Coming Attraction

Do u take requests?

hello! i do take requests! most of my fics are requests, so please feel free to send in any you have. i feel like most of you follow me for obx, but i also write for marvel haha. im particularly fond of frank castle and the avengers. i’d also like to dabble in apex legends, the witcher, and star wars :) 

fall sentence starters

hey y’all! i’ve been in the writing mood so here are some autumnal writing prompts, both tricks and treats!

1. “I don’t really like candy corn.”

2. “I have no one to go apple picking with...”

3. “Do you... maybe wanna have a scary movie night?”

4. “Did you bring an umbrella?”

5. “My hands are so cold.”

6. “Can I borrow your hoodie?”

7. “Look at all the leaves!”

8. “Can you light a candle or something?”

9. “I know a way to warm you up.”

10. “What kind of candy should i get.”

11. “My nephew wants us to take him trick or treating this year.”

12. “Haven’t you ever seen the leaves change colors before?”

13. “Oh no, it looks like it’s gonna rain.”

14. “Your sweater is so big!”

15. “Lay with me?”

16. “Why is it so hot? It’s October!”

17. “Why did you get such a tiny pumpkin? We have to carve this!”

18. “You didn’t tell me we had to carve this!”

19. “Be careful with the decorations! That ladder won’t hold your— weight.”

20. “Are you seriously going all black this month?”

21. “What is the point of pumpkin spice pringle’s.”

22. “Summer is over. Stop wearing sunscreen.”

23. “The sun doesn’t go away just because it’s fall.”

24. “It’s raining so much.”

25. “But you’re so tall! Can you pleaaase come apple picking with me?”

26. “We are NOT dressing up my animal in a halloween costume.”

27. “You make a pretty cute ghost, babe.”

28. “I don’t want to go either but it’s a company party and there’s free food and we might as well have fun with it, right?”

29. “When was the last time you went to a Halloween party?”

30. “What are you going to dress up as?”

31. “You’ve never been to a corn maze?!”

32. “If you want to go to the haunted house I’ll go with you, just so you don’t get scared, y’know?”

33. “They have the best plain donuts here i’ve ever had in my life.”

34. “Cider is the best drink. Period.”

35. “But I’ve never made an apple pie before.”

36. “Come on, aren’t you excited to see the little kids trick or treating?”

37. “I don’t have to have to hand out candy alone, just put on the costume!”

38. “I picked it out especially with you in mind! You’re hurting my feelings!”

39. “They have good stuff down at the farmers market.”

40. “Why are your eyes so... red?”

41. “I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

42. “Did you hear that?”

43. “Is that an... actual skeleton?”

44. “It’s just your imagination.”

45. “Maybe it’s just a scary prank.”

46. “Is that your blood!?”

47. “Is this what being poisoned feels like?”

48. “Help them! They can’t breathe!”

49. “It’s just a scrape...”

50. “How did you break your leg? And so close to Halloween, too?”

51. “Do you know what death smells like?”

52. “Is that a real knife?”

53. “Your nose is bleeding, like, really bad.”

54. “Just sit down, I’m gonna take the nail out.”

55. “It’s Halloween, they’re probably just in a costume.”

56. “You’re scary good at that. For a beginner.”

57. “I love that sound.”

58. “There’s nothing better than fresh meat.”

59. “When I said trick or treat, I meant just treat.”

listen to the waves

request: Okay can you make an imagine where your dating either two of the guys or one of the guys a kiara? And just how cute the relationship between you three would be

summary: john b. and kie take you to the beach with the rest of the pogues. tooth rotting fluff ensues 

pairings: john b. x reader x kie

word count: 1.2k

warnings: cuddle pile. that is all. 

a/n: this is super cute guys. big love. hope you enjoy it :)

The ocean had been shit all morning. Waves had only been breaking at knee length, and the winds had cleaned up but high tide was not looking good. 

Early in the morning the surfers had decided to go to the beach, and since they invited you, of course you’d tag along. It took almost no time for you to pack sandwiches into a cooler, accompanied by beer, water, and whatever salvageable snacks John B. had in his fridge. Of course, at your request, it was hardly hampering to stop at the twenty-four hour convenience store for melon cubes and grapes. 

“We’re not going for a picnic on the beach,” JJ complained in the back. He sat up against the boards that were blocking the door. 

“You like fruit too, JJ, shut up,” John B. defended. 

They waited in the cool blue morning before sunrise, the only sounds coming from John B.’s low playing stereo.

At the beach, you watched on from the old beach comforter you had packed in the back of John B.’s vintage van for trips like this. It was still cold and blue when you got there, but soon, yellows and oranges started to emerge from the horizon with the sun started to come up.

You didn’t mind watching them, boards curving and bodies contorting with the waves that they could catch, but mainly it was them lying around on their stomachs, waiting for one that they could ride out. When the sun came out, you put on sunscreen and laid out on the quilt. A few minutes on each side, flipping intermittently. You only look up when you hear the cooler open. 

“Hey,” John B. says, leaning over the cooler, dripping water everywhere. 

“Hey,” you reply, and watch him pull out a sandwich and tear into it like it’s the first thing he’s eaten in weeks.

“Wabes ‘re shit,” he comments, mouth full of ham and cheese and bread.

“I can see that,” you say, taking a look at the other three islanders sitting, waiting on their respective boards for anything salvageable.

“Didn’t you guys check the surf index before you decided to come out?” You ask, and John B. hands you a beer.

“Yeah.” he says, popping his own top off.

“You shouldn’t be drinking and surfing,” you chide, but you pop off the top and take a sip anyway.

“What ever did we do without you?” He speaks sarcastically. And lets his board fall into the sand. He takes the strap off his ankle and takes a seat next to you on the cooler. He leans down and rests his head on your head.

“Kie really wanted to surf today, so we thought if we came early there’d be enough waves, but apparently not.” He says, sandwich in one hand, beer in the other. The beach was almost empty, save for a few fishermen down one end.

You look up at him and plant a kiss to his salty forehead.

“How’s your knee?” you ask. He takes a look at it. It’s a lot more purple than it was before, but you can barely see any scrapes. That's what you get when you pick fights with kooks.

“It’s okay. The ocean will take care of it.”

You two watched silently as Kie caught her last wave in. 

“Morning,” you greet as she makes her way over, and she bends down to kiss you, playfully shoving John B.

He looks offended before she shoos him off the cooler to grab a water and the small bucket of grapes. 

When one came in, they all started coming in, and soon, JJ and Pope were also back with you, sand caked to the bottom of their feet, ocean water dripping from their hair, boards in hand, strapped in at the ankle.

Kie puts her board down next to you and sits on it, leaning her head up against your shoulder.

“You guys need sunscreen,” you comment, and Kie agrees.

“I’ve given up on sunscreen. It’s a plot by the government you know,” JJ says, and everyone gives him a weird look.

“Are you high?” Pope asks, and he sits down next to you, dripping salt water all over your dry bathing suit. You gasp a little, but he smiles and pops a piece of cubed fruit in his mouth and smiles again, so that it sticks in his cheek like a chipmunk. You poke it, and he starts chewing.

“No, I’m not even kidding. They’re making you buy something that you don’t even need! They just want you to spend money. Watch, I’m not even gonna burn,” JJ says, laying down on the blanket, soaking in the sun.

John B. comes over to you to steal melon from your tub. He leans down to grab some, but while he’s there he plants a kiss to your lips.

“Woah!” Pope cries, and JJ springs up.

