nattiebugs

[nattiebugs]

this drew starkey account is a safe space for odessa fans. i won’t tolerate the hate for a woman because yall want a man twice your age. she’s fine as lord, good at acting and singing and yall know it.

[nattiebugs]

the wrong kind of right

chapter one

you’re twenty minutes out from the country club, running barely on time and gripping the wheel a little too tightly, when your car gives its first warning - a strange, spluttering hiccup you can feel through the steering column. then it happens again. and then, just as you’re muttering no, no, no under your breath, the dashboard lights flicker and the engine dies entirely.

the car rolls to a slow, stuttering stop on the gravel shoulder of the highway, completely dead.

“are you kidding me?” you say out loud, like maybe the universe will hear and reverse the decision.

you try the ignition once, twice, a third time. nothing. you reach for your phone, already knowing what’s coming, but still hoping. the screen flashes on - one percent. you barely have time to see toppers text before it goes black.

be early. my mom’s already talking about your resume.

of course she is.

you close your eyes and exhale through your nose. you’re supposed to be halfway through dinner with his parents - cocktails, polite small talk, the right kind of laugh at the right kind of joke. you practiced the stories you’d tell. you researched the wine list. you wore a dress that says i’m polished, but not trying too hard.

and now, here you are: standing barefoot on the side of a two lane highway, holding your heels in one hand, sweating through silk.

the shoulder is soft beneath your feet, sand and pine needles and heat. you cross your arms as headlights finally appear in the distance. you think please let them stop, and at the same time, please let them not be weird.

the van that slows down is loud and old - the kind of rusting, sun-bleached thing you’d associate with surfboards and questionable decisions. it groans as it pulls up in front of you, one of the headlights hanging slightly lower than the other.

and then the door swings open and you recognize him before he says a word.

jj maybank.

he hops down from the driver’s seat, his boots hitting the dirt like a warning. his shirt is sleeveless and stained, and there’s grease on his forearms, a smudge near his temple like he’s been elbow-deep in an engine all day. his blond hair is tousled in a way that looks like it hasn’t seen a comb in weeks.

you remember him vaguely. not well. you ran into him once at a party when you were eighteen - a bonfire where he offered you a beer you didn’t take and then grinned like he knew you wouldn’t. that was the extent of it. you left for college two weeks later. he probably forgot the moment after it happened.

“you alright?” he asks, like he’s not sure you’re real.

“my car died,” you say, trying to sound normal. “and… my phone’s dead too.”

he squints at the hood, then at you. “figures.”

you raise an eyebrow. “figures?”

he shrugs, already walking around the car. “just seems like something that would happen to a car that clean.”

you bite your tongue. you want to be annoyed - you’re already halfway there - but you also don’t have a better option.

“i was on my way to a dinner,” you say, as if that matters now.

he glances over his shoulder, giving you a once over. “you don’t say.”

there’s something dry in his tone, not quite mocking, but amused. you watch as he pops the hood and peers inside. his hands move with a kind of casual confidence - fast, practiced. like this is what he does all the time. like he doesn’t need to think about it.

you just stand there, holding your heels, feeling out of place and overly groomed.

after a few minutes, he straightens and wipes his palms on the front of his pants. “battery’s toast.”

“can you fix it?”

“i can give you a jump. might last long enough to get you into town.”

“please.”

he nods and walks back to his van, pulling out a tangled mess of jumper cables and tossing them over his shoulder like rope. he works quickly, the hum of the crickets filling the space between you.

you glance at him as he crouches near your bumper. “thanks for stopping. most people would’ve just driven by.”

he doesn’t look up. “yeah, well. i’m not most people.”

you swallow.

“i didn’t expect to see you again,” you say before you can stop yourself.

that gets his attention. he glances up at you, expression unreadable. “do i know you?”

you almost laugh. “not really. that boneyard party… senior summer?”

his eyes squint like he’s trying to pull up a foggy memory, then something clicks. “you’re that girl who wouldn’t take the beer.”

you roll your eyes. “that’s me.”

he grins. “figured you for a kook type.”

“i guess i am.” you hesitated.

he doesn’t seem to judge it, just nods like that confirms something he already assumed.

the car coughs back to life on the third try. you let out a breath of relief.

he shuts your hood and steps back. “that should do it for a little while. you’ll need a new battery soon.”

you fumble in your purse, finding your wallet. “can i - let me pay you. or buy you dinner, or -”

he cuts you off with a shake of his head. “don’t worry about it.”

“no, really. i want to. you didn’t have to stop.”

he pauses at that, one hand on his van’s door. “it’s fine,” he says. “see ya princess.”

and that’s it. he gets back into his van. the engine rumbles to life. he doesn’t wait for a thank you or for you to say anything else. he just pulls away, slow and steady, the sound of his tires fading into the dusk.

you stand there alone, the sky dimming into deep blue. your car is running, the air conditioning humming softly, and you finally decide to climb in and plug in your phone.

it takes you just a few seconds to be going down the highway, speeding slightly, and nerves growing.

