wackywritings

[wackywritings]

Rafe Cameron - Stare into my eyes

Summary: Y/N and Rafe have a complicated relationship. One minute they're on the brink of kissing, the next they're fighting because he's wanting to get high again.

Warnings: cursing, mentions of drugs, fighting.

If it wasn't for the loud music at Barry's and the chatter of people under the influence of god knows what concoction of substances, perhaps she would've heard him arrive on his bike. But alas, she didn't. She was blisfully oblivious as he stumbled up the few steps leading to the trailer, his eyes searching the crowd for her.

"Country club! What you doin' here bro?" It was Barry's voice that made her blood run cold, the conversation she was previously engaging in long forgotten. He was here.

She stood up abruptly, her chair scraping over the wooden floor making an awfully high-pitched sound, piercing the ringing in her ears. She passed by him on her way to Barry's bathroom, not even having to spare him a glance to know he was trailing close behind as soon as he tracked her movement, only to leave a confused Barry behind. He never quite understood the relationship between the two. It's a good thing she didn't look up at him, because she would've no doubt seen the change in his eyes upon meeting hers; hard eyes void of emotion, fleeting around the room anxiously turning into a soft gaze that didn't focus on anything but her. If it wasn't him, now, it would've been almost endearing.

But it was.

He followed her into the bathroom, locking the door behind him as soon as they were both in the cramped space. It was quieter here, but instead of bringing some peace, it only made their thoughts louder. She wasn't looking at him yet, her back to him as he pondered over how to break the silence. How to address this wrack-up of a matter he'd gotten himself into.

"So. I'm a bit high." He cringed immediately after the words left his mouth, internally cursing at himself.

"Yeah, I figured that much, Cameron." She held up her hands in exasperation, but her frustation soon turned into worry as she finally took in the boy's appearance. His right eye sported a new bruise, green and purple and red mixing together on his sunkissed skin.

"You're hurt."

"Clearly. Why else would I get high?"

"Because you have an addiction?" Her eyebrows raised as she crossed her arms over her chest. She was not afraid of him in the slightest. "C'mon, Y/N." His tone was pleading, no, begging. In any other instance, he would've loved her having an attitude, doing anything in his power to rile her up even more. But right now he just needed someone to take care of him.

Her stance softened considerably as she took in the rest of his appearance: the bags beneath his eyes, the locks of hair - not gelled back like usual - sticking to his forehead that was covered in a sheen of sweat, not unlike his polo.

"Okay." She whispered, ever so slowly nodding her head, before moving past him to unlock the door. He didn't smell like the cologne he normally wore, a mix of alcohol and sweat floating between the small space between them. "Let's get you something to change into, alright?" Though she didn't wait for his answer as she opened the door, moving straight to Barry's room.

"You gonna dress me in a wifebeater or some shit?" He inquired with a chuckle as he followed her, plopping himself down on the bed as he intently watched her rummage through Barry's wardrobe. Most of his high had worn off already, and he could begin to feel it.

"Are you kidding? He'll notice it's his and have your ass for it. I'm sure he has some decent shirts he never wears. It'll be less obvious." She reasoned as she opened multiple drawers to find what she was looking for. A victorious 'aha' left her as she finally found what she was after, turning around with the blue longsleeve held high in her hand, only for her proud expression to change into shock, her mouth hanging open.

He'd taken the liberty of taking his shirt off already, something she hand't noticed him doing. She should've said something- anything, so he wouldn't question her change in demeanor. Joked teasingly with him, or even just asked if he thought it would fit. But she couldn't utter a single word as she looked at him. His shoulders broad, arms more muscular than she imagined them to be under his usual attire. Not to mention his chest, or the muscles in his abdomen that rippled underneath his skin (God it looked so soft. She wondered what it would feel like under her grazing fingertips) as he moved to stand up from the bed. She felt her heart hammer against her chest, flushed cheeks as she tried to look anywhere but his shirtless form.

"Gonna give me that?" He was pointing to the shirt still firm in her hand, an amused look on his face. The smugness made her snap out of it - as if his ego needed any more boasting.

