well if it isn't the new Kook on the block." he pulls off his cap, and runs a hand through his hair as you move closer.
You try your hardest to act unaffected, giving him a pitying frown. "Sorry, I don't have any change."
JJ scoffs, and there's a show of his teeth as he does, like a predator ready to leap on prey. Despite this, he doesn't look scary to you at all. "That was a good one, Princess. I'll give you that."
You give him a nod, ready to move past this. For the first time all day you can't wait to get back in the house. Away from him, and the heat of the sun beating down on you. You're not looking to impress but you can't lie and say you aren't self conscious about the sweat clinging to the back of your neck. It's hard to make yourself feel superior when you don't believe it, let alone when you're not looking your best.
Still, JJ doesn't look all that pristine either. His hair is slightly damp, likely from sweat of his own. There's dirt under his fingernails and mud on his boots. There's a stain on the hem of his shirt and a rather impressive shiner on his left eye.
"Who'd you piss off this time?" You say, gesturing to the bruises littering his face.
JJ seems to wince at the memory, putting his cap on backwards and covering the blonde of his hair. "One of your Kook friends probably. Why? D'you wanna kiss it better?"
You roll your eyes, "forget I even asked." You begin the short trek to your front door but your feet only manage to graze the grass of your front yard before JJ speaks again.
"Rafe Cameron and some of his buddies. Topper and Kelce. You'll meet them soon enough. But a little advice if you haven't already?" He pushes off of the pickup truck to get better look at you as you turn around. "Keep 'em at arms length if you can."
You allow yourself a moment to examine the expression on his face. The black eye looks so painful you wonder how his eyes are even open. You take a few steps back toward him, and he stays where he is. "I've met Rafe Cameron, and it went worse than our little interaction yesterday. So trust me when I say I'm staying well away from him." You reach into your back pocket and pull out a twenty, looking up at him with the sweetest smile you can muster. "Looks like I do have change after all." You tuck it into his shirt collar, fingers sparking against the light touch of his skin. "Buy yourself something nice."
You turn and walk back to your yard, just as Kiara slips from the front door of her place. You give her a small wave of greeting, despite her lack of assistance in your defense yesterday. You have no problems with her, and you refuse to be the maker of one. She gives you an awkward smile and waves back.
You don't look over your shoulder to see if JJ watches you go.
-
Two days pass where you sit alone in the house. You lurk by the pool, but the water doesn't entice you other than for a quick cool off when the sun is on the attack again. Every time you look at the glittering blue water you think of what JJ said. "Tell that to the pool in your backyard."
You're aware of the privilege you have now, but you can't take advantage of that privilege without feeling guilty. You think of your old neighbors, the power outages and the lack of hot water in their showers. You think about how you used to babysit the other kids on the street for no money at all, when the woman couldn't afford daycare on the weekends. It's not that you don't deserve to feel financially secure. You know that after everything you deserve more than just that, but it's hard to accept the gifts given to you when you know what the other side of the coin looks like. You don't want to be one of the rich folk that forgets about the little guy, or worse, become someone who looks down on them.
Your mother would leave you out on the street if you ever did such a thing. You look to the sky above you, squinting at the sun, and ask her "What do I do?"
-
You don't have to wonder for long before a sign shows up on your doorstep. There's a knock on the door two hours later, and you make your way quickly through the house to answer it, not before the person on the other side rings the doorbell as well, announcing their presence twice over.
You pull open your door to find Sarah and Kiara standing there, both of them bickering quietly before you come into view. "Hi!" Sarah says, snapping to attention mid argument with Kiara.
"Hi," you say back, a little cautious. You try and snap out of it. This is your chance, you think. To make friends, and to make amends.
"We were wondering if maybe you'd like to come over tonight for some drinks? Just to say sorry for the way things went down last week."
Sarah seem so sincere, but you've got a suspicion Kiara isn't entirely set on the idea. You force the biggest smile you can and try for an enthusiastic tone. "You don't have anything to be sorry for," Not entirely true, you think, at least in terms of JJ. "But I'd love to."
"Great!" Sarah claps her hands together once, "Does 4:30 work for you?"
You don't even think about it, you don't have to. "Yeah, I'll be there." You haven't had plans for months, and the thought of something to do, no matter how daunting is enough to have to agreeing to anything. "Where am I headed by the way? Just next door or—"
"The chateau. It's John B's place, in the cut. That's okay with you right?"
Kiara seems to be digging for a reason to make you the enemy here, but you refuse to be. You don't mind at all, you prefer being in the cut actually. "That's fine! If I give you my number can you send me directions?" you smile wide to seal the deal, and Sarah is already handing her phone over to you before you can end the sentence.
You are going to make friends tonight, even if it kills you.
-
JJ answers the door when you knock, and you can tell by the fact that John B is running right behind him that he wasn't supposed to. He frowns as he notes your appearance, "What the hell are you doing here?"
Keeping your head held high you answer, "I was invited."
JJ gives an exaggerated look over his shoulder at John B, who stands behind him with a sheepish smile. "Sorry man, Sarah's idea." That stings a little, but you try not to show it. Is Sarah the only one who actually wants you here? If so, you already feel the itch to leave.
You allow a quick glance up at the sky, I'm doing this for you, mom. You think. "Are you gonna invite me in, or do I have to solve a riddle first?"
JJ turns back to you with a scowl. "You calling me a troll, princess?"
Folding your arms over your chest, you school your expression into one of neutrality. "If it walks like a duck, and it quacks like a duck..."
JJ frowns, ignoring John B's firm grip on his shoulder. He still hasn't stepped aside to let you in. "What does that even mean, bro?"