𝜗ৎ

the country club looks the same as it always does - manicured hedges, valet in black vests, string lights casting a warm, artificial glow. as if trying to pretend it’s casual. as if it doesn’t cost a thousand dollars just to breathe here.

you pull in fast, ignoring the red, flashing warning light on your dash. someone opens your door before you’re fully stopped. your heels hit the pavement with a soft click, and you give the valet a shaky smile.

you can feel the dried sweat on your back, the makeup topper forced you to put on starting to melt away. but you don’t let it show as you walk through the wide glass doors like you belong here - because you technically do. even if you don’t feel that way anymore.

the dining room is all white linen and soft candlelight, the sound of quiet silverware and soft jazz filtering through the clink of crystal.

you spot topper immediately - sitting tall in his chair, blond hair neatly combed and gelled, soft pink colored button down rolled to his elbows. he’s got that easy, practiced smile on his face as he talks to his father, but it falters slightly when his gaze lands on you.

“there she is,” he says with a smile so painfully fake, standing up and leaning in to kiss your cheek. he smells like mint and cologne and familiarity. “we were starting to think you got cold feet.”

his mom lets out a short laugh like it’s a joke, but you hear the edge in his voice.

“i am so sorry mr. and mrs. thornton,” you say quickly, taking your seat when topper pulls it out for you. “my car died on the highway, along with my phone. it’s been… a night.”

he pushes your chair in like he’s performing, then slides back into his own seat. “what happened?”

you smoothed a napkin over your lap. “someone stopped and gave me a jump. also said i should buy a new battery soon.”

his dad raises an eyebrow. “someone?”

“uh yes,” you say simply. “a guy. he helped me.”

topper watches you for a beat too long. there’s a flicker of something in his expression - maybe jealousy, maybe something else. but he lets it go. because this is dinner. with his parents. he knows how to play nice.

his mom leans forward, her diamond earrings catching the light. “well, you’re here now. and thank god. topper was worried we’d have to fill your seat with someone boring.”

you laugh softly like you’re supposed to, but you can’t help but wonder when the dinner was going to end.

𝜗ৎ

after dinner, topper offers to drive you home, and you don’t argue.

your car’s battery is barely hanging on, and your feet are blistered from a night in heels that looked better than they felt. so you slide into his passenger seat, murmuring a soft “thanks” as you buckle up. the ride is quiet - tense in a way that makes your skin itch. topper doesn’t say much, just drums his fingers against the wheel and keeps his eyes on the road like it’s holding back whatever words he’s not letting out.

you pull up in front of your house - small, but clean. a place you and your parents bought together the autumn you turned twenty one. it’s the kind of house people expect from someone like you: safe neighborhood, white shutters, hydrangeas out front. it fits the picture. nice girl. nice life.

you lean over and press a soft kiss to topper’s cheek before stepping out, but he doesn’t linger. his goodbye is short. clipped. he pulls away faster than he needs to, his taillights already shrinking by the time you reach the front door.

he’s still mad. or annoyed. or something. you’re not even sure what exactly - just that your car breaking down and a stranger helping you had somehow offended him. and that, somehow, it was easier not to ask why. not to demand an explanation. not to prod too deep into anything that might make the situation real.

so you don’t.

you punch in the door code and wait for the soft mechanical chime before stepping inside. the air conditioning hums low. the house smells faintly of lavender from the plug-in diffuser your mom insisted on buying you last fall. everything is quiet. you leave the lights on.

you’re not planning to stay up, but you can’t bring yourself to move in the dark. you head straight to your bedroom, peeling off your heels at the door and wincing at the angry red marks across your toes. the zipper of your dress is half-stuck from sweat, but you manage to tug it down, letting the fabric fall in a silent puddle at your feet.

you leave the dress where it lands. you’ll deal with it tomorrow. the kitchen light spills a dim glow down the hallway, catching faint reflections in the framed pictures your mom hung when you first moved in. graduation. a family beach trip. you, smiling too wide in a cap and gown, hands folded neatly like a postcard version of yourself.

you’re still that girl, technically. but the edges feel frayed now. you grab a towel from the linen closet and shuffle into the bathroom, flipping the switch. the soft light makes everything look warmer than it is. you pause for a second in front of the mirror. mascara smudged. your hair limp and curling at the ends. the remnants of a gloss long since faded.

you’re tired. not just in your body, but in the way that makes you feel like your bones are sighing. the shower takes a minute to heat, but when it does, the steam comes quick. you step under the water and let it hit you - first in cold shocks, then in a steady heat that seeps into your skin and unravels the tension from your shoulders.

your thoughts drift, as they always do in the quiet.

you think about the country club. the way topper’s mother had eyed you like you were a final draft that still needed edits. the way topper had held your hand too tightly beneath the table when his father asked about your long-term plans. how your laugh didn’t feel like yours by the end of the night.

but mostly, you think about the highway.

you think about jj.

you hadn’t seen him in years. hadn’t really known him, not the way sarah had. you remembered hearing her talk about him when you were younger, the way her voice would shift slightly when she said his name. softer. warier. “jj’s got his own stuff,” she’d say. “but he’s good. he really is.”.

and then, one summer afternoon, she told you he was living with her and john b now. just dropped it casually while you were folding beach towels. “we fixed up the spare room for him. it’s tight, but he doesn’t care. he likes it better with us.”

