#jj Maybank x you

[aias-fxtns]

inlove with this one!

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ - BACK TO YOU

ᯓᡣ𐭩 paring ─ ୨୧ ─ jj maybank ⋆ ex!pogue!reader

ᯓᡣ𐭩 summary ─ ୨୧ ─ in which you return to the island after moving away and have to confront unresolved feelings and changes in the friend group.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 warnings ─ ୨୧ ─ explicit language, angst, hurt/comfort, smut, fluff, drama, mention of past self-harm, mention of past suicide attempt, mention of depression/mental health issues, alcohol abuse, unresolved emotional/romantic tension, trauma, mention of parental abuse/neglect, emotional cheating, jj is dating kiara, pretend luke didn’t leave, tw: surf competition, reconciliation, emotional vulnerability, unprotected vaginal sex, fingering, oral sex, dirty talk, praise, teasing, power play, and overstimulation (please dni if your sensitive to any of these topics your mental health should come first)

ᯓᡣ𐭩 wc ─ ୨୧ ─ 19,166

⋆˚✿˖° a/n ─ ୨୧ ─ this is long and very emotional/dramatic which is half of the reason it's been sitting in drafts forever. this was only written because I just love the song and wanted something based on it.

⋆.˚✮back to you✮˚.⋆

(༝༚༝༚ selena gomez)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──. Outer Banks Masterlist ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Navigation ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

JJ stands awkwardly by the cooler, his fingers drumming against the metal surface as he watches you grab another case of beer. The setting sun casts long shadows across John B's backyard, painting everything in hues of orange and pink. The salty breeze carries the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore, mixing with the muffled laughter and music inside the house. He can't help but steal glances at you, memories of your past flooding his mind like an unwanted tide.

"So uh..." JJ clears his throat, adjusting his shark tooth necklace nervously. "How was... wherever the fuck you went?" He tries to maintain his usual carefree demeanor, but an edge to his voice betrays his discomfort. His blue eyes dart between you and the ground, unable to maintain steady eye contact. The weight of your unspoken history hangs heavy between you, thicker than the humid Carolina evening.

You stand awkwardly, your fingers nervously playing with the label of your beer bottle. You avoid JJ's gaze, focusing instead on the peeling paint of John B's deck railing. The tension between you two is suffocating, making the humid evening air feel even heavier. "Maine," you finally answer, your voice barely above a whisper. "We went to Maine."

JJ's jaw tightens at the mention of Maine, his fingers flexing around his beer bottle as he processes just how far away you’ve been. "Maine? Fuck, that's like... way up there with all those lobsters and shit," he says, trying to maintain his usual lighthearted tone but failing miserably. 

"You look..." He starts, then stops himself, shoving his free hand into the pocket of his board shorts. "I mean, it's good you're back and shit. The group missed you." He deliberately leaves out the fact that he missed you too, that your absence left a void that even Kiara couldn't quite fill. The tension between you is palpable, like the electricity in the air before a storm - something the Outer Banks knows all too well. He takes a long pull from his beer, using it as an excuse to break the uncomfortable silence that's settled between you.

You take a long sip from your bottle, using the moment to gather your thoughts. The sight of JJ - still as handsome as ever with his messy blonde hair and those blue eyes - makes your heartache in a way you thought you’d gotten over. The sound of Kiara's laughter from inside feels like a knife twisting in your gut. "I see you and Kie finally..." you trail off, unable to finish the sentence. Your skin glows in the porch light.

"Yeah, me and Kie..." he trails off, taking another long pull from his beer to avoid finishing the sentence. The truth is, things with Kiara are good - great even - but standing here with you brings back all the complicated feelings he'd tried to bury in the sand. 

"The group seems... good," you manage, trying to keep your voice steady. "Different, but good." You risk a glance at JJ, immediately regretting it when you catch his eyes. Those same eyes that used to look at you with such intensity, now belong to someone else. You shift your weight, your sundress rustling softly in the evening breeze. 

A loud crash from inside the house makes you both jump causing you to spill a bit of beer on your dress, followed by John B's distinctive "Everything's fine!" JJ lets out a forced laugh, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He's hyper-aware of every movement you make, every shift in your posture, every breath you take. The familiar scent of your perfume mixed with the salt air brings back memories he's tried so hard to suppress - stolen kisses behind the Wreck, late-night surfing sessions, promises made and broken. He adjusts his stance, trying to maintain a careful distance between you, even as every fiber of his being wants to close it.

"Shit," you mutter, dabbing at the spot with your free hand. You can feel JJ's presence just a few feet away, and it takes everything in you not to close that distance. "I should've called or something," you say suddenly, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. "Before I left, I mean. I just... I couldn't." Your voice cracks slightly on the last word, betraying the emotions you're trying so hard to keep in check.

The raw honesty in your voice, when you mention not calling, makes his throat tight. "Yeah, well..." JJ runs a hand through his hair again, his shark tooth necklace catching the light as he moves. "Probably wouldn't have answered anyway. Was pretty fucked up back then." He lets out a laugh, but there's pain behind it. "Still am, just better at hiding it now." The admission hangs between you like smoke, heavy and suffocating. He can hear Sarah and John B singing off-key inside, the sound a stark contrast to the tension-filled bubble you're standing in.

He watches as you dab at the beer stain on your dress, fighting the urge to help you like he would have before. "Fuck, hold up," he mutters, pulling off his worn t-shirt and offering it to you without thinking. The porch light illuminates the scattered bruises across his torso - some new, some old ones you’d recognize.

You stand there, your heart racing as you stare at JJ's shirtless form. You reach out hesitant to take his shirt, your fingers brushing briefly in a way that sends electricity through your entire body. "Thanks," you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. 

"You look good though," he finally says, the words escaping before he can stop them. His eyes meet yours for a moment before quickly looking away. "I mean, like, healthy and shit. That's... that's good." He shifts uncomfortably, very aware that he's still shirtless and that the space between you feels both too large and not large enough. The familiar scent of your perfume is making his head spin, or maybe it's the beer, or maybe it's just you - it's always been you. "Did it help?" he asks quietly, genuinely wanting to know. "Going away? Did it... fix things?" The question carries more weight than he intends, loaded with all the things he never got to say before you left.

The sound of Kiara's laughter drifts out again, and you flinches visibly. You take another long drink from your beer, needing the liquid courage. "It helped," you finally answer his question, unconsciously running your fingers over the faded scars on your wrists. "The doctors, the therapy, the distance... It helped. But it didn't fix everything." You look up at him then, really look at him, taking in how the years have changed him. He's still JJ - still beautiful but there's something harder in his eyes now, something that wasn't there before.

You clutch his shirt in your hands, the familiar scent of him - salt air, coconut surf wax, and something distinctly JJ - making you dizzy with memories. "I..." you start, then swallow hard. "I wanted to call. Every single day, I picked up my phone and stared at your number until the screen went black."

"I missed you," You confess quietly, immediately regretting the words as soon as they leave your mouth. "I mean, I missed everyone," you quickly add, but you both know it's not the same thing. You can feel the weight of everything unsaid between you, three years' worth of words you never got to say. "You look happy," you say, trying to smile even though it feels like your heart is breaking all over again. "With Kie, I mean. You guys... you make sense together." The lie tastes bitter on your tongue, but you force it out anyway. Because what else can you say? That seeing them together feels like drowning? That every time you close your eyes, you still see him? That Maine might have helped you heal your mind, but it did nothing to heal your heart? 

A burst of laughter from inside makes him jump, reminding him where you are and who's waiting for him. "Happy?" he scoffs, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. "Yeah, sure. I'm fucking peachy." His sarcasm is sharp enough to cut, a defense mechanism he's perfected over the years. He takes another long drink from his beer, finishing it in one go before setting it down with more force than necessary. "And don't do that shit about me and Kie making sense. You don't get to..." he stops himself again, running a hand over his face.

"Fuck, Y/N/N," JJ breathes out, using your old nickname without thinking. His fingers twitch at his sides, wanting to reach for you but knowing he can't. The sight of you touching your wrist scars makes his stomach turn - he remembers the day he found you, remembers the blood, remembers feeling more terrified than he'd ever been in his life.

"You can't just come back here and say shit like that," he says, his voice rough with emotion. He runs both hands through his hair in frustration, pacing a small circle on the deck. "You left, Y/N. You fucking left and I..." he trails off, the rest of the sentence dying in his throat. The memory of those first few weeks, after you disappeared, hits him like a physical blow - the drinking, the fights, the reckless behavior that even John B couldn't talk him down from.

"I didn't want to leave, JJ," You say, taking a step closer to him despite yourself. The electricity between you is almost tangible now. "You think I wanted to be shipped off to fucking Maine? To be locked up in some facility where they watched my every move? Where they made me talk about every fucking thing that was wrong with me?" Your voice rises slightly before you catch yourself, glancing nervously at the house. "I was drowning here, JJ. I was drowning and I couldn't..." 

"You know what? Fuck this," JJ says suddenly, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and something else - something that looks dangerously close to the way he used to look at you. "You want to know what happened after you left? I fucking lost it, Y/N. I was so fucked up I couldn't even..." he cuts himself off, aware he's saying too much. The space between you feels charged with electricity, like the air before a storm. 

"But hey, at least the doctors fixed you up real nice, right?" The words are meant to sting, but there's a tremor in his voice that betrays him. He's still that same boy who used to sneak into your room at night, who used to hold you when the darkness got too heavy, who promised he'd always be there - until you made it impossible to keep that promise." His eyes intense as they lock onto yours. "I used to check your social media every fucking day. Every. Day. Just to make sure you were still..." he trails off, unable to finish the sentence. 

Your hands tremble as you clutch his shirt tighter, his familiar scent making your head spin. "Lost it?" You repeat, your voice cracking. "You think you were the only one who lost it?" The words come out sharper than intended, years of buried pain rising to the surface. Your skin flushes with anger and hurt, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. The bitterness in his voice when he mentions the doctors makes you flinch. "Fixed me up real nice?" You repeat, a hollow laugh escaping your lips. "Is that what you think? That I'm all better now? That I just went away and came back brand new?" You move closer still, close enough to see the flecks of darker blue in his eyes, close enough to smell the beer on his breath. "I still have nightmares. I still get days where I can barely get out of bed. The only difference is now I have better coping mechanisms than..." 

His confession about checking your social media makes your heart stutter in your chest. "I deactivated everything," you admit quietly, your voice thick with emotion. "Because every time I logged on, all I wanted to do was message you. Tell you I was sorry. Tell you I..." you stop yourself, very aware of how close you're standing now, of the fact that he's still shirtless, of Kiara just inside the house. "It doesn't matter now, does it?" You say, taking a step back, trying to create some distance between you even though every cell in your body screams to move closer. "You moved on. You're happy. That's... that's good." The lie tastes like poison on your tongue, but you force it out anyway, because what right do you have to come back here and disrupt his life? What right do you have to still want him this much?

JJ's body tenses as Pope's voice cuts through the charged atmosphere. "What’s taking so long with those beers? John B's about to start drinking mouthwash if we don't..." Pope trails off as he steps onto the deck, his eyes darting between JJ's shirtless form and you holding the said shirt. "Oh shit, my bad, I didn't..." he starts, but JJ cuts him off with a sharp laugh that sounds more like a bark.

"Nothing to be sorry for, Pope," JJ says, his voice carrying an edge that makes Pope raise his eyebrows. JJ snatches up the case of beer from the cooler, his movements jerky and aggressive. "Just catching up with our prodigal pogue here. Sharing war stories about her fancy fucking therapy in Maine." The words come out dripping with sarcasm, but there's a tremor in his hands as he grips the beer case. The porch light catches the tension in his jaw, the way his muscles are coiled tight like he's ready to either fight or flee.

"JJ," Pope says warningly, recognizing the signs of his friend spiraling. He's seen this before - usually right before JJ does something spectacularly stupid. "Maybe we should all just-" But JJ's already moving, shouldering past both of them towards the house. He pauses at the door, his back to you, his knuckles white around the beer case. "You know what the fucked up part is?" he says, not turning around. "I actually thought..." he stops, letting out a bitter laugh. "Doesn't matter what I thought. Welcome home, Y/N. Hope Maine was worth it."

Pope watches JJ disappear inside before turning to you with an apologetic look. "He was really messed up when you left," he says quietly, always the mediator. "Like, more than usual messed up. Started getting into fights with Topper almost daily, drinking more than his dad. Kiara was the only one who could calm him down sometimes." He runs a hand over his face, looking tired. "Look, I know it's not my place, but... maybe give him some time? He's better now, but seeing you again..." Pope glances at the door where you can hear JJ's forced laughter mixing with the others. "It's like reopening an old wound, you know?"

You stare at the door JJ just disappeared through, your heart feeling like it's being ripped apart all over again. His shirt is still clutched in your trembling hands, and you bring it unconsciously closer to your chest. You can feel tears threatening to spill over. "Time?" You repeat Pope's words with a hollow laugh. "Yeah, because three years wasn't enough time, right?" Your voice cracks on the last word, and you have to take a deep breath to steady yourself.

"In Maine, they made us write letters. Letters to everyone we hurt, everyone who hurt us. I wrote so many letters to JJ that they had to give me extra paper." You let out a shaky breath, running your fingers over the soft fabric of JJ's shirt. "Never sent a single one. How do you put three years of 'I'm sorry' and 'I miss you' and 'I still...' into words that don't sound completely fucking pathetic?"

The sound of breaking glass comes from inside, followed by Kiara's concerned "JJ?" Pope closes his eyes and sighs. "And there it is. I better..." he gestures towards the house. "You coming?" The question hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of everything that's just transpired.

The sound of Kiara's concerned voice calling for JJ makes your stomach twist painfully. "You should go check on him," you say to Pope, finally looking up. Your eyes are swimming with unshed tears, but you refuse to let them fall. "I'll... I'll be in in a minute. Just need to..." You gesture vaguely at yourself, trying to pull together the pieces of your composure that JJ's words had shattered. "And Pope?" You call as he turns to leave. "I know everyone probably hates me for leaving. Hell, I hate myself for it. But I didn't have a choice. It was either leave or..." 

You can hear more commotion from inside - JJ's voice raised, something else breaking, Kiara trying to calm him down. The sound makes your chest ache in a way that feels physical. "Fuck," you whisper to yourself, looking down at JJ's shirt still in your hands. You bring it to your face, inhaling his scent one last time before forcing yourself to fold it neatly. You’ll have to give it back eventually, but right now, you need a moment to remember how to breathe without feeling like you’re drowning all over again. The irony isn't lost on you - you left the Outer Banks to stop feeling like you were drowning, only to come back and find yourself deeper underwater than ever before.

The tension in living room is thick enough to cut with a knife as you enter. JJ is sprawled on the couch next to Kiara, his arm draped possessively around her shoulders while nursing what appears to be his fifth beer. There's broken glass by the kitchen counter that Sarah's carefully sweeping up, shooting concerned glances at everyone.

"So this competition tomorrow," John B says too loudly, clearly trying to diffuse the tension. "Heard Topper's entering too." He's sitting cross-legged on the floor, picking at the label of his beer bottle. "Gonna be some sick waves though, bro. Weather report's saying six-footers at least."

JJ snorts, his blue eyes deliberately avoiding your direction. "Yeah, well, Topper can suck my-" Kiara elbows him in the ribs, cutting him off. "What? I'm just saying the trust fund baby probably can't even tell the difference between the nose and tail of his board." His words are slightly slurred, with anger and alcohol making his voice thicker.

"Actually," Sarah pipes up from the kitchen, dumping the broken glass in the trash, "I heard he's been practicing a lot." She settles onto the arm of John B's chair, her blonde hair catching the dim light. "Something about wanting to prove himself or whatever."

Pope shifts slightly as you sit next to him, creating a protective barrier between you and JJ. "You still surf, Y/N?" he asks, trying to include you in the conversation. "Remember that time you totally schooled JJ on that left break by the pier?"

"Fuck off, Pope," JJ snaps, his grip tightening on his beer bottle. "That was one time, and I was hungover as shit." Kiara places a calming hand on his thigh, but he shrugs it off, standing up abruptly. "I need another beer."

"Maybe you should slow down," Kiara suggests gently, reaching for his hand. "The competition's early tomorrow and-"

"I said I need another fucking beer," JJ cuts her off, his voice sharp. He stalks toward the kitchen, purposely taking the long way around to avoid passing near you. "And for the record," he adds, pausing in the doorway, "that left break? I let her win. Figured she needed the ego boost since she was so fucking fragile back then." The words are meant to wound, and from the way you tense beside him, Pope can tell they hit their mark.