"It's a duck, JJ." John B mutters, but it's clear your comeback still doesn't quite land. Not the sharpest tack in the box, apparently. "Come in." John B says, pulling his friend to the side. You slide through the door before anyone can change their minds about you being here.
You manage to figure out where to go from there, because you can hear conversation creeping through the house. Everyone is in the kitchen, whispering harshly, and you can guess what the conversation is about by the way they all go quiet as you enter.
"You actually came." Kiara says, and you can tell she wasn't meant to say it out loud by the way she startles when you respond.
"I said I would, didn't I?"
"What she meant to say is, we're glad you came!" Sarah covers, smile ever present on her lips. You're grateful to her for trying, and it does make you feel that little bit better.
"Speak for yourself," JJ mumbles from somewhere behind you, and you look over your shoulder despite the fact every bone in your body tells you not to. He stands there with John B, who gives JJ a slap on the back hard enough to make the blonde boy cough.
"Sorry about him, he hasn't had his afternoon nap. Baby's just cranky."
You nod once, pursing your lips. "Are you sure he doesn't just have like a permanent malfunction or something?"
JJ smirks, and you mimic the expression back at him, distain in your eyes. "Okay kids, let's not fight, okay?" John B pushes JJ towards the fridge, opening it and grabbing out a six pack of beer.
"Yeah, get baby a bottle." you mutter under your breath, not expecting anyone to hear. But Pope, who you didn't realize had moved up beside you, snorts.
You glance at him and he smiles back. In an instant you're taken back to the previous week, where Pope was the one to try and keep things civil between you and the group. You like him so much already that your chest feels like bursting.
"Hey, catch!" You look toward the voice just as John B throws a beer your way. It comes toward you with an alarming speed you weren't ready for, and instead of catching the can, you dodge it out of pure instinct. It hits the floor with a unsatisfying smack, but luckily doesn't split open and make a mess.
"Ooof, man down!" JJ calls out, already reveling in your failure. "I'm gonna take a guess here and say you were picked last, for like, every sports team ever, am I right?"
You ignore him and move to pick up the can before any more damage can come to it. "I'm gonna open this outside," You say, gesturing to the porch. "Just in case it, you know..." you make an explosion gesture with your free hand, a little sound effect slipping from your lips to go with it.
"Good idea, maybe you can take yourself on home while you're out there." JJ drawls as you push open the door and head outside. His words hurt, and the feeling of being unwanted is starting to consume you.
Before you can overthink it though, a hand is placed on your shoulder. Pope stands beside you, an apologetic look on his face. "I'm really sorry about JJ," he starts, but you don't allow him to finish.
"How many of you knew I was coming?" You crack open the beer and hold it away from you as it fizzes over the edge of the can a little.
"We took a vote on it. Not including JJ."
"Why the hell not?" you put down your beaten beer on the makeshift table on the porch, and wipe your hands, sticky with alcohol, on your shorts.
"Because he'd never agree if we let him vote, you can figure that part out yourself. We needed it to be unanimous." His words come practiced as if he was planning to use this same speech on JJ, but found you instead.
"I hate to break it to you Pope, but it's not unanimous if someone doesn't get a vote." You glance back inside, and through the screen door you can see JJ having a similar conversation with Sarah, John B and Kiara. "I appreciate you having me over Pope, but I'm looking to make friends who are honest with each other. If JJ doesn't want me around, I'm not gonna plant my feet here and ruin his summer."
You pick your beer back up off the table, and take a swig of what's left in the can. "Tell Sarah I appreciate her trying. And thank everyone else for at least wanting to give me a chance." You smile at Pope, though you feel less than joyful as you step off the porch with your beer in hand. You make it all of three steps before you think of one last comment, something you just can't help but add as your frustration comes to boiling point.
"Oh, and Pope?" He looks hopeful as you turn back around to face him and the house. "Tell JJ he can go fuck himself."
-
You make it halfway up the street before a dirty van pulls up slowly beside you. For a second you think you're about to be kidnapped, or at least jumped, until you see John B at the wheel.
"Hey!" he honks the horn of his van, and it sings to you as you come to a stop on the side of the road.
"Yeah?" you glance into the van and catch sight of JJ in the passenger seat. He doesn't look too happy to be there, and you wonder if they had to force him into the vehicle to begin with.
"Come back to the Chateau," John B calls as he puts the van in park. "JJ says he's sorry." He tries for a smile, and then glances to JJ in the passenger seat, as if hinting that this is his cue.
JJ leans forward, so he can see you better. "I'm sorry, now get in the twinkie."
You raise an eyebrow, both at his abrupt tone and also with confusion. "The what now?" your arms fold over your chest as you watch John B clarify.
"The Twinkie. It's our name for this old girl." He reaches a hand out the drivers side window and gives the roof of the van two taps with his palm. This group of kids keeps getting stranger by the second.
"So it's like your mystery machine?" You ask, eyes scanning over the beaten and bruised Twinkie. How the thing is still running is beyond you.
"Pretty much." John B laughs, and it's such a disarming sound that you take a step toward the van and the boys inside it. "So what d'you say? You wanna spend a day with the Scooby gang?"
Despite the way JJ's apology doesn't feel genuine, and you can still feel the irritation radiating off of him, you nod your head. "Sure."
You reach for the sliding door of the van, and hop on in.
-
Back at the chateau for the second time that day, you feel a little more at ease. Even if JJ doesn't, the others must want you here in some capacity and that's enough to keep you sitting still on the porch, with a new beer in hand.