you hadn’t thought about that moment until tonight.

when he’d stopped. no questions. no expectations. no weird tension. just a quiet shrug and jumper cables. he didn’t want anything. he barely even waited for a thank you.

you step out of the shower and wrap yourself in your biggest towel, the kind that swallows you whole. you towel your hair dry, then tug on the soft, oversized hoodie you always reach for when your skin feels too thin.

you pad barefoot into the kitchen, aimless, until you’re standing in front of the fridge, your fingers curled around the handle like they’re waiting on permission. and that’s when the idea plants itself.

cookies.

you don’t even fully register it until you’ve opened the pantry door and pulled out the worn recipe card tucked between flour and sugar. your mom wrote it down when you were sixteen. chocolate chip with sea salt. slightly underbaked. the good kind.

you want to make them for him.

jj maybank, who you haven’t thought about in years. jj, who helped you without making you feel like you owed him something. jj, who looked at your heels and your dress and your whole carefully constructed image and didn’t flinch. you want to say thank you in the only way that feels right. not with words. not with a favor. just with something warm. something soft. something sweet.

you pull the mixing bowl down from the shelf and start measuring - flour first, then sugar, then brown sugar that’s gone a little hard in the bag. it’s almost midnight, and your hair’s still damp, and your hoodie sleeves keep falling over your hands.

but you keep going.

the butter melts unevenly in the microwave. you drop the eggshell into the bowl by accident and fish it out with your fingers. the chocolate chips spill more than they pour. you find a little salt stuck in your knuckle and brush it off.

and for the first time all day, you feel like yourself.

not the version you perform at dinners. not the one who nods through conversations about internships and house payments. not the girl who bites her tongue in cars with boys who don’t ask what she wants.

just you. in a kitchen, in the middle of the night. baking cookies for a boy who didn’t expect them.

you slide the first tray into the oven and lean against the counter, letting the smell fill the room. vanilla. butter. brown sugar. the kind of scent that makes you feel like things might be okay, even if they aren’t yet.

you’ll drop them off tomorrow. maybe leave them on the porch if you’re too nervous to knock. maybe write a note, or maybe not.

you’re not sure yet. but for now, this is enough.

the oven ticks softly behind you.

and in the quiet, you let yourself smile.

master list | next chapter

[nattiebugs]

the wrong kind of right

mechanic!jj x kook!reader

in progress!

yn larkin has always been good. she knows how to smile politely, how to keep her skirts the right length, how to say the things people like to hear. her life is neat: summer tennis at the country club, dinner parties she doesn’t care about, college acceptances lined up in color-coded folders. she’s dating the golden boy her parents love. she always chooses the safe thing - the expected thing.

until the night her car breaks down on the edge of town. until the night jj maybank - wild, reckless, absolutely not safe - pulls over in his dented van and asks if she’s okay.

he fixes her car without saying much. refuses the money she awkwardly offers. calls her “princess” and smirks. and drives away like she didn’t just feel the world shift a little.

the next day, she shows up at the surf shop with a box of cookies and a tight smile, unsure why she even came. he raises an eyebrow but takes them anyway.

what she doesn’t expect is how easy it is after that.

anyways… mood boards!

reader!

jj maybank!

guide!

chapter one | chapter two |

[nattiebugs]

so… new series?

[nattiebugs]

sea salt and scars

chapter seven

note - i actually hate this chapter sooooo much. it took me like two days to write it and i just want to die (and i would not blame you if you skipped the first 3 or 5 paragraphs)

it’s been two days since the party. since you saw him. since he was in your bed. since he started pretending with you.

you knew you were fucked from the moment he came up to you and asked you why you weren’t babysitting, because you knew that he knew something was off. and where that went… that was up to you. and you chose the rockiest path. you chose to argue that it didn’t mean anything to you. that being wrapped up in his arms didn’t mean anything. that the kisses you could still feel on your neck meant nothing. that the hickeys on your chest meant nothing.

and he chose to pretend, too. he chose to play along. he chose to play it cool. he chose to leave mid conversation and go drink and laugh with his friends. he didn’t get with a girl that night - no, that would overstep boundaries. whose? you didn’t know. he didn’t either.

another thing you didn’t know was what he was feeling. was he beating himself up as much as you had been? was he blaming himself? was he up until sunrise every day because the decisions he made were haunting him?

you didn’t know.

and honestly, you didn’t want to.

you wanted to ignore one of the - by far - worst decisions of your life. you wanted to forget about it. forget that time had passed. forget that you even left.

but deep down, you knew all of that had happened and you couldn’t do anything to change that. you couldn’t go back in time to when you were sixteen. you couldn’t go back in time to when you went to the beach. you couldn’t go back in time to when you told him you had to babysit.

but you wished you could. because you knew that none of those things were you. you knew that you weren’t a liar. you knew that you weren’t the type to sleep with people you haven’t spoken to in half a decade. you weren’t that.

you were angry.

at him. at yourself. at the space between who you used to be and who you are now.

you were tired of feeling so damn stuck.

