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enemiestolovershoe · 3 months ago

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Beneath the Bruises

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summary: When a newcomer to the Outer Banks, burdened by a dark secret at home, crosses paths with JJ Maybank at a bonfire, an unexpected connection forms.

Warnings: Angst. Abusive Parents. Reader gets beaten up by her father. Not proofread. Use of y/n. Talk of blood and bruises.

WC: 3011

The Outer Banks had felt like an escape at first, a way to leave behind the life that suffocated you back home. You had imagined warm nights on the beach, making friends, and blending into the carefree island life. But weeks had passed, and you were still as alone as ever. Each day blurred into the next—silent, empty. No one knew you, and no one tried to. That was fine with you. You were used to being invisible, especially around your father.

But tonight, standing on the outskirts of a bonfire you’d stumbled upon, you wished more than anything that you could join in. Laughter and music filled the air as the crowd danced around the fire, carefree and full of life. You lingered near the edge, unsure whether you belonged. You had never been good at fitting in.

As you turned to leave, a voice called out, “Hey! You good?”

You froze, caught off guard. Turning back, you saw a blond guy standing just a few feet away, his blue eyes catching the glow of the fire. His grin was disarming, and he looked at you with genuine curiosity.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said, though your voice wavered slightly.

He tilted his head, clearly not buying it but not pushing. “I’m JJ. JJ Maybank.” He extended his hand with a lopsided grin.

“Y/N,” you replied, taking his hand. His grip was warm, his smile almost contagious. For a second, you didn’t feel as alone.

“You new around here?” JJ asked, shoving his hands into his pockets, his stance relaxed.

You nodded, glancing down at the sand. “Just moved here a few weeks ago. Don’t really know anyone.”

JJ’s eyes softened. “Well, now you know me. And that means you know a Pogue. We kind of stick together. You should hang with us sometime.”

You gave a small smile, feeling a tiny flicker of hope. “Maybe.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝

From that night, JJ started pulling you into his world. You found yourself spending afternoons with him, riding his dirt bike, hanging out by the marina, or simply sitting by the water, talking about nothing and everything. You felt lighter around him, the weight of your home life less crushing. But what JJ didn’t know was the real darkness you kept hidden—the bruises you covered, the fear that followed you every night when you walked back into that house.

The abuse had been going on for years. Moving to the Outer Banks hadn’t changed a thing. Your father still drank, still lashed out at you when things didn’t go his way. It didn’t matter how hard you tried to avoid him or how quiet you stayed; it always escalated.

That night, you had barely spoken a word to him, hoping to slip by unnoticed. But he had been waiting, drink in hand, eyes already bloodshot. “Where the hell have you been?” he slurred, blocking your way to your room.

“Just out,” you murmured, keeping your gaze down, your heart already racing.

“Out?” he scoffed, stepping closer. “Out where? Whoring around like your mother?”

“No, Dad—” you began, your voice shaking, but his hand flew out before you could finish, striking you across the face with such force that you stumbled backward into the wall.

“You don’t talk back to me!” he roared, his face twisted with rage. He grabbed you by the arm, yanking you toward him. “You think you can just ignore me? You’re nothing without me!”

The blows came fast—his fists slamming into your stomach, your ribs, your face. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t fight back. All you could do was try to shield yourself as his anger poured out, every hit more brutal than the last.

When he finally let go, you collapsed to the floor, gasping for air, your body trembling in pain. He stormed out, muttering curses under his breath, leaving you broken and bleeding on the ground.

For what felt like hours, you lay there, your whole body throbbing with pain. You couldn’t move. But then, your phone buzzed in your pocket. With shaking hands, you pulled it out and, without thinking, dialed JJ’s number.

“Y/N?” His voice was casual at first, but then he heard your broken sob. “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t even speak. Your words came out in broken gasps, hysterical and full of pain. “JJ… I— I can’t… He—” You sobbed harder, unable to string a sentence together.