“No Pogue on Pogue!” He cries playfully, fully aware of the relationship between you three.

“Actually,” he reconsiders, “I don’t mind if you and Kie kiss,” Pope clarifies, and JJ agrees. John B. wipes a sandy foot on Pope’s knee and he jerks it away. He goes to sit back down on the cooler.

“Shut the fuck up,” Kie says, rolling her eyes halfheartedly.

“But no macking on John B.,” JJ says defensively, going over to sit in John B.’s lap. John B. wraps his arms around JJ and JJ throws his arm over John B.’s shoulder.

“He’s mine,” he says, glaring at the two of you. 

“Damn, Pope never gets any love,” Pope says, and Kie pulls him off his board and pushes into your lap. You laugh and wrap your arms around his stomach. 

“It’s okay Pope, we still love you,” you say, and kiss his cheek. He wraps his arms around yours that are tight around his stomach, and you sit up against Kie. She wraps her arms around both of you and suddenly the other boys feel left out. JJ hops off of John B. quickly and sits in front of you all, letting Pope wrap his arms around him with no reluctance at all. 

“Sex train!” JJ yells and blush tints your face. You hear John B. get off the cooler and take his rightful place behind everyone, arms wrapping around both of his girls, his cold hands resting on your stomach. You can feel his breath on your shoulder when he leans his head up against Kie’s. 

“That means you’re the bottom, JJ,” John. B clarifies, and he takes a tiny shell from the sand and throws it back at him before settling back into Pope.

“Pope, give me a massage like a good husband,” JJ says, and Pope moves to squeeze JJ’s shoulders, hard, in a very rough manner.

“Of course, anything for my wife,” he says.

JJ arches his back away from Pope and contorts his face, before crying out in pain.

“That’s… you’d be a terrible massage artist,” JJ says, and you laugh into Popes ear. 

“You mean masseuse?” You clarify, and chuckles are heard from behind you. 

“Shut the fuck up, you knew what I meant,” JJ says, trying to get up, but you grab him by the hips and pressure him back down between Pope’s legs. He’s not really, mad, so it doesn’t take much pressure at all. Your hands hold him by his stomach, but you readjust them over Pope’s shoulders to grind out the knots in JJ’s. 

This is all sweet and nice, until someone yells, “CRAB!”

The five of you scramble up, wiping sand off of your bodies respectively and jumping around, trying to avoid the fake crab John B. was keeled over by, laughing his heart out as the tide came in.

“I desperately need a haircut. Will you try to cut it for me? Please?” w billy

summary: billy’s hair gets a little too long for his liking. you decide to take it into your own hands. literally.

pairing: billy russo x reader

word count: 1.8k

a/n: that billy gif does somethin’ to me man...

Billy had been wearing a hat every day for a week. In the house. Not going anywhere.

It was driving you insane.

"Take that stupid thing off, Billy," you’d say to him. His hair had been abnormally soft since he hadn’t been gelling it for work lately, not that you could see it. It was a stupid thing to get mad about, but tensions had been running high in your apartment. After Billy moved in, it had been much easier to spend time with him, and you were grateful for that. But during this quarantine, you both had been a little on edge.

“It looks like shit. I need a haircut,” he’d say, running his fingers through it in front of the mirror in the morning. He still woke up at an ungodly hour for some reason. It’s not like he had to. All of his meetings happened after nine o’clock in the morning, but the smell of a fresh pot of coffee brewing wasn’t the worst thing in the world to wake up to. Either way, the hair thing was stressing him out.

“It’s embarrassing,” he said, grumbling in bed after a long day of zoom calls and meetings on the phone. It was incredibly inconvenient to be running a company during this time. Especially because the people he was in charge of did most of their work in person, manually laboring away on a typical schedule. Billy had been trying to work that out over the phone, face to face with his higher-ups who were also confined to their houses.

“Just cut it yourself, Billy,” you say, sitting at your desk, typing away at an assignment that was due later on in the week. You sigh and sit back in your chair, leaning back to recline your feet on your desk and put your hands behind your head.

“I don’t know how. I’ve never had to before. I’d fuck it up,” he says, running his hands over his face and letting out a loud yawn. 

“There are videos online?” you suggest. Billy’s ears perk up.

“I think I have clippers somewhere…” he muses. He sighs.

“I desperately need a haircut,” he says, pulling a lock of hair down over his face. He goes almost cross-eyed to look at it, and it comes down to about the tip of his nose.

“I know, Billy. You complaining about it isn’t going to make your hair shorter,” you clarify, and he huffs in frustration.

“Have you ever cut hair?” he asked, propping himself up on his elbow to take a good look at you. It was easy to see you in the soft light of the lamp on your desk. You let out a little laugh.

“No… Actually, yes, once. I think I was like five? My mom was not happy. I gave myself bangs.” You laugh at the story, but that’s only what you had been told. It’s not like you knew the first thing about cutting hair.

“Come on, I’m serious. Will you try to cut it for me? Please?” he asks, and you check your clock.

“Right now?” you ask, and you rub your arms softly.

“I have stuff that’s due,” you say to him. He just looks at you in response.

“You could do it tomorrow if you want,” he finally says, and you close your laptop.

“No, let’s just… let's get it done tonight. I don’t want you complaining if I give you a bad haircut though,” you say, planting your feet on the ground.

“I don’t want a whole cut, just a trim. Let me go find the clippers,” he says, getting out of bed. You resist the urge to slap his ass as he walks past you.

“You don’t get to be picky, Russo,” you mutter after he leaves the door slightly ajar behind him. You take the opportunity to look up some articles and videos about cutting hair.

Billy’s setup includes one chair he got from the dining room, an old towel from the closet, and his face trimmer from under the bathroom sink.

“Okay, do you know how he cuts it? Does he just hold it like this or does he like… run a comb through it?” you stand behind him like his barber would to demonstrate, holding sections of his hair.

“I don’t know, he just, cuts it…” Billy says, adjusting the towel around his shoulder.

“Wow Billy, that’s… such a wealth of information you just gave me.”

“I don’t have eyes on the back of my head! How am I supposed to know—”

“Okay, so you’re gonna get what you’re gonna get and you’re gonna be happy, okay?” you say, and you hear him chuckle and mutter, “Oh god…”

“I can’t blend the hairline with the clippers we have,” you say after he explains the settings. You clip his hair back to see the lines the barber left behind from his last cut. It hasn’t been so long that they’ve faded too much.

“That’s okay. We can do just, high and tight on the sides. No fades.”

“You can’t move.” You clarify, and he plays with the trimmer before handing it to you.

“I know. Thank you for doing this for me by the way,” he says. He can’t see himself in the mirror, so he just has to trust you.

“Mhmm,” you agree absentmindedly as you focus, bringing the trimmer to the back of his head. You go over one spot repeatedly, but the hair doesn’t look like it’s getting any shorter.

“What do you see back there?” Billy asks, obviously scared you’re going to make him bald.

“It’s like, barely even cutting anything,” you say. You pull the clippers away from his head. He shifts in his seat.

“Uh oh. Let me feel it?” He asks and touches the hair there.

“Nope,” he agrees and gets up from his chair. He looks at the attachments and fiddles with the trimmer for a bit before he figures out the attachments were wrong, and the one you were supposed to be using was on the counter, not on the buzzer.

You turn it on and put it back to his head, and it seems to work better.

“Is that any better?” Billy asks, almost reading your mind.