because what happened - that night, the morning after, the silence that followed - it was messy, yeah. but it wasn’t the end of the world. not really. you didn’t destroy anything. not permanently.

you just got caught in something old and familiar and confusing. and instead of handling it with grace, you panicked. you shut down. you let fear talk for you. you told him it didn’t mean anything when you knew - both of you knew - it did.

but now, two days later, staring at your reflection in a bathroom mirror that still doesn’t feel like yours, you take a breath. a real one. deep and slow.

you splash water on your face, wipe away the tired, and force yourself to be honest - at least in your head.

you still care about him. you always have. but that doesn’t mean you get to rewrite time. it doesn’t mean you get to step back into something that no longer fits and pretend it still does.

he’s not yours. and you’re not his.

and maybe that’s okay.

you’ve hurt each other. you’ve changed. you’ve grown up — or, at the very least, you want to.

so you decide.

you decide that a text wouldn’t be the end of the world.

𝜗ৎ

jj’s phone!

when your message first came through, he was confused, kind of annoyed, and nervous. and even as he slightly rolled his eyes, he continued to talk to you. because he couldn’t help himself. he had accepted the fact a long time ago. that if you ever wanted to talk, he would be there. no matter the circumstance.

but when you texted “friends?” he wanted nothing but to just erase the past few days from his life. or the past five years. and maybe he was dramatic, but he wished you had never even approached him that day on the beach.

it was just another day. sunny. salty air. beach volleyball. he didn’t exactly enjoy playing the game, but he was there because john b made him come. because it was better than sitting in that suffocating house. because running around in the sand was easier than having to go home to luke.

and then you walked up to him.

he didn’t know who you were - some touron probably here for the summer, probably too soft for this place. you looked like you didn’t belong in the best possible way. bare feet sinking into the sand, jean shorts, a ponytail pulled too high. you had this look on your face - not shy, not hesitant, just curious. bold without trying to be.

“you suck at volleyball,” you’d said, hands on your hips, squinting at him through the sunlight.

and he blinked at you, thrown off. because most people didn’t talk to him like that - not right away. not unless they wanted something or already knew who he was.

but you didn’t. you were just a girl who wandered up and decided to ruin his life in the most infuriating, charming way possible.

“you wanna do better then?” he shot back, a smirk on his face as he crossed his arms.

and that was it. the beginning.

you did play, by the way. and you were better. not at volleyball necessarily, but at getting under his skin. by the end of the game you were trash talking him like you knew him your whole life. by the end of the week, you were riding bikes next to him and getting snow cones. by the end of the summer you were everything.

he hadn’t expected you. not then. not ever really. but you fit - like you’d always been there. like the obx had been waiting to spit you out just for him.

and when you told him that you would be moving to the outer banks, he seemed to fall harder.

and now, five years later, you were asking to be friends. as if that first day - that first spark - never happened. as if he didn’t feel the ground shift underneath him when you called him out on a stupid volleyball game. as if none of it meant anything.

he stared at your message again.

friends?

he remembered your voice that day, the way you laughed when he lost, the smug grin on your face when you won and said, “guess you owe a drink or somethin’.”

he remembered thinking, shit, I’m screwed - not because you beat him, but because something in his chest had clicked into place that hadn’t before.

and it never really unclicked.

so yeah. maybe he’d be your friend now. maybe that’s all this would be.

but he’d never forget the way it started. how you approached him first. how you changed everything. and how he let you.

master list | next chapter

taglist: @rottinglexi, @arietem, @arietemm, @moond0llie

[nattiebugs]

actually dying here 😩😩😩

something my beautiful @lanasangelsz said got me #thinking…..trap!jj would be the type to flash u his gun when u get too mouthy

he’s bitching about something — something you tuned out maybe twenty five minutes ago.

maybe you comin’ in whilst he was working a deal, knowing you weren’t supposed to be around his clients, maybe touchin’ his shit, maybe movin’ his drugs.

who knows at this point, but it was starting to grate on your nerves.

sat at the table as he rolled a joint, blabbering and yapping about how you shouldn’t do that, and how he’s told you to not be doin’ that. it just pissed you off so bad.

“oh my god, would you shut the hell up already!” you cut in, his hands pausing, eyes flickering up to stare at you through his blonde lashes.

then he scoffs — putting the half made joint down, leaning back and spreading his legs wide.

he lifts his shirt up, showing the 9mm resting in his waistband, tucked snugly against his v line.

“yeah?”

he watched your annoyed eyes melt to a starry-eyed, pouty look as your eyes flickered over the gun, the v line, the soft contour of his torso, before up to his face.

tucking your pouty bottom lip between your teeth, you shook your head.

his shirt dropped back down over the gun as he stood, walking over to you. he patted your cheek, just slightly too rough.

“don’t lemme catch you doin’ that shit again.”