“Where are you?” JJ’s voice shifted, all playfulness gone. “Y/N, where are you?”

“Home,” you managed to choke out, your breath hitching. “I need… I need to get out.”

“Stay there. I’m coming. Don’t move,” he said, his voice urgent. Then the call ended.

It felt like an eternity, but soon enough, you heard the rumble of JJ’s dirt bike outside. The door burst open moments later, and JJ stood there, breathless, his eyes wide with shock as he took in your battered face, your trembling form curled up on the floor.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, running to you without hesitation. He knelt down, wrapping his arms around you as you collapsed into him. The second you felt his warmth, the dam broke. You sobbed into his chest, your body shaking uncontrollably as the pain, fear, and humiliation finally poured out.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” JJ whispered, pulling you closer. His hand stroked your hair, his voice soft but steady. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that—crying in his arms as he whispered reassurances, his own breath shaky with emotion. Eventually, he gently lifted you to your feet, guiding you outside to his dirt bike.

“We’re going to the Chateau,” he murmured. “You can stay there tonight. You don’t have to go back, okay?”

You nodded weakly, unable to protest. You didn’t have the strength.

The ride was a blur—wind rushing past your face as JJ sped through the streets, his arm firmly around your waist, making sure you wouldn’t fall. The pain in your body throbbed with every bump, but you clung to JJ, desperate for the safety he represented.

When you arrived at the Chateau, JJ parked the bike and helped you off. He didn’t let go of you as you stumbled, his arms steadying you as he led you inside. The Pogues—John B, Sarah, Pope, and Kiara—were hanging out by the fire pit, laughing and talking, but when they saw you, their faces fell, the laughter dying in an instant.

“Holy shit…” John B muttered, his eyes wide as he looked at you.

JJ didn’t stop. He led you past them without a word, taking you into the small bathroom. It was cramped, with just enough room for you to sit on the counter.

JJ gently ran the damp washcloth under the faucet and put some disinfectant on it. He’s glancing at you as you sit on the counter, your legs dangling off the edge, shoulders slumped in exhaustion. His movements were slow, almost too careful as if he was afraid he might hurt you more.

“Alright,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. “This is gonna sting a little, okay?”

You nodded, but you didn’t really have the energy to brace yourself. Your face felt swollen, your whole body ached, but the numbness was creeping in. It was the aftermath of every beating—when the shock started to settle, and the pain became background noise.

JJ brought the cloth to your cheek, dabbing gently at the cut just beneath your eye. You winced, the sting sharper than expected. He paused instantly.

“Shh,” JJ soothed, his voice soft but firm. “It’s alright. Just breathe. You’re doing good.” He resumed wiping the blood away, moving slower, more cautious.

You blinked back fresh tears, biting your lip to keep from crying out. “Is it bad?” you whispered, your voice shaky.

JJ’s eyes flicked to yours, his jaw clenched tightly as he worked. “It’s… not great,” he admitted, his throat tight. “But it’s gonna be okay. We’ll fix you up.” His voice wavered slightly, like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was you.

His hand trailed down to your chin, tilting your head so he could see the full extent of the damage. “Is it just your face?” he asked, his voice laced with quiet concern. “Or… is there more?”

You hesitated, your gaze dropping to the floor. “It’s not just my face.” Your voice was barely audible, but JJ heard it. His face darkened, and he closed his eyes for a brief second, steadying himself.

“Where?” he asked, his tone more serious now. He knelt down in front of you, eye level, waiting for you to answer.

“My ribs,” you murmured, blinking back tears. “My stomach.” The words felt heavy, like speaking them aloud made everything more real. You instinctively hugged yourself, your arms wrapped around your torso protectively.

JJ’s expression turned pained, but he didn’t push you to show him. He just nodded, focusing on your face again as he continued cleaning the cut. His hand trembled slightly, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin, wiping away the dirt and blood.

As he worked, you found it hard to breathe. Not just from the pain, but from the overwhelming weight of everything—your father, the abuse, the years of pretending everything was fine. It all came crashing down, and before you knew it, your chest tightened, and your breath hitched.