“Yeah, I think so,” you respond, taking slow, precise movements through his hair. You can feel the hair gather in little piles around your feet. You find yourself in a groove and it becomes a lot less scary when you’re not worried about having him end up with some god awful buzz cut. You hold his head steady, one hand cupping the side of his face.

“It looks, chunky,” you complain, and you can feel his face scrunch up a little bit.

“I don’t know if that’s what I want to hear,” he says, tilting his head back more when you press your fingers into his jaw and guide him slowly.

But after a little while, it all starts to come together and looks much more even. You turn off the trimmer and admire your work, which is pretty darn good if you do say so yourself.

Getting up from the chair, Billy admires himself closely in the mirror. He runs his fingers over the newly buzzed sides of his head.

“I mean, up close you can tell it’s not faded, but it looks like I got a fresh cut,” he says, sitting back down. You can’t help but feel a little pride over it.

“I can clean up the sides without the guard on, like the ears and stuff,” you say.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he says, taking off the blade guard from the clippers.

He puts the trimmer back at your hand and now the metal gleams intimidatingly at you. It’s oddly intimate for the two of you. Something about having the blade so dangerously close to his skin was personal. Just the persistent buzz of the clippers and the stories coming from Billy about bad barbers. You can feel the goosebumps on his skin as you clean up the hair on the back of his neck. Then came the lines around his ears on both sides.

As you finished up, you offered him a mirror to see the back of it.

“If you want, I can round the edges a little more,” you offer.

“No, this is perfect. It looks great back there,” he says, moving the mirror from side to side, examining the back of his head. 

“Okay, I think we’re done!” he says, and you correct him.

“With the clippers.”

“Yes, with the clippers.” he agrees.

You wet his hair with a spray bottle newly filled with water you had retrieved from the closet, and with the smallest scissors you could find you take off little sections of hair from the top of his head. The reaction from Billy is physical, his shoulders standing a little taller, a little more confident in his new look. Some pieces of hair still cling to his t-shirt and shoulders, making him scratch at his neck.

“Hop in the shower quick and then I’ll blow dry it before you get into bed,” you tell him, and he listens, but not before he rudely kisses you, hands cupping the side of your face.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, before stripping off his clothes before he even turned the shower on. You leave the bathroom, face hot as you hear him turn it on. Maybe another day, you’d join him.

He comes out smelling good and looking fresh.

He pokes his head into the bedroom, his hair dripping wet onto the floor, with the need to tell you that he was done, not that you couldn’t hear the shower turn off all by yourself.

“Okay, I’m ready,” he says smiling, and there’s something childishly innocent about him getting excited about you blow-drying his hair.

The loud blow dryer made for little conversation to be had, but you were both fine with that. The heat on Billy’s skin made him tired, especially after the hot shower he had just taken. When his hair was sufficiently dry and you put away all of the tools from the night’s impromptu hair cutting session, Billy came up from behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, placing his head on your shoulder. You watched him in the mirror.

“Thank you for this. It feels so much better,” he says, planting a kiss to your shoulder. The one he plants gently on your neck makes you smile. You wrap your arms around him, holding them there, around your body.

“I didn’t mind,” you clarify, “I like how it came out.”

“Now I don’t feel like I have to wear that fuckin’ hat everywhere,” he says, and pulls away, making his way down the hall to the bedroom.

“Oh thank god,” you whisper under your breath, and follow him.

In bed, you stroke Billy’s newly cut hair. Under your fingers, he pulls you just a little bit closer to him, chest to chest under the warmth of your blankets. The darkness of the night filled the room, the only light streaming in from your window was that of the moon and the stars. You smile, but Billy is already fast asleep.

It really had gotten softer.

between the devil and the deep blue sea

summary: you wake up to find your brother missing. you’re then met by two handsome boys in your motel room, who just so happen to have his key. they offer to help you find him.

pairings: jj maybank x reader / john b x reader

word count: 3.1k

warnings: a missing brother, teenage boys, and a whole lot of eventual unresolved sexual tension

a/n: outer banks. that is all. happy quarantine yall. big love.

It was jarring to wake up in the motel all by yourself. You hadn’t even heard him leave. 

It took you too long to notice. The room was plunged in darkness, and you took your time waking up, getting out of bed, brushing your teeth. You had only turned on the light when you had decided to get dressed. Which is when you saw the empty bed next to you. It was hastily made, but even the fact that it was made threw you off. He had never been one to make his bed, even back home. Especially not when he first woke up. Did he plan on not coming back? His suitcase was zipped up on one of the chairs at a small desk off to the side. It made your stomach drop to think about. In your PJs, you checked the bathroom, the closet (for good measure), and under the bed (just in case). 

You called his name, but there was no answer. You had woken up multiple times through the night, afraid of the windows exploding, or the door caving in. There were no sand bags or boards for your room. But each time, you were lulled back asleep during a calm in the storm. The noise plus the springy mattress had not allowed for a restful sleep, and you were out of bed as soon as it was reasonable.

Your bare foot hit the damp pavement stepping out of your motel room. Petrichor filled your nostrils. It was a refreshing change from the musty dank mess you had spent the night in, but it wasn’t much more comforting. You were still alone, and you had no clue why. There were men and women all over the motel balcony, working on moving large branches and surveying the damage. You were suddenly grateful you weren’t in one of the rooms on the end, that had large cracks in the concrete. You looked both ways from your room, but you hadn’t recognized anyone. Power tools drowned out the sound of children playing in front of the motel front down below you. There were mattresses put up against the railing. You were expected to check out today, and you had agreed on leaving early, but you didn’t want to leave without your brother. The only option was to wait for him. You returned to the room.

You figured a shower was in order. So you didn’t hear the knock until you came out, towel around your shoulders, fully dressed this time. Thank God. Because you heard the key turn in the lock and light filled the room and all the doubt plunged from your chest because your brother was back—

But he wasn’t. You stared from the bathroom. Two boys. Neither of them your brother.

“Huh,” one says, and you really take a good look at the two of them. Just in case you have to describe them to the police. 

Tall. Wavy brown hair. Hat backwards. Bandanna around his neck. The other one blonde. Short hair. Tank top. Really nice arms, but considering they’re breaking into your motel, you look past it. 

“Check the bag, see if there’s a name on there somewhere.”

A name. Why do they want your name? If they’re going to steal things, they might as well just take it. They’re both teenage boys. About your age. Tall. Probably taller than you, but you can’t tell. The blonde one shoves the key deep into his cargo shorts. They go to close the door behind them.

It takes them a second to notice you. You must look like a deer in headlights.

“How did you get in here?” You ask. You saw the key. Where did they get the key? Only you and your brother have keys, how did they—

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry, we didn’t know anyone—” One of them starts.

“Fuck,” the other one says.

“We found this key, we just wanted to—” One goes to explain, but you’re more scared than they are.

“What are you doing here?” You ask

“We just wanted to see where this came from,” says blondie, holding up the motel key. “We wanted to just—”

“Yeah, we’re sorry, we’ll be leaving now,”  The brunette goes to leave, and the blonde goes to follow. The one with the key in his hand doesn’t let go of it. You need to know where they got that key from.

“No! Wait,” you say, and they stop in their tracks.

“Where did you find that key?” You ask. They look between each other.

“On a boat,” One of them replies. The other stares at him.

“What boat?” you ask. You can feel your heart thumping in your wrist. You leave the doorway and sit on your brother’s bed. The door to the motel room is slightly ajar. They, theoretically, could run and never come back. But they haven’t left yet. 