They ask you questions about yourself, some of which you avoid answering as best you can. Questions like "so what brings you to the OBX?" make you want to curl in on yourself a little more than usual. You answer as plainly as you can "Needed a change of scenery," avoiding the true depth behind your relocation.
It makes you sound a little snobby, which doesn't help JJ's already tainted perception of you. But you can't bring yourself to tell the truth and watch as the room goes quiet with pity.
"What do you guys do for fun around here?" taking a sip of your beer, you tuck your legs up beside you on the couch. JJ sits in an armchair at the other end of the porch, flicking the cap of his lighter back and forth.
"Same shit you and your Kook friends do, probably. Minus the fancy golf clubs and thousand dollar whiskey."
You spare him no more than a glance, noting that he isn't looking your way. He's stopped giving you the time of day, and you don't blame him. You're not giving him any attention either.
"JJ, can you just let it go, man?" John B pleads, and while you're grateful for the defense, you wish they'd just ignore him. JJ finally looks up from his lighter, his gaze landing on you with burning intention.
"What did Rafe say to you?" he asks and the question leaves you stunned for a second. The others look to you suddenly, Sarah in particular has a rather deep frown at the mention of her brother.
"What?" you shuffle your position on the couch so you're facing only JJ, and he repeats himself, leaning forward in his chair.
"What did Rafe say to you? You told me you met him and that it didn't go so well. Is that why you're here? They kick you out of the country club, Princess?"
You stiffen, not allowing your gaze to fall away from his. You will not show weakness, especially when things have been going so well up until now.
"He said a lot of things. He told me his name, he invited me in. He talked about the weather. It was a real scorcher the day we met. You'd know JJ, since you were sweating like a pig outside Kiara's that very same afternoon."
JJ sucks on a tooth, a look in his eyes that portrays something like touché. But still, he keeps pushing you for answers.
"You told me you were planning on staying, and I quote, well away from Rafe Cameron? Why is that I wonder?"
You untuck your legs from beside you and plant your feet back on the floor, the wood of the porch protesting as you do.
"You're the one who warned me against him, so no, JJ. Why don't you tell the class why it is that you think Rafe Cameron is the big bad wolf down the block? Tell them why you think I might have decided to keep my distance."
JJ looks to his friends for backup here, as if he expects them to jump in on your interrogation. But they all stay quiet, eyes flicking between you and him cautiously. JJ stands, gesturing to you wildly with open hands. "Do you guys not see how she's deflecting? Everything we ask her she pushes back onto us! She's untrustworthy dude, I'm telling you!"
"I'm untrustworthy?" You push yourself to your feet, trying to gain some ground against him. "I haven't done anything to you!"
JJ rolls his eyes and that infuriates you more. "She hasn't done anything yet."
"Hey, so what happened to innocent until proven guilty?" It's your turn to look around the group for backup. You lock eyes with Kiara, who for the first time, steps in to help you.
"JJ, I think you should just give her a chance. We all have beef with Rafe, it's not odd that she does too."
Pope nods along to her words, "Exactly. JJ, let it go."
JJ lets out a harsh laugh, and it echoes over the lawn before you, silencing everyone in an instant. You're starting to understand that this is something JJ does. He latches onto things in an irrational way, making enough of a scene that the others have to try and pull him from the invisible ledge of his actions. It's becoming clear that you are the new ledge he stands upon.
"You guys are taking the side of a Kook, over me?"
"She's a person, JJ." Sarah says, but there's a level of caution in her voice. She doesn't want to be the one that pushes him over the edge.
"What happened to Pogue's for life, huh?" He looks right at John B as these words slip, and the brunette boy opens his mouth to defend himself.
"We're not kicking you to the curb man, we're just getting to know someone new." He reaches out, as if to grab JJ's arm, but the blonde pulls away so fast that you can hardly see him move.
"She's a Kook, man! A fucking Kook is in your crib right now and you don't even care." He glances at Sarah and Kie, looking between them with accusatory glances. "And don't say some bullshit about how you two are the same as her, because you're not. You proved yourselves, and Kie, you were never one of them, not really. But her," JJ gestures to you, and there's so much distrust and anger behind his eyes, you wonder how he can hold it all. "She came here for a change of fucking scenery, born and raised a fucking Kook, just like the rest of the people that spit on us every day."
"Then why don't you go and tell them that!" Your voice is so loud that it manages to quiet JJ for a moment, a shocked expression littering his features as if he didn't know you had that much volume inside you. "If I'm such a Kook, then you can go and tell Rafe and all his buddies. Go to the country club with your megaphone and tell them all that they should invite me over for golf, and brunch and all the other bullshit they get up to. The bullshit that I don't know anything about, because I'm not fucking Kook enough for them. I wasn't born and raised like this, JJ. Three months ago I was just the same as you. So please, spare me the bitching and moaning about who you think I am. Because you're dead wrong, and if you took the time to look at me, instead of yelling in my face, maybe you would see that."
Your words land right where you need them to, leaving a deafening silence in their wake. You suck in a deep breath, holding it in your chest so tightly that it burns. As you walk towards JJ, the others on the porch seem blurred out in favor of your despondence.
"I know you think I've got it good over on the figure eight, but I don't belong there. I'm not Kook enough for them, and I'm not Pogue enough for you. What you think is so great about my little life, is actually the worst thing that ever happened to me, so please. Just shut the fuck up."
You're so close to JJ now that he's looking down at you, but even so, you feel bigger than you did before. You can still see the heat radiating beneath his skin, and you know he's not done even before he opens his mouth. "If the worst thing that ever happened to you was getting filthy rich, I'm not going to stand here and feel bad for you. Sorry princess, but some of us have bigger problems."