“Hey, hey,” JJ murmured softly, his hand coming to rest on your knee as he stopped wiping. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you, okay?” His voice was calm, steady, but there was an intensity behind it, a promise you wanted so desperately to believe.

Your lip quivered, and before you could stop yourself, the floodgates opened. “He wasn’t always like this,” you choked out, your voice breaking. “My dad… he used to be good. But then he started drinking. And it just got worse and worse.”

JJ’s hand stilled, his eyes locked on yours, listening intently as you continued, the words tumbling out in a broken mess.

“It started small,” you whispered, shaking your head. “Just yelling. Getting angry over stupid things. Then the drinking got heavier. He’d disappear for days, come back even worse. Then… then he started hitting me. It’s like… he hates me. Like I remind him of everything that went wrong.”

Your breath hitched, and you wiped at your eyes, but it was no use. The tears came anyway. “I don’t know what I did wrong,” you sobbed, your voice raw. “I’ve been trying so hard to keep quiet, to not make him mad. But it’s never enough.”

JJ’s grip tightened on your knee, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the tension in his face. He wasn’t just sad; he was angry. Furious, even. But not at you. Never at you.

“He hit you tonight because… because you were out with me, didn’t he?” JJ asked, his voice low, barely controlled.

You nodded, feeling the fresh wave of shame wash over you. “He said… he said I was a slut, like my mother. That I was worthless.”

JJ cursed under his breath, his hands trembling as he gently cupped your face, making you look at him. His eyes were blazing with emotion. “You are not worthless. You hear me? You’re not any of those things he says. He’s wrong, Y/N. He’s fucking wrong.”

You broke then, fully. Sobbing harder than you had in years, every painful memory, every insult, every blow came crashing down on you all at once. You collapsed into JJ’s chest, your body shaking with the force of your cries. He held you tightly, his arms wrapping around you like a shield, like he could protect you from everything in the world if he just held on hard enough.

“It’s okay,” JJ whispered into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve got you. I’m not letting anything happen to you ever again.”

You cried harder, clutching onto his shirt as if it were the only thing keeping you grounded. For the first time in forever, you felt safe, even if just for a moment. JJ’s arms were like an anchor, keeping you from sinking under the weight of it all.

After what felt like an eternity, your sobs quieted into soft hiccups, your body exhausted. JJ still held you, his chin resting gently on the top of your head, his fingers brushing softly through your hair. You stayed there in the silence, the only sound the occasional crackling of the fire outside and the soft hum of the night.

After a long stretch of silence, JJ finally spoke. “I know what you’re going through,” he said quietly, his voice rough. “My dad… he’s the same way.”

You stiffened slightly, lifting your head to look at him. He wasn’t looking at you now. His gaze was distant, staring at the floor as he spoke.

“Drinks too much, hits me when he’s pissed off… which is most of the time,” JJ continued, his voice raw with pain. “It’s why I stay here with John B most of the time. I can’t go home. Haven’t really had a home in a long time.”

The sadness in his voice cut deep. You had never imagined that JJ—the carefree, loud, rebellious JJ—was carrying this kind of pain. But there it was, written all over his face, in the way his shoulders slumped, in the tightness around his eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you whispered, your voice small.

JJ’s gaze finally met yours, and he gave you a sad, tired smile. “Same reason you didn’t tell me. Didn’t wanna drag you into it. Didn’t think it mattered.”

“It matters,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “You matter.”

JJ’s eyes softened, and for the first time since you’d met him, you saw vulnerability there. He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again, as if he couldn’t find the right words.

Instead, he pulled you into another hug, holding you tightly, resting his chin on your head again. Neither of you said anything more, but the weight of the silence was full of understanding. Two people, broken by the ones who were supposed to protect them, finding comfort in each other’s presence.