John B stands up, running a hand through his hair. "JJ, bro, come on-"

"What?" JJ whirls around, his eyes blazing. "We all just gonna pretend like everything's normal? Like she didn't just fuck off for three years and come waltzing back expecting everything to be the same?" He lets out a bitter laugh. "Nah, I'm good. You guys can play happy fucking family without me."

The room falls into a heavy silence after JJ's outburst. Sarah is the first to speak, her voice gentle but firm. "JJ, that's enough." She moves from her perch on John B's chair, positioning herself between JJ and the rest of the group.

Your hands are shaking as you stand up, your voice quiet but steady. "You want to do this now? Fine." You take a step forward, ignoring Pope's attempt to grab your arm. "You think you're the only one who was hurt? You think you're the only one who was fucked up?" Your voice rises slightly, years of pent-up emotion breaking through. "I didn't just 'fuck off' to Maine for fun, JJ. I went because the alternative was being lowered into the ground in a fucking coffin!"

Kiara stands up too, torn between her boyfriend and her old friend. "Y/N, maybe we should-"

"No, Kie," you cut her off, your eyes locked on JJ. "He wants to talk about being fragile? About letting me win? At least I'm trying to get better. What are you doing, JJ? Getting drunk and picking fights? Real fucking healthy."

John B moves to intervene, but Pope holds him back, shaking his head. This has been brewing since the moment you walked through the door.

"You know what the difference is between us?" You continue, your voice cracking. "I admit I'm broken. I went and got help because I was tired of hurting everyone around me. But you?" You let out a hollow laugh. "You're still that same scared little boy, hiding behind your anger and your booze because god forbid anyone see that you're hurting too. You’re acting just like your daddy.” 

The moment the words leave your mouth, the room erupts into chaos. JJ's beer bottle shatters in his hand as he lunges forward. "Don't you fucking DARE!" as John B and Pope rush to grab him. His muscles strain against their hold. "You don't get to say that shit! You don't get to fucking compare me to him!"

"JJ, stop!" Kiara shouts, but he's beyond hearing. His blue eyes are wild, unfocused, filled with a pain so deep it makes everyone in the room flinch. "You want to talk about being broken?" JJ spits, still fighting against John B and Pope's restraining arms. "At least I didn't run away! At least I stayed and faced my shit instead of leaving everyone wondering if you were even fucking alive!" His voice cracks on the last word, raw emotion bleeding through the anger. "Do you know how many times I drove by your house? How many nights I sat outside your window hoping you'd just... fuck!" 

 "Where the fuck was all this concern for mental health when I was showing up at your window covered in bruises? When I was sleeping on the beach because I was too scared to go home?" Blood continues to drip from his hand, creating a small puddle on the floor.

"You know what's really fucking funny?" JJ continues, his voice cracking. "The day you left? I was gonna tell you everything. About my dad, about how fucked up I was, about how you were the only person who made me feel like maybe I wasn't completely worthless." His words are like bullets, each one aimed to hit where it hurts most.

"Bro, calm down," John B grunts, struggling to maintain his grip. "This isn't helping-"

"Helping?" JJ lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. "Nothing helps! Nothing fucking helps because she LEFT!" He finally breaks free, stumbling forward but not advancing towards you. Instead, he stands there, chest heaving, looking more vulnerable than any of them has ever seen him. "You left," he repeats, quieter now, his voice thick with unshed tears. "You left and I couldn't... I couldn't fucking breathe. And now you're back and I still can't breathe and I..." He runs his hands through his hair violently, turning away from everyone.

Pope steps forward cautiously. "JJ, maybe we should-"

"Don't," JJ cuts him off, his voice dangerous again. "Just... don't." He grabs his keys from the counter, ignoring Kiara's protests. "I need to get the fuck out of here before I..." He doesn't finish the sentence, just storms out, the screen door slamming behind him. The sound of his motorcycle roaring to life fills the night air moments later.

The room falls into a heavy silence after JJ's dramatic exit. You stand frozen, your whole body trembling as tears finally spill down your cheeks. Sarah is the first to move, wrapping her arms around you as you begin to sob.

"I didn't mean..." you choke out between sobs. "I didn't mean to say that about his dad. I just... I was so angry and..." You collapse onto the couch, Sarah still holding you while Kiara paces anxiously by the door.

"Someone needs to go after him," Kiara says, grabbing her jacket. "He's drunk and upset, he shouldn't be on that bike." She looks torn between staying with you and chasing after her boyfriend.

John B runs a hand through his hair, exchanging worried looks with Pope. "I'll go," he says, grabbing his keys. "Pope, you stay here with them. Sarah, can you...?" He gestures at you, who's still crying into Sarah's shoulder.

"I got her," Sarah assures him. "Just... bring him back in one piece, okay?"

Pope starts cleaning up the broken glass, his movements careful and methodical. "You know," he says quietly, "JJ never told anyone this, but he used to sleep in your treehouse after you left. We'd find him up there some mornings, usually after really bad nights with his dad."

"He kept your bracelet too," Kiara adds softly, still hovering by the door. "The one you made him at that bonfire. Wears it under his watch sometimes." She pauses, conflict clear on her face. "I should go with John B-"

"No," you say, wiping your eyes. "Stay. Please. I... I need to tell you all something. About why I really left." You take a shaky breath, looking around at your friends - the family you left behind. "It wasn't just the self-harm or the suicide attempt. There was... there was more. And JJ... he deserves to know the truth. You all do."

Sarah squeezes your hand encouragingly while Pope settles on the floor in front of you. The sound of the Twinkie starting up outside fills the momentary silence.

"Take your time," Sarah says gently. "We're listening." 

John B finds JJ at their usual spot - the abandoned dock near the marsh where they used to fish as kids. JJ's sitting at the edge, legs dangling over the water, a fresh beer in his hand that he definitely grabbed from his emergency stash hidden in the old boat nearby. His motorcycle is parked haphazardly in the grass, still ticking as it cools down.

"Figured I'd find you here," John B says, settling down next to his best friend. The moonlight reflects off the water, casting everything in a silvery glow. "That was quite a show back there, bro."

JJ takes a long pull from his beer, his knuckles still bloody from the broken bottle. "Fuck off, John B," he mutters, but there's no real heat behind it. His hands are shaking slightly as he brings the bottle back to his lips. "I don't need another fucking lecture about controlling my temper or whatever shit you're about to say."

"Actually," John B says, pulling out two fresh beers from his pocket and handing one to JJ, "I was gonna say she had no right bringing up your dad." He cracks open his beer, the sound echoing across the quiet marsh. "That was fucked up."

JJ lets out a hollow laugh, running his uninjured hand through his messy hair. "You know what's fucked up? She's right." His voice cracks slightly. "I am turning into him. Getting drunk, breaking shit, can't control my fucking temper..." He throws his empty bottle into the water with force, watching it disappear beneath the dark surface.

"Nah, man," John B shakes his head firmly. "You're nothing like Luke. You know how I know?" He waits until JJ looks at him. "Because you care. Like, actually give a shit about people. Luke never did." He pauses, choosing his next words carefully. "And you loved her. Still do, probably."

"Doesn't fucking matter now, does it?" JJ's voice is rough with emotion. "I'm with Kie. And Y/N... she's..." he trails off, unable to finish the sentence. The crickets chirp in the silence that follows, the marsh grass swaying in the gentle breeze.

"You know," John B says after a while, "Kie knows. Has known for a while, I think. About how you feel about Y/N." He takes another sip of his beer. "Maybe that's why she's been so... I don't know, different lately?"

JJ's head snaps up, his blue eyes wide in the moonlight. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Come on, bro," John B sighs. "You've been wearing that bracelet under your watch since the day Y/N left. You sleep in her old treehouse when shit gets bad. And the way you looked at her tonight... that wasn't just anger, man."

JJ stares out at the dark water, his jaw working as he processes John B's words. "It's not..." he starts, then stops, taking a long drink. "Fuck, man." The moonlight catches the silver threads in his shark tooth necklace as he shifts uncomfortably. "You can't just say shit like that about me and Kie."

"Why not?" John B presses, watching his best friend carefully. "Because it's true? Because you've been trying so hard to convince yourself that what you have with Kie is enough?" He dodges the empty beer can JJ throws at his head with practiced ease. "I love Kie, man. We all do. But she deserves better than being someone's second choice."

"You think I don't know that?" JJ explodes, jumping to his feet. He paces the dock, his shoes making the old wood creak. "You think I don't fucking hate myself for it? For not being able to..." he trails off, running both hands through his hair in frustration. "Y/N left, John B. She fucking left without a word and Kie... Kie was there. She picked up the pieces. She..."

"She's not Y/N," John B finishes quietly. The words hang in the humid night air, heavy with truth. "And that's not fair to any of you."

JJ stops pacing, bracing himself against one of the dock posts. His knuckles are white where they grip the wood, blood from his earlier injury leaving dark smears. "You should've seen her that night," he says so quietly John B almost misses it. "The night before she left. She came to my window like she always did when shit got bad. But something was different. She wouldn't look at me, wouldn't let me touch her. Just kept saying she was sorry." His voice cracks. "I should've known. Should've fucking done something."

"JJ..." John B starts, but JJ cuts him off.

"And now she's back," he continues, his voice rough. "She's back and she's wearing that fucking perfume that makes my head spin, and she's got these new scars I don't know the stories too, and she's looking at me like... like..." He slams his fist into the post, adding fresh splinters to his already injured hand. "Like I'm still that stupid kid who couldn't save her. How I didn't see how bad it was getting. How I was so caught up in my shit with my dad that I missed all the signs." He runs his hands through his hair roughly. "And you know what the worst part is? Even after everything, even with Kie... I still..." He can't finish the sentence, but he doesn't need to.

The marsh is quiet except for the gentle lapping of water against the dock and the distant sound of a boat horn. John B watches as his best friend falls apart, knowing there's nothing he can say to make this better. "Maybe," he finally suggests, "you should talk to Kie. Like, really talk to her. And then..." he hesitates. "Maybe you should talk to Y/N too. About everything."

JJ lets out a bitter laugh. "Yeah? And say what? 'Sorry, I just had a fucking meltdown in front of everyone because seeing you still makes me feel like I'm drowning'? 'Sorry, I'm such a fuck up I couldn't even move on properly'?" He slides down to sit on the dock again, his energy seemingly drained. "Nah, man. Some things are better left buried."

The two make their way to the van it rumbles down the dark road, headlights cutting through the night as John B glances worriedly at JJ in the passenger seat. JJ is slumped against the window, his breath fogging up the glass, the streetlights casting intermittent shadows across his face. His bloody knuckles rest in his lap, the makeshift bandage John B made from his t-shirt already soaking through.

"Your dad's been better lately, right?" John B asks cautiously, turning onto JJ's street. "Like, with the new job and everything?" He knows these periods of calm with Luke are temporary, like the eye of a hurricane - peaceful until it's not.

JJ lets out a laugh, his eyes still fixed on the passing shadows outside. "Yeah, for now. Give it a week, maybe two if we're lucky." His voice is tired, drained of its usual energy. "He's actually buying groceries instead of beer. Fucking miracle, right?" The sarcasm in his voice is thick enough to cut.

As they pull up to JJ's house, they can see Luke's truck in the driveway, the porch light on - a rare sight. Through the window, they can see him moving around in the kitchen, looking almost normal, almost like a real father. "You sure you don't want to crash at my place?" John B offers, killing the engine. "Sarah won't mind, and you know Pope's probably got Y/N calmed down by now..."

"Don't," JJ warns, his voice sharp. "Just... don't say her name right now, okay?" He runs his uninjured hand through his hair, a nervous habit that's become more frequent since your return. "I can't... I can't think about that shit right now. About what she said, about Kie, about..." he trails off, shaking his head.

The front door opens, and Luke steps onto the porch. "JJ? That you, son?" His voice carries across the yard, lacking its usual angry slur. "Got some leftovers if you're hungry. Made that fish you like." The attempt at normalcy is almost more unsettling than his usual violence.

"Fuck," JJ mutters, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Look at him, playing father of the year." He grabs his backpack from the backseat, wincing as the movement jars his injured hand. "Thanks for the ride, bro. And for..." he gestures vaguely, encompassing everything that happened at the dock.

"JJ," John B calls as his friend opens the door. "Just... be careful, okay? And if shit goes south..." He doesn't need to finish the sentence. They both know JJ's always got a place at the Chateau.

"Yeah, yeah," JJ forces a grin that doesn't reach his eyes. "Save the emotional shit for Sarah, man." He slams the van door, shouldering his backpack as he heads toward the house. Each step feels heavy like he's walking through water. The weight of everything - your return, his relationship with Kiara, his dad's temporary stability - sits on his shoulders like a physical burden.

Luke's waiting at the door, and for once, his eyes are clear. "Rough night?" he asks, noticing JJ's bandaged hand. There's genuine concern in his voice, the kind that makes JJ's chest ache because he knows it won't last.

He follows his father into the house, the familiar scent of fried fish and something else - hope, maybe? - filling the air. The kitchen is cleaner than he's seen it in years, dishes are actually washed and put away, no empty bottles littering the counters. It's like walking into a funhouse mirror version of his life, everything familiar but slightly wrong.

"Sit," Luke gestures to the table, already moving to reheat the food. "Got paid today. Foreman says I'm doing good work." There's pride in his voice, the kind JJ used to dream of hearing when he was younger. "Even got you something." He pulls out a small package from one of the kitchen drawers, sliding it across the table.

JJ stares at the package like it might bite him, his injured hand throbbing in rhythm with his heartbeat. "Dad, you didn't have to..." he starts, but Luke waves him off.

"Open it," Luke insists, putting a plate of steaming fish and rice in front of JJ. "Saw it at the store, thought of you." His voice is gruff with emotion he doesn't know how to express.

With trembling fingers, JJ unwraps the package. Inside is a new surf wax and a professional-grade fishing lure - the expensive kind they used to admire together in the shop window when JJ was little. "This is..." he swallows hard, something thick and painful lodging in his throat.

"For the competition tomorrow," Luke explains, sitting down across from him with his own plate. "Figured you could use some good gear." He pauses, studying JJ's face. "Your hand gonna be okay to surf?"

JJ flexes his fingers experimentally, wincing. "Yeah, it's fine. Just some scratches." He doesn't mention how he got them, and Luke doesn't ask. Some things are better left unsaid, even in this temporary peace.

They eat in relative silence, the only sounds are the scrape of forks against plates and the distant hum of crickets outside. JJ can't help but wait for the other shoe to drop, for his father to notice the alcohol on his breath, or ask why he came home so late. But Luke just keeps eating, occasionally glancing at JJ with something that looks almost like concern.

"Y/N’s back," Luke says suddenly, making JJ choke on his rice. "Saw her at the store today. She's grown up nice." He says it casually, like he doesn't know the weight those words carry like he doesn't remember the nights JJ came home drunk and broken after you left.

JJ's grip on his fork tightens, his knuckles white. "Dad..." he warns, but Luke continues.

"You know, I never told you this," Luke sets down his fork, his voice unusually serious. "But that girl... she used to come by sometimes when you were out. Would bring groceries, say she was just dropping off extras her mom bought." He lets out a dry laugh. "We both knew she was lying. She was checking on you, making sure I hadn't..." he trails off, shame coloring his voice.

The revelation hits JJ like a physical blow. He pushes back from the table, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "I can't... I can't do this right now," he manages to say, his voice rough. "Thanks for dinner. And the..." he gestures at the gifts, unable to finish.

Luke nods, understanding in his eyes that hurts worse than any punch he's ever thrown. "Get some rest, son. Big day tomorrow." He watches as JJ practically flees to his room, the sound of his door closing echoing through the unusually quiet house.

In his room, JJ collapses onto his bed. The surf wax and lure sit on his nightstand, mocking him with their newness, their promise of a father he's always wanted but never quite had. He pulls out his phone, seeing missed calls from Kiara and texts from the group chat. But it's his wallpaper that catches his eye - still that old photo of him and you at the beach, your smile bright and real, his arm around your shoulders. He'd never changed it, not even after starting things with Kiara.

"Fuck," he whispers into the darkness, throwing his arm over his eyes. Tomorrow's competition suddenly seems like the least of his problems.

JJ is hunched over his surfboard on the front porch, a half-eaten piece of toast dangling from his mouth as he meticulously applies the new wax his father gave him. The morning sun casts long shadows across the worn wood of the porch, the air already thick with humidity. His injured hand throbs as he works, the makeshift bandage John B wrapped it in last night now stained and fraying.