"JJ, stop." Kiara's voice is a sharp hiss of disapproval, and you take a step back, as if shot by JJ's words. He seems smug about it, for all of a second.
Your lip quivers as you try and keep composure, looking at him through unblinking eyes to keep the tears at bay. "My mom died, JJ. That's the worst thing that ever happened to me. And I would give you every cent of my aunt's money if it would bring her back, but it won't." you quickly wipe at a stray tear with the back of your hand, coming back to the realization that there is more than just you and JJ hear right now. Your teary eyes move around the space, landing on each and every pitying gaze. Sarah looks like she has tears of her own, a hand cupped over her mouth in shock. Pope and Kie hold a thousand apologies in their silence, and John B looks at JJ with newfound hostility. His eyes pan to you and you see recognition there, understanding.
You don't wait to see if he'll explain why. You turn on your heel as the barbed wire in your throat tightens, and leave before they can see you cry.
-
You make it to the main road before you break down. Leaning against a tree you make your best attempts at breathing deeply, as the tears push their way past the barriers you forced them behind. Your chest heaves with the weight of finally free sobs, your knees bending as you crouch down into the leaves below.
It hurts to let it out, but it's been tearing you apart for months trying to keep it in.
You sit there in the shrubbery, clutching handfuls of leaves in your fists, until some of the ache subsides. The permanent pain that festers in your chest when you lose someone, the constant stabbing that grows duller with time but never leaves.
"Hey,"
You startle, falling backward into the leaves.
"Oh shit, my bad." JJ stands before you, his workman boots crushing twigs beneath them. He's the last person you want to see right now and also the last person you expected to follow you down the road. You wipe your face with your forearm before looking up at him.
"Why are you sitting in the dirt right now?" he asks, before examining your face and getting the gist of it. "Shit, you were having a moment. I ruined it didn't I?"
"I wasn't having a moment," you snap, pushing yourself up and back on your feet. JJ extends a hand to help too late, and it becomes almost comical.
"I was just taking a breather."
"With tears." JJ adds, gesturing to your face. "A lot of tears."
"Fuck off."
You turn away from him, moving toward the road. Sticking out your thumb, you walk down the edge of the asphalt, trying to ignore the boy trailing like a lost dog behind you.
"I came to apologize."
You nod, but don't respond, unable to find the right words through the burning embarrassment. He just caught you crying in a pile of leaves and dirt. And you're humiliated. You would have preferred his apology to come when you were back home, done up all nice and looking like something he could never afford. Unfortunately that's not how the world works. It's never worked that way for you, at least.
“I’m sorry about your mom.”
His words cause the ache to return deep in your chest. It makes your stomach sink and your eyes begin to sting again. You push it back, shaking your head. “It’s fine, but thank you.” It is so unbelievably not fine that it’s getting hard to breathe again, but you don’t say that out loud.
“Don’t get me wrong, I still don’t trust your Kook ass, but I am sorry. Really.”
You would argue that you’re not a Kook, if you had enough air in your lungs to do so. But all you have left to give is a breathy laugh as you purse your lips and look up at the sky. You hope to use the blinding sunlight as an excuse for the tears that again threaten to fall.
JJ keeps talking to fill the heavy silence. If you didn’t know any better, you might say he was trying to distract you from the burning hole in your chest. “You know, I used the twenty you gave me to buy some weed.”
You look back at him incredulously. “If your weed costs twenty bucks it’s probably the worst weed of your life.”
JJ nods, pulling a blunt from his pocket with a growing smile. “You’re right, but luckily I dipped into the Maybank savings and put in a little of my own hard earned cash for this bad boy.” He waves the blunt in front of you, his canines flashing with his smile. “I think, since you covered half the costs, we should split it.”
The tears don’t feel close anymore, and the weight on your chest is beginning to ease. “You want shared custody of our weed?”
JJ winks, “Some might call it joint custody.”
That genuinely does make you laugh, and you realize it’s the first real laugh you’ve let out since you moved here. You reach out to JJ, smiling. “Hand it over.”
-
To say you're friends with JJ now isn't exactly true. You still bicker constantly, and he does tell you to "go on home to the figure eight" when he's tired of you hassling him, but things are better. Like now, as the group piles into the twinkie. Kie and Pope take up the long booth seat of the van, leaving only the single seat or a space on the floor for you and JJ. And instead of pushing you out of the way like he's done a few times before, he steps aside, offering you the final seat. It's not much of an improvement but it's something, and the others are starting to notice it too.
"Who knew JJ Maybank could be such a gentleman." Kie teases as you duck your head to enter the van, sitting on the decrepit red seat. Still, JJ doesn't give you much space, despite having the floor of van all to himself. He leans against the side of your seat, and his hair tickles your arm every time he moves his head.
After a while his hair grazing over the skin of your arm begins to get annoying, and you push his head forward with the palm of your hand.
"Woah, what'd I do?" JJ says, looking at you over his shoulder. He then glances toward Kie and Pope, "Did you guys see her try to break my neck just now?"
"I was not trying to break your neck you big baby." you prod the back of his neck with your pointer finger, and his shoulders shoot upwards like a defense mechanism.
"Do you guys see how mean she is to me? I'm minding my business over here and she's all up in my face. Pushing and shoving me and shit." He prods you back, a little harder than you did to him, on the side of your thigh.
You scoff, swiping at his hand. "I am not all up in your face you literally have your back to me right now. And your hair was touching me for like ten minutes."