[nattiebugs]

shoreline secrets

jjmaybank x oldfriend!reader (blurb)

𝜗ৎ - you and jj dig up an old time capsule you buried together five years before. inside were old things you had deemed as “important” and a letter you never meant for him to read…

warnings - none! zero! zilch!

also, i am kind of reflecting my past experiences into this one yall. so be prepared for (previously) in love nattie! also, SLIGHT hamilton reference.

it had been nearly five years since you stood in front of the pogues and told them you were leaving for college - out of state, out of reach, out of everything that felt like home. you still remembered the way their faces fell, how the air seemed to thin with every word. there were tears - quiet, aching ones from everyone. everyone except jj. and his reaction seemed to be the one that stuck with you the most.

he didn’t say much when you told him. he just stood there, jaw clenched, arms crossed like he was trying to hold himself together. no questions. no goodbye. just a short nod, a scoff, and a sharp flick of his eyes to the ground, like looking at you would make it worse - or maybe make him break. he cracked a joke that nobody laughed at, shrugged like it didn’t matter, and walked off before you could even finish your sentence. but with the way his hands were shaking, you knew that he cared more than anyone in that room.

but it didn’t mean anything right? because that’s what you’ve been telling yourself since you started walking with him along the dune trail behind the boneyard, the sky streaked in hues of orange sherbert and pink cotton candy, the sun dragging its last light over the ocean.

“are you sure it’s really still there?” he asks, kicking at the sand with the side of his boot.

you nod, though you’re not. who knew if it had gotten washed away with the tide or if some kid dug it up while building sand castles. “unless the ocean ate them.”

jj doesn’t laugh. instead, he gives you an unreadable sideways glance.

you two haven’t really talked since you came back - not like this, anyway. not one-on-one. there’s been a few bonfires, parties, and a few accidental shoulder brushes that made your breath catch for reasons you wish would go away. but today when you asked him to come with you, he did.

you reach the spot just as the light starts to fade. it’s nothing special - just a patch of dune with dead sea grass and an old driftwood stump. but to you, it might as well be a time capsule of your teenage self. because it is.

you remember being eighteen, both of you sunburnt and giddy and full of things you didn’t know how to say yet. you remember jj carving his initials into the side of the box, and you remember writing a letter and shoving it into the box before he could bury it in the sand.

now, your fingers are digging into the cool sand, trying to find the metal box. jj drops beside you, wordless, and starts digging too. soon, your hands reach something smooth and slightly grimy. the tin emerges like a ghost - old, rusted at the edges, and still sealed.

jj whistles low under his breath. “well, i’ll be damned.”

you let out a soft laugh, wiping your hands on your legs and crack open the box. inside was dust, a polaroid, a lighter that probably doesn’t work anymore, a CD with don’t laugh, this slaps scrawled across it in faded sharpie. and two folded letters.

jj pulls out the polaroid first - you and him, younger, pressed together like gravity didn’t want to let go. you’re wearing his sweatshirt. he’s got that sun-bleached mop of hair and a grin so wide you almost flinch to look at it.

“god,” he mutters. “we were just kids.”

you don’t say anything. you can’t. there’s too much sitting in your chest.

jj pulls out the letters next. he holds them up - yours and his that you had wrote to each other - the looks at you.

“wanna read these?”

you nod. “let me read the one i wrote first.”

he nods in agreement and you go to grab yours, hands meeting in the middle. his fingers brush yours. you feel it and so does he.

you unfold your letter slowly. the edges are worn, the ink faded, but your handwriting is still the same - slowly written and neat like you were saving the moment. because you felt everything you wrote in this letter. it was real.

my dearest, jj

if you’re reading this, it probably means that i’ve told you about me going away to college and you’re missing me. whether that’s true or not, you’re here and you’re reading this. but anyway, i guess im saying this because i don’t think i ever will out loud.

you’re my best friend. you know that. but i know that you’ve always been more than that, i just never knew if i was allowed to say it. maybe you didn’t feel it. maybe i didn’t deserve to. but every time you laughed, every time you looked at me softly, like i mattered - i swear it felt like the only thing that was ever real.

when i come back, maybe we’ll talk. or maybe we’ll pretend none of this never happened. i don’t know. just… promise you won’t forget me.

i couldn’t forget you if i tried…

i think i love you,

yn

you read it twice. and by the time you looked up, you could see that he was peeking, reading along with you.

he looked up, staring at you like he wants to say something, but doesn’t know how to make it fit into words.

“i kinda wrote mine like you were never gonna read it,” he says quietly. “didn’t think you were gonna come back.”

“i didn’t think you’d still be here,” you admit.

the silence stretches between you - not uncomfortable, but full. he leans back on his hands, looking out toward the water. you watch the wind ruffle his hair, the way the last gold lights glint off his jaw, the curve of his shoulder beneath his worn out hoodie. it’s the same body that used to cannonball off the pier, that used to hold you when you’re problems began to heavy to deal with, that used to walk beside you to get groceries from the store. now, you’re both older. but he still feels like home.

“can i ask you something?” he asks suddenly, not looking at you yet.

you nod.

jj turns his head, and now he’s watching you like he’s memorizing you. every emotion on your face. every movement you make.

“did you mean it?”

you know exactly what he means. the letter. the feelings. all of it. and you don’t hesitate to give him an answer.