"Don't flatter yourself." She scoffed, though she made no attempt to throw him the shirt. It took three, maybe four quick strides for him to be right up in her personal space. She was trying to stand her ground, straighten her back and keep eye contact to seem less affected by their current predicament. She was sure he could hear the hammering of her heart anyway. "Just took me off guard, 's all." She managed to murmur, bringing her bottom lip between her teeth to keep herself from shyly smiling.

He wasn't one to play with her feelings - he knew the kind of effect he had on her. But he quite enjoyed dancing around the subject with her, flirting and teasing and tender touches shared after spending long days together. It was their thing. He had convinced himself it was all he needed from her. God forbid he was honest about how much she meant to him, how much he craved her presence.

"Hm. Did you rather have me change in the bathroom, doll?" He came incomprehensibly closer to her, a breath too deep would have their chests touch. His eyes were boring into hers, now at eye level with her as he bent down slightly.

"I-" She wanted to say something. Tell him a warning would've been sufficient, adding a wink just to tease him back. Maybe say she wanted to be the one to take his shirt off, if she so dared. But his blue eyes were so mesmerising - specs of light shimmering in the dark blue pools of his irises, his pupils focused on her and only her. She could look away to stop the tight feeling from spreading in her chest, sure, but then she'd have to look at his large shoulders covered in freckles and sweat, or his chest rising with every breath he took. Warm breaths that she could feel hit her lips ever so softly. Getting lost in his eyes really was the only option she had. Inevitably, so was losing her words.

And it made him smile. A real, genuine smile. If he wasn't so close perhaps she wouldn't have noticed the way his eyes twinkled, how creases at the corner of his eyes formed, how that dimple arose on his chin.

As if that wasn't enough to make her weak at the knees and her breath hitch in her throat, the bolt of electricity that she felt when his long fingers touched hers, tracing around them like it was some kind of game to him, would've done her in.

"That's what I thought." His voice was raspy and dangerously low as he whispered it - so close to her mouth she wished he would just close the goddamn gap already. But it's Rafe, so of course he didn't. He just tugged on Barry's shirt held tight between her fingers, grabbing it and putting it on a split second later.

"How do I look?" His questioned as he couldn't find a mirror in the room, hopefully glancing at her.

"Peachy." She nodded as she wiped her hands on her jeans. She was upset at the loss of proximity, so perhaps what was supposed to be a comment of teasing nature came out harsher than she meant. Something that didn't go lost on him. Maybe he did take it too far just now.

"Alright, well. I gotta find Barry." He discarded her previous comment, rubbing his nose. The high had officially worn off completely now, and he was dying for more. Though he wasn't sure if it was because he wanted to forget his earlier fight, or forget her. How he felt about her, and how he wasn't ever gonna be enough for her. How he would never have the guts to do something about it.

"Rafe-" She started sternly, glaring at him. Though she quieted down as he held his hands up.

"No, not this again, okay? You don't have shit to say about this, you hear me?"

"What, that's it?" She let out a dry laugh as she stood in front of him, blocking the door. "You're just gonna get high again. Seriously?"

"Y/N, don't start with me now." His voice was threatening now, glaring on the edge of venomous.

"It always ends the same, Rafe, and you were high just minutes ago. Don't you think that was enough? Don't you ever get bored of this shit?" She was asking too many difficult questions for his liking. Her tone was exasparated, too. Tired of having to deal with him and his stupid issues. Of having to patch him up and take care of his pathetic self that just couldn't get fucking clean. He felt the urge to scream, but bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from acting on it.

"What, you're not even gonna say anything?"

"Stop." He gritted his teeth, jaw clenched as he spat at her.

She threw her hands up, before running them through her hair. How was she supposed to stay calm - or approach this situation when he wouldn't even talk to her?

"I just- you're hurting people with this. You're not you, Rafe. Not anymore. I mean look at you." She gestured towards him.

"You don't know who I am."

"But I do!" She all but screamed at him. He kept his composure and his cold glare, but she noticed the way his shoulders tensed upwards at her outburst. So she closed her eyes and took a deep breath to try and calm herself down. "I know you. You're sweet and gentle and caring and so incredibly smart."