JJ nods his head sarcastically, looking over his shoulder at you once more. "Oh my hair was touching you? So you tried to break my neck because my hair was touching you?"
"I wasn't trying to break your neck!" you say exasperated with him. You can't be in confined spaces with this man, it never goes well for anyone involved.
John B, still looking at the road calls out to you from the drivers seat. "Kids, stop fighting or we won't get ice cream later." Sarah chuckles at his joke, but it doesn't stop JJ from continuing.
"You're just jealous you don't have luxurious these blonde locks." JJ tilts his head back, now intentionally brushing his hair against you.
"Guys stop," Pope mutters more to himself than to anyone in the van.
You don't listen, and grab JJ's head with both hands, tilting it back until it's rested on the side of your leg. You see a glimmer of shock in his eyes that fades quickly as he schools his expression to neutral again. "Careful Rapunzel, I won't hesitate to buzz that hair off while you sleep."
A smirk slides smoother than ever onto JJ's lips, "Anything that gets me in bed with you is a win in my book." He keeps steady eye contact as he says it, even as Kie throws her sandal at him. "Ew, JJ. Don't be fucking gross."
For a second you sit in stunned silence, unsure if he's being serious or just fucking with you, before you shove his head off of your leg. "In your dreams Maybank." you mumble, folding your arms over your chest to keep JJ's hair from grazing them again.
JJ hums quietly on the floor of the van, and while you can't be certain, you think you hear him say. "You sure are."
-
Your first bonfire on the island doesn’t go entirely to plan. The night air is still warm despite the sun’s departure, and after your first few drinks you start to feel the familiar buzz of calm drifting through your veins.
But it doesn’t last long. You’d been informed about your new friend’s bad track record at these sorts of events. Though JJ assured you that the Kooks always started the fights, and JJ was only the one finishing them.
“Yeah by resorting to more violence.” Pope had uttered “which definitely helps.” The sarcasm in his voice was so thick you could have drowned in it.
Now, the beach is packed with Kooks and Pogue's alike, all with red solo cups or beer bottles in hand. And just as Kie predicted earlier, the Kooks are looking for a fight. About an hour into the bonfire, Rafe Cameron and who you can assume are Kelce and Topper, the other boys JJ warned you about, come sauntering your way.
You glance toward Sarah, stood beside you as her brother inches closer. "He's drunk." she whispers, a cautious tone to her voice.
"They all are." You murmur, keeping your eyes locked on the approaching boys. You want to glance around to see where the others are, but you know never to turn your back to a predator. John B went to get Sarah another drink, and with luck he should be back soon. You can only hope that because you and Sarah are technically Kooks, you'll be left alone.
"I see you found your people." Rafe's voice is a sneer as he speaks to you, nodding to Sarah. "I should have known you'd find refuge with the traitors."
"I didn't betray anyone." You speak calmly but still Sarah places a hand on your arm.
"Don't take the bait, he's just trying to get you riled up."
Topper lets out a short laugh, the blonde sneering at Sarah, as Rafe continues. "I'm just trying to have a nice conversation here Sarah, why d'you always gotta assume the worst of me?"
She takes a step forward holding her ground and ignoring Topper's burning gaze. "I'll stop assuming the worst when you get yourself some redeemable qualities."
From behind you, a warm set of hands land on your shoulders, and you flinch, head turning fast before you realize that it's JJ and not something worse. He gives your shoulders a light squeeze that sends a shiver down your spine. You didn't realize just how tense you were, but JJ must have seen it, his thumbs running down the back of your neck.
"Rafe, I was actually hoping to see you here tonight, man!" JJ's voice sounds upbeat, but it has a sharp edge to it, like a guard dogs warning hum before it growls. "You know, since we're just best buds and all." JJ proceeds to swiftly place an arm over your shoulders, coming to stand beside you. He looks away from Rafe for a split second, "You alright?"
His voice is the lowest mutter against your ear, and you nod, your arm sliding around his waist without so much as a conscious thought from you.
"Get out of my face Maybank." Rafe takes a sip of the beer in his hand, eyes falling back to you. "It feels good being right." He sounds so smug, and it turns your stomach.
"What are you talking about?" you're wary of asking, Sarah nudging you again as if to repeat her statement from before. Blood roars in your ears as Rafe answers.
"You're just as cheap as I thought you were."
You stiffen, fingers pressing into JJ's side a little as Rafe gestures between you with his beer. A poisonous smile taints every word he says. "If Maybank can afford you then it's clear you aren't worth much. But I'm curious, what's your hourly rate?" Rafe's gaze flicks to JJ, "Does she give you a discount? Two bucks a ride?"
JJ lurches forward, shoving Rafe back. "You feeling brave? Huh? Let's go."
Like a miracle, John B shows up, moving quickly to deescalate the situation. He's behind JJ in a second, pulling the boy back by his shoulders. "Hey, hey. Can't we just be civil for once?"
There's a silence that flows between everyone, and then JJ looks over his shoulder at you. You don't know what he reads on your face before he turns back to Rafe. "Yeah, we can be civil." John B's grip is still strong on his friend, like JJ is a horse that could bolt at any moment.
"Rafe?" John B asks, prodding for an answer.
Rafe's gaze slips to you, as he takes a final sip of his beer. "Yeah, I'll be civil." He chucks his empty bottle to the sand as John B forcefully turns JJ around, pushing him forward to walk back to you.
You find yourself taking JJ's hand as he comes closer, reeling him in from the deep end. "Let's go." It's said quietly, but still Rafe seems to catch it, laughing lighting. His boys join in, though you doubt they know what exactly they're laughing at.