The knock makes him jump, nearly dropping the wax block. "It's open!" he calls out, not looking up from his work. He knows it's Kiara before she even speaks - recognizes the pattern of her footsteps, the jingle of the shell anklet she always wears.

"Hey," Kiara's voice is soft and cautious. She's wearing her competition bikini under a loose tank top, her curly hair pulled back in a messy bun. "You weren't answering your phone." She settles down next to him on the porch steps, close but not touching - a careful distance that speaks volumes.

JJ continues working on his board, his movements perhaps more aggressive than necessary. "Yeah, well, been kind of busy." He gestures at the board with his injured hand, causing Kiara to suck in a sharp breath at the sight of his knuckles.

"Jesus, JJ," she reaches for his hand but he pulls away, standing up abruptly. "We need to talk about last night-"

"No," JJ cuts her off, running his good hand through his already messy hair. "We really don't. I fucked up, lost my temper, same old shit. Can we just..." he trails off, finally looking at her. The concern in her eyes makes his stomach twist with guilt.

Kiara stands too, crossing her arms. "Y/N told us everything last night," she says quietly. "After you left. About why she really went away." She watches as JJ's entire body tenses, his jaw clenching. "JJ, it wasn't just about the self-harm and the attempt. She was-"

"Stop," JJ's voice is sharp, dangerous. He turns away from her, gripping the porch railing so hard his knuckles turn white. "I don't want to know. I can't... I can't hear that shit right now. Not before the competition."

"You can't keep running from this," Kiara says, her voice stronger now. "And you can't keep pretending that what we have is..." she stops, taking a deep breath. "I see the way you look at her, JJ. I've always seen it. Even when you're angry at her, even when you're with me, you look at her like... like she's the sun and you're drowning in her light."

JJ lets out a bitter laugh, turning back to face her. "That's some poetic shit, Kie." But there's no humor in his voice, just pain and exhaustion. "What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry? That I'm a fucking mess who can't get his shit together? That I-"

"I want you to be honest," Kiara interrupts. "With me, with yourself, with her." She steps closer, reaching up to touch his face gently. "We both knew this wasn't forever, JJ. We were just... holding each other together until something better came along."

"You deserve better than that," JJ says quietly, leaning into her touch despite himself. "Better than me using you as a bandaid for my fucked up heart."

Kiara smiles sadly. "Yeah, I do. And so do you." She drops her hand, stepping back. "The competition starts soon. Y/N’s entering too, by the way. JJ? She still wears that shell necklace you made her. Never took it off, even in Maine."

The information hits JJ like a physical blow, making him grip the railing tighter. The surf wax sits abandoned on his board, the morning sun turning it soft and sticky. JJ sighs heavily, sliding down to sit on the porch steps. The morning sun continues to rise, casting long shadows across the yard where weeds push through cracked concrete - a perfect metaphor for their relationship, beautiful things growing in broken places.

"You're not mad?" JJ asks finally, his voice rough. He picks at the fraying bandage on his hand, avoiding her eyes. "About... everything?"

Kiara lets out a soft laugh sitting back down next to him bumping his shoulder with hers. "I mean, I probably should be. But honestly?" She tilts her face toward the sun, closing her eyes. "I think I've known since the beginning. We were both just... trying to fill empty spaces."

JJ runs his good hand through his hair, a nervous habit he can't shake. "You're too good for this shit, Kie. Too good for me and my fucked up baggage." He glances at her sideways. "I never meant to hurt you."

"I know," Kiara says simply. "And hey, at least we had some good times, right?" She grins at him, that familiar sparkle in her eyes. "Like that time we got caught skinny dipping at the country club pool?"

"Fuck," JJ laughs despite himself, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Your dad's face when he found us... thought he was gonna have a stroke." The memory feels lighter now, less weighted with guilt.

They sit in comfortable silence for a moment. Finally, Kiara speaks again, her voice gentle but firm. "You need to talk to her, JJ. Like, really talk to her. No yelling, no running away."

JJ's jaw tightens. "Kie..."

"No, listen," she cuts him off. "What she told us last night... it changes things. And you deserve to know." She stands up, brushing off her shorts. "But first, you need to kick Topper's ass in this competition. Show him that pogues rule the waves, right?"

JJ looks up at her, gratitude and affection washing over him. "How are you so fucking cool about all this?"

Kiara shrugs, a small smile playing on her lips. "Because I love you both, you idiot. Just... not in the way we've been pretending." She starts walking backward toward her car. "See you at the beach. And JJ?" She pauses. "Whatever Y/N told us last night? It's not my story to tell. But when she does tell you... just remember she never stopped loving you either."

JJ watches her drive away, his heart feeling both lighter and heavier at the same time. He turns back to his surfboard, running his fingers over the fresh wax. The competition starts soon, and somewhere on that beach, you’ll be there. The thought makes his stomach flip in a way that has nothing to do with pre-competition nerves.

The beach is alive with pre-competition energy, the morning sun casting long shadows across the sand as spectators and competitors mill about. The group has claimed your usual spot, a patch of sand near the judges' stand where you're spread out with blankets and coolers. The air smells of salt spray and sunscreen, mixed with the distant scent of food vendors setting up their stalls.

JJ sits cross-legged next to Pope, obsessively checking the fins on his board while stealing glances at you. His injured hand is wrapped in fresh bandages - Pope's handiwork from earlier that morning. "You think the swell's gonna hold?" he asks Pope, his voice tighter than usual. "Weather report said it might pick up around noon."

"Dude, stop stressing," Pope replies, not looking up from his phone where he's tracking the wind patterns. "You could surf these waves in your sleep." He pauses, glancing at his friend. "Though maybe focus more on the waves and less on staring at Y/N every five seconds?"

A few feet away, Kiara and you sit huddled over your board, your heads close together as you work on the design. "Pass me the blue paint?" Kiara asks, her voice carefully casual. "I think it'll pop against the white."

"Here," You hand over the paint pen, your finger steady as you work on your own section of the board. "Thanks for helping me with this, Kie. I know it's... weird."

Sarah's voice carries over from where she's practically sitting in John B's lap, her laugh bright in the morning air. "John B, I swear to God, if you get any more sunscreen in my hair..." She squirms as he deliberately rubs more lotion on her neck.

"What? I'm being helpful!" John B protests, grinning. "Can't have my girl turning into a lobster." He catches JJ's eye and makes an exaggerated kissing face, earning himself a handful of sand thrown his way.

"Get a room, you two," Pope groans, but there's affection in his voice. "Some of us are trying to focus here."

"Yeah, focus on what?" JJ snaps, more harshly than intended. "The competition doesn't start for another hour." His eyes drift back to you, watching as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear - a gesture so familiar it makes his chest ache.

"Speaking of the competition," Sarah pipes up, clearly trying to diffuse the tension, "heard Topper's been practicing his aerial moves. Might actually give you a run for your money this time, JJ."

"Please," JJ scoffs, his trademark cockiness returning. "Trust fund baby probably had to pay someone to teach him which end of the board goes in front." But his bravado falters when he catches you hiding a smile at his comment.

"The waves are looking good though," you offer quietly, your first direct contribution to the group conversation. "Nice clean sets coming in." Your voice carries over the beach noise, making JJ's hands still on his board.

The group falls into a loaded silence, everyone pretending not to notice the way JJ and you carefully avoid looking at each other, or how Kiara's shoulders relax slightly when JJ doesn't snap back with a sarcastic comment.

"Alright, enough of this weird energy," Pope announces, standing up and brushing sand off his shorts. "Who wants to help me get drinks from the vendor? We've got..." he checks his watch, "forty-five minutes to get JJ properly hydrated before he has to show these kooks how it's done."

"Let me help," Sarah jumps up, linking her arm through Pope's. "John B, Y/N, you coming?" There's a pointed look in her eyes that everyone pretends not to notice.

"I'm good," You reply, still focused on your board design. "Need to finish this before the competition starts." Your fingers trace the intricate pattern you and Kiara have created - waves and stars intertwining across the white surface.

"Me too," John B replies, stretching out on their blanket. "Someone's gotta make sure these two don't kill each other." He gestures vaguely between JJ and you, earning himself a glare from both of you.

Kiara looks up from the surfboard, her hands covered in paint. "Get me one of those açai bowls if they have them?" she calls after Pope and Sarah. "And maybe some water for everyone? It's getting hot out here."

As Pope and Sarah head toward the vendors, the remaining group falls into an awkward silence. JJ continues fidgeting with his board, though there's nothing left to adjust. The morning sun beats down on you, the humidity making everything feel sticky and tense. The beach is getting more crowded now, the excitement building as more competitors arrive with their boards.

"Your hand looks better," You say suddenly, your voice soft but carrying clearly over the beach noise. You're still focused on your board, not looking up, but your fingers have stilled on the paint pen.

JJ flexes his injured hand unconsciously. "Yeah, well, Pope's got practice wrapping shit up. Comes with being friends with a walking disaster." He tries for his usual sarcastic tone but it falls flat.

"Remember that time you tried to do a backflip off the pier?" John B interjects, clearly trying to ease the tension. "Pope had to use an entire first aid kit on your stupid ass."

"That was one time," JJ protests, a genuine smile finally cracking through his facade. "And I totally would've landed it if that jellyfish hadn't been in the way."

"There was no jellyfish," Kiara laughs, rolling her eyes. "You just chickened out halfway through."

"I did not!" JJ's voice rises indignantly. "Tell them, Y/N/N, you were there-" He cuts himself off abruptly, realizing he'd used your old nickname without thinking.

The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the distant sound of waves and other competitors warming up. Your hand has started trembling slightly, though you try to hide it by gripping the paint pen tighter.

"There definitely wasn't a jellyfish," you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper. "But there was that group of tourist girls watching, and you were trying to show off..."

"Classic JJ," John B jumps in, trying to keep the conversation flowing. "Always trying to impress the ladies with his 'sick moves.'" He makes air quotes with his fingers.

The moment breaks when someone calls out "Maybank!" from down the beach. It's one of the competition organizers, clipboard in hand. "You're up in heat three, twenty minutes!"

"Shit," JJ mutters, standing up and grabbing his board. "I should probably warm up or whatever." He pauses, looking down at your board. "The design's good," he says quietly, before quickly adding, "Both of you. It's... yeah." He turns and jogs toward the water, his board under his arm.

"Well, that was almost a normal conversation," John B observes, earning himself an elbow in the ribs from Kiara. "What? I'm just saying..."

"I should warm up too," You say suddenly, standing and picking up your board. The morning sun catches the shell necklace around your neck - the one JJ made you years ago - making it gleam.

"Want company?" Kiara offers, but you shake your head.

"I need to..." you gesture vaguely toward the opposite end of the beach from where JJ went. "You know."

They watch as you walk away, your hair blowing in the ocean breeze. John B wraps an arm around Kiara's shoulders. "They'll figure it out," he says confidently. "They always do."

"Yeah," Kiara agrees, leaning into him. "But how many hearts are gonna get broken in the process?"

The question hangs in the air as they watch you two paddle out into the waves from opposite ends of the beach, like magnets simultaneously attracting and repelling each other. The waves crash against the shore as the competition gets underway, the beach packed with spectators cheering from the sand. The morning sun glints off the water, creating perfect conditions for the surfers waiting in the lineup. JJ sits on his board, straddling it as he watches the sets roll in, his injured hand gripping the rails slightly tighter than necessary. He's in heat three, along with you and Kiara, a cruel twist of fate that has his stomach in knots.

From the beach, John B's voice carries over the crowd. "Let's go, JJ! Show these kooks how it's done!" Sarah and Pope join in with their cheers, their enthusiasm infectious enough to draw smiles from other spectators.

JJ catches sight of you about twenty yards to his left, the shell necklace he made you glints in the sun. You're focused on the horizon, reading the waves with an intensity he remembers well from your late-night surfing sessions years ago. Kiara floats between you two, creating a triangle formation in the water, her presence both a buffer and a reminder of everything that's changed.

"First wave of heat three!" the announcer's voice booms over the speakers. "Riders, get ready!"

A set approaches and JJ feels the familiar surge of adrenaline. He watches as you turn your board, positioning yourself for the wave. Your form is different now - more refined, more confident. You catch the wave with practiced ease, your movement fluid as you drop in. The crowd cheers as you execute a perfect bottom turn, spraying water in an arc that catches the sunlight.

"Fuck," JJ mutters under his breath, both impressed and frustrated. He spots his own wave approaching, bigger than yours, and paddles hard. As he pops up, everything else fades away - the crowd, the competition, the complicated mess of emotions. It's just him and the wave, the way it's always been. He drives hard off the bottom, launching into an aerial that has the crowd screaming. His injured hand protests as he grabs his rail, but he sticks the landing, finishing with a powerful snap off the lip.

Kiara catches the next wave, her style more aggressive than yours but equally skilled. She shoots JJ a quick smile as she paddles back out, no trace of their earlier conversation in her expression. You're all competitors now, regardless of your personal drama.

The heat continues, each rider pushing themselves harder with each wave. JJ finds himself watching you more than he should, noticing how you’ve incorporated new techniques into your surfing. There's a grace to your movements that wasn't there before, a confidence that makes his chest tight with something between pride and regret.

From the beach, Pope's voice cuts through the crowd noise: "Time check! Two minutes left in the heat!"

JJ sits up straighter on his board, scanning for one last good wave. He needs something big to secure his spot in the finals. A set approaches, and he can see both you and Kiara eyeing it too. It's the kind of wave you used to fight over during your dawn patrol sessions - clean, powerful, perfect for showing off.

The tension in the water is palpable as you all turn toward shore, ready to battle for position. JJ glances at you, catching your eye for the first time since you paddled out. For a moment, it's like nothing has changed - you're just two kids from the Cut, living for the next wave. Then the moment breaks as the announcer's voice booms: "Final wave of heat three approaching! Who's gonna take it?"

The tension crackles through the air as all three surfers eye the approaching wave. JJ's muscles tense as he prepares to paddle, but suddenly you make your move first, cutting across his line with precise timing. You catch the wave perfectly, popping up with fluid grace that makes the crowd gasp.

"Holy shit!" John B's voice carries over the noise as you drop into the face of the wave. Your form is flawless, body low and controlled as you set up for your first maneuver. 

JJ can't help but watch, even as he and Kiara paddle back to position. You carve up the face of the wave, your movements more aggressive than before, spraying water in an arc that catches the sunlight. You transition into a series of snaps that have the judges leaning forward in their seats, before setting up for your finale.

"No fucking way," JJ mutters, recognizing the setup. It's a move you used to practice together, late at night when the beach was empty - a risky aerial that you’d perfected during those endless summer sessions. You launch off the lip, grabbing your rail and rotating in a way that seems to defy gravity. The landing is clean, and precise, sending another spray of water toward the sky as the crowd erupts.

"That's my girl!" Sarah screams from the beach, jumping up and down while clutching John B's arm. Pope's got his phone out, recording everything while shouting his own encouragement.

As you paddle back out, JJ catches your eye again. There's something different in your expression now - a mix of pride, challenge, and something else he can't quite read. Kiara paddles up beside him, a knowing look on her face.

"Damn," Kiara whistles low. "She's been practicing."

"Time!" The announcer's voice booms across the water. "Heat three is complete! Riders, return to shore for scoring."

The paddle back is quiet, each lost in your own thoughts as the judges figure out scores. JJ can feel the energy on the beach, knowing without looking that your last wave changed everything. As you hit the shallows, John B and Pope rush out to help with your boards.

"That was fucking insane!" John B exclaims, grabbing your board. "When did you learn to fly?"

You push your wet hair back, that shell necklace still somehow perfectly in place. "Maine has waves too," you say quietly, but your eyes flick to JJ as you say it. "Different, but good for practicing."

"Attention competitors," the announcer's voice cuts through their conversation. "Scores for heat three are ready..."

The group falls silent, tension building as you wait for the results. JJ finds himself holding his breath, his injured hand throbbing. The morning sun is high now, turning the ocean into a field of diamonds, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers teaching you that aerial on a night just like this, under a full moon with no one else around.

The announcer's voice crackles over the speakers: "In third place, with a score of 8.7 - Kiara Carrera!"

Kiara grins, accepting high-fives from the group. "Not bad for a warmup," she says, squeezing water from her hair. Her eyes dart between JJ and you, anticipating what comes next.

"In second place, with a score of 9.2..." The pause feels endless, "JJ Maybank!"