"Y/N." He wasn't used to compliments, or feeling this many emotions, for that matter. He could feel the need for another line coursing through every inch of his body. He just needed a little bit. Just needed to be able to breathe again.

"No, I'm serious. You're a great brother to Wheezie, you're great to me."

"Don't." He twisted his head to the side, his eyes rolling back as he felt his whole body heating up again, Barry's shirt no doubt already showing sweat stains. But she was far too invested in telling him how amazing he was, eyes trained on the ground as her brows furrowed, words flowing from her mouth at such a rate that in any other situation would've made him wonder where she found the time to breathe. So she didn't listen nor notice how he was struggling.

"You're always trying to please your father."

"Y/N, do not-"

"No, Rafe. I know how much he means to you, but you're never gonna be able to please him if you keep using! He's just going to keep abusing you and you're gonna keep being disappointed and running to Barry to stop yourself from feeling it."

He was proper boiling right now. Sweat was trickling down his forehead, jaw shut tight as he balled his fist at his side. They always say anger looks red, but even with his eyes shut tight all he saw was white. Pure, white, blinding rage. Everywhere in his mind - dying to creep out all at once.

"And it's just this vicious cycle that's never gonna end. And I worry for the day that it becomes your death, Rafe!" She all but yelled his name, voice hoarse and filled with unplaceable emotions.

"Shut your fucking mouth!" He bellowed out, two quick steps bringing him right in front of her, his fist making contact with the door behind her before he even knew he moved his fist in the first place. She cowered down at the proximity of the sound. His body was flush against hers now, even closer than they were before. He was breathing hard, his arms on either side of her as he trapped her between him and the door. His skin touching hers felt hot and damp, but it still made her shiver. Not in a good way though, not like before.

The worst of it all wasn't even his anger, or the drugs, or the fact that she knew she wouldn't be able to stop him.

It was his eyes.

The ones that she had so lovingly stared into mere minutes ago. The ones that held so much adoration and passion for her. The ones that twinkled under the light, sparkled with mischief as he playfully teased her. The ones that she could look into and feel safe - no matter what. The ones that she considered to belong to her home.

They were darker now. Harsh and fierce, flaring up with anger as he looked into her frightened eyes. His eyebrows were furrowed hard, a frown between them. The shadows they casted leaving sharp edges prominent on his face. The specs of light weren't not visible anymore, they were simply gone. She couldn't even distinguish the blue from his pupils. She'd never been the subject of his rage before, and she never understood how most people feared him. But now? As he looked down on her with no emotion but anger written on his face, he looked scary to her for the first time. And she wondered if his eyes would ever feel the same again as her own filled with tears.

"Don't talk about my father again." His voice was strained but louder than she expected. He leaned into her even more to give power to the threathening statement, before completely pushing off. Large hands wrapped around her arms, fingers digging into her skin bordering on putting enough pressure to leave a bruise. He forced her away from the door. Perhaps he expected more of a struggle from her, but she was so shocked by his behaviour that she could only take small and hasty steps away from the door, scared to anger him more. He janked the door open, the sound of the loud bass of the music hitting her ears. The sensory stimulation was too much for her to bear, and she looked up both in a prayer for him to leave and to keep the tears from falling.

"And don't talk to me. We're done." He added. She wanted to look into his eyes. As much as they scared her now, she needed to know if they held any more emotion than his completely void voice just did. But he'd already slammed the door shut.

She was left looking at the closed door as she finally allowed the tears to soak her cheeks.

[wackywritings]

Rafe Cameron - hurt

"Rafe?" Her question was uncertain, quivering lips doing nothing to hide her anxiety-ridden thoughts. She had nothing to be afraid of if it was the boy she thought it was. But if it wasn't, someone was currently breaking into her bedroom through her window, and she'd have no way to defend herself.

"Yeah." His voice threaded through the darkness of her room. She'd let out a relieved breath at the familiarity of it, but she had no reason to be relieved. If anything, the very sound of his voice, nothing but a strained whisper, should make her worry. The clicking noise of her bedroom window shutting making her so very aware of his presence in her room. Once again.