JJ turns, and you tighten your grip on his hand.
Rafe raises his palms in surrender, "Don't look at me, JJ. Your second rate girlfriend wants to go, so you should go."
The words sting, and JJ looks back to you, head tilted. He smiles, almost reassuringly "I'll be right back." And then he's moving so fast that you struggle to register it.
The same hand you were holding seconds before is now balled into a fist and ploughing into Rafe's face. Your own hands come up to your face in shock, covering your mouth as he swings again. JJ only gets two hits in before Topper and Kelce get a hold on him, their fists landing hard onto his torso. JJ doubles over, but gets up quickly, ducking under Rafe's incoming punch and managing to come up behind the boy. You watch stunned, as JJ manages to get Rafe into a headlock, his arm tight around the Rafe's neck.
Sarah is calling out for JJ to stop, and John B is now jumping into the fray to assist. Whether he's trying to stop JJ, or help him you're unsure. Maybe, when it comes to JJ that's the same thing.
Topper lands a blow right on JJ's jaw, and he releases Rafe long enough for the Kook to get the drop on him. Rafe grabs JJ by the shirt and you watch as he gets in hit after hit on JJ's face.
You spare a look to John B, who is now tied up wrestling Topper in the sand. Next to them, lies Rafe's empty bottle, and without thinking you run to it. The glass is cool against your hand, and you grip it tight by the neck without a plan.
"Don't," Sarah's voice barely registers as you come up behind Rafe and put as much force as you can into hitting him over the head with the bottle. His fingers release from JJ's shirt, a hand coming to the back of his head. The bottle doesn't smash like it does in the movies, which would be disappointing except for the fact you now have the chance to use it again. As Rafe turns you swing again, the glass hitting the side of his face with a loud thwack.
You hear JJ laugh from behind him, and then he appears, darting out from behind Rafe and grabbing your free hand. "Go, go, go." He crows, though he's already dragging you along behind him. You spare a glance to John B, who got the better of Topper and is now running beside you with Sarah's hand clutched tight in his own. Both boys look worse for wear, but there's no time to dwell on that as you race past Kie and Pope.
"What did y'all do?" Kie yells, but the two of them are already close behind without hesitation.
-
Once far enough away from the chaos, you all stop to catch your breath. “Can you not go a day without starting shit, JJ?” Pope asks, hands on his knees. He’s a mathlete not an athlete.
“I didn’t start anything,” JJ snaps, hand coming up to his split lip.
“You threw the first punch.” Sarah mumbles, running a hand through her hair as she checks on John B. He’s got a growing bruise just under his eye but it’s not too bad. JJ on the other hand looks a little worse.
You stumble over to him, still out of breath. You grab his chin gently and move his head from side to side, examining the damage. He’s beaten pretty badly, but has the audacity to ask, “are you okay?”
“Me?” You scoff, running your fingers lightly over his darkening skin. “How many blows to the head did you take?”
“I know how to take a punch.” Despite his defensiveness, he doesn’t push your hands away, allowing your hands move over his jaw.
“Clearly.” You mutter, before letting him go.
“You didn’t answer my question.” JJ takes a step toward you, his voice lowering. He’s so close that you can feel the heat of his body.
“I’m fine,” your eyes scan over him even as your hands stay at your sides. “I’m more worried about you.” He doesn't respond to that, but something in his eyes shifts almost like he's a dog that at long last has been rescued from the pound.
"We should get a move on guys, it looks like there's rain incoming."
You look to the sky, and John B is right. It is now gently spitting droplets of water down upon you, a warning before the downpour. You glance around the group, everyone once again getting ready to run for cover. You don't fail to notice that JJ doesn't take his eyes away from you. Not even once.
-
By the time you get back to the chateau you are all soaking wet. You didn't make it in time before the rain came down, but running in the rain with your newfound friends felt more freeing than anything you'd done before. In that moment, everything that usually worried you, that held your brain captive, seemed to disappear. For twenty minutes you weren't a grieving girl. And despite the earlier events, you were happy.
John B fumbles with the key in the front door, and JJ makes a joke that has you howling with laughter as you all stumble inside. As Sarah and John B head to his room to change, and Pope and Kie move towards the clothes they keep here for the nights they stay over, your steady steps take you to the kitchen. You flick on the switch by the door and the room becomes illuminated with shoddy yellow light.
You shuffle over to the sink, slipping your shirt over your head and twisting it in your hands. You wring the fabric out over the sink and watch as the rainwater swirls down the drain. It has a soothing rhythm to it, and you get lost in watching the water disappear over and over again.
"Hey, you in here?" You jump at the sound of JJ's voice, and he jumps at the sight of you, "Shit sorry."
You're standing in nothing he hasn't seen before, just your shorts and a bra which is basically the equivalent of a bikini top, but somehow this feels far more intimate. You bring your damp shirt in front of you as coverage, as JJ speaks again.
"I got you this." he extends a hand and balled in it is one of his t-shirts. It's got the Heyward seafood logo on it, and you remember it from the day you first met him. "You don't have to wear it, but just in case."
You reach out and take it, shaking it out of it's scrunched state and pulling it over your head without hesitation. "Thank you." His hair is dripping water onto floor, but he doesn't seem to notice, his eyes firmly locked onto you.
"No problem."
He doesn't turn to leave, and you don't ask him to.
"Why'd you do it?" You ask, filling the silence.
JJ's brow creases, and he runs a hand through his wet hair, before wiping his hand on his shirt. It's dry and clean, and he must have changed before coming to find you. "I'm gonna need a little more to go on than that. I do a lot of shit.":
"You know what I'm talking about." Your arms fold over your chest, the fabric of JJ's well worn shirt soft against your skin. It smells like him, and it never registered how nice that might be. How familiar he has become to you.