JJ's jaw tightens, his fingers flexing around his board. He knows what's coming, and can feel it in the electric tension running through their little group. Pope claps him on the shoulder, but he barely feels it.

"And taking first place in heat three, with a score of 9.8 - Y/N L/N! That final aerial was something else, folks!"

The beach erupts in cheers, but JJ's focused on your face - the way your eyes widen in surprise, the slight tremor in your hands as Sarah pulls you into a crushing hug. You look exactly like you did years ago when you landed your first aerial under his guidance.

"Holy shit, Y/N!" John B whoops, lifting you off your feet in celebration. "That was fucking incredible!"

"All riders advancing to the finals, please check the board for heat assignments," the announcer continues. "Thirty-minute break before the next round."

JJ watches as they swarm you with congratulations, his emotions a tangled mess he can't sort through. Pride, jealousy, regret, and something deeper, something that feels like the undertow that used to drag you both out during night sessions.

"You taught her that aerial," Kiara says quietly beside him, her voice carrying a knowing tone. "I remember watching you two practice it for weeks."

Before JJ can respond, you break away from the group, approaching them with hesitant steps. You're holding something in your hand - his old surf wax, the one he'd always let you borrow during your sessions.

"Found this in my bag this morning," you say, your voice barely audible over the beach noise. "Thought you might want it back." Your finger brushes his as you hand it over, sending a jolt through his system that has nothing to do with the competition.

"Keep it," he finds himself saying, his voice rougher than intended. "Looks like you're putting it to better use anyway." He tries to make it sound casual, but there's too much history in those words, too many memories of dawn patrols and midnight sessions and promises made under starlit skies.

The moment stretches between you, heavy with unspoken words, until Pope's voice breaks through: "Guys! They're posting the final heat assignments!"

The group moves toward the bulletin board, but JJ hangs back, watching you walk away. The shell necklace catches the light again, and he remembers making it for you on this very beach, his fingers working the knots while you talked about constellations and dreams and futures that seemed possible then.

"You okay?" Kiara asks, lingering beside him.

"Yeah," JJ lies, running a hand through his salt-stiffened hair. "Just... fuck." He doesn't need to finish the sentence. Kiara understands - she always has.

The finals loom ahead, but all JJ can think about is that aerial, and how your form was exactly the same as when he first taught it to you, right down to the way you point your toes during the rotation. Some things, it seems, don't change - even when everything else does.

The beach is winding down as the sun begins its descent, painting the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks. The competition crowd has thinned, leaving behind only the most dedicated spectators and the Pogues, who are sprawled out on their blankets celebrating their friends' success. JJ, you, and Kiara stand together on the podium, your medals glinting in the late afternoon light.

"Third place, Kiara Carrera!" The announcer's voice booms one final time. Kiara grins, holding up her bronze medal as Sarah and John B whoop and holler from the crowd.

"Second place, Y/N L/N!" You step forward, accepting your silver medal with a small smile. The shell necklace around your neck catches the light, drawing JJ's attention momentarily.

"And your first-place winner, JJ Maybank!" The crowd erupts as JJ accepts his gold medal, his signature cocky grin in place despite the storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface. His final wave had been spectacular - a combination of raw power and technical skill that even the most critical judges couldn't deny.

As you step down from the podium, Pope approaches with a cooler. "Time to celebrate properly!" he announces, pulling out beers for everyone. The group gravitates toward your usual spot on the beach, away from the dispersing crowd.

"To the most talented pogues in the OBX!" John B raises his beer, his other arm wrapped around Sarah's waist. "And to Kiara for not killing JJ when he snake dropped her wave in the finals!"

"Hey!" JJ protests, but he's laughing. "All's fair in love and surfing, right?" The words hang in the air for a moment, loaded with meaning as his eyes unconsciously drift to you.

"That last aerial though," Pope interjects, sensing the tension. "Thought you were gonna break your neck, JJ."

"Please," JJ scoffs, taking a long drink from his beer. "That was nothing compared to the shit we used to pull during night sessions." He freezes slightly, realizing what he's said, and who he's referencing.

You shift beside him, your silver medal catching the dying light. "Remember that time we tried to surf during a lightning storm?" You say quietly, surprising everyone. "John B had to come to rescue us in the Twinkie."

"Jesus," Sarah laughs, but her eyes are watchful. "You two were always doing crazy shit like that."

The group falls into a comfortable rhythm of storytelling and laughter, the competition tension slowly easing. JJ finds himself hyper-aware of your presence, the way you laugh at John B's terrible jokes, and how you unconsciously play with that shell necklace when you're thinking.

"You've improved," he says suddenly when the others are distracted by Pope's dramatic reenactment of a wipeout. "Your form, I mean. It's... different. Better."

You look at him, really look at him, for what feels like the first time since you’ve been back. "Had a good teacher," you reply softly, your fingers still toying with the necklace. "Some things you don't forget, even when you're trying to."

The weight of unspoken words hangs between you, heavy as storm clouds. Kiara watches you two from across the circle, a knowing look in her eyes as she catches JJ's gaze.

The Wreck is bustling with the usual dinner crowd, but Kiara's parents have reserved the back section for their celebration. The smell of fried shrimp and hush puppies fills the air as you pile around your favorite table, medals still hanging around the winners' necks. The sunset streams through the windows, casting everything in a warm golden glow.

JJ slouches in his chair, one arm draped over the back as he nurses his beer. His eyes keep drifting to you, who's sitting between Sarah and Pope, your hair still damp from the ocean. The shell necklace catches the light every time you move, a constant reminder of everything that's changed and everything that hasn't.

"Yo, check it out," John B nudges JJ, nodding toward the entrance where Topper and Rafe are making their way over. The entire table tenses slightly, years of rivalry making everyone wary.

"Hey," Topper says, stopping at their table. He looks different - less aggressive than usual, almost humble. "Just wanted to say... that was some sick surfing today. All of you." His eyes linger on you for a moment longer than necessary, making JJ's jaw clench.

Rafe, surprisingly sober, nods in agreement. "That move in the finals, Maybank? Pretty fucking impressive." He shifts uncomfortably, clearly not used to complimenting pogues. "And Y/N... didn't know you had moves like that."

"Thanks," you reply quietly, your fingers automatically going to the shell necklace. The gesture doesn't go unnoticed by anyone at the table, especially JJ.

"Yeah, well," JJ starts, his voice carrying an edge, but Kiara kicks him under the table. He swallows whatever sarcastic comment he is about to make. "Thanks, man. You weren't half bad either, Topper."

"Listen," Topper says, running a hand through his hair. "We're having a bonfire in Figure Eight tonight. Victory party kind of thing. You guys should come." The invitation hangs in the air, surprising everyone.

Sarah raises an eyebrow at her brother. "Rafe? You're okay with this?"

Rafe shrugs, looking almost uncomfortable. "New leaf and all that shit, right? Besides," he grins, some of his old cockiness returning, "can't let you pogues have all the fun."

The group exchanges looks, years of kook-pogue rivalry making them hesitant. It's Pope who finally speaks up. "Yeah, alright. Could be fun."

"Cool," Topper nods, already backing away. "Starts at nine. Bring whatever." He and Rafe head back to their table, leaving you in stunned silence.

"Did that just happen? Did we just have a civil conversation with Topper and Rafe?" Kiara says surprised.

"End times," Pope declares solemnly, making everyone laugh. "The apocalypse is definitely coming."

"Well, that was weird," John B says, voicing what everyone's thinking. "Think it's a trap?"

"Nah," Sarah shakes her head. "Topper's been different lately. And Rafe... well, rehab changed him. A little, anyway."

JJ snorts, taking another drink. "Still don't trust them." His eyes find you again. "You gonna go?"

The question feels heavier than it should, loaded with implications. You meet his gaze, something unreadable in your expression. "Maybe," you say softly. "Might be nice to see how the other half lives, right?"

The tension at the table shifts, everyone pretending not to notice the way JJ's grip tightens on his beer bottle, or how your fingers haven't left that shell necklace since Topper walked away.

"Well," Kiara stands up, ever the peacemaker, "if we're doing this, we should probably get more food first. Can't show up to a kook party on empty stomachs." She heads toward the kitchen, leaving the others to navigate the complicated dynamics at the table.

The bonfire casts dancing shadows across the beach as JJ stands near the water's edge, the sound of waves mixing with distant laughter and music from the kook party. He's already several beers in, trying to drown out the memories that keep surfacing every time he catches sight of you. The others have conspicuously disappeared - John B and Sarah wandering off toward the dunes, Pope getting caught up in some debate about marine biology with a group of college kids, and Kiara conveniently remembering she needed to help set up the speakers.

You approach quietly, your presence announced only by the soft crunch of sand under your feet. You’ve changed since dinner, wearing a loose white beach dress that catches the firelight, that damn shell necklace still around your neck. Without warning, you reach out and take his beer, replacing it with a bottle of water.

"The fuck, Y/N/N?" JJ protests, the nickname slipping out before he can stop it. His voice is rougher than usual, whether, from the alcohol or emotion, it's hard to tell.

"You've had enough," you say softly, but firmly. "And we both know you get mean when you drink too much." There's no judgment in your voice, just stated fact - you know him too well, even after all this time.

JJ runs a hand through his hair, agitation clear in every movement. "Yeah? And what makes you think you still get to make that call?" The words come out harsh, but he takes a drink from the water bottle anyway.

You settle into the sand, patting the spot next to you. After a moment's hesitation, JJ sits too, maintaining careful distance between you two. The fire casts an orange glow across your skin.

"Remember the last bonfire we were at together?" You ask suddenly, your voice barely audible over the waves. "Before... everything?"

JJ tenses beside you, his fingers digging into the sand. "Don't," he warns, but there's less bite in his voice now. "We're not doing this, Y/N."

"Aren't we?" You turn to look at him fully, the firelight reflecting in your eyes. "Because I think we've been doing this dance since I got back. Everyone sees it, JJ. Even Kiara-"

"Leave Kie out of this," he snaps, but you both know it's a weak protest. His hand unconsciously moves toward yours in the sand before he catches himself. The shell necklace gleams as you shift, drawing his attention. "You kept it," he says suddenly, nodding toward the necklace. "Even in Maine."

"Never took it off," you admit quietly. "Even when they..it was the only piece of home I had left. The only piece of you."

JJ's breath catches at your words, his fingers curling into fists in the sand. The firelight dances across your faces as the party continues behind you, but you might as well be alone on the beach. The sound of waves seems to grow louder, matching the thundering of his heart.

"You can't just..." he starts, his voice cracking.

"You can't just say shit like that, Y/N. Not after... not after everything."

You shift slightly closer, the hem of your white dress brushing against his leg. "Then what can I say, JJ? Because we need to talk about it. About that night. About why I really left." 

"Yeah?" JJ's voice turns sharp, defensive. "What's there to talk about? You made your choice. You left. End of fucking story." But his eyes betray him, constantly drawn to your face, to the necklace, to the way the firelight catches in your hair.

"It wasn't a choice," you say quietly, your voice trembling slightly. "My parents found the letters, JJ. The ones I wrote to you about... about everything. About your dad, about what we were planning..." You take a shaky breath. "About how much I loved you."

JJ's whole body goes rigid at your words. The water bottle crumples in his grip, forgotten. "Stop," he says, but it sounds more like a plea than a command. "Just... fuck, Y/N."

"You want to know why I really left?" You continue, your voice stronger now. "Because that night, after I left your house, after your dad..." you swallow hard. "After I saw what he did to you, I went home and wrote everything down. Every bruise I'd helped you hide, every night you climbed through my window bleeding, every time you flinched when someone moved too fast. I was going to turn him in, JJ. I couldn't watch him hurt you anymore."

The confession hangs in the air between you, heavy as storm clouds. JJ's breathing has become ragged, his jaw clenched so tight it must hurt. Behind you, someone cranks up the music, but it feels distant, muffled like you're underwater.

"My parents found the letters before I could do anything," you continue, your voice barely above a whisper. "They read everything - about us, about your dad, about how we were planning to run away after graduation. They didn't give me a choice, JJ. It was either Maine or..." 

JJ stares at the water, his whole body vibrating with tension as he processes your words. The firelight catches the tears threatening to spill from his eyes, but he blinks them away furiously. His injured hand flexes in the sand, leaving small indentations that quickly fill with darkness.

"You were gonna..." he starts, his voice hoarse. "You were trying to protect me?" A bitter laugh escapes him. "Fuck, Y/N. I thought... all this time I thought you just couldn't handle my shit anymore. Thought you got tired of dealing with the fucked up pogue kid."

You shift closer, close enough that your shoulders brush. The contact sends electricity through both of you. "I could never get tired of you, JJ," you whisper, your voice catching. "Even in Maine, even when they had me so medicated I could barely remember my own name... I never stopped..."

"Don't," he cuts you off roughly, but he doesn't move away. "You can't just come back here and tell me all this shit. You can't just..." he runs his hand through his hair again, agitation clear in every movement. "Fuck, do you know what it did to me? Finding your room empty that morning? Your mom wouldn't tell me anything, just kept saying you were 'getting help' like you were some kind of..." he can't finish the sentence.

"I tried to call," you admit quietly. "That first month, I called your number every day until they took my phone. Left so many voicemails I filled up your inbox." You touch the shell necklace again, a habit he's starting to recognize as nervous comfort. "Did you... did you ever listen to them?"

"Every fucking one. Over and over until the system deleted them." He finally turns to look at you fully, his eyes intense in the firelight. "I still have that old phone. Can't bring myself to throw it away because it's got your last message saved."

The confession hangs between you, heavy with meaning. Behind you, the party continues, but you might as well be alone on the beach. The waves crash steadily, a rhythm you both know by heart from countless night sessions together.

"I kept every letter," You say softly. "The ones they wouldn't let me send. There's a whole box of them under my bed. Three years' worth of things I needed to tell you." Your hand moves unconsciously toward his in the sand, stopping just short of touching.

JJ stares at the ocean for a long moment, processing everything. The firelight dances across his features as he finally turns back to you, his expression raw and vulnerable in a way you haven’t seen since that last night three years ago.

"Every time something good happened, or something shit happened, or just... anything happened, my first thought was always 'I gotta tell Y/N.' Then I'd remember you weren't there anymore." He lets out a shaky breath. "Took me almost a year to stop turning to tell you stuff."

Your hand finally bridges the gap between them, your fingers brushing against his in the sand. Neither of you pulls away. "I did the same thing," you admit. "In group therapy, they'd ask who we missed most from home. I'd always say my parents, but..." You touch the shell necklace with your free hand. "It was always you, JJ. Every single time."

JJ's thumb unconsciously strokes across your knuckles, a gesture so familiar it makes your heartache. "I can't..." He starts, his voice catching. "I can't go through losing you again, Y/N. I barely survived it the first time." The admission costs him, you can see it in the way his jaw clenches, the way his fingers tighten slightly against yours.

"I'm not going anywhere," you whisper, the words carrying on the ocean breeze. "Not this time. Not ever again." You turn your hand in the sand, properly lacing your fingers together. "I'm done running, JJ. From you, from us, from everything."

The silence that follows is heavy with possibility. Behind you, someone calls your names - probably Pope or Sarah looking for you - but neither moves. "We can't just pick up where we left off," JJ finally says, but he doesn't let go of your hand. "Too much has happened. We're different people now."

You nod, understanding in your eyes. "I know. But maybe..." you squeeze his hand gently. "Maybe we can start something new. Something better."

JJ looks at your intertwined hands, then back at your face - at the girl who's haunted his dreams for three years, who's sitting here now in the firelight wearing his necklace and holding his hand like you never left. "Yeah," he says softly, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through. "Maybe we can."

The party continues behind you, but you stay there on the beach, hands linked, watching the waves and starting the long process of healing what was broken. It's not perfect, and it's not fixed, but it's a beginning. And sometimes, that's enough.

The moonlight streams through your bedroom window as you and JJ slip inside, your footsteps quiet on the hardwood floors. Your room looks different than JJ remembers - new paint, new decorations, but somehow still unmistakably you. The fairy lights strung across the ceiling cast a soft glow over everything, creating shadows that dance across the walls.

JJ hovers near the door, hands shoved in his pockets as he watches you drop to your knees beside the bed. The fabric of your dress ghosting around your legs as you reach under the bed frame. His shell necklace catches the light as you move, making his chest tight with memories.

"It's here somewhere," You mutter, pushing aside boxes and old notebooks. "I kept everything organized when I moved back, but..." you trail off, stretching further under the bed. 