His footsteps surfaced, then, and it only took a couple before he was at her side. She could barely make out his form, the outline of muscular thighs replaced by broad shoulders as he crouched down next to her bed. For a second she thought she saw his hand reach out to her, and thoughts of him tenderly stroking her face with his large hands, perhaps tracing a calloused finger over her lips, which she would part to huff out a shaky breath she'd be holding way too long, surfaced in her mind.

Instead he reached for her bedside lamp. The light made her eyes squeeze shut for a second, and she knew he must be surpressing a laugh at how ridiculously pathetic she looked as she did. Her messy hair sprawled out across her pillow and the shirt he'd left here last time engulfing her body as it functioned as her pyjama top no doubt adding to that image.

For a moment she thought her worry over him had been for nothing. That he was finally here because he wanted to be, and not because he had to. But when her eyes adjusted to the light she realised she'd been wrong to think that way, and she quickly sat upright.

"Jesus, Rafe." Her eyes raked over his face, examining the bruise forming underneath his eye that blossomed far out to the side of his face, the dried blood underneath his nose that had dripped onto his lips. It must leave a metallic taste on his mouth that she wouldn't mind taking away at all. She'd stare at the droplets a little while longer if she wasn't so aware of his gaze being directly on her. So she looked into his eyes, concern written all over her face.

"It's nothing, Y/N."

"What even-"

His large hand coming up into the air as he angled his head signalled for her to not ask that question. What even happened? It was a simple question, one that he no doubt knew the answer to. But he didn't allow her to know it too. The second to last time he'd come to her, she'd learned later that he'd fought with JJ. He looked worse than Rafe did, admittedly because she'd iced his cheek to prevent any swelling. But she couldn't help but wonder if he had felt worse about it. Hurting her friends.

"Am I gonna have to lie to my friends again?" She questioned then.

"Y/N." It was pleading, tired, desperate, annoyed. Her question had crossed a line. If he talked to her more, perhaps told her more about himself so she could piece together what he was all about, she'd know he wasn't mad at her question. Simply afraid that whatever judgement she had towards him would stop her from taking care of him. From caring about him.

So he answered. "No." It was firm, and his voice was hoarse. But it was honest. "This was Topper." A dry laugh emanated from his lips, his gaze at her so serious it would be unbearable had they been in any other predicament then they were now. She was confused, sure, but she'd asked enough questions for the day, so she kept her mouth shut as she nodded her head towards her ensuite.

It was routine now. He'd lean against the sink, entrapping her between his legs as she worked on the cuts and bruises. Hisses leaving his lips involuntarily anytime she applied a little too much pressure. Softer touches would follow, as would her muttered 'sorry' and shushes as she took care of him. She'd try time and time again to find any sign of pain in his eyes, but he always had them closed. It wasn't pain, though. No. It was pure bliss at her tender care, at finally having someone there for him. It was also because he knew her well enough that with one look into his eyes, she would unravel him like a ball of yarn; all his worries and twisted thoughts and pain would be displayed to her. Most importantly, she'd see the love he held for her. And he was sure he wouldn't find the same in her eyes.

"All done." She whispered after a while, taking a step back from him. His sign to open his eyes again. "You gonna be okay?"

He nodded, swallowed thickly before smiling a wry smile. She was talking about more than just his injuries- and he knew that. But he couldn't bring himself to open up to her. Not yet, anyway.

"At least tell me Topper looked worse." She tried to lighten the mood. Sensing his discomfort, wanting to push further but dancing around it nonetheless.

"Nah. He kicked my ass." He chuckled. Swiped a hand across his lips to hide his smile, a habit that she'd picked up on way back when he came here the first time.

"Get him next time, then."

"Are you condoning violence now, Y/N?" He tsked at her.

"I would never do such thing." But the smile on her face betrayed the fact that she was, even though she was merely teasing him.

"Hm. Sure. Not as innocent as you look, are ya?" He pushed himself off the sink, taking a step closer to her.

"You're not as good of a fighter as you'd think, either." She crossed her arms across her chest.