JJ held you close, his arms tightening around you, as if he could protect you from everything. But as his grip grew stronger, a sharp pain radiated through your bruised torso, and you flinched without meaning to. JJ felt it instantly, his arms loosening as he pulled back, concern flooding his eyes.

“Shit,” he murmured, panic lacing his voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You shook your head, trying to reassure him through the pain. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t.”

JJ hesitated, biting his lip as his eyes flickered over you, the weight of something unspoken lingering in the air. His fingers twitched at his side like he was fighting an internal battle. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter than before. “Can I… Can I see? I just— I wanna make sure you’re okay.”

You felt your breath hitch at the question, your heart racing in your chest. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him. You did—more than anyone. But letting him see the extent of the damage, the bruises you usually hid so carefully, felt terrifying. Vulnerable.

But JJ had been nothing but kind, patient, gentle with you. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you—not like your father.

You swallowed hard, then gave him a small, shaky nod.

JJ’s gaze softened, but he still hesitated, like he didn’t want to pressure you. You reached for the hem of your shirt, taking a deep breath before slowly lifting it over your head. Even with a sports bra on, the damage was clear. Dark bruises covered your ribs and stomach, blooming in purples, blues, and greens, each one telling a story of a night you wished you could forget.

The sight of your bruised skin hit JJ like a gut punch. His breath caught in his throat, his face crumpling as his eyes welled up with tears. He stared at you, unable to hide the devastation in his expression. His hand reached out, hovering above your side like he wanted to touch you but was too afraid to.

For a few long seconds, you just looked at each other. The air between you was thick with unspoken words, with shared pain. JJ’s blue eyes shimmered, filled with emotions you had never seen from him before—anger, sadness, guilt, and something deeper, something that felt almost protective.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking as a tear slipped down his cheek. “I’m so fucking sorry this happened to you.”

He gently cupped your face, his hands warm and steady against your skin. His thumbs brushed away the tears that had started to fall again. Then, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours as you both sat in that moment, the silence thick but full of understanding, full of care.

And then, without a word, JJ leaned in. His lips pressed softly against yours—tentative, gentle, but full of emotion. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t frantic. It was the kind of kiss that held a promise, the kind that said he’d be there, that he wasn’t going to let you face this alone anymore.

Your hand found its way to his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt as you kissed him back, the warmth of his body grounding you, pulling you out of the darkness. For the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel broken. You felt safe. You felt… wanted.

When the kiss broke, JJ didn’t pull away. His hands stayed on your face, his forehead still resting on yours. His eyes stayed closed, like he was savoring the moment, as if he needed it as much as you did.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m not letting this happen to you again. Not ever.”

And for the first time in years, you believed it.

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hotdilfs11 · 1 year ago

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Mafia Boss-Thomas Shelby x Reader pt 1

Rest of the parts

✩summary: The Shelby knew this girl when she was very little. However, when her mother passed away (at 16) everything changed and everyone drifted away from each other. Now after seven years Veronica is a mafia boss in her fathers business. Her father. sent her to Birmingham on business, will this play off well?

✩pairings:girl named Veronica(POC) x Thomas Shelby

✩warnings:mention of death

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I’m a mafia boss, or soon to be. My father is the boss of The Hawthorns Estate, along with my brothers, who are my father's right hand. A little backstory: I grew up in Birmingham with my mother. I was always around the Shelby boys, especially Thomas ever. since I was a little girl. They were all older than me. John was 17, Thomas was 18, and Arthur was 21. Anyway, Tommy and I were so close that anytime I had a complaint about anyone, he'd be the one to back me up and protect me. However, that changed drastically when my mother got ill when I turned fifteen years old. She never got better and died a year later, after my sixteenth birthday. It was devastating to watch my mother die slowly. The Shelbys were there for me when she passed away, and they were also willing to take me in since I didn't know who my father was.