JJ forces himself to look away, focusing instead on the photos newly tacked to your wall. Most are recent - your time in Maine, new friends, new places. But there, in the corner, partially hidden behind others, he spots one that makes his breath catch. It's you two, three years ago, on the beach after a night session. His arm is around your shoulders, both of you grinning at the camera, saltwater still dripping from your hair.

"Found it!" Your voice pulls him back to the present. You emerge from under the bed with a large shoebox, worn at the edges and covered in doodles. Your hands shake slightly as you set it on the bed, looking up at JJ with uncertainty in your eyes.

"That's... all of them?" JJ asks, his voice rougher than intended. He takes a step closer, drawn by the box like a magnet. Three years of words you couldn't say, couldn't send, all contained in one shoebox.

You nod, sitting cross-legged on the bed beside the box. "Every letter I wrote. Every time I missed you, every time something reminded me of you, every time I..." you trail off, fingers tracing the edge of the box. "Every time I needed you to know I still loved you."

The admission hangs in the air between you, heavy with possibility. JJ moves closer, perching on the edge of the bed, careful to maintain some distance. The fairy lights cast soft shadows across your face as you open the box, revealing stacks of envelopes, some crisp and new, others worn from being handled repeatedly.

"You don't have to read them now," you say quickly, noticing how JJ's hands have started to shake. "I just... I needed you to know they existed. That I never stopped trying to reach you, even when I couldn't actually send them."

The tension breaks as he lets out a snort of laughter, picking up one of the envelopes. "Your handwriting still looks like shit, Y/N," he teases, falling easily back into your old dynamic. "Seriously, did they not teach penmanship in Maine?"

You gasp in mock offense, snatching the letter from his hands. "Excuse you, this is art." You fought back a smile though, relief evident in your features at his attempt to lighten the mood. "Not all of us can have perfect surfer boy handwriting."

"Perfect?" JJ grins, reaching for another letter. "Have you seen my grocery lists? Even Pope can't read them." He settles more comfortably on the bed, his earlier hesitation melting away. "Oh shit, this one's got little hearts drawn all over it. Fucking sap."

"Shut up," You laugh, shoving his shoulder playfully. "I was heavily medicated and missing your stupid face." You pull out another letter, this one covered in doodles of waves and surfboards. "Oh god, my therapy art phase. We don't talk about this one."

JJ snatches it before you can hide it, his eyes scanning the page with growing amusement. "Holy fuck, is that supposed to be me?" He points to a stick figure with spiky hair riding a wave. "My hair does not look like that!"

"It absolutely does when you first wake up," you argue, reaching for the letter. JJ holds it above his head, laughing as you try to grab it. "JJ Maybank, give that back!"

"Make me," he challenges, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. It feels like old times - him in your room, playfully arguing about nothing important, the weight of your earlier conversation temporarily lifted.

You lunge for the letter, causing you both to tumble backward onto your bed, letters scattering around you. JJ's still holding the drawing above his head, grinning as you try to reach it. "You're such an ass," you complain, but you're laughing too.

"Yeah, but you missed this ass," he quips, then freezes slightly, worried he's pushed too far. But You just roll your eyes, finally managing to snatch the letter back.

"Unfortunately," you sigh dramatically, settling beside him among the scattered letters. "Though I'm starting to question my judgment."

JJ clutches his chest in mock hurt. "Wow, three years and you're already tired of me? That's cold, Y/N. Ice cold." He picks up another letter, this one dated from about a year ago. "Oh look, more hearts. And are those little JJs surfing?"

"I'm going to murder you," you threaten, but there's no heat in it. You're watching him with soft eyes, taking in how the fairy lights cast shadows across his face, how his smile reaches his eyes for the first time since you’ve been back.

"Nah, you love me too much," he says automatically, then stills as he realizes what he's said. The playful atmosphere wavers for a moment, the weight of your history threatening to crash back in.

But you just smile, reaching out to fix his messy hair. "Yeah," you say softly. "I do."

The admission is simple, honest, lacking the heavy emotion of your beach conversation. JJ looks at you, really looks at you, surrounded by three years worth of letters you wrote to him, wearing his necklace, smiling at him like nothing's changed and everything's changed all at once.

"Well, shit," he says finally, a grin tugging at his lips. "That's convenient. 'Cause I might still love you too."

The moment stretches between you, charged with three years of unspoken feelings until JJ finally closes the distance. His lips meet yours softly at first, hesitant, like he's afraid you might disappear if he pushes too hard. His hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing across your cheekbone as letters crinkle beneath you.

You respond immediately, your fingers threading through his hair as you pull him closer. The kiss deepens, three years of longing and regret and love pouring into it. JJ tastes like ocean and bonfire smoke, exactly how you remember.

"Fuck," JJ breathes against your lips, pulling back slightly. His blue eyes are dark with emotion as he looks at you, his thumb still tracing patterns on your skin. "I've missed this. Missed you." His voice is rough, and vulnerable in a way he rarely allows himself to be.

You smile, tugging gently at his hair. "Yeah?" You tease, though your voice trembles slightly. "Even with my shit handwriting?"

JJ laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest where it's pressed against yours. "Especially with your shit handwriting," he murmurs, before capturing your lips again. This kiss is different - deeper, more urgent. His hand slides from your face to your neck, fingers brushing against the shell necklace.

You shift on the bed, letters scattering to the floor forgotten as you pull JJ closer. His weight settles over you naturally, like you never spent time apart. The fairy lights cast a soft glow over them, creating shadows that dance across your skin.

"Is this okay?" JJ asks between kisses, his forehead resting against yours. Despite his usual confidence, there's uncertainty in his voice. "We don't have to..."

You cut him off with another kiss, your hands sliding under his t-shirt to trace the familiar planes of his back. "JJ," you whisper against his lips. "Shut up."

He grins against your mouth, some of his usual cockiness returning. "Make me," he challenges, echoing your earlier playful banter. But there's heat in his voice now, promise in the way his fingers trail down your sides tracing the curve of your waist through the thin fabric of your white dress. His touch is familiar and electric, leaving trails of heat in its wake. The fairy lights cast a soft glow over them as he captures your lips again, deeper this time, more urgent.

"Fuck, Y/N," he breathes against your mouth, his voice rough with want. His fingers find the hem of your dress, playing with the fabric as he kisses down your neck. "Tell me if you want me to stop."

"Don't you dare," you whisper, tugging at his hair the way you know he likes, The action draws a low groan from him, his hips pressing instinctively against yours. JJ pulls back slightly, his blue eyes dark with desire as he looks down at you. The shell necklace gleams against your skin, making his chest tight with emotion. He leans down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, following the path of the necklace.

"You're wearing too many clothes," he murmurs against your skin, his hands sliding higher under your dress. His touch is reverent, relearning every curve and dip of your body. When his fingers brush against the lace of your underwear, you both inhale sharply.

You tug at his shirt impatiently. "So are you," you breathe, helping him pull it over his head your hands immediately explore his chest. "God, I've missed touching you."

JJ's response is to kiss you again, hard and deep, as his hands work to dress up your body. "Lift up," he instructs softly, and you arch your back so he can pull the fabric over your head. The sight of you in just your underwear, his necklace resting between your breasts, makes him pause.

"What?" You ask, suddenly self-conscious under his intense gaze. But JJ just shakes his head, leaning down to press kisses across your chest.

"Just..." he murmurs between kisses, "trying to memorize everything." His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through your bra. "In case this is a dream."

You reach up to touch JJ's face tenderly, your thumb tracing his bottom lip. "Not a dream," you whisper, pulling him down for another deep kiss. Your legs wrap around his waist, drawing him closer as his hands explore your body with increasing urgency.

JJ's fingers trace the edge of your bra, his touch teasing yet reverent. "Can I...?" he asks against your lips, and you nod, arching your back so he can reach the clasp. His hands are slightly shaky as he unhooks it like he still can't quite believe this is real.

"Fuck," he breathes as the garment falls away, revealing your breasts. The shell necklace rests between them, catching the fairy lights. JJ leans down, pressing open-mouthed kisses across your chest. His tongue traces patterns on your skin, remembering exactly how to make you gasp.

Your hands tangle in his hair as he takes a nipple into his mouth, your back arching off the bed. "JJ," you moan softly, mindful of the quiet house. His free hand palms your other breast, thumb circling the sensitive peak until you're squirming beneath him.

"Missed these sounds," JJ murmurs against your skin, switching his attention to your other breast. "Missed making you fall apart." His hand slides down your stomach, fingers playing with the waistband of your underwear. "Can still remember every spot that makes you shake."

To prove his point, he kisses down your ribs to that sensitive spot just below your left breast - the one that always makes you gasp. Sure enough, your breath hitches, your fingers tightening in his hair. "Still so responsive," he grins against your skin, nipping gently.

"Shut up," you breathe, but there's no heat in it. Your hands slide down his back, nails dragging lightly across his skin in the way you know drives him crazy. JJ groans, his hips pressing against yours instinctively.

"Make me," he challenges, echoing your earlier banter as he kisses lower, across your stomach. His fingers hook into your underwear, but he pauses, looking up at you with dark eyes. "Tell me you want this, Y/N/N. Tell me you want me."

You prop yourself up on your elbows, looking down at him with eyes full of love and desire. The fairy lights cast shadows across his face, highlighting the intensity of his gaze. "I want you, JJ," you whisper. "Always have, always will."

When you reach the waistband of his shorts, he groans softly against your neck. "Can I?" You ask, fingers playing with the button of his shorts. JJ nods against your skin, his breath hot on your neck as you work the button free. The sound of his zipper seems loud in the quiet room.

JJ helps you slide his shorts down his legs, his breath catching as your fingers trace the waistband of his boxers. The fairy lights cast a soft glow over his skin, highlighting the muscles that flex under your touch. "Fuck, Y/N," he breathes as your hand palms him through the thin fabric. His hips buck involuntarily, seeking more friction. "You're gonna kill me."

You smirk up at him, enjoying the way his breath hitches as you hook your fingers in his boxers. "That's the plan," you tease, slowly pulling the fabric down. JJ kicks them off impatiently, leaving him completely bare above you.

His hands slide up your thighs, fingers playing with the edge of your underwear. "These need to go," he murmurs, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your hip bone. "Want to taste you again."

You lift your hips, letting him slide the lace down your legs. The shell necklace gleams against your skin as you move, drawing JJ's attention. He leans down, pressing kisses along the chain until he reaches the shell pendant resting between your breasts.

"Still can't believe you kept it," he whispers against your skin, his hands exploring your now-bare body with increasing urgency. "Kept wearing it all this time."

"Never took it off," you breathe, arching into his touch as his fingers trace patterns on your inner thighs. "It was like keeping a piece of you with me."

JJ groans at your words, capturing your lips in a deep kiss. His hand slides higher, fingers teasing where you want him most. "Tell me what you need," he murmurs against your mouth. "Want to make you feel good."

Your response is cut off by a gasp as his fingers find where you need him. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, "You," you manage to say. "Just you, JJ. Always you."

JJ's fingers trace slow, teasing circles against your sensitive flesh, watching with dark eyes as you arch beneath his touch. His other hand explores your body with reverent familiarity, relearning every curve and dip that he's missed for three long years. The fairy lights cast shifting shadows across your bare skin as you move together on your bed. "Fuck, you're so wet already," JJ breathes against your neck, his voice rough with desire. His fingers slide lower, teasing your entrance as his thumb continues its maddening circles. "Always so responsive for me, Y/N."

JJ can't resist leaning down to trace the chain of the necklace with his tongue, following its path down to where it rests against your sternum. "Please," you gasp as he slides one finger inside you, your legs spreading wider to accommodate him. "JJ, I need..."

"Tell me," he murmurs against your skin, adding a second finger and curling them just right. "Want to hear you say it, baby. Tell me what you need." Your response is cut off by a moan as his thumb presses harder, his fingers finding that spot inside you that makes you see stars. JJ watches your face intently, memorizing every expression of pleasure that crosses your features. His cock throbs insistently against your thigh, but he ignores it, focused entirely on making you fall apart.

"You," you finally manage, your voice breathy and desperate. "Need you inside me, JJ. Please."

JJ groans at your words, his control wavering. But he forces himself to maintain his slow pace, wanting to draw this out, to make it last. His fingers continue their steady rhythm as he kisses down your body, paying special attention to each sensitive spot he remembers.

"Not yet," he whispers against your hip bone, nipping gently at the skin there. "Want to taste you first. Been dreaming about this for three years, Y/N. Gonna take my time."

JJ settles between your thighs, his hot breath teasing your sensitive flesh as he presses open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs. His fingers maintain their steady rhythm inside you, curling just right. "Missed how you taste," he murmurs against your thigh, nipping gently at the sensitive skin. "Missed making you fall apart like this." His free hand slides up your body to palm your breast, thumb circling your nipple as he finally presses his tongue against your clit.

Your back arches off the bed, one hand tangling in his salt-stiffened hair while the other grips your sheets. The shell necklace catches the light as you move, a constant reminder of your shared history. "JJ," you gasp, trying to keep your voice down despite the pleasure coursing through you.

JJ hums against you, the vibration making your thighs tremble. His tongue traces patterns around your clit as his fingers continue their steady thrusting, finding that perfect spot inside you that makes you see stars. He watches your face intently, memorizing every expression of pleasure that crosses your features.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, pulling back slightly to blow cool air against your heated flesh. "Want to see you come apart for me. Been too fucking long." His words are punctuated by another curl of his fingers, another swipe of his tongue.

Your hips buck against his face as he sucks your clit into his mouth, your breathing becoming more ragged. JJ's free hand slides down to hold your hips steady, his grip firm but gentle. "Close," you manage to gasp, your fingers tightening in his hair. "JJ, I'm so close..."

JJ doubles his efforts, his tongue moving faster as his fingers maintain their perfect rhythm. He can feel your walls beginning to flutter around his fingers and can taste how close you are. "Come for me, Y/N, Want to feel you fall apart on my tongue."

The combination of his words, his fingers, and his tongue finally pushes you over the edge. Tour back arches sharply, your thighs trembling as waves of pleasure crash over you. JJ works you through it, his movements becoming gentler as you come down from your high.

When he finally pulls back, his lips are glistening and his eyes are dark with desire. He presses soft kisses up your body as you catch your breath, paying special attention to the shell necklace that rests between your breasts. His cock presses insistently against your thigh, but he makes no move to rush things.

"Beautiful," he murmurs against your neck, nipping gently at your pulse point. "Fucking beautiful, Y/N. Missed watching you come undone like that."

Your hands slide down his back, nails dragging lightly across his skin in a way that makes him shiver. "Need you," you whisper, pulling him up for a deep kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue, making you moan softly. "Please, JJ. Need you inside me."

JJ positions himself between your thighs, his cock pressing teasingly against your entrance. The fairy lights cast shadows across your sweat-slicked bodies as he captures your lips in a deep, passionate kiss. "Need you to be sure," he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with desire and emotion. "Tell me this is what you want, Y/N." His cock slides against your wetness, making you both gasp at the sensation. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "I'm sure, JJ," you breathe, your hands sliding up his back to tangle in his hair. "Been sure since the day I left. Want you, need you, love you."

JJ groans at your words, capturing your lips again as he slowly pushes inside you. You both freeze at the sensation, overwhelmed by the feeling of being connected again after so long. "Fuck," he breathes against your neck, his arms trembling as he holds himself still. "You feel fucking perfect, baby."

Your nails dig into his shoulders as you adjust to his size, your breath coming in short gasps. The fairy lights dance across your skin as you start to move together, finding your rhythm like you’ve never spent a day apart. JJ's movements are slow, and deliberate, wanting to savor every moment.

"Missed this," he murmurs, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your neck. "Missed you, missed us." His words are punctuated by slow, deep thrusts that make you gasp and arch beneath him. One hand slides down to grip your hip, angling you just right.

The shell necklace moves with each thrust, catching the light and drawing JJ's attention. He leans down to trace it with his tongue, following its path between your breasts. The action makes you moan softly, your walls clenching around him.

"JJ," you gasp as he hits that perfect spot inside you. "Please, need more." Your hands slide down his back, nails leaving light scratches that make him groan and thrust harder.

He continues his slow, deliberate pace, savoring every gasp and moan that escapes your lips. His hands explore your body with increasing urgency, one sliding down to grip your thigh as he adjusts the angle of his thrusts. "Fuck," he groans against your neck, nipping gently at your pulse point. "Feel so good around me, so fucking perfect." His words are punctuated by deep, measured thrusts that make your walls clench around him. The shell necklace gleams between your breasts, moving with each roll of his hips.