He had to look away, then. It gave her the opportunity to momentarily stare at his lips again, only to realise that he was biting them at her remark. She had to look away a lot quicker than she'd wanted, sucking in a breath as she did. He would no doubt be surprised at the blush that adorned her cheeks as he looked back at her.

"You're really not afraid of me, are you?" It was an earnest question stemming from her challenging remark, and as he looked at her flushed cheeks, her doe-like eyes staring up at his figure, he realised he didn't have to ask it in the first place.

The shaking of her head only confirmed his thought.

He didn't know why he responded the way he did. He could've taken another step closer, engulfed her figure in a tight hug, kissed the top of her head. Thanked her for what she did for him. Really thanked her. But instead he felt bitterness. Tasted it, too, combined with the metallic taste of blood that suddenly resurfaced. His brows furrowed, and he just knew she noticed the tears that formed in his eyes but never once spilled. The anger in his eyes made her drop her arms to her side. His whole body felt stiff all of a sudden, his shoulders tensing as he balled his fists. Her expression changed as he did, her lips tightly shut together at his abrupt change in attitude. He scoffed, took an uncertain step backwards before turning his back to her. He had all intention of leaving without another word. But he doubted himself. Like he did all the fucking time. His hands were brought up to his hair, fingers raking through his locks before tugging on them in frustration.

He only turned his head halfway as he couldn't resist the urge to look at her. His jawline sharp as his jaw clamped shut, the dim bathroom light overhead made the contour all the more prominent, as it did to the bruise contrasting his pale skin. He knew with the way he was staring at her, he looked intimidating. He'd seen plenty of people sink into their own when they'd see him like this. The thought made his eyes roll back. She had dropped her shoulders, her eyes wide as she kept her gaze on him. Not in fear, but in disappointment. She, too, had hoped their little teasing had lasted longer. God, why was he like this.

"You should be." The bitterness seeped through, bordering on the line between a sneer and a threat.

And he left her there. Climbed out the window just as he'd come in. Sure, he'd come back as soon as he got beat up again. They'd never even mention this night. But it would play on his mind like a record player that had gotten stuck.

Truth is, he was scared. Not because he thought she was going to hurt him like everyone else did.

But because he knew she wouldn't.

[wackywritings]

Stupid things - Joel Dawson

“You know, if you got a dollar for every stupid thing you did, you’d be rich by now.”

Joel gave you a hearty chuckle as you tended to the cut on his handpalm. He could make a mean minestrone, but cutting vegetables seemed to be a challenge every time he did it. 

He looked at you intently as you finished up bandaging his hand. 

“Thanks.” he said. 

You knew he didn’t just mean patching him up. He was alone, still looking for his girlfriend, and had trouble dealing with the trauma and aftermath of the apocalypse. Living underground for 7 years wasn’t easy after all. Especially when everyone else was banging each others’ brains out all the time. But you had each other, and it was good to be able to talk to someone about literally anything. He felt like he owed you big time for everything you’d done for him, from helping him through his nightmares to complimenting his drawings whenever he felt insecure about them. 

“Yeah yeah, whatever. Just make sure you put ‘kitching knives’ in your little dangerous monsters guide.” You joked as you lightly punch his chest, moving aside to put the first aid kit away. Talking about your feelings was never one of your fortes, but Joel knew your friendship meant as much to you as it did to him. 

“Ah, next to the bigass man-eating ants of course. They’re surely equally as dangerous.” He nodded along.

“If only you find a way to take out those bastard knives, huh? I don’t think shooting them will work.” you looked over your shoulder as you pondered out loud. “Maybe paying attention to what you’re doing will help? Make sure to put that down in that book of yours, Joel!” you laughed as he pretended to be hurt by what you had just said. 

“I’ll show you, alright. That book’s gonna save lives one day!” 

You walked up to him, suddenly a serious look on your face, your hand coming to rest on his shoulder. You didn’t notice the way his joking demeanor changed as he looked up at you with those big brown eyes. Or how he shivered and swallowed thickly at your gentle touch. 