“We… we found it. At the bottom of a marsh.” Brunette says. You let out a shaky breath. What the fuck does that mean? Whose boat did he have? How did he learn to drive a boat? Why would he get on a boat, in the middle of a fucking storm?

Your phone rings on the table next to them. You rush over to it, and the boys move back a little bit. There’s no caller ID. You answer.

“Hello?” you stare at the boys. They stare back at you. They look invested now.

“Hi! Are you busy?” The person asks. It sounds like a man, but not your brother.

“Who is this? How did you get this number?” you say. Today, nobody feels like giving you their names.

“Is your brother there?” 

“No, he’s not here… who is this?”

“Ah, okay, sorry! Have a nice—”

“Who is this?” you demand, but the line goes dead. 

“Fucking great,” you mutter, and the boys are still there.

“Uhh,” one of them starts, “We’re just gonna go.”

You’d had enough. You were fed up with the cryptic messages of today. Your brother disappearing out of nowhere, these boys, the phone call. 

“Can you… Do you know where the boat is, still?” you ask. You run your hands over your face, exasperated. This day was shaping up to be one of the worst of your life.

They’re both silent for a beat, before Blondie speaks up.

“Yeah. We could, I mean, we could show you where it is. Why?” 

Brunette glares at him.

“I can’t find my brother. He left this morning… that’s his motel key. He doesn’t have a boat. I just… I don’t know what’s going on today.” you explain. Brunette gives you a sympathetic look.

“He might be at the store or something,” he suggests, but Blondie has other ideas.

“I’m JJ,” he introduces. He fishes the key out of his pocket and holds it out to you. You decline it.

“No, you can hold on to it. I only need one,” you say, and you lean over to open the drawer next to your bed. Your key isn’t in there. But your brother’s phone is. And a motel sticky note with a number on it

“Oh shit,” you say, and Blondie—JJ, leans over to look in the drawer. He takes out the paper.

“Guess you could use this key then, huh?” he says with a smile. You return it sadly, and take the key from his hands. He looks over the paper.

“Thanks,” you mutter. 

“What’s this for?” he asks inquisitively. 

You take it from his hands. It’s six random numbers. It means nothing to you.

“I don’t know,” you say, handing it back. He hands it over to the other boy. You get up, and move over to the side of the room where your shoes are. Where your brother’s shoes aren’t. 

You give Brunette a once over after you put your shoes on. 

“Who are you?” you ask, and he introduces himself as John.

“But he’s really John B.,” JJ clarifies.

“Is there more than one John?” you ask.

“Probably. It’s a popular name,” John B. says, leading the two of you out of your motel room. You’d have to leave before tonight. You have nowhere else to go, so maybe because of the hurricane they’d let you stay. Checking out the boat wouldn't take too long, right?

“You guys aren’t… serial killers, right?” you question after you lock the door behind you. This is a terrible idea, going with these boys you don’t know at all. But there have been worse ideas. Like your brother leaving early in the morning to steal a boat and sink it in the ocean. You know he can swim, but you can vividly remember him tiring easily at the lake you’d spend the summer at with your family together. Your heart breaks a little bit at the memory.

“Oh come on, could a serial killer look this good?” JJ says, flaunting his body. He playfully runs his hands over his chest and face, and John B. laughs at him.

“Come on, dude, you’re freaking her out,” he says, and looks back at you while you guys walk down the stairs. 

“No, we’re not serial killers. At least not today,” he smirks. You figured you were gonna regret this, but it was too late to turn back now. Besides, what would you do in the motel room until your brother got back. What if he did come back, and you weren’t there? 

Your heart races.

“Wait,” and the sound of their feet on the gravel stops. 

“What if he comes back? And I’m not there? I should at least leave a note or something, right?” you worry. 

“I mean,” JJ starts, “If I were you, wait—have you texted him?” he says.

“Yeah, it was one of the first things I did. But he didn’t take his phone with him.” you say, picturing his phone sitting in the drawer, halfway charged, your missed calls and texts the only notifications. You didn’t know his password either, so it’s not like you could snoop.

“Well, then I think the boat will be your best bet. I could dive down there and see if there’s anything else in it,” John B. suggests. JJ nods in agreement. It’s nice how they decided to assist you, but you can’t help but feel like there’s an ulterior motive underneath it all. 

“Why… I mean, thank you, but—why are you helping me?” you say as you walk with the boys. They’re easy to talk to, and you feel like you guys could be friends very quickly.

“We got nothin’ better to do,” John B. says with a smile, and you think how nice it would be to be a part of something.

“Oh shit, it’s the cops,” JJ says, and you and John B. look up immediately. 

“What are they doin’ here…” John inquires. 

“Do you guys know them?” you ask, and JJ gives you a look.

“Know them? We’re practically besties.” 

The way he says it doesn’t make you feel better.

“Let’s go, before they see us.” John B. says, and you follow them to a little boat moored on the shore. 

“This is what we found in the room,” JJ says as he gets closer. There’s two other people there.

“A girl?” the boy says. The girl just smiles at you.

“Hi,” you say, and introduce yourself to them.

“I’m Kie, that’s Pope,” Kie says, gesturing to Pope. They look nice enough. It’s a nice little crew they have, and you find yourself wishing you could have something like this. Maybe, just maybe, if things worked out, you and your brother could make a life here. Do something here. Be someone here. But first, you’d have to find him.

“We walked in and she was in the room,” John B. says.

“We thought someone called the cops on you. Look,” Pope says, gesturing to where they had pulled up. They were talking among themselves near their patrol car. 

“Yeah, we know,” JJ says. He holds your hand as he helps you onto the boat. His hands are firm and cold, but you realize you like holding them. He smiles at you, then John B. puts his foot on the side of it.

“Uh, where’s my hand JJ?” John B. asks, and JJ responds with a shove, almost pushing John into the murky marsh water as he loses his footing, half on the boat, half on the shore. John B. gives him a hard shove back, and JJ loses his balance, catching himself with one hand, that comes back wet and muddy. You look on in amusement, but Pope tugs on your shirt, moving you back a little.

“You might wanna move back,” he says, and John B. jumps onto the boat, JJ in tow. They run around the center console for a second, JJ chasing John B. with a muddy hand, and Kie pats the spot next to her. The boat was small, so you took the opportunity to sit down. 

“What’s your story?” she says.

“Hmm?” you hum, tearing your eyes away from JJ slathering the back of John B.’s shirt with half dry mud, flaking onto the boat and sticking to his shirt. Pope narrowly avoids the splash zone, gripping the edge of the boat. 

“I can’t find my brother. The key you guys found? That was his. And he doesn’t have a boat, so I don’t really know what happend. I wanted to go check out where it was, y’know?”

You felt better around Pope and Kie. They were the more level headed of the four, you concluded. Which is probably why they were on the boat and not breaking into your motel room. You unheedingly ran a hand over the key in your pocket, fiddling with the hem of your shorts. You wish you had brought sandals you noted, as some of the water on the boat saturated the canvas of your shoes, right above where the rubber sole ended. 

“That sucks. I’m sorry,” Kie apologizes, before JJ hops off the boat again. At the front, he undoes whatever knot he used to tie the boat to whatever waterlogged tree he could find there. With a strong push, he dislodges the boat from the shore, and just makes it back onto the boat before John B. turns on the engine.

“All aboard that’s coming aboard?” John B. cries out. 