Your hands slide up his back, nails leaving light scratches that make him shudder. "Please, JJ," you gasp, your legs tightening around his waist. "Need more, need you harder." Your voice is breathy, and desperate, making his control waver.

But JJ maintains his torturously slow pace, wanting to draw out every moment. His free hand slides between them to circle your clit, making your back arch sharply off the bed. "Not yet, baby," he murmurs, capturing your lips in a deep kiss. "Want to feel every inch of you, want to make this last."

JJ's thumb continues its maddening circles on your clit as he thrusts deeper, hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars. "JJ," You moan, your walls fluttering around him as you get closer to the edge. "I'm close, so close..." 

His thrusts become slightly harder, and deeper, but still maintain that measured pace that's driving you both crazy. JJ's free hand slides up to palm your breast, thumb circling your nipple as he continues to work you higher. The combination of sensations has you gasping his name, your body trembling beneath him.

JJ grins against your lips, his hands sliding down to grip your hips. "Want to try something?" he asks, his voice rough with desire. Without waiting for an answer, he suddenly rolls you over, keeping himself buried deep inside you as you end up straddling his lap.

"Fuck," You gasp at the new angle, your hands braced against his chest as you adjust. The shell necklace swings between you, catching the fairy lights as you move. JJ's hands slide up your thighs, gripping your hips as he guides you into a slow rhythm.

"That's it, baby," he groans, watching as you start to move above him. Your breasts bounce slightly with each movement, making his mouth water. "Ride my cock just like that." His hands explore your body freely from this new position, one sliding up to palm your breast while the other keeps a steady grip on your hip.

You set a torturously slow pace, rolling your hips in a way that has JJ cursing under his breath. Your walls clench around him with each movement, drawing low groans from deep in his chest. "Missed watching you like this," JJ breathes, his hands roaming your body possessively. He sits up slightly, capturing a nipple in his mouth as you continue to ride him. 

His hands guide your movements, helping you maintain that slow, deep pace that's driving you both crazy.

"JJ," You moan as he hits that perfect spot inside you. Your nails drag down his chest, leaving light scratches that make him buck up into you harder. 

JJ's control starts to slip as he watches you move above him, your head thrown back in pleasure. "Fuck, Y/N," he groans, his hands tightening on your hips. "You look so fucking good riding my cock like this."

He watches in awe as you continue to ride him, your movements becoming more confident with each roll of your hips. His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts as you move above him. "Fuck, just like that," he groans, bucking up to meet your movements. His hands grip your hips tighter, guiding you into a rhythm that has you both gasping. 

You brace your hands on his chest, using the leverage to grind down harder. Your walls clench around him with each movement, drawing curses from his lips. "JJ," you moan, your head falling back as he hits that perfect spot inside you. "So deep like this..."

JJ works faster on your clit as he continues to thrust up into you, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. You gasp, and your movements become more desperate. He suddenly pulls out of you, making you whimper at the loss. His chest heaves with heavy breaths as he tries to regain some control, his cock throbbing painfully between you. 

"Need to slow down," he groans against your lips, his hands sliding up your sides. "Don't want this to end yet." His fingers trace patterns on your skin as you straddle his thighs. Your hands slide down his chest, nails dragging lightly across his skin in a way that makes him shiver. "JJ," you whimper, trying to move closer. Your pussy is dripping wet, clenching around nothing as you seek friction.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me," his fingers slid between your legs to tease your entrance. He watches as you gasp and arches into his touch, your walls fluttering around his fingers. "Could stay here all night, just watching you fall apart."

You rock against his hand, seeking more friction. JJ's free hand slides up to palm your breast, thumb circling your nipple as he continues to tease you with shallow thrusts of his fingers. "Please," you moan, your hands gripping his shoulders for support. "Need you back inside me, JJ. Been too long without you."

You shift in JJ's lap, deliberately grinding against his thigh. The friction makes you gasp, your wetness coating his skin as you rock your hips. His hands gripping your hips to guide your movements. "Fuck, Y/N," he groans, feeling your pussy slide against his thigh. "You're so fucking wet." His fingers dig into your flesh, leaving marks that will be visible tomorrow. 

Your hands brace against his chest for leverage as you grind harder, chasing the friction you need. The shell necklace swings between you with each movement, occasionally brushing against his heated skin. "JJ," you moan, your head falling back as pleasure builds.

JJ's free hand slides between them, thumb finding your clit as you continue to grind against him. "Please, more, need you inside me again." Your words are punctuated by the roll of your hips, your pussy sliding against his thigh with increasing urgency.

His thumb works faster on your clit as you ride his thigh, drawing you closer to release. "Come like this first," he commands roughly. You continue grinding against JJ's thigh, your movements becoming more desperate as pleasure builds. Your wetness coats his skin, making each slide of your pussy against him smoother, more intense. JJ's hands grip your hips tighter, guiding your movements as he watches you chase your release. 

"Want to feel you soak my thigh before I fuck you properly." JJ’s words, combined with the pressure on your clit and the friction against his thigh, finally push you over the edge. Your body trembles as waves of pleasure crash over you, your pussy pulsing against JJ's thigh as you come. Your wetness coats his skin, making everything slick and hot between you. 

"Fuck, that's it," His cock throbs painfully between you, demanding attention. "So fucking beautiful when you come." His thumb continues to circle your clit, drawing out your pleasure until your gasping and squirming.

Without warning, JJ flips them over, pinning you beneath him on the bed. His cock slides through your wetness, teasing your sensitive flesh. "Need to be inside you again," he groans, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss. "Been too fucking long without this."

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Please, JJ," you whimper, still sensitive from your orgasm. Your walls clench around nothing, seeking the fullness of his cock. "Need you inside me."

JJ lines himself up with your entrance, watching your face as he slowly pushes back inside. You both groan at the sensation, your walls stretching to accommodate him again.  "Fuck, still so tight," JJ breathes, setting a slow, deep pace. His hands explore your body possessively as he thrusts into you, memorizing every curve and dip. "Feel so good."

Your hands slide up his back, nails leaving light scratches that make him shudder. Your pussy pulses around him with each thrust, drawing low groans from deep in his chest. JJ maintains his deep, steady rhythm as he thrusts into you, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force. "I’m close," you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders for support. "So close, JJ. Please don't stop."

His hand slides between them to circle your clit as he maintains his punishing pace. "Come for me again," he commands. His thrusts become more erratic as he feels his release approaching, his grip on your hips tightening with bruising force. The fairy lights cast dancing shadows across their sweat-slicked bodies as they move together with increasing urgency. Without warning, he suddenly pulls out, his cock throbbing painfully between you.

"Fuck," he groans, his hand wrapping around his length as he strokes himself. "Where do you want it, baby?" His eyes are dark with desire as he watches you beneath him, your chest heaving with heavy breaths.

Your hands slide up his chest, nails dragging lightly across his skin. "On me," you gasp, still trembling from your release. 

JJ's control finally snaps at your words. With a low groan, he comes hard, painting thick stripes across your stomach and breasts. The shell necklace gleams in the fairy lights, covered in drops of his release.

You collapse together on the bed, breathing heavily as you come down from your high. JJ reaches for his discarded t-shirt, gently cleaning his release from your skin. "Stay," you whisper, curling into his side. Your fingers trace patterns on his chest as your breathing slowly returns to normal. "Please stay this time."

JJ pulls you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Not going anywhere," he murmurs against your skin. "Never again." The fairy lights continue to cast their soft glow over the room as you drift off to sleep, tangled together like they never spent a day apart.

His phone buzzes on the nightstand, the screen illuminating the dim room with a soft blue glow. He groans softly, careful not to wake you who's curled against his chest, your breathing deep and even. 

The group chat notification shows several messages from John B and Pope:

John B: yo where tf did you and y/n disappear to??? 👀

Pope: they definitely left together bro

John B: fucking FINALLY

Pope: 20 bucks says they're at her place

John B: nah man, bet they're at the chateau

JJ can't help but grin at his friends' messages, his free hand absently playing with your hair as you sleep.

His phone buzzes again:

John B: JJ we know you're reading these messages asshole

Pope: let him live, he's probably busy 😏

John B: BUSY WITH WHAT POPE??? 🤔😂

JJ rolls his eyes, typing out a quick response with one hand:

"fuck off both of you”

The response is immediate:

John B: HE LIVES!!!

Pope: told you they were together

John B: you better not fuck this up again maybank

JJ's jaw tenses at John B's last message, his arm tightening slightly around your sleeping form. The fairy lights cast soft shadows across your peaceful face as he looks down at you, remembering everything you’ve been through to get here. The shell necklace rests between you, a constant reminder of your shared past and the promise of your future but for now, in this room with its fairy lights and scattered memories, nothing exists beyond the two of you.

[bbyg4rl]

could i request a one-shot where kook!reader gets cheated on by kelce so as revenge, she decides to fuck jj maybank, the kook's worst enemy and number 1 hater, at a party. jj gets such a big head about it, teases her a lot and makes her beg for it but then delivers, they fuck against kelce's car, maybe even get caught right after they finish

fuck around and find out

cw: jj x reader, no established relationship, cheating, smut, public sex, getting caught

summary: inspired by request, MDNI

< public sex, teasing, degradation, cheating, dry humping, kinda mean!jj, reader's lowk a girlboss (i love her) >

a/n: so sorry it took me so long to finish this lol i had to rewrite it like a bunch of times and im still not sure if i like it..

"What?" The question burst from his mouth, borderling a scream. In what world would the kook princesa ever want him?

"Fuck me" You stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, your face devoid of emotion—a stark contrast to his own bewildered one.

"W-why?" he shuddered. "Aren't you dating Kelce?"

"You see him?" You said pointing to your drunk boyfriend rubbing himself up on the second girl he saw at the party you were at.

"So, I'm what? revenge?" he drawled, a hint of smugness creeping into his voice as he regained his composure after the bomb you'd just dropped on him.

"What other reason would I have to fuck you Maybank?" You sneer at him, clearly annoyed at how much time it was taking the blonde to just get to business.

"Right." JJ states, snatching the red glass from your hand. He downs both your drinks in one go before throwing them over his shoulder. "Let's go then."

His hand connects with your wrist as he leads you outside the house, cutting through the partygoers. Even passing by your boyfriend. You couldn't help but feel a little sorry, whether it was for yourself or for him you weren't sure of. But a pit settled into your stomach seeing Kelce grind against some girl he'd met less than an hour ago.

You painfully tear your eyes away from your boyfriend and focus on the back of JJ's head as he leads you toward the fleet of cars parked in front of the house.

JJ stops in front of Kelce's car, his hand pulls you forward so that you're standing caged between your boyfriend's car and him.

"So many guys at the party and you only found me?" He asks you, He's clearly amused with the opportunity you're presenting him with.

"If you don't wanna do it ill just go find someone else." You spit back at him. You try to wiggle out of his hold but he's too strong, he pushes himself further into your space. A smirk plasters itself onto him as he looks down at you, "You're not going anywhere darling.", he hums into your hair.

His hand wraps itself around your throat as he pushes you down onto your knees.

"You want me to fuck you, you're gonna have to earn it princess"

He's trying to challenge you, you could tell. He's trying to push your buttons. See how far you're really willing to go for your revenge. Unfortunately for him, you've never been someone to walk away from a challenge. You loop your hands through his belt loops and pull him forward, your face now dangerously close to his growing erection. You can feel the heat radiating out of his pants as you palm him.

JJ chuckles from above as an idea makes it's way into his head. He places his hand on the back of your head and pushes you forward into his crotch, He grinds his clothed dick against your face, smearing your makeup against his shorts as he ruts against you.

"aw princess." he taunted with a tug at your hair, forcing you to moan into his shorts. "bet your little boyfriend don't use you like this."

And he was right. Kelce barely showed interest in you. You were nothing but a trophy to him. Something to show off to his friends and ignore behind closed doors.

You feel your panties getting slicker at how rough JJ was with you. How he didn't shy away from using your body for his pleasure with no regard to where you were. It was hot.

The thrill of knowing anyone could walk by and watch as your face got humped out in the open only turned you on more. You place your hands on JJ's thighs as you try to regain some control, the heat in between your own thighs becoming too intense to be left unattended.

You push yourself off of JJ and stare up at him, pleading eyes silently begging him to relieve the pressure building in you. He smiles down at you, admiring your ruined makeup and the way your sticky lip gloss smeared across your face and his shorts.

"you jus' need some good dick to fill you up, dont ya?"

He motions for you to stand up, wasting no time in pinning you against the car once more.

"You want it?" He purrs into your ear, his hands falling down to your waist, tracing small shapes against your exposed skin. You nod as an answer to his question, You wanted it. Revenge or not, the way JJ had you right now made you want to eat him up.

"How bad you want it?" He asks you as his eyes bore holes into your own. He's challenging you again. He's not a kook lover. If you want something from him- you're gonna have to earn it.

"Please-" you whimper. Your previous brattiness cracks under his intense gaze.

"I didnt catch you." JJ teases, amused at the way your eyes leave his to look down at the ground, He loves having this power over you, A kook, And someone else's girlfriend.

"JJ please-" you whine at him. Frustrated with his teasing. He doesnt need to be asked twice, he quickly turns you around, his hips grind into you from behind.

He pulls your shorts down harshly, pooling them at your ankles as he hooks his hands into your panties. A sharp rip brings your attention down to where his hands were placed. He's ripped your underwear. You try to protest but he quickly shuts you up with a kiss.

"This is mine now baby." He says, shoving the ripped fabric in his back pocket and undoes his own shorts.

He's almost in a frenzy as he aligns himself with you. His rings dig into the sides of your thigh as he tears your legs apart enough to slot himself in between. He slowly pushes his tip in, stretching your walls out painfully. He thrusts into you inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to his length.

"For someone whos using me for revenge, this pussy's squeezing me real tight princess." He groans into you from where his head is placed in the crook of your neck. You can't help but moan as his thrusts increase in speed.

"Take it like a good girl." He coos into your shoulder nipping at your skin. He leaves purple hickeys ranging from your neck to shoulder blade. He runs his tongue over his work in an attempt to soothe the feel of your skin on fire.

He detaches his hands from their place on your thighs to undo your top. Your breasts spill out, now bouncing up and down in time with his thrusts. He presses you harder against Kelce's car. Your hardened nipples rub frantically against the cold glass of the car as JJ fucks up into you.

His ringed fingers find purpose in between your folds as he rubs sloppy circles onto your clit, sending shockwaves through your body. You're quickly being pulled over the edge as he eggs you on with deep groans and sweet praises against your neck.

"Come on baby, I can feel how close you are. Give it to me"

He sucks and nibbles against your sensitive skin as you spasm around his dick, your orgasm hits you like a freight train. Your knees buckle and you slump against him. He holds you up as he chases his own climax, drilling himself into you as if he's in heat.

His fingers find your clit again as he nears his own release, "You can give me another yeah?" he urges you, sending you down the cliff again, you feel the coil in your stomach snap and gush around him. The feel of your walls clamping down on him flings him down his own cliff almost instantly. He lodges himself deeper into you as he paints your walls with his release.

He pulls your shorts back up, his hands lazily trace around the wet spot that his leaking cum makes in the seam of your shorts.

"go show that fucker this." he hums against you, palming you through your shorts.

He holds you and himself up against the car as you catch your breaths, suddenly you hear your name being called by a familiar voice- Kelce's. Your eyes snap open as you're pulled back from your high and into reality. His eyes examine you as you lean against his car, JJ's cum which was now leaking from the side of your shorts onto your thigh is all the incentive he needs to reach a conclusion.

Kelce is left paralysed as the reality of the situation dawns on him. His girlfriend, His priced possession, was just tainted by a pogue. He opens his mouth but he's instantly cut off by you.

"You fuck around, You find out" You say with a forced smile on your face. You turn to face JJ who'd been silently watching the interaction between you and your now clearly ex boyfriend. You give his cheek a few taps before walking back into the party feeling satisfied with yourself. Leaving the two boys to look at eachother stunned.

check out my other works ! masterlist

[zyafics]

KILDAREWATCH.COM | 01

MASTERLIST (SMAU)

Pairing — Ex-BSF!Rafe x Kook!Female Reader

Pairing II — Ex-BSF!Kook!JJ x Kook!Female Reader

Summary — You, JJ, and Rafe have been best friends since birth. But after an unexpected fallout, you all went your separate ways—with you deciding to leave the island altogether. Now, back for the summer alone, you decide to return to Kildare Watch, the exclusive social hub, and chat anonymously with strangers. However, you discover you're talking to one of your ex-best friends. The problem? You don't know which one.