"Rafe's got a big mouth." JJ states, as if that can be the end of it.
"I know he made fun of you, and I get it, he's an asshole. But you could have walked away."
JJ shakes his head, a gentle laugh leaving his lips. "I don't give a shit what he says about me."
"Really?" Your head tilts to the side, questioning. "Because your fists seem to say differently."
JJ keeps his focus on you, regarding you as if you're stupid. He stands the short distance from you as if waiting for something in you to change. Waiting for you to make a realization. "It was what he said about you that mattered." JJ clarifies.
"JJ," your heart beats a little faster as you process.
"He said you were cheap, second rate. Talking about you like you were worthless." You can see the anger boiling back up in him as he recalls it all.
"Do you remember everything he said to me?" you ask. The words were burnt into your brain, but you would never expect them to imprint on his own.
"Of course I do because it pissed me off." His voice raises slightly, and you gesture to him with raised brows.
"Yeah I can see that, but you didn't have to hurt anyone."
"He hurt you first." There's a shake to his voice, as if he's containing something within the words. Like there's something trapped in there he isn't saying. You deny the claim, rolling your eyes to brush it off, despite the fact the lie stings your throat.
"He didn't hurt me JJ, I'm fine. I told you I was fine."
JJ steps closer, his voice lowering. "You weren't fine. I saw it, shit, I felt it. And you put on a brave face in front of them, because you couldn't let them see you like that. You can't, I get it. But Rafe hurt you, and that hurt me."
Your breath hitches in your throat, his words seeping through your skin and right to your heart. It pounds against your chest, and you wonder if JJ can hear it.
"I don't regret it, so don't bother asking."
Finally you manage to suck breath into your chest, "I wasn't gonna ask. I could already tell."
JJ reaches out, but just as his hand is about to make contact with your waist, a voice calls from somewhere in the house. "JJ, you're dripping water everywhere!" By the way Kie sounds this isn't the first time. JJ turns, suddenly snapped out of whatever trance he might have been under.
"How do you know it's me?" he shouts back, accusatory.
"Because it's always you, JJ!." this time it's John B that calls out, and you try to hide a smile as JJ turns back to you. His hair, still drips water onto the floor and you reach up to touch it without thinking.
"It is most definitely you."
JJ's grin is like a flower blooming, and it spreads warmth through your chest. He shakes his head like a dog after a swim and water droplets fling onto you. You squeal, pushing him back "And to think I was just about to thank you!"
JJ raises a brow, still grinning but curious now. He takes back the space you took, stepping forward despite your previous push. "Thank me?"
You hate how smug he looks—how beautiful. "For noticing how I felt. For paying attention."
He lets those words sink in, and there's a flicker of deep emotion on his face before he switches back to his goofy facade. "Don't tell my teachers I can do that. Or Heyward. He's always on my case about attention span bullshit. Thinks I have ADHD or something."
You're beginning to see JJ in a new light. A light that makes you feel warmer and safer. You smile, "Your secrets safe with me."
-
"Are you staying over?" Sarah asks once you and JJ leave the kitchen. Kie throws him a towel as soon as she sees him, and it hits him in the face.
"Think fast." she mumbles through a choked laugh. JJ pulls the towel off his face, before scrubbing his hair with it.
"Bro, you're supposed to say think fast before you throw the thing, not after." He's ignored as you focus on Sarah and Kie goes back to fiddling with the strings of her ukelele.
"Do you guys have room for me?" you reply, looking around at the already taken up couches. Pope and Kie seem used to this, and they already have themselves set up. Sarah will most likely sleep in John B's room, but you have doubts about how much sleeping they actually get up to.
"She can take my bed." JJ grunts, and when you look over your shoulder at him, his got his eyes in his phone as if it's no big deal at all.
"Where will you go?" you ask, and he looks up for a second not bothering to address the eyes of the whole group on him. "I'll take the floor. I've slept in worse places."
It seems that everyone has noticed the change in JJ's behavior towards you in the last month, but no one says a word. "Okay tough guy." John B mumbles, taking Sarah's hand and leading her off toward his room.
"Goodnight!" she calls to you, and she's got a pep in her step that suggest you were right. Those two are not sleeping just yet.
"Night." you say, though you doubt it matters. Both of their minds are filled with other things right now.
You look over at Kie and Pope, both curled up on opposite ends of the pull out couch. Kie is now scrolling her phone, surrounded by pillows, and Pope has a book in hand, eyes scanning over the pages.
"You coming?" JJ asks, bringing your attention back to him. You follow him down the hall without a word, and he opens the door to a moderately messy bedroom. He kicks some stuff into the corners as you look around. "How come I never knew you had a room here?" You ask, thoughts racing through your brain of all the times you've been here in the past few weeks without noticing.
JJ answers nonchalantly, "I guess it just didn't come up. I got a room here for when things get bad with my dad. John B's good like that."
The words echo in your head. When things get bad with his dad. His comment from earlier comes back to you, making so much more sense now that it did before. I know how to take a punch. Your stomach sinks. JJ seems to notice the change in your mood, smiling as if it's nothing. "Don't do that. Don't feel bad, it's all good."
But you do feel bad. Because the more you get to know him, the more space he takes up in your heart. "Okay." you say, though you wish you could say anything else. JJ throws a pillow to the floor, making his bed on the floor with finality.
"I can sleep on the floor JJ. I don't want to take your bed."