“Aye aye Captain,” says JJ, moving to the front of the boat.

John eases the boat out of the motel area, and back into the marsh. 

“You ever been on a boat before?” JJ asks, taking a seat at your feet. You politely decline the beer he offers you. He shrugs and places it back into the cooler on Kie’s side.

“Uh, not one like this. I’ve been on a boat before though,” you say.

“What, you been on boats nicer than this one?” Questions John B. from the helm.

“Not possible. This is the nicest boat there is.” Pope replies sarcastically. 

“Yeah, I don’t know what’s my favorite part, the broken fishing rod holder or the helicopter engine on the back of this thing.” JJ says. You chuckle softly at his joke, but you find it endearing how John B. defends her. 

“Aw, don’t listen to them, Old Girl.” he says to the boat.

“You’re still my favorite,” John B. whispers to her, giving the wheel a little kiss.

Everyone laughs at him, and he grins, sitting a little taller in his seat. 

“Are you from around here? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.” Pope says, beer in hand. They can’t be of age, but it’s an island, so who cares.

“No, I’m not. My brother and I were just passing through, but the storm hit. We were supposed to leave two days ago, but there were no ferries coming in or out.”

“On your way somewhere?” Kie asks.

“Nowhere specific,” you say, and JJ laughs.

“Mysterious, I like it,” he gets up from his spot at your feet and stretches upward. The tank he’s wearing already shows off a lot of skin, especially his sides, but when he stretches, he exposes his stomach a little bit. He’s got an athletic build. I guess that’s what happens when you live on an island.

“What about you guys?” you ask, suddenly a little claustrophobic with all the attention. 

“Have you guys always lived here?”

“Yeah. We all grew up here. Been here since we were born.” Pope says.

“Hopefully not for much longer,” clarifies Kie.

You quirk a brow at her. She continues.

“There’s nothing left for us here. Nobody cares about us. If we can get out, we can probably do something with our lives.”

“Yeah. If I want to do anything worth doing, I won’t be working under my dad when I do it.” Pope adds. Everyone else seems to agree.

Everyone except John B.

“I think that’s it,” he says, slowing the boat down considerably and looking over the console to get a look at it.

You and everyone else crowd the side of the boat. You don’t like how it leans forward a little, with the weight of everyone on the bow of it. In the cloudy water, there sits a big hunk of something. If he hadn’t had pointed it out, you probably would’ve paid no mind to it. It reminds you a little bit of how the Titanic sank.

John B. all of a sudden has his shirt off and his sandals, hat discarded somewhere off to the side with his bandanna in it. He jumps headfirst off the side of the boat, toward the object in the water. 

“I hate it when he does that,” Kie voices, “He’s gonna crack his head open one of these days,”

“Let him,” JJ says, watching the water intently with the rest of you. 

The seconds pass by slowly, and you begin to worry about John B.

“Should we go get him?” Pope asks, but John B. answers by popping up out of the water, sputtering and coughing, wiping his face with his hands.

“Anything?” you ask hopefully.

John B. stares at you. 

“Well, it’s still a boat.”

“Great, John, that’s totally gonna reassure her.” JJ criticizes.

“I couldn’t stay under long enough to see what was down there,” John B. says, making his way over to the side of the boat.

“So? What now?” you ask. All hope is lost. You can only hope that your brother is waiting for you back at the motel. 

John B. shakes his hair dry like a dog, and then slicks it all back. You can see he’s prepared to let the sun dry him off. He looks at you whimsically.

“Actually, I know where we could get some scuba gear.”

The threeway fic and john b, kie and reader fic were amazing!!! Would you ever write any more or a jj x reader x kie fic? ((If any one knows of any more pls lmk))

hey!! thank you so much :) i definitely would write more! i have a few asks in my inbox for that type of stuff which i plan to work on sometime soon, so look forward to that ;) how are you doing anon? are you kicking quarantine’s ass? if anyone else knows of any more threesome stuff obx related feel free to link in the replies for anon to find. big love! - nat

oh shit who stole ur stuff

it doesn’t matter anymore, i filed a copyright claim against them and they took it down quickly afterward. just keep an eye on wattpad “imagines” books, because that’s where i’ve noticed most of the plagiarism is going on. big love y’all!

when he’s sick headcanons

note — can you tell i was in a francisco morales mood when i wrote this? also, i’m incredibly soft. i just wanna hold them :’( also also send me your  own headcanons!! i wanna hear ‘em!! big love <3 - nat

MANDO

- he doesn’t know how he survived all those bouts of sickness alone when you step in to help him for the first time

- his body aches, and not the usual after-bounty-capture either

- his head is foggy, he can feel the sweat in his helmet, and his breathing is hard

- he can’t tell if it’s coming through the modulator, but when you bring soup up to the cockpit for him, he knows you know

- he takes it gratefully, knowing that if there was nobody else here he would have just gone to bed to sleep it off, dinner vetoed for the night

- your cold fingers wrap around the back of his neck, moving his cape as you do so, and he melts into you

- he doesn’t know that he lets out the smallest whimper when you do this, and it makes you want to tear off his helmet, pull him into your arms, and hold him until he’s better

- but you can’t, so you settle for a hand on his neck, and the tilt of a helmet when he drinks the soup in front of you, as requested

- he definitely has a fever, and maker knows what else

- so you tell him to get some rest, that you’d watch the ship and get him if anything went wrong

- you supervise him down the ladder, just in case, which he finds funny and sweet

- you wish you could squish into his bunk with him, but you don’t want to invade on his personal space, especially while he’s hot and sick

- you you settle into the cockpit, the ship on cruise control, and you check on him every once in a while, keeping grogu occupied and quiet while he gets some well deserved rest

EZRA

- you knew he would get it

- right after you recovered from your illness, he started displaying symptoms of the same one you had just gotten over

- shortness of breath, fever, aches, lethargy

- he had taken such good care of you, so it was only fair that you’d do the same in return

- resources were sparse and quarters were cramped on the green, but you did what you could to make him as comfortable as possible

- his feverish back was pressed up against your chest in a cot designed for one after he’d stripped down to his underwear to avoid overheating

- he really enjoyed you being the big spoon sometimes, and now was one of those times

- when he got too hot from your shared body heat though, you would sit on the floor next to the cot and stroke right behind his ear to get him to fall asleep

- you made sure he ate as much as he could keep down, and you gave him all the fluids you could spare for his speedy recovery

- it broke your heart to see your usually verbose boy so quiet and in pain

- he muttered fever nonsense to no one and whimpered in his sleep

- you moved your cot directly next to his in order to keep a close eye on him

- but you knew that with time he would heal, and that as soon as he started talking to you again he was getting better

FRANKIE

- he sweats through the sheets next to you in the early hours of the night

- you’re the one who wakes up first, and you honestly thought one of you had wet the bed because of how much liquid there was

- but you realize that it’s frankie, back drenched and sweating out whatever flu he had acquired from whoever he had gotten it from

- you wake him from what seemed to be a not great dream anyway, and when he realizes what happened, he apologizes, groggy from sleep and illness

- “no, no! i’m not mad, frankie, you just can’t sleep in this sweetheart. you’ll get more sick. how are you feeling?”