“i did,” you say. “i still do.”

he exhales slowly, likes he been holding it in for years.

then, quieter: “can i kiss you?”

his voice is low - almost like he doesn’t trust it, like the words are too fragile to be said out loud. there’s a flicker in his eyes you haven’t seen in years: fear, hope, longing. he’s asking, not assuming. giving you an out. giving himself one, too.

you nod, but this time it isn’t easy. your throat is tight, your heart caught somewhere between your ribs and your mouth, beating so loud you’re sure he can hear it. your breath stutters, but you don’t back away.

he shifts a little closer, one hand moving between you, uncertain at first, like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he touches you too fast. and then he leans in - slow, deliberate, like he’s memorizing the shape of this moment before he steps into it.

when his lips meet yours, it’s not hungry or rushed. it’s soft. careful. reverent. like he’s afraid to want too much, but he does anyway.

you melt into him before you can think better of it - because it’s familiar, god, it’s so familiar. the way his mouth moves with yours, the warmth of his hand brushing your cheek, the salt air clinging to your skin. it’s like slipping into an old dream. like maybe this was always going to happen. like maybe, somehow, it never really ended.

the ocean murmurs behind you, the box with your old letters sits between you in the sand, and for the first time in five years, nothing is being held back.

he pulls away just barely - his lips lingering for a breath, a heartbeat, one last second - before pressing his forehead to yours.

his voice breaks the quiet. soft. steady.

“i’m glad you came back.”

you don’t answer right away. your eyes flutter shut, letting the weight of everything you’ve both carried finally settle.

and when you do whisper back, your voice is barely more than a breath.

“so am i.”

and you meant it.

[nattiebugs]

okay guys so i might be just writing little blurbs until i can get a fucking idea in my head for chapter seven. because i have ideas just like gosh idk. 😭😭😭

SAVE ME

[nattiebugs]

yall i need to write and have no motivation so im gonna go watch hella jj edits to gain it back

[nattiebugs]

[nattiebugs]

okay so i’ve decided im not going to do a flash back and im just gonna let yall figure out slowly

okay yall i just updated but i genuinely don’t know what to do for chapter seven. i was thinking flashback??? to like 5 years ago so we know what happened between them but gosh i suck at flashbacks

[nattiebugs]

okay yall i just updated but i genuinely don’t know what to do for chapter seven. i was thinking flashback??? to like 5 years ago so we know what happened between them but gosh i suck at flashbacks

[nattiebugs]

sea salt and scars

chapter six

note - a lot of writing on this one sorryyy

readers phone!

liked by 682 people

sarahspamz: it’s just getting started. 7pm @ the boneyard!!

view all comments…

jbspeaksforhimself: bros trying to get drunk already

↳ jjmakesbank: count me in

kieluvzbees: don’t come if you don’t want to blackout!!!

↳ ynlarkinbby: i wanna come 🥺

↳ cleopatra: hush little yn don’t you cry

𝜗ৎ

you weren’t supposed to go.

that was the one thing you were certain of when you woke up that morning - puffy eyed, stomach in knots, and still feeling like your skin was trying to peel itself away from your bones. you had made peace with staying in. with disappearing. you even told sarah you might find a random kid to babysit just so you didn’t have to go.

but now you were in the backseat of her car. she was driving. cleo had shotgun. and kiara was beside you, leaning on your shoulder and wrapping her elbow around yours.

“don’t look at me like that,” you snorted quietly when kiara gave you that sideways glance - the one that said ‘i know you better than you think.’

“just making sure you don’t run away from me again,” she said lightly, like a joke. it wasn’t and you didn’t answer her.

cleo turned up the music a little, letting the bass shake the silence out of the car, but it didn’t help. you were too aware of your own breathing. of the way your fingernails dug into the hem of your dress. of the fact that every mile closer to the boneyard made your pulse thrum louder in your ears.

you hadn’t told them what happened. not fully. sarah suspected something. she always did. but you shut her down when she asked if something had gone down last night - if that was why you looked like you hadn’t slept, like your eyes had cried themselves out. you lied. said you were just tired. said you had a migraine. said anything but jj.

because how were you supposed to say it? how were you supposed to tell your best friends that you broke your own rules? that you let him touch you like you hadn’t spent years building distance like a fortress?

you weren’t even sure you could say it out loud yet. it felt like if you did, you’d unravel right there in the back seat.

“you okay?” cleo asked, half turned toward you. her voice was soft, less biting than usual.

you nodded once. “just hot.”

not a lie. the air felt too thick, too sticky, like it was trying to suffocate you.

the closer you got, the louder the music from the party became. you could see the glow of firelight between the trees and silhouettes moving against it like shadows come to life. voices were already echoing, laughter cutting through the trees like static. you knew he’d be there. that was the gamble.

your fingers trembled when they wrapped around the door handle, and your knees felt too soft to hold you up when you stood.

“we’ll stick together, yeah?” sarah asked, already looping her arm through yours.

you gave her the closest thing to a smile as you could. but your heart wasn’t in it. it was still in the hallway of your grandmother’s house. still echoing against old floorboards. still somewhere between a whisper and a slammed door. still tangled in jj’s hands. and the second you stepped into the clearing, you realized something that made your breath catch in your throat.

you weren’t ready for this. not even close.