Content — kook!jj au, sarah and rafe are twins!au, pogues and kooks are the same age!au, childhood friends to strangers/enemies to lovers, love triangle, anonymous chatroom!au

Dedication — @clairesblouse for her wonderful graphics. She has an incredible smau herself, and her graphics are the most awe-striking visuals you’ve ever seen. I was definitely inspired by her <3

Navigation — Part 01 | Part 02

IMPORTANT INFO ABOUT TAGLIST AND UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications! however, if you want to be added to this specific taglist, let me know (but to remain tagged, you must interact with the posts).

TAGLIST FOR KW.COM: @promiscuousg1rl

[maybejj]

Gossip Girl: Outer Banks Part (44)

✩ masterlist ✩

social media au, 18+ MDNI

warnings: swearing, mentions of drugs, mentions of attempted murder

summary: JJ hard launches your relationship on Instagram after 6 months of dating in secret, for good reason. Now the secret is out and all of Outer Banks knows, including Gossip Girl.

JJ x pogue!reader

Notes: ONE. MORE. PART. i’m not okay 😭 let me know your thoughts/theories/concerns 😭

taglist: @hopelesssheaven @annasturn0lo @sheisntyou @onelonelybitch @marleymarleymarleymarley @awurtzx06 @scaroooos @pr3tty-pink @freyawhitexxx1 @aesthetic-lyss @voidangxls @kathryn-maraudersversion @hotvampdragon @jaydaaasworld @sunflouer04 @coriiiioooooo @xdbug-bob @rafe-cameronswife @idiotussupremus @grapejuice32 @dr3wstarkey @ineedtherapy1 @moustacherryismyhusband @davinashifts333 @barnesboo1967 @bee-43 @maybanksgirl69 @mirellef2001 @lillell467 @spenceatiny18 @obxshift @rafeysworldim19 @justsomerandompersonintheworld @thepopcultureaddict @rafeysworldim19 @justdamnpeachy @anacamofficial @acidfeens @starsval @cali-888 @vivian-555 @sky-full-0f-fl0wers @moonywhisp3rs @jaes-last-words @itsmimi16

[bonnie-the-butcher]

Rip Tide | Chapter XII

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 8.179 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW; Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

I will never be able to top that Cain and Abel paragraph. Please mourn for my writing career. Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading <3

You can feel the vice grip of JJ’s hand pressing against your veins, your pulse thundering against him, growing faster with every failed attempt to wring yourself away.

– JJ, – You gasp, trying to twist yourself out of his hold, pulling, wringing, fruitlessly. He yanks you forward before you can finish, dragging you toward the bike.

Your breath catches.

– JJ, let go of me, you’re hurting me—

– Get on the bike. – He doesn’t yell it. His voice is tight, barely restrained, the kind of anger that isn’t meant to be loud—it’s meant to be a warning.

You shake your head, twisting against his hold. – You can’t drive like— You can’t— I can’t just leave—

– Yes, you can. – His grip tightens. – You will.

He’s pulling, and you’re fighting it—your heels digging into the pavement, the weight of your body thrown back, hand grasping at the grass like it can hold you back. You try to wrench your wrist free, but he’s so much stronger than you like this, fueled by something dark, barely controlled.

– Stop it! Please, just fucking stop it, JJ! What are you doing?! – Your voice cracks, desperate. – You’re acting crazy, just—let me go!

He doesn’t. Not for a second. His hand tightens, impossibly, against your arm and he tugs you forward with all his force until you crash against him, barely on your feet, your knees shaking.

– JJ—

– I swear to fucking God, – He growls, his voice a rumble something familiar, painfully so, something that makes your stomach turn. – if I have to tell you again—

You shake your head, thoughtlessly, maniacally. You can’t control the movement.

You don’t know what he’ll do if you refuse.

And that’s the problem.

Because neither does he.

JJ isn’t thinking. He isn’t here.

He’s someone else entirely. His mind is a blur. Whoever this person is, standing before you, wants nothing but to hurt you.

Your heart hammers as the reality sets in.

You could fight. But he'd beat you. You could hope for help. But there’s no one around to stop him. You could scream, but what good would it do if no one’s there to hear you?

And if you don’t do what he says?

He won’t leave.

Not until you get on that bike.

Barry’s bike.

Barry. 

Your heart stops.

Where is Barry? What did JJ do to him? Why didn’t he answer your calls? Did he take something else? Did he leave him, alone, somewhere, with nowhere else to go?

And if he doesn’t leave, if he keeps shouting like this, keeps grabbing you, demanding you go with him—

It’ll be worse.

So much worse.

Your job. Your safety. This sliver of security you're already clinging to by the skin fingernails.

You just barely escaped being fired. JJ isn’t above making a scene to teach you a lesson. He doesn’t care how much he hurts you when he’s like this.

The words get caught in your throat. You force yourself to swallow them down, along with everything else you want to say.

Your hands tremble as you reach for the seat.

JJ exhales like he’s been holding his breath. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t talk to you, doesn’t let go of his anger. Just swings his leg over the bike and nods toward the seat behind him. – Get on.

You hesitate, taking a step back without even thinking, like your body won't let you do this, and he snaps—one hand darting out, grabbing your wrist again, tugging you forward so violently you stumble.

Your stomach lurches.

You don’t want to do this.

But what choice do you have?

You climb onto the bike, your legs barely steady, your arms wrapped around him because you have nothing else to hold on to.

JJ barely gives you time to breathe before he guns it. The engine revs, roaring like a vicious animal. The bike lurches forward before you’re even ready. Your grip slips. Your balance wavers. For a split second, you’re weightless.

You slam against JJ’s back, your arms snapping around his waist on instinct, clinging tight as the bike rockets forward, faster than it should, faster than it ever should.

– JJ—!

The wind rips the word from your mouth.

Streetlights flash by in violent streaks of gold and red. The world blurs at the edges, sharp and endless and cruel, like you’ve been thrown into a nightmare that won’t stop shifting.

JJ doesn’t slow down. He doesn’t breathe. His body is tense, coiled too tight, a wire pulled so thin it can feel the incoming snap. His grip on the handlebars is white-knuckled, his back rigid beneath your grip.

The bike swerves.

Your stomach drops.

The road bends, but JJ doesn’t. He takes the turn too sharp, too recklessly, the tires skidding for half a second. Your whole body tilts, your knee nearly scraping asphalt.

You whimper, pressing yourself closer, fingers desperate as they grasp his clothes, knuckles aching from how hard you’re holding on.

– JJ—slow down!

He doesn’t.

The engine growls louder, vibrating beneath you, rattling in your bones, shaking in your chest like a second heartbeat.

He flies past a red light, too fast, too close, too dangerous.

A car blares its horn—loud, long, furious.

You choke on a scream, your whole body bracing for impact, for the crash, for the pain—

But nothing comes. Only the phantom of an accident growing within you, coiling inside your chest, tightening, painfully, building up a fear that already has you frozen, praying, waiting for death.

Terror crawls up your throat, sharp and cold.

– JJ, please, –  You gasp, voice cracking. – Please—just stop.

For a moment, you think he won’t.

For a moment, you think he’ll ride forever, until the world ends, until you both crash and burn.

Then, finally—finally—he eases off the throttle.

Not much.

Just enough to breathe again.

Just enough to make you realize you were barely breathing at all.

Your pulse roars in your ears.

The wind still slashes at your skin, the tires still groan against the pavement, but the speed—the nightmare speed—has lessened.

Your fingers ache from gripping too tight. Your lungs burn from holding back screams.

And just then, just when you feel the burn in your throat, your lungs, your eyes, retreat, when your arms loosen the slightest bit, when you nearly relax, he sinks his foot on the gas, and suddenly you’re going faster than you ever were.

You can’t contain the scream this time— It surges through you like a bullet, and it ends halfway through, your voice dying in your chest, having used up the little breath you had— you’re choking again. You can’t think.

Your mind rushes, your hands cling, tears falling from you before you can even register them.

But JJ doesn’t slow down.

Even as the streets turn to dirt. Even as the road twists into something precarious, dangerous, unforgiving.

The pavement is cracked, riddled with potholes, with gaping wounds in the asphalt that could send you both flying if he miscalculates even once.

But he doesn’t care.

He flies down the path like he’s untouchable, like the Cut itself will bend to his will, like there’s no chance he could crash.

But you could.

You watch the ground loom ever closer with every turn he makes, asphalt slashing against the metal of the bike like a blade.

Your bones rattle with every jolt, your stomach lurches as the tires stumble over loose gravel, and you can barely think past the fear.

The bike jerks to a halt before your house so suddenly that you don’t even realize it stopped at first.

And you’re falling.

You don’t know whether you jumped or were thrown off.

Your feet hit the ground, but your legs don’t hold.

Your knees collapse into the dirt.

Your hands reach out, clutching the earth beneath you like it’s the only solid thing left in the world.

You gasp, dragging air into your lungs like you’ve been drowning for miles.

The ground is solid. Rough. Real.

But it slips through your fingers, and you can’t hold yourself steady.

You try to focus on the feeling of grit beneath your nails, the sting of pebbles digging into your skin.

Anything to remind yourself that you’re not moving anymore.

But you still feel it.

The phantom pull of the road. The momentum still dragging at your bones. The way your body still thinks you’re going too fast, too fast, too fast—

Somewhere in the haze, you hear voices.

Barry. John. Shouting. Arguing.

You squeeze your eyes shut, press your fingers harder into the dirt, try to remind yourself that you’re here. That you’re on the ground.

That you’re not crashing.

But God, it still feels like you are —Your hands shake so badly you can barely hold the dirt within your fingers. You breathe, gasping, trying to get air, but it’s stuck against your hiccups, against the sobs you don’t even have the strength to choke down— You’re crying. The air is still whizzing past you, sharp, so sharp you can feel it dragging you back, the ground looming closer, your bones nothing but glass.

– There you fucking are. Was it fun? You had your little fucking joyride?! – The voice echoes out from beyond, like you’re stuck, sinking into the air, towards the pavement, and they’re watching you from above.

It's Barry, you realize.

His voice cuts through the haze, loud and livid, sharp enough to hurt. And something inside you thrums. That stupid part of yourself, the part that always hopes someone will help you.

You want to run to him. You want him to see you, to hold you —solid, real, safe— you want something against you, something that isn’t this void that clings to you, this feeling that you’re a moment away from the worst pain you’ll ever feel.

But you can’t stand.

You can’t look at him.

You can’t do anything.

Your hands are still pressed into the dirt, your chest heaving, your body still bracing for impact that never came.

Because it still feels like you’re falling.

And you are.

You’re on the ground, but you’re not. You can’t stand. You can’t move. You can’t breathe.

Something is gonna crash against you. Something sharp. Something that’ll hurt you.

You’ve been beaten enough times to know this feeling, the gasping, aching anticipation of the whip coming down, that split second before someone hits you, before the ground jolts you, before something in you breaks.

Your whole body shakes—not just from fear, not just from the cold, from the void, but from the ache of knowing something worse is coming. You know it's coming. And you know you won’t come out of this unscathed.

Barry stops.

Mid-step, mid-swing, mid-word—he stops.

Because he sees you.

He sees you on the ground.

He sees you pale, trembling, sobbing.

And just like that, his anger vanishes.

He says something, his breath caught in his throat as his steps quicken, as he rushes towards you, having completely forgotten the rest.

His boots crunch against the gravel, loud and reckless and looming. You can’t even help but flinch. Your body jolts backwards, away from him, and you’re crawling again, recoiling until he’s dropping to his knees beside you, reaching out but not touching.

Like he’s done so many times.

And you’re there, this broken stray, cowering in the corner, shaking, shaking so bad you can’t even reach for him like you want.

– Sweetheart, – He murmurs, low, gentle in a way that makes you feel all the more pathetic. – Look at me.

You can’t.

You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head, curling tighter into yourself, fingers digging into the dirt as if you could disappear into it.

Barry swears under his breath. His hand resting so softly against your shoulder that he too is almost startled by how you flinch.

He stills.

His hand is barely touching you, barely even there, and yet your whole body flinches—hard, like he struck you instead— like a dog, waiting for a boot in the ribs. 

His breath hitches.

– Shit, – He exhales, barely a whisper. Slowly, carefully, he puts his hand on yout back. You don’t move.

You stay there, curled tight, fingers buried in the dirt, shaking, shaking, shaking.

He steadies the rest of his hand against your skin. And you don’t move. Because this is familiar. He’s done this before.

This isn’t new.

Barry swears again, softer this time, and then —very slowly— he moves again. His knees drag through the dirt, his other hand rests on your side.

Not grabbing. Not pulling. Just... offering.

A slow, steady pressure against your back. A grounding weight. A reminder.

You shudder.

Your body is still caught in the past, still bracing for a hit that isn’t coming, still waiting for the moment of impact.

But it doesn’t come.

Just warmth.

Just Barry.

Again.

Nothing’s coming. You have to tell yourself. It’s over. You're okay.

But you don’t believe it. Not fully.

– Sweetheart, – He tries again, voice lower now, still gentle but almost frustrated. Your heart catches. And you feel that guilt blooming in you again. Because he’s had to do this before. Because he’s had to pick up the pieces of you from the ground plenty of times before. You want to kick yourself. You don’t deserve this. You almost flinch away. But his hold tightens, the slightest bit. Grounding. Like he’s afraid to scare you away. –  You’re okay. You’re okay. Just relax. You're okay.

You’re okay.

You don’t move.

Not until he presses a little firmer. Not until his fingers brush your ribs, not holding, not forcing, just... there. Until he pulls at you, softly, not like JJ did. 

Barry doesn’t hesitate.

His arms wrap around you, firm and solid, pulling you in, gathering you up, shielding you from the air itself. The second you feel his grip tighten, you break. A sob wracks through you, sharp and choked, as your hands claw at his shirt, gripping, gripping, gripping.

You cling like you’re afraid he’ll disappear.

Like you’re still moving too fast, and he’s just barely keeping you grounded.

Barry holds you tighter. – You’re okay. – He repeats.

Something's coming. Steps behind him. You see the outline of someone, legs walking towards the two of you, but when you move, he holds you tighter. Arms bracing your back like a straightjacket, keeping you from yourself. Keeping you sane.

– You’re okay. – Is the only thing he says. And he keeps saying it, again and again, until the words echo in your mind, bouncing against the walls of your skull, less and less frantic until you can say it. 

You believe him.

Just for a second.

Just long enough to stop falling.

But your name resounds again from behind you. Once, a second time, then you feel that same hand that grabbed you sink into your arm again, trying to pull you back. – Get up! – JJ shouts, nails sinking into your shoulders as he grabs you.

Barry pushes him away.

Shoves him.

You hear the stutter in JJ’s steps as he stumbles back, sinking further into his arms like a child. – What the fuck did you do, huh? What the fuck did you do to her, JJ?!

– Get up and fucking look at me. – He keeps pulling at you, calling your name, his hand burrowing into your flesh. You want to stand, you want to push him away, but you cower. And Barry does it for you.

He shoves JJ again, hard enough that you feel the struggle between them. – She ain’t gotta listen to a word you say, psycho! What the fuck is your problem?!

JJ laughs—sharp, bitter, like it’s the funniest fucking thing in the world.

– Course you’d hide behind him, – He spits, his voice mocking, cruel. – That’s all you ever fucking do. Hide.

Barry tenses.

You feel it.

The way his muscles coil, the way his grip shifts, ready to push back, to swing, to end this.

But JJ doesn’t care.

He doesn’t even look at Barry.

He’s still looking at you.

You can feel his eyes burning holes into your back as you pull back from Barry. You can feel the rage emanating off of him.

– You got nothing to say now? – JJ presses, stepping closer. – Nothing at all? You usually talk such big game, baby. Now you can't even look me in the eye?!

Barry moves first.

– Back the fuck up.

It’s not a warning.

It’s a command.

– Why? Are you worried she’s too close to stab me in the back again? The way I see it, she’s in the perfect position to do that to you, man!

You pull back from Barry, hands still clinging to his shirt as you turn to look at JJ, but Barry doesn’t let go, not as JJ’s gaze finally flicks to him, smirking, scoffing. Not as he pulls you to your feet again, tearing you away from your friend like you're nothing but a thing he can take.

– You feel good? – JJ’s voice is low, furious, barely held together, as his hands sink into you. – Feel real fucking good going behind everyone’s back? Working for Rafe? That do it for you? 

Your chest tightens.