“Sure it will, keep on dreaming Joel.” you said as you erupted in laughter again, patting his shoulder mockingly before walking out of the room. 

He could only chuckle as he lightly rubbed the spot on his shoulder where your hand rested moments ago. 

If only he got a dollar for every stupid thing he did, maybe he could buy a manual on how to ask a girl out.

[wackywritings]

Bet there’s more  - General Kirigan

His eyes focused on her posture. She looked good, elegant. Her hands were clasped in front of her, her shoulders not at all slumped like when he first met her. She wasn’t looking at him, but he knew she could feel him watching her intently if she was willing to pay the slightest more attention to her surroundings. 

But she wasn’t paying attention. Not to him, and not to Genya talking to her about which colours would go best with her dress, most certainly. 

He studied her face, tilting his own head slightly to avoid the light of the chandelier from blinding his eyes. Her eyebrows were slightly raised as she bit her bottom lip, her gaze far away as Genya was talking to her still. He could tell she wanted to smile, although anyone who didn’t know her like he did had no clue of what her expression meant. 

Love.

Of course not towards him. He tried, thought he could have her, too. But she was too stubborn. He hadn’t expected her to be so determined when he first met her. She was more hesitant then, almost like a child, so reserved. He didn’t think he’d feel anything for her then. But she became more outspoken, prompting him to tell her all about him and the Grisha, biting back whenever she didn’t agree with his ways. He knew he shouldn’t have, but he felt comfortable with her instantly. No one had ever dared to engage in conversation with him. Not like that, anyway. It was intriguing, just like she was. 

No, she only had eyes for Mal. The way she talked about him made his face twist up in disgust. He seemed to be her light in the darkness, always there for her to cheer her up. They’d been friends for a long time, but he was willing to bet there was more. To bet that he looked at her with more adoration than Mal ever could. But Mal was a hero in her eyes, something he would never be. He never wanted to either. It had always seemed better in his mind to live in the shadows than be in the spotlight. 

He was still looking at her. She absentmindedly nodded at Genya, searching the room for him. Quickly she met his eyes, giving him a tight lipped smile. He knew this place made her nervous, he had seen her fidget wit her kefta far too many times, and so he gave her a curteous nod. She looked away too soon for his liking, wondering if she still got that flustered around him. He didn’t miss the way her eyes twinkled at his reassurance, though. 

Maybe a little sunshine could break the rainy days after all. 

[wackywritings]

Rafe Cameron - Forget her

He was on the boat with Topper and Kelce when he first saw her. She was walking along the beach, her feet splashing the water with every step she took. She was listening to music; he could tell even from a distance by the way her head bopped along to the rhythm and the way she tapped her fingers against her thigh. He really wanted to ask her what she was listening to. He imagined it’d be some old indie band he had probably never heard of.

The first time they talked was at a kegger organised by the pogues. She was hanging around them all night, talking to Pope and dancing with Kie to a particularly catchy song. She was laughing with her friend, not taking the dancing seriously at all, but still he thought she was more captivating than the girls dancing to get guys’ attention. Rafe stood to the side, sipping his drink while looking at her movements. He knew then that pursuing his crush - as his friends had mockingly called it - was not an option. Her being a pogue was enough for him to try and shake her from his mind. He looked away from her and Kie dancing and finished the last of his drink. If something was to help him forget everything, it was getting absolutely shitfaced.

Walking over to grab another drink, he impatiently waited for the person in front of him to finish when he felt a push in his back. He stumbled forward and was about to turn around with a scowl on his face, ready to punch whichever guy was messing with him now, when he was instead met with a string of soft spoken apologies. It was her. Her eyes were wide and her cheeks slightly flushed - probably from the dancing combined with embarrassment from bumping into him - as she kept apologising profusely. His gaze softened immediately and he quickly let out a ‘no worries’ that sounded way more confident than he felt in that moment. Briefly she squeezed his muscular arm to make sure he was okay, before turning and making herself and Rafe a drink. He took it from her and thanked her. He was in such a daze by her soft touch and her kindness that when he remembered to ask for a name she was already a few steps away, making her way back to her unsuspecting friends. She answered him anyways with a wink sent his way before she disappeared in the partying crowd.