𝜗ৎ

he was mid-laugh when you showed up. something pope said - something dumb enough to break the edge he’d been walking since the moment he showed up. he tilted his head back, letting the beer fall down his throat, ready to drown in another second of pretending.

he didn’t notice you pulling up, and you didn’t notice him. it wasn’t until later - after various drinks and many cigs - that he caught a glimpse of your white dress and leather jacket. the white dress that you always wore when you didn’t know what to wear and the leather jacket that used to be your grandfathers.

he still had some sense left. sense to remember how you looked at him before you told him he needed to leave this morning. sense to remember that nobody needed to know. sense to remember you had said you were babysitting. but no sense, however, to know when it was acceptable to come up to you. and that was exactly what he did.

he made his way over to you, ignoring john b and pope’s voices as he did. you weren’t supposed to be here and that was the only reason he came. there had to be a reason you were here and he needed to figure it out.

you, sarah, kie, and cleo were surrounding the fire, trying to get warm. that was until you heard footsteps from behind you. you already knew who it was. you had been expecting it all night. nevertheless, you turned around - stupidly turned around. and the second your eyes met his, a wave of guilt washed over you, leaving you defeated.

your mouth parted to say something, but it was too late - he had beat you to it.

“thought ya had to babysit.”

his voice was low, rough. he wasn’t asking. he was telling you. telling you that he knew something.

you blinked up at him. “said they didn’t need me anymore.”

he huffed a bitter laugh, looked down at the dirt like maybe it could ground him. “‘course they did.”

silence stretched between you like a barbed wire fence - tight, sharp, dangerous. you looked back to where the girls had been, only to find that they were gone. most likely to give you and jj some space.

you eyed him. he looked good and you couldn’t deny it. with his black shortsleeve shirt exposing his tanned biceps and his jeans doing nothing to stop you from looking, you stared for a second. and that didn’t go unnoticed by jj.

he saw it - the flicker in your eyes. the split second your gaze lingered too long. and it did something to him. cracked something open that he’d been trying all night to keep sealed. if it were any other time, under any other circumstances - jj would’ve acknowledged it. but tonight was hardly the time.

he moved his hands to his pockets, desperately trying to keep them from doing something he would never forgive himself for. to keep him from reaching out and hugging you like he was seventeen again. “y’know,” he started, voice quieter now, “ya don’t gotta lie t’me.”

you straightened instinctively, chin tilting up, a reflex you’d never quite grown out of. defense mode. always.

“i’m not lying.”

you hated how brittle it sounded. how hollow. because you were lying. and it was methodical. and you felt like a piece of shit.

“bullshit,” he said. it came out sharp, but there was no fire behind it. just ash. just tired. just wounded.

his eyes swept over you, taking in your crossed arms, the half shrug of your shoulders, the way your body angled slightly away from him like you were preparing to leave. he knew you - that you only folded in like that when you felt exposed. you were hiding from him. from what was unsaid. from what still hung between you like smoke.

and you hated that. hated how well he could still read you, even now. hated that it made your throat feel tight and your eyes sting in a way you refused to give in to.

“you don’t get to be mad,” you said finally. it came out softer than you’d intended - not weak, but weary. tired of the weight of it all.

jj cocked his head, something bitter threading through the ghost of a smile. “who said i was mad?”

you raised an eyebrow, skeptical.

“you showed up to a party you didn’t wanna go to. you’re standing here looking at me like i ruined your night.”

and god, he was looking at you like that. like he didn’t mean to, but couldn’t help it.

he ran a hand through his hair, his eyes darting toward the ocean like maybe he could disappear into it - or get some fucking air.

“you didn’t ruin anything.”

but it didn’t sound true. not even to him. what he meant was: i ruined it. i ruined us. or maybe you did. i don’t even know anymore. but he didn’t say any of that. couldn’t.

“then why’d you come over here, jj?” you were clutching your arms tighter now, your voice like a whisper wrapped in something sharp. “if you weren’t gonna be mad. if you weren’t gonna talk about it. why come over at all?”

he froze. and for the first time all night, he really looked at you. not at the dress. not at the jacket. but at you. the same person who used to laugh at his dumb jokes, who used to share her fries without asking, who used to trust him with everything.

now a stranger he still knew by heart.

“because you weren’t supposed to be here,” he said finally. the truth spilling out like it had been strangled in his chest. “and i didn’t know what that meant. for you. for me.”

and there it was. what he could say. what he couldn’t let go of.

you swallowed hard, hating how much that line shook you. you felt the pull - that same ache from last night, from the morning after, from the moment the door closed and you pretended it didn’t feel like goodbye.

“it doesn’t have to mean anything,” you said.

and the second the words left your lips, you wished you could take them back. they burned. turned to ash before they even fully settled. you didn’t mean it. not really. you just didn’t know how to mean anything out loud when it came to jj.

he stepped back like you’d slapped him. not physically, but in that slow kind of way that hurt worse. the kind where he was trying not to show it - but couldn’t quite hide the hit.

he nodded slowly, jaw clenched so tight he could feel it in his teeth.