– Stop it—

– You got your little job, right? – JJ barrels over your words, stepping closer, looming, his breath hot, sharp, filled with venom. – That what you’re calling it now? Fucking us all over for a paycheck? Maybe that isn’t it though, maybe you’re the one who’s getting fucked, huh?

John bristles from the porch, his voice low, tense. – JJ.

– Nah. She knows what she’s doing, right? Did you tell your brother how Rafe was all over you in that parking lot, calling you baby and shit?! That dignified, hard-working girl act you put up really paid off huh? You really had us all fooled! – John doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move, he doesn’t call JJ out, he just stands there. – Feel fulfilled now? Now that you managed to tick off every fucking form of betrayal in the book? Because you got me fucked up!

Barry’s done.

– She ain’t got you fucked up, man. That’s exactly what you are. Are you serious right now? – Barry snaps, voice rough with disbelief. – You wanna talk about her fucking up? You—you who does nothing but fuck up?!

– Nobody is fucking talking to you, bro.

– Ain’t nobody around here your “bro”, JJ. Thank God, too. Weren’t your parents siblings or whatever? That’d explain why you only got half a fucking brain.

– Shut the fuck u—

– Oh, Alabama over here’s mad! – Barry scoffs, a quick, sharp sound drained of anything even close to humor. – That’s actually hilarious. That some bum like you would feel like you have the right to call anyone out on what they do or don’t do for work. You sit here, lounging for free in this house she pays for, doing jack shit with your fucking life like the trailer trash your ass is—but she’s the bad guy for working? Is that how long it’s been since you had a job, JJ? That you can’t fathom the possibility of someone making money without selling themselves?

JJ laughs.

Not real. Not amused.

Just dangerous.

Like he’s already decided how this ends.

– That’s cute, – He murmurs, nodding slowly, like it’s all some joke he’s humoring. – That’s real fucking cute. You’re gonna add anything to this conversation, or is your dog doing all the talking for you today?

Barry chuckles. Dry and low, so low you can barely hear it. – Dog? You run around sniffing John B’s ass all day and night like you’re in heat or something, but I’m the one who’s a dog? Shit, I ain’t see a bitch around here but you, JJ.

JJ lunges. His fist swings through the air, quick and violent, but before he can even touch Barry, he uppercuts him in the stomach.

JJ tumbles back, his hands still on you, tearing at you, grabbing, ripping, pulling— but his grip doesn’t stand the pain Barry caused him, and he falters.

Barry reacts instantly.

He grabs his arm, shoves him off of you, pivots —his knuckles slam into JJ’s temple.

The sound is sickening: A dull, thudding crack of bone on bone. JJ’s head snaps sideways. His body stumbles, tilting, collapsing.

But Barry doesn’t stop.

He’s on him before he hits the ground, tackling him hard, sending them both crashing into the dirt.

JJ barely has time to react before Barry’s fist connects again.

And again.

And again.

A hit to the jaw—JJ spits blood.

A hit to the cheekbone—his head slams back against the ground.

Barry is relentless.

You call his name, your heart racing, the blood searing your vision like a burning bush, but he doesn’t listen.

His teeth are bared, his muscles coiled and shaking, his body moving on pure fury, on the weight of everything JJ has said, everything he’s done. The years he’s spent hating him for you, the months he’s been hating JJ for the stupid shit he pulled and the problem’s he’s caused him.

He’s beating him to a fucking pulp.

JJ groans. A sharp, wet, broken sound, choked by the blood in his mouth.

His fist swings again—

And that’s when you move.

You throw yourself forward, grabbing Barry’s arm, yanking, clawing, trying to drag him off—

– Stop it! You’re gonna kill him! Stop it! – Your voice cracks, weak, your attempts useless even as your brother joins you, trying to pull them apart, but Barry keeps swinging.

His breathing hard, shaking, still staring down at JJ, moving despite your grip and John’s, like he wants to break something permanent. Like just bruising him isn’t enough.

Like he’s one more hit away from doing it.

You pull harder, hands gripping his clothes, his arm, anything you can reach.

Barry jerks against your hold, laughing, spitting at JJ—then finally, he lets you drag him back.

His breathing is ragged, wild, unhinged.

JJ groans, coughing. His face is already swelling, blood smeared across his cheek.

Your stomach twists.

You reach for him before you can think, hands hovering over his face, over the bruises already forming.

– JJ, – You breathe, shaking. – Jesus fucking Christ.

He's a mess. Blood, flesh, face. You can barely make one thing out from the other. Barely see the damage.

Your hands brush the bloodied hair out of his face, an instinctive motion, just so you can see where the cuts ends and the swelling begins. And for a moment, he almost seems like he’ll let you.

JJ's eyes part, moving though your face as you look at him, and he breathes in deep. He sighs. 

A familiar sound. 

Relief. 

Relief that it's over.

You reach again, just barely ghosting your hands over his temple, where Barry hit him first. But his eyes widen, something in them shifting, cold, cruel. 

And he shoves you away.

Hard. 

Hard enough that you stumble back as well.

Hard enough that Barry notices.

You hear him tear himself away from John's grip, rushing past you, but you grab him just in time. – Please, please Barry. Stop it. Just stop it. Don't do this right now.

Barry is still trembling, breath wild, erratic, hands twitching like he’s one second away from lunging all over again.

You feel it, the anger rolling off him in waves, the way his body keeps trying to pull forward, like something feral inside him hasn’t had enough.

You grip his wrist tighter. – Please, – You whisper. – Please, Barry. Just stop it. Don’t do this right now.

Barry’s teeth grind together. His breath is sharp, ragged, dangerous.

But he listens.

JJ doesn’t.

John helps him sit up, a steadying hand on his back, but the second JJ is upright, breathing, aware again—he’s talking. Talking, insulting, tearing into you like it’s the only thing keeping him conscious.

– You’re gonna let him? – His voice is hoarse, broken, but still filled with venom. – This piece of shit does nothing but get you in trouble but— He spits blood onto the dirt, wipes his mouth, shaking his head. – You’re just gonna let him do whatever he wants?

Your stomach twists.

– JJ—

– I shouldn’t be surprised. – His head snaps up. Eyes blazing, furious, wild. – You let it happen, – He snarls. – You always let it happen, You don’t give a fuck about us. Don’t fucking act like you do. You stood there and fucking— He gestures to himself, to the mess Barry made of him, to his swollen face, to the blood dripping onto his collar. – And you fucking let him do it.

– What the fuck are you gonna do about it, then, tough guy? – Barry laughs, his hands trembling. 

JJ’s muscles snap tight.

You push Barry back again, more frantic now, shaking, pleading, but he doesn’t listen. 

Your hands tremble.

JJ pushes himself up fully now, John’s grip still firm on his shoulder, holding him steady. But it doesn’t matter. 

Because JJ is not steady.

Not at all.

– You ain’t gonna say anything, huh? – He breathes, voice cold, sharp, shaking. – You play the tough girl act very well for someone who’s such a bitch.

Barry tenses again. His laugh is the crack of a whip as he pushes past you, you have to shove at him just so he won’t rush in and punch him again. 

John’s holding JJ back, his face wrecked with something almost sad. Almost worried. – Let go of me. – Barry groans, the impatience growing in his voice. – Let go of me sweetheart, this motherfucker needs to be put in his place.

– Let it go, Bee.

– Let it go?! – He does a double take, looking at you as if you’d grown a second head. – Let it go? He just called you a—

– I heard it. Please, this is enough. You nearly killed him. You won. – You grip his arm tighter. His breath comes out heavy, perplexed. – Just let it go, please.

John’s voice is a murmur behind you, whatever it is that he says to his friend doesn’t reach you, but you know it isn’t working, because the outrage on JJ’s face doesn’t budge. – JJ—

– You’re a fucking traitor. – He spits your name out along with the blood, your brother still trying to pull him back with all he’s got. – You are. You’re a traitor and a whore!

It punches through you.

JJ stumbles forward, closer, swaying but still standing.

– You don’t belong here, – He seethes. – Get the fuck out.

Your heart stops.

You blink at him, your breath snagging in your throat.

This is your house. Your home. He can’t—he can’t just tell you to—

– Get out. – It’s louder this time, meaner, angrier, like it’s his right to say it, like he actually has the power to take something else from you. – Since you’re so happy to be Rafe’s free use slut, go ahead and do it on your own! We don’t fucking need you!

Your lips part. – This is my house, – But your voice is a sliver of what it once was. You’re not looking at JJ. You barely hear his words, but your brother is standing there, completely still. His arms suddenly lax around the other boy. – This is my house! – Louder, firmer, but just as useless.

– I don’t think it is. – JJ laughs. He’s looking back at your brother now, too. Because he knows John isn’t gonna say anything. He knows it just as well as you do. – Your name isn’t John Routledge. That’s the name on the deed, isn’t it? And it’s not yours.

– John. – You’re pleading again. The gray-green of your brother’s eyes gaping at you emptily, thoughtlessly, as if he’s gone into shock. – Say something, John. This is my house too!

He doesn’t say anything.

Just stares.

– Say something!

You don’t know how many times you’ve done this.

How many times you’ve stood there, practically on your knees, begging him to act like a brother. To act like he cares about you. To act as if he’d loved you for a single moment of his life.

You don’t know how many times you’ve gotten this exact response.

The blank stare.

The guilty face.

That look in his eye that tells you just how much he doesn’t have it in him to pretend, even for a moment, that you’re less than the stupid girl who, for whatever reason, has done everything in your power to keep him afloat.

– John. – His name comes out hoarse, quiet. A whisper. A prayer. A plea.

His eyes never waver from yours, he keeps looking, keeps standing there, and though his face is cracked with guilt, there is no shame. Nothing that would make him act on it.

Maybe there’s just nothing there.

No fire. No anger. No defense. No loyalty.

Just the look you’ve seen a thousand fucking times before.

You don’t know why you still beg. You don’t know why you still believe. 

You are pleading with a ghost.

John doesn’t move. He just looks at you. Like he’s already decided. Like this is already done.

And it is. 

But it wasn’t done with the fight, or the cursing, or the blood, not even the way JJ turns, tossing the keys to the bike onto the ground, storming off like he’s the one who was wronged. Not when you see the way John hesitates for half a second, looking at you like he wants to say something, like he wants to take it back, like he wants to undo what’s already done—

Not even when he follows him, turning his back on you like it’s so simple, so natural, like it was always meant to be.

It ended years ago.

Maybe it never even began.

Maybe you're the only fool alive who ever believed you were his sister.

The night cracks open.

The silence presses in.

You're stuck inside your body, inside your head, inside all the memories that claw their way back into you like rusted nails.

You are twelve years old, standing behind John, watching through the schoolyard fence as JJ and the others shove you into the dirt.

"Ain’t she your sister?" someone asks.

John laughs with them.

"Nah, man. I don’t know her."

You are fifteen, standing in the living room, your hands trembling at your sides as your father slams you against the wall.

John is at the end of the hall.

Watching.

Silent.

Your father’s voice is thunder in your ears.

"You think you’re smart, huh? You think I don’t know it was you?"

But it wasn’t you. It was John.

And he lets it happen anyway.

You are seventeen, standing in this very yard, watching your brother walk away from you again.

Just like he always does.

Just like he always will.

Because John —the John you thought you knew, the John that sobbed in your arms for months every night your father didn't come home, the John who wouldn't eat unless you fed him, who wouldn't sleep unless you held him, wouldn't leave the house unless you were close enough that he could grab you, was never there. John, the boy, John, the brother. He's only ever existed as far as he needed you. And now he doesn’t— is not there. 

He's John B.

The star student, the popular kid. That boy that was always too good to hang around some mongrel like you.

And this is what John B does.

This is what he’s always done.

He doesn’t protect you.

He doesn't defend you.

He doesn’t choose you.

Every time you’ve asked God whether you were your brother’s keeper, you felt the weight of every living soul around you say no —You closed your eyes, and you were Abel, lying, stupidly, on the ground you just tilled as he stood behind you with a stone, ready to crush you. You were Remus, laying bricks with your back turned as he came to slay you. You were Osiris, walking thoughtlessly into a coffin he’s made to bury you, fully believing that he wanted nothing but to see you well— Because for every life you’ve shared, he’s killed you, and still somehow convinced you to pray that you’re still siblings in the next.

You don’t remember when your hands started shaking.

Or when your knees lost their strength.

Or when your breath began coming too fast, too shallow, not enough, never enough.

All you know is that the world tilts.

And you sway.

And you break.

And you cry.

You reach out—for something, anything—but there’s nothing to hold onto.

Nothing but empty space where your brother used to be, where the two of you used to play, where you once believed you could be something like brother and sister.

The sky blurs. The trees waver. The ground rushes toward you.

But before you can collapse, before you can even feel yourself falling, Barry catches you.

He's solid. Real.

Not like John. —You shake your head, mentally scratching that concept from your conscience— Not like John B. 

– Hey—hey—look at me. – Barry’s hands grip your arms, tight, steady. His eyes search your face, his chest rising and falling like he’s just run a mile. – C'mon. Breathe.

You press your hands against his chest, against something solid, something unshaking, something that won’t disappear the moment you close your eyes.

And finally you do breathe. But the wound is still gaping. Still bleeding. And John B is already gone. The door slams closed, leaving you to rot in the silence, bathed by the flickering light of the porch; the one you asked him to change for a lightbulb you bought weeks ago, and is still sitting, forgotten on his nightstand.

Barry smooths the tears away from your face, like he used to do when you came to him after a fight with your father, like he’s done for every heartbreak since. – Let’s go home. – He whispers, his hands still cupping your face. The plastic of his keys—Rafe’s keys— pressed against your jaw. – C’mon, let me take you home.

– It's gone, Bee.

– It's not.

– He kicked me out, I can’t come back. It's gone.

– It’s not, it isn’t, don’t fucking say that—don’t ever say that again. – His grip on you tightens, the muscles of his hand flexing against your skin, quick, so quick, you barely brace yourself when he makes you stand in front of him. – That piece of shit isn’t your home. This place? This fucking dump you lived in? This isn’t your home. I’m your home, okay? And you’re mine, and you’re not staying here to keep breaking your own heart over and over again. Let's go.

– Barry—

– I don’t wanna hear it. – He's firm. He's angry. Your chest weighs heavy, still forever afraid of any sign of anger, even when it’s not directed to you. But he holds you, and he looks at you, really looks at you, and he repeats. – Let’s go, okay? I’m taking you to my place, and I don’t wanna hear you complaining. 

– Okay.

– C’mon. 

Barry’s hands are firm, unshaking, steady, and you barely feel them as he guides you toward the bike. Everything is distant, muted, like you’re watching yourself move from somewhere outside your own body. A conscience beyond your own. 

You let him press the helmet onto your head, let him buckle it under your chin with a flick of his fingers. And you watch the way he moves.

His hands are still clenched as he tosses your purse, discarded over the ground, on your lap. He looks over his shoulders, at the closed door, with his jaw clenched, and every so often he shakes his head, frowning, outraged by a thought you can’t hear, can't know.

You don’t remember climbing onto the bike.

You barely register the way Barry grips your hands, pulling them around his waist, but he doesn’t say anything. Not the usual "Hold on, sweetheart," he always says like it’s second nature, not any of the stupid comments he makes whenever you ride with him. His movements are brisk, borderline impatient, but not careless, never careless. He kicks the bike to life, the engine shuddering through your bones as it hums beneath you, the heat of the exhaust jostling against the scrapes on your legs.

Then, you’re moving.

Not fast. Not yet.

But even at this speed, the wind presses against you, makes you feel untethered, unsteady, fragile in a way you haven’t let yourself acknowledge until now. You close your eyes and grip him tight, focusing on the smell of the helmet, breathing it  in, the smoke of his cigarettes, the shoddy menthol of his nicotine gum, and something grounding, something real. 

Your fingers find the fabric of his shirt —your shirt— the old marina shirt that belonged to your dad, the one you were wearing that day with him and Rafe, when everything went to shit. It’s crumpled, but it feels nice, still tender from the fabric softener you used for that last wash.

You feel the moment he registers it, the way you grip him, trying to distract yourself—the way his muscles tense slightly, the way his hands shift against the handles, grip tightening, the moment of hesitation before he sighs through his nose and settles.

He drives slower than usual.

Not slow, but slow enough that you can tell.

Slow enough that it’s not Barry’s usual recklessness, his usual need to prove something.

Slow enough that he’s paying attention.

You don’t know how long you ride like that.

Maybe minutes. Maybe hours. Maybe a whole fucking lifetime.

Everything is blurred, stretched thin, bleeding together like