He shakes his head, flexing his knuckles. "Nah, it's good."
It doesn't feel good to you though even if it's okay with him. "you literally got beat the shit out of earlier." you say, hoping the point will make him reconsider. JJ just grins, head tilting like it's all comedic.
"You should see the other guy." He pulls his shirt over his head, throwing it into the corner. You try not to gawk.
"I did, and he looked a lot better than you."
"Not after you and that bottle he doesn't."
At the mention of your part in the fight you freeze. You've never hit anyone before tonight, and the worst part is that you don't feel any remorse for it at all. Your only thought had been protecting JJ, and even now that seems to be all that matters. Maybe you and JJ are more alike than you once thought.
He turns around, and that's when you see the bruise spreading across his abdomen. It's fresh by the looks of it, and it seems painful. "Is that from tonight?" You ask, eyes wide with horror.
JJ looks down at himself, as if he hardly noticed. "I think so." He pokes at it, then winces. "Yeah, gotta be."
"Jesus, dude." your feet carry you quickly over to him, and your hands land on his bare skin in seconds, gently turning him to examine the bruise. "Do you think anything's broken?"
"No, and your hands are cold." But again, just like before, he doesn't force your touch away. When you finally pull back, looking up at him, tears you weren't expecting burn your eyes.
"I am so sorry."
"What?" JJ seems genuinely confused, not yet registering your tears.
"This is my fault. I am so sorry." your voice shakes with shame that you can't hide as you apologize again, and in seconds JJ's mood is switching up.
"Hold on, wait. Don't do that."
"I'm sorry." You say again, unable to think of anything else.
"Quit apologizing, This isn't on you." his hand comes to rest on your shoulder, pressing down gently. "You said it yourself, I could have walked away. There's no one else to blame but me. Good old JJ Maybank, trouble extraordinaire."
"Can't I be sorry anyway? Please just let me be sorry." You feel a single tear fall, trailing a path down your face. JJ's eyes track the tear, before he darts away toward his discarded shirt on the floor. He pulls it over his head quickly before turning back to you. "Look, we don't have to think about it okay? Let's just think about something else. Let's do something else."
You shake your head, brows furrowed with sadness. "I can't just stop thinking about it. You could have broken a rib, or—" Your thoughts start to spiral and your hand comes up to cover your mouth. "You could have a concussion. Do you feel dizzy?"
"Okay, fucking stop that." JJ takes large steps that cover the ground of the room easily, and as soon as he's close enough his hands come out rest on both sides of your face. "Stop doing that. All your crazy talk will give me a concussion if you keep it up."
"That's not how concussions work." you breathe, your voice shaky with the weight of guilt. JJ shakes his head.
"Don't care, I came out the womb with a concussion. It's in my blood baby, don't worry."
"Again," you mumble, "not how concussions work."
"I do not have a concussion." JJ leaves a pause between each word for emphasis, pressing his forehead to yours, "So stop talking about it."
You are suddenly aware of his breath, his closeness, but you don't feel any distaste for it. "Okay." you speak in a whisper, no need for volume when the word practically leaves your lips and goes straight to his. You feel JJ's thumb move against your temple, soothing back and forth motions.
Your brain tries to remind you of all the times he made you feel like shit. The first day you met, and outside of Kiara's place. You try to take yourself back to the porch outside, where he brought you to tears with his words. But you can't make it stick. The feelings you felt back then are gone, replaced with the fondness of everything else.
Of sharing a joint on the side of the road, of him helping you learn to surf when the waves were just right. Of his hand on your back, guiding you to the counter of Mrs. Bills store. Of His hair brushing your arm in the twinkie, no matter how annoying it was at the time.
And of him holding you now, your body so close to his.
"If I kiss you, will you hate me?" his question is genuine, and you've never heard anything this real from him before.
Your heart is beating so fast in your chest, and you wonder if he can feel it. Your beating heart shaking the earth, letting the world know how you feel about JJ Maybank. "I hated you once before, it was boring."
JJ huffs a laugh, "I hear loving me is a lot more fun." he pulls back a little, the softness of his gaze caressing you. "You wanna test it out or...?"
You allow your hands to travel over his shoulders, until your arms are around his neck. It feels natural. It feels good. "I'm willing to give that a try."
His expression changes from one of admiration to that of his usual mischievous grin. But it's happier than usual, a dimple in his cheek winking at you. "Okay then."
He leans down, head tilting and smile still wide. He's close enough to kiss now, and you'd give it a shot if he weren't all teeth.
"If you wanna test the theory you're gonna have to keep the grin in check." you tease, a short laugh trickling from you.
His eyes flick to your lips, and stay there. "yes ma'am."
JJ stifles the grin as best he can, though the memory of the smile can be felt in the way he kisses you. It's like electricity, not the kiss itself, but him. He shares his nature, his humor, his energy, with you through the kiss, and that in itself makes this the best kiss you've ever had. His hands move away from your face to wrap around you, pulling you impossibly closer. And then he's smiling again, his nose bumping with yours and his teeth accidently grazing your lips.
"JJ," you whisper, out of breath. "stop smiling."
He squeezes you tighter, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then to your cheek. "Sorry baby, can't help it."
OUTER BANKS TAGLIST: @scenesofobx
GENERAL TAGLIST: @heliads @candywh0r3 @caplanreadss @s00buwu
miss him like a dead wife
embarrased bc i cant do my hair or makeup 4 tmrrw grad pictures. i am a fake girly girl

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ive finished over a dozen physical books but ive been stuck on the same one in my kindle for like a year omg how do i lock in
you will have to pry this lil pose from his hands