- he curls up deeper under the covers and you get out of bed to kneel next to him

- your hands card through his matted, sweat soaked hair, and you wipe the drops from his jaw

- “do you want a cool shower, baby? you’re soaked.” you suggest, but frankie is so out of it

- he was fine last night, you remember

- sure he didn’t eat dinner, and went to bed early, but you thought maybe he had a late lunch and a long day

- now, helping him out of bed to the shower, you understand that it was early onset symptoms of whatever he was battling

- he pressed heavily to your side and you’re nervous as you strip him down and get him into the tub

- he sways, and you’re not sure what you’ll do if he passes out, or hits his head, so you sit him down, take off the shower head, make sure the water coming out is room temperature, and you run she showerhead over his overheating body

- you’re careful not to get any water in his face and ears, and you don’t wash his hair, just his body with a gentle soap

- you figure this is one of the only times frankie will let you take care of him like this, so you milk it for all it’s worth

- you blow dry his hair on a low setting, just in case he has a headache, you change the sheets of your bed, you lay him down on his side and you bring him close to your chest

- which is how he falls asleep for the next few nights until his illness eventually subsides

WHISKEY

- he curls up in your lap on the couch as soon as he gets home from work, which is how you know something’s wrong

- but you ask him anyway

- “i don’t feel so great, sugar,”

- which scares you, because did he get drugged? is this just a regular illness? is this like a biowarfare mission gone wrong?

- you leave him to get the thermometer, and when you come back, he’s got sad eyes looking up at you that just break your heart

- turns out, it’s not biowarfare. just a fever of 100.4

- you slip your hands up the back of his shirt and it’s so warm, along with his forehead

- he moans weakly at your touch, worn and tired from his extensive mission that day

- he’s definitely been overexerting himself

- as you settle back onto the couch, he settles into your lap again

- you let him rest for a while, but not after long, you realize he’s fallen asleep, and you’re stuck there for god knows how long

- you turn the volume down on the tv just in case, and you stroke behind his ears and you play with his fingers

- it’s best to just let him sleep it off, and you're not opposed to letting him do it on your lap

- you imagine there are statesman resources you can use to help him, but if he’s feeling better after he’s slept it off, then maybe you won’t need to misuse them

JAVIER PEÑA

- you scared the shit out of him, knocking on his door like that

- in your blinding rage, filled with thoughts like “how dare he take the day off to bang hookers, to recover from his hangover, to generally be a hindrance to the fucking DEA,” you had not pondered the possibility that THE javier peña, was sick

- he’s pulling on a t-shirt just as he opens the door, wearing pajama pants, and it startles you to see him so disarmed and casual

- his eyes and nose are red, his hair is disheveled, and he looks... exhausted

- “wow, you look like shit."

- “i feel like shit,” he says, walking away from the door, sniffling

- you take this as an invitation in, and close the door behind you

- he collapses back onto his couch, where you assume he’s been all day, and wraps himself up in a thick afghan blanket

- his hands shake the slightest bit as he opens his lighter to ignite his cigarette

- you take a seat next to him and help him with his lighter, and he nods his thanks to you

- “you’re gonna be late,” he mutters, taking the cigarette from his mouth and blowing out smoke into his apartment, coughing it out halfway

- “i’ll call out,” you offer, eyes wandering up his blanket clad body

- he closes his eyes and lets his head rest on the back of the couch

- “go in. i’m just gonna sleep it off anyway,”

- you lean in close to him and press your hand against his forehead and he freezes, staring at you

- you run your hand down his neck and feel his warmth, and he melts into your touch just a little bit

- you offer to only call out for a few hours to get him settled and make sure he doesn’t die or something, and he lets you, simply because he knows his illness will only get worse

- when your time is up and you have to go back to work, javi’s eaten, gotten some fluids in him, and taken some pain meds

- you let him know that he can call you if he needs anything, and before you even walk out the door is sleeping contently on the couch

MARCUS MORENO

- you find out he’s sick when he calls you, and asks for a favor

- “hey, can you do me the biggest favor ever?”

- he’s super congested. at first you think it might not be him because of how grainy his voice is

- “i hate to do this to you on such short notice, but would you be able to pick up missy? i’m not feeling too hot right now.”

- when you make it back to their home, it's very clear why he thought he wouldn't be able to make it

- he's curled up in bed, tissues piled on his nightstand, trying to get some sleep, but clearly failing

- he notices the two of you come in, and you quietly usher missy away to her own room to entertain herself while her dad tries to get some rest

- he thanks you for picking up missy, and you tell him you'd be there for him whenever he needed you to be

- you make a special phone call as you care for marcus, keeping his curtains closed and running your cool hands up and down his back and shoulders until he felt like he could fall asleep

- you let him know that you'll be right back, that you were going to pick up a few things for him and that if he needed anything at all, just call

- knowing your chicken noodle soup skills were rusty, your special phone call had been to marcus' mother's house, where she had tupperware containers full of soup waiting for you to pick up for him

- when you get back to his house with pain meds, gatorade, and the soup, marcus is passed out in bed

- you don't want to wake him up, but you have a hunch that he hasn't eaten all day, so you whisper his name softly and lightly shake him awake

- he's so grateful and only eats a portion of what he normally does, but anything is better than nothing

- and you don't want him feeling even more sick as a result

- you end up eating the incredibly nostalgic and rich soup with missy at the table and talk to her about your day while marcus gets some sleep

MARCUS PIKE

- it's only when you get home from work that you realize something's wrong with marcus

- he's asleep on the couch

- which would have been fine, if you had worked overtime, or had gotten out late, but it was only four thirty

- plus, you two had planned on going to see a movie you he was excited about tonight in theatres and maybe grab dinner after

- the tv plays lowly in the background, and he hasn’t changed out of his work clothes yet

- he startles when you close and lock the door, and rubs his temples, eyes squeezed shut in pain

- "marcus, are you okay?"

- "yeah, i'm fine." he tells you, and when you mention the date, he looks shocked that he forgot about it

- "oh my god, you're right. i can’t believe i forgot, i’m so sorry babe, i'll get ready right now."

- you tell him it's no biggie, but he insists

- after you've taken off your work clothes and showered quickly for your date, you realize the two of you are most definitely staying in

- he's promptly fallen back asleep on the couch, and he looks adorable

- you put on your pajamas and he does too, and you settle into the couch behind marcus, flipping through channels with him

- he says he doesn't care what you watch, as long as it's not too bright or loud

- so you choose some old black and white movie with the subtitles on

- normally you're the one between his legs, as he rubs your shoulders and plays with your hair

- but this time, he's curled up into you, his back pressed up against your chest, his head tucked into your shoulder using it as a pillow

- you figure you didn't really want to see the new movie anyway, and decide takeout and casablanca was a better way to spend your time with your sick boyfriend

MAX PHILLIPS

- a big baby

- but he IS a vampire and DOES NOT get sick, which slips your mind completely when you come home after some overtime and find him paler than usual on the couch, his head in his hands

- you try to get him to tell you what’s wrong, and he refuses, but he caves when you sit down next to him and start stroking his head, and playing with the hair at the base of his neck

- he tells you that after the whole vampire fiasco with the company, he was set for a while, and has been feeling great, but he hasn’t had human blood in so long that it’s made him weak

- he gives you a sad puppy dog look, and you know he’s being an asshole about it, but you hate to see the dark circles under his eyes or the color his skin turns when he’s like this

- so you oblige, but you give him STRICT instructions to follow, otherwise you won’t do it again

- don’t take more than a pint, don’t leave unnecessary bruises, if you use your safe word he has to stop immediately, and he has to make it as quick and painless as he possibly can