DAY OF FUNERAL IN THE CEMETERY

As the Shelbys and I started walking through the cemetery to put my mother to rest, Four black cars pulled up in a straight line before my mother's funeral. Two Jeeps, one BMW, and one big Land Rover Polly was behind me, reassuring me. She had her right hand on my shoulder and her pocketbook in her free hand. Tommy was beside me on the left, close to me, making sure no one could hurt me, then John and Arthur on the left and right behind me. All four of them were ferociously protecting me.

"Who the fuck is that?" Polly said with a mean British accent. She didn’t want anyone to bother me at all, especially at my mother's funeral. Poll and Thomas looked at each other in concern as the cars started parking one by one in the line at the cemetery. “Tommy, sit here with her”, Poll said as she started walking up to these mysterious black cars. Tommy nodded and stood closer to me. He put one of his rough hands around my waist. I felt the warmth radiating off of his hands as he squeezed my waist letting me sink into him.

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?" Poll screamed at the parked cars. As Poll was walking up to the cars, two men started getting out. Big, bulky, and scary, in black suits with sunglasses. The men began to open the doors of the BMW and the Jeep. Four other men climbed out of the cars with suits on. One had curly hair, was dark-skinned, slightly built, and tall; he kind of looked like me. The other two had olive-colored skin, jet-black hair; they were also tall; however, one was a little bit shorter with a strong build, and the other was tall with a medium build. Then the last guy He was old, maybe fifty years old, pale, big-boned, and also tall; he had to be about “6’7”.

Tommy pulled me a little bit closer to his warm, muscular body; he was practically hovering over me. John and Arthur also inched closer to me, also standing behind Tommy.

"Who the fuck are you?” Poll says she is concerned about realizing how tall all of these men are, but she doesn't let that stop her one bit.

"Who the fuck are you, I may ask?” the older one said in a heavy Italian, New York.

"I asked you first," Polly said, walking up to him.

"That girl over there, I’m her father, and these are her brothers now; what are your relations with my daughter along with those three boys over there?" He says

Poll looked back at us, concerned, and then looked back at the guy she was talking to with a brave look painted on her face. "What’s your name, I might ask?" she says, looking up at the older gentleman.

"My name is Hamilton Hawthorn; these are my sons," he says as he starts pointing at each of them.

"My oldest Ambrose," he said, pointing to the one with the curly hair. "My second oldest Cyrus," he pointed to the tall one with the jet black hair, and finally, my youngest Alexander," he pointed to the shorter one with the slightly bigger build.

"Now my daughter over there is the second oldest out of all of them. I’ve come to get her; she’s coming to New York with me.” Hamilton demands

“Fuck," Polly whispers to herself, looking at her feet.

She turns away from Hamilton to look back at all of us. "Veronica dear, come please!" she yells in a sorrowful voice.

I hesitantly started walking to Polly; however, I got stopped by Tommy. He grabbed my hand, tightening his grip, and gave me an unsure expression along with the other Shelby boys. Polly sees what’s happening and yells, "It’s okay, boys." Tommy slowly lets go of my hand as I start to walk over to the strange man. I was feeling apprehensive as I got closer and closer to Polly, unsure about what was about to happen.

When I got to Polly, she grabbed my shoulder and gave me a weary smile as she said, "This is your father, Hamilton, and these are your brothers. Ambrose, Cyrus, and Alexander"

I frowned at Polly in confusion. "So that means..."

"It means you're not staying in Birmingham, dear. After this, we’ll have to say our goodbyes," she says as tears start to form in her eyes, but she still keeps a brave face.

"But I,I, no Polly,” my voice started to crack, scared for what was going to happen. I look back to see the Shelby boys standing there for one last time, and then I look at Polly with sadness painted on my face. Polly stands in front of me with a fearless look on her face. She grabbed both of my shoulders tight and said, “You are the bravest girl I’ve ever met. Braver than me when I was your age, and braver than those boys up there. I’m so bloody proud of you and what you've become." We both start to tear up, and we gracefully hug each other for a long time, not wanting to let go of each other.

When the funeral ended, I said my heartfelt goodbyes to each of the Shelbys and went off to New York.

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