“cool.”

it shattered something in you. not loud - but quiet, aching, hollow. you wanted to reach for him. say wait. say i didn’t mean that. say this meant everything. but your mouth wouldn’t move. your body wouldn’t move. your heart stayed locked behind your ribs like it was too afraid of what would come out if you let it speak.

so he turned away, going back to his boys, and sipping on his beer.

and for the first time, getting the last word in made you want to fall to your knees and die.

master list | next chapter

taglist: @rottinglexi, @arietem, @moond0llie

[nattiebugs]

okay yall. sadly, i will be kinda busy today so expect an update anywhere from 3pm to 8pm CST. i hate leaving yall without an update, but unfortunately am interning and i can’t miss that. :(

[nattiebugs]

yea, i’m fixing to start writing again. just needed some mexican food and now im whole again

yall after this next post i am taking a BREAK i’ve been nonstop writing for two days lmao. and i love it. but i need a small break. (catch me writing tonight)

[nattiebugs]

yall after this next post i am taking a BREAK i’ve been nonstop writing for two days lmao. and i love it. but i need a small break. (catch me writing tonight)

[nattiebugs]

sea salt and scars

chapter five

readers phone!

liked by 526 people

ynlarkinbby: who can clean up now??

tagged: sarahspamz, cleopatra, kieluvzbees

view all comments…

sarahspamz: ugh we’re so funny i hope we don’t go bald

jbspeaksforhimself: so yall hate us?

↳ ynlarkinbby: dwayne get out of my fuckin comment section!!!

rafesupurass: day drinking i see

↳ sarahspamz: snorting coke again i see?

↳ rafesupurass: i was nineteen 😒

cleopatra: the towel is a statement piece okay?

kieluvzbees: i used to pray for times like these 🙂‍↕️

𝜗ৎ

jj’s phone!

jj sat on the edge of his bed, hunched over, elbow resting on his knees, thumbs aimlessly twiddling a frayed string from his shorts. the silence in his room was usually comforting- sometimes even necessary - but today, it felt as if the silence was louder than everything in his mind.

he hadn’t slept since he’d gotten home - hadn’t even tried. he slipped out of your house almost the minute you told him to leave, in nothing but a pair of sweatpants because you had stole his shirt and a mind full of questions he couldn’t answer.

every mile on the way back home he spent convincing himself that it didn’t mean anything. that he didn’t care. that it was just a one time thing. except the problem was, he did care. and it wasn’t just a one time thing - at least in his head. because you don’t spend the night tangled up in someone you once swore you’d never talk to again without something breaking.

and something definitely broke.

his phone buzzed against the mattress beside him. he didn’t need to look. he already knew that it was the pogue’s telling him that he had to go to the party.

jj sighed and let his head fall back, eyes shut tight. of course he had to go to the party. of course everyone expected him to show up like it would magically make him okay again. but then again, he couldn’t blame them. there was no possible way they could know that he had slept at his first love’s house the night before.

he ran a hand down his face, groaning softly. a part of him wanted to bail. disappear for the night. he could take his bike, ride out past the cut, find a dock and sit until the sun came up. maybe smoke until he couldn’t remember the way you looked at him in the dark. the way you let yourself soften for just a moment, like all the time between you two hadn’t happened.

but he couldn’t skip. not without kiara giving him hell. not without john b or sarah dragging him out of the bedroom like he was going to relapse or run away. and he didn’t need that attention.

what made it slightly easier (barely) was knowing you wouldn’t be there. he had seen it in the group chat, that you had to babysit for an old friend. he took a second when he saw it to think about any friends that you had that may have had kids. when he couldn’t think of any, he just thought it was someone he didn’t know. but the moment he saw the text, something in his chest released.

he wasn’t ready to see you again. not yet. not after how fast you told him to leave this morning. not after how quiet you got when he told you good morning, and didn’t get anything back but a closed door.

jj stood, ran his fingers through his hair, and paced his room. the walls felt too close. the air too thick. he should’ve known better. should’ve walked away when he saw you on the beach and looked like you hadn’t slept in days. should’ve known that the way you said his name - soft and sharp all at once - would undo him. but he didn’t.

and now here he was, trying to convince himself he could face everyone and pretend like nothing had changed. like he hadn’t just set fire to the one thing he swore he’d never touch again. the worst part was that he didn’t regret it. that scared the shit out of him.

jj reached for the lighter on his desk, flicking it on and off, flame dancing at his fingertips. he didn’t light anything with it - just held it like he needed to feel heat. something real. because last night had been real. too real. and if he wasn’t careful, it’d ruin him. again.

so he’d go to the party. he’d show up and laugh too loud and drink too much and flirt with someone who wouldn’t look at him like you did. because pretending was easier than admitting the truth.

he still wanted you. he never stopped.

𝜗ৎ

liked by 271 people

jjmakesbank: almost time for a good time and don’t threaten me with it

view all comments…

kieluvzbees: that caption made no sense

↳ jjmakesbank: bro fuck off. just wait til i see you bitch

popessecretlife: cleo is he bothering you queen?

↳ cleopatra: yes pls save me

jbspeaksforhimself: why did bro have to clip me like that

master list | next chapter

note - i DESPISE adding tags to posts. it feels like it takes longer than actually writing the story.

taglist: @rottinglexi