- he nods enthusiastically, and pulls you into his lap

- he nuzzles into your neck, and grabs your chin, anchoring himself to you

- he blows softly on your skin, and presses hard kisses to the area to get your blood flowing and disarm you

- which isn’t fair because he knows your neck is so sensitive

- it’s a sharp prick when he ejects his fangs into your body and you stop moving completely, your hand fisting at his shirt, just listening to your breathing and his soft moans echoed against your skin

- out of habit your rub soothing circles into his back, more to sooth yourself then anything

- minutes pass, and you start to feel light headed and are about to tell him to stop when he pulls away, grinning ear to ear at you

- he’s back on your neck in seconds though, licking and sucking the leaking blood from the small holes he’s left in your skin

- now that, that feels much better than the bloodsucking that was going on originally

- you jump when he presses soft kisses to the sensitive area along your throat and dives a hand between your legs

- looks like someone’s feeling better already

MAX LORD

- tries to power through it as much as he can with pain killers and cough syrups, but after he almost passes out at dinner after a week of symptoms, you beg him to take at least a day off to recover

- that morning, his hair is a mess, he missed a button on his shirt, and his tie was uneven

- he was about to put on two different colored socks when he begrudgingly obliges

- you unbutton his shirt and help him take off his tie

- it’s easy to bring him back to bed after that, and you let him hold you from behind like a teddy bear, no matter how uncomfortable his arm is shoved under your neck

- usually he likes to be held, but he can feel his own back burning up, so he decides to hold you instead

- he whimpers in his sleep, plagued by fever dreams and his traumatic past

- so when he wakes you up in the middle of the night, something he so very rarely does, you’re concerned

- “i’m sorry, for waking you, i just... i just need... you... i want—“

- it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out he needs a hug

- you hold him and rub his back until he falls back asleep again, in your arms

- when he wakes up with a killer headache, you fight to keep him in bed again, rubbing his temples and pressing kisses to his forehead

- he falls back asleep in less than five minutes

- needless to say, one more day off couldn’t hurt

OBERYN MARTELL

- it’s not often than he gets sick, surprisingly, considering how close he gets to so many different people

- when you arrive at his chambers that morning, the guards seem keen on not letting you in

- you argue with them, but they insist oberyn didn’t want anyone in there

- you call them out, obviously upset and visibly frustrated when his doors creak open and you see him, in a robe, hair messy and pressed down to his forehead

- he quietly tells the guard to let you in, and you’re a little confused

- he sits down on his bed and looks up at you with guilty eyes

- “apologies, my love, but I don't want you to see me like this”

- you scoff and roll your eyes at him, moving in front of him

- you take his head in your hands, and he stares up at you

- “apology accepted, but i’m offended, my prince.”

- he scrunches his eyebrows and presses his chin to your stomach

- you run your hands through his hair and he brings his hands to your waist

- “you think mere illness could keep me away? keep me away from you?”

- his confusion melts into a small smile, and he lets his head rest against your belly as you pull him into you

- “can i get you anything, oberyn? wine, medicine?”

- “no, my love. just you is enough for me.”

PERO TOVAR

- wants to be left alone for the most part

- grumpy in general, and it doesn't get better when he's sick

- he'll let you wipe a cool cloth over his forehead and neck, and doesn't complain

- he says he doesn’t want you there because he doesn’t want you to catch what he has

- you know, survival rates are low for things like this at this point in history

- but really, like oberyn, he doesn’t want you to see him weak

- he’s afraid it’ll ruin your image of him in your mind

- william asks you to get some rest, as they can’t afford to risk more days at the campsite with sick travelers

- so you oblige, keeping your distance from pero, but you stay vigilant

- you stand guard for him for most of the night, listening to him breathe, watching his chest rise and fall, until you eventually fall asleep too

- but you’re up early, with the rest of the men, except pero, who sleeps well into daylight

- the rest of them take off, desperate to find something for dinner, but you stay back with him, stroking his forehead, a gentleness that’s rarely ever been afforded to him, listening to him ramble half in english, half in spanish, but he has your full attention

- it would be a rough few days until he recovered, but his muttered thanks and appreciation for you was more than enough for you to do it all over again if he ever needed you to

thanks for writing the john b fic i requested it had such good vibes, especially at the end! i loved it!!💜💜

THANK YOU SO MUCH. I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU! keep the requests coming in!

one in the hand, two in the bush

request: Coul you write a John b x reader where the reader is JJ’s sister and she has feelings for John b and it ends in smut (if you’re comfortable with that) and JJ walks in while drunk or high and praises John b for being with a girl and later on finds out it was his sister 

pt 2: This is for the John b and JJ’s sister request, maybe JJ could find out because both her and John b have hickeys and marks all over

summary: john b. finds it hard to sleep one night. that’s not the only thing that’s hard. you decide to enhance his experience a little bit. pairings: john b x fem!reader

word count: 2.1k warnings: little bit of second hand embarrassment, voyeur, male masturbation, vaginal sex, hand job stuff a/n: the title is a double entendre of sorts haha… man… words sometimes… big love, gang.

It was dark and warm in his room that night, and he couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned, trying to lull himself into a peaceful rest, but even in silence everything was too loud. The cicadas were chirping, JJ snoring softly in the living room, the ambiance of life out his window was just the wrong side of too loud.

Naturally, it was only a matter of time before his hand found its way under the covers and into his briefs.

He was sick of staring off into darkness. He closed his eyes, but nothing came of it. He was ready to come another way, in the meantime. 

He figured there wasn’t much else to do at that rate, and some serotonin might be exactly what he needed to push him off into dreamland. So he started playing with himself, fondling and pulling as he loaded up PornHub on his phone.

It’s not hard to be quiet while he does it, but he makes sure the volume on his phone is the lowest it can go while he could still hear it. At any given time he could have four friends sleeping over at his house, invading into him room for late night fast food runs.

He takes his time, scrolling and browsing through videos, tugging on himself until he got hard.

He finds himself so deeply entranced by his own rhythm, and the feel of lotion on his cock, that he doesn’t hear you slipping down the hallway from the spare bedroom. He doesn’t hear your bare feet on the floor and  he definitely doesn’t hear you stop outside his bedroom, debating whether or not to go in.

Until you hear him.

The squelch of skin on skin and heavy breathing and barely audible moans, clearly not coming from John B. Definitely a phone.

You know he’s jerking off in there. You only wanted to get into bed with him to cuddle after a particularly jarring nightmare, but now there’s a whole new problem.

You could either barge in like you hadn’t heard him and embarrass him, or maybe he was doing something else. Maybe he was working out, or watching weird youtube videos in bed, or scrolling through the kinky side of tiktok.

Either way, you weren’t planning on sleeping alone that night.

But then you hear what you think is your brother, or maybe Kie or Pope, but probably your brother, get up. His feet are padding toward you, or more specifically, the bathroom in the hallway you’re standing in. You really don’t want him to catch you standing outside of John B.’s bedroom, so you twist the knob as quietly and as quickly as you can, the door squeaking just a little as it opens, and John B.’s quick to pull his comforter over himself and scramble with his phone to turn it off. He hopes you didn’t notice it was porn. You totally did. But you decided to give him that much.

“What’re you doing in here!” He hisses at you, and you press a finger up to your lips to silence him. His eyes are wide.

“I had a nightmare,” you whisper, sitting on his bed. You could act none the wiser.

“Okay? Go back to the couch, dude,” he mutters quietly. You smirk to yourself in the darkness as you try to get under the covers with him.