So much for forgetting about her.

[wackywritings]

Rafe used to be the sweetest guy. He was loyal to his friends, protective of his little sister and caring towards tourons. Even if back then he didn’t get the love he so desperately needed from his parents - his father especially - he was still a good person.

The combination of pressure from his friends to be the tough guy and his family turning against him, not batting an eye whenever he did well, caused him to change his way of life. It started with beer, then whiskey, numerous speeding tickets and hooking up with strangers he wouldn’t even ask for a name, but slowly turned more violent. Drugs were the way to go for him. His mind was clouded and he couldn’t think straight, but that was exactly what he needed. Thinking had never brought him any peace anyway.

Soon what started as a way to cope with his feelings, became a way to forget he had any feelings in the first place. Emotions as sadness and fear, even rejection were replaced by anger. And he took it out on every deserving and nondeserving person around. JJ was his usual culprit. His fist hitting JJ’s jaw made his knuckles burn and the blood dripping from a cut on the pogue’s lip made him feel like he was in control again. And surely his friends would be proud of him, right? They would respect him, wouldn’t they?

The drugs didn’t last forever. Neither did the feeling of control and power that came with his newly found anger. However, the anger never subsided. He saw red when he thought about everything he deserved, and everything he didn’t get. A loving father. Friends like JJ and Kiara that would be there for him no matter what. A sense of self and identity. Most of all peace. He couldn’t stop the thoughts that flooded his mind every second of the day. It was eating him up inside.

He just wanted everyone to be proud of him, but how?

Turns out that they’ll never be, no matter how hard he tries.

[wackywritings]

Haircut

Soft and silky hair spread through your fingers. The warmth of the crackeling bonfire engulfing your friend group like a warm embrace on a chilly night. And him. His head on your lap as you and your friends laughed and talked long after curfew had passed.

Strands of hair covered his eyes as he laughed at an irrelevant joke Pope had told him. All you wanted was to touch his hair again, move it back in place to see his eyes. But his hand was quicker and swept it back with another chuckle escaping his lips.

Wet tangled hair was scrunched up in your hands. The smell of the salty sea water mixed with hints of alcohol surrounding the both of you. Moans and huffs filled the room as you pulled on his hair. A little harder than before.

Short and spiky hair felt unfamiliar on your fingertips. It wasn’t soft or tangled - not even long enough for the latter - and it didn’t feel like him at all. His laughter filled your ears at your displeasedness. It’ll grow back after all.

[wackywritings]

Freckles - JJ Maybank

The sun low in the sky reflected its rays on the quiet water as you and JJ lay in the boat together. His eyes were covered by his sunglasses, but you knew it didn’t matter because he’d have his eyes closed anyway; enjoying the moment. It wasn’t often that you’d seen him so relaxed, but it was definitely something you could get used to. It meant you could observe him without him making any witty remarks or ruining a serious moment. He hated those.

The time spent outside had given him a glowing tan and his locks that had grown way too long for his liking were blonder than they were during the winter. You knew his eyes would look even more piercing now.

One of his arms was under his head, while the other held you close to him. It made you feel secure and your skin under his touch grounded him more than anything ever had before. Even weed didn’t do as much.

Slowly you traced your fingers on his check. Of course he pretended to be asleep, but his lips turned the slightest bit upward anyways. Your fingers continued their path to just under his sunglasses, over the bridge of his nose that would surely get burned by the sun if he didn’t start putting on sunscreen, to his strong jawline. It only occurred to you now that his skin wasn’t as fair as it used to be. Little freckles were spread across his face.

“Freckles.”

Your murmur was the only encouragement he needed to put up his sunglasses and look up at you with a questioning gaze.

“You get freckles during summer.” you stated more clearly, still tracing his skin with your fingertips.

He hummed in response. His eyes never left yours and the soft, loving gaze he gave you prompted you to peck his lips gently. You could feel his arm wrap around you a tad tighter and his lips form into a smile as he kissed you back.

Summer felt infinite in that moment