“No, go away,” he says, blocking you from getting underneath them with him.

“What’s wrong with you?” You say, and go to lift the covers again. He blocks you once more.

“Dude, seriously, get out. Where’s JJ?” He whispers sharply, and you roll your eyes.

“He’s sleeping. I didn’t want to wake him up. He has work tomorrow—”

“I don’t care! Go bother him with this!”

“Shut up, your room has a fan and it’s hot—”

“If you don’t leave right now I’m gonna call him—”

“Stop it! Just let me sleep here,” you pout.

The window was open just enough in John B.’s room for you to see the pale blue moonlight on his skin.

You can feel the arousal in your stomach as you think about what he was doing. Think about his moans, and his hands under the covers. It’s the sex deprived part of your brain that responds to him.

“I know what you were doing, y’know,” you clarify. He sighs and lays back in his bed, covering his face with his hands. You take the opportunity to straddle him over the covers. He’s still half hard.

“What the fuck!” He whispers, and you lay your head into his shoulder as you start to move your hips, languidly grinding over his erection. He starts breathing hard again, like he was earlier.

“This is bad, get off me,” he says, but makes no move to get you off of him.

He swallows harshly.

“You’re… You’re JJ’s sister. If he finds out…”

The comforter bunches up underneath you and you press hard to feel the pressure  through your shorts.

You move to kiss him, and he responds eagerly. It’s the heat in his room even though the fan is whirring, and the idea of doing something so forbidden, not only pogue on pogue’s sister, but sex in a house where other people are sleeping in various rooms next door.

He’s almost aggressive, and excited. Very excited. You can feel his excitement now.

You sit back on your heels and you strip yourself of your shirt, bare underneath. John B. pulls the comforter down and slips off his underwear that were sitting around his ankles. He sits up and starts stroking the head of his penis.

You watch as he leans over for more lotion, taking a careful handful to his dick. It’s slick and loud again, the way he pumps. It’s obscene. It makes your heart race.

It’s harder to slip off your shorts and underwear but you do anyway, and you’re both left with no clothes and unbearable arousal.

But the door opens and your heart jumps into your throat. You’ve been caught. This, whatever this was, is over before it started. You shield your naked body  on John B.’s chest, your face into his shoulder.

It drops even further when you hear the voice of whoever walked in.

“Oh, shit, get some man, my bad,” JJ quips, clearly high and sleep deprived, closing the door quickly.

You and John B. breathe heavily together in darkness.

“Was… did he see us?” You ask quickly.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Does he know it’s me?”

“I don’t think he saw us,” he says, eyes wide with adrenaline.

“Holy shit,” you mutter, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says, and looks at you.

“You wanna keep going?”

You respond by pressing your lips to John B.’s neck, and he leans over for you, grabbing at your thighs and ass, fisting a hand into your hair.

“We should hurry up,” he recommends, and you giggle softly.

You lay down next to him and you lay a hand over his chest so he doesn’t get up, taking his cock into your own hands. Your hands would be so soft after all the lotion he smothered on it. You apply firm pressure to the head, and pull gently, up and down. You feel his hips chase your hand when you tug upward on it, and your bicep moves with his chest as he breathes.

“Condoms?” You whisper, and his head pops up, no not that one, and he points to the bedside table.

“In there,” he whispers, and you let him take over as you rifle through loose change and pokemon cards and even more lotion, wow.

But you find one, and struggle ripping open the ribbed edge with lotion hands, so John B. helps you. He pinches the tip and rolls it onto his cock like he’s done it before many times. He keeps a steady hand on his cock and keeps stroking it as he rummages around blindly in the drawer before slamming it shut a little too hard.

“C’mere,” he says, nodding you over, and you straddle him again, this time on his thighs, watching intently as he squirts lube onto his palm, groaning as he takes himself into his hand again. He coats it generously, and he takes his hand away, dick throbbing in front of you.

You’re nervous for him.

“Do you wanna… lay down, or…” he ponders, and you don’t know, but you say yes anyway.

He shifts so you’re on your back and you’re waiting for him, your thighs resting on each of his and he scoots closer to you, bed creaking as he moves.

“You ready?” He asks, and you nod slowly. He takes the tip of his cock, and runs from where you were wet for him up to your clit, each time pushing in just a little bit inside of you. You get used to the pace and he takes his time, leaning over you to give you kisses, and it hurts and stings and you feel yourself stretch around him but he’s gentle.

He only goes about halfway in before he pulls out, moving back and forth, going a little bit deeper each time. It’s nice to feel so full, have him so warm and so close when the night breeze starts to pick up. He plants his hands by your head, on his pillows, and he moves a little faster as you touch yourself, rubbing circles into your clit.

His mouth is all over you, your neck, your chest, your shoulders, and when he pulls away, you attack him with the same ferocity. You swear he almost cums when you get dangerously close to his adam’s apple.

He’s not that vocal, which is good for this current moment in time, but you’d have to work on it when you two were all alone. You wonder how loud he’d be in a house all alone, just the two of you, and as you start to pick up speed, so does he.

His hips are relentless against yours, his stomach hard and his balls tight against him as he pushes in and out. He’s about to cum, you can tell by his face, and you rub yourself as fast as you can, panting hard as he pulls out. You squeeze your legs together and he strokes his tip fast, and then slows down, resting a head heavy on your knee as you cum, grinding up against the air, head back in ecstasy as the warmth overtakes you, little bolts of electricity shooting through your veins from head to toe. He whimpers softly as he slips off the condom, tying it off and dropping it on the floor next to his bed.

“Ew,” you say out loud, and he lays down on his side, pulling you close to him.

He pulls the covers over you two.

“Just don’t step on it when you wake up tomorrow,” he whispers, and you turn around to bury your face in his neck as he falls asleep.

THE next morning, you’re sure everyone can tell. You had been prepared to sleep in a tank top and shorts, which you were not going to walk out into the kitchen in, where everyone was after JJ made breakfast. The only reasonable other option was wearing one of John B.’s shirts.

JJ greets you with furrowed brows.

“Is that John B.’s shirt?” He asks immediately, shoveling pancakes down his throat. Everyone else at the table looks up at you, and says nothing.

“Yeah,” you say, and quickly come up with an excuse. “It was… My tank top got all sweaty from last night, because it was so hot,” you say. You don’t know if they believe it, but JJ pushes an empty plate toward your seat. John B. is the only one who doesn’t look up at you. His eyes are locked in on the scrambled eggs on his plate.

Pope, seated next to John B., immediately points out his bruises.

“Woah, who’d you get into a fight with?” He asks, and John B. goes to cover up the hickey on his neck.

“Someone’s lips last night,” JJ jokes, taking a sip of his juice.

“I walked in on his getting down and dirty,” He explains, and the table ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’. Except for you.

Talk resumes until JJ notices the almost identical bruise on your neck.

“Wait, is that a bruise? Is that…” he says, leaning over the kitchen table to pull at your collar.

“Who the fuck did you get a hicky from?” He asks, and you pull away.

“None of your business, stop being weird.”

Kie gasps, pulling her hands up to her mouth.

“You guys did not…” She starts, and your eyes go wide.

“Did not what?” John B. asks fiercely, trying to play dumb, but just coming off as defensive.

“Guys,” Pope chastises, putting his fork on his plate and leaning back in ihs chair to run a hand through his hair.

JJ finally connects the dots.

“THAT WAS YOU?!”

The table erupts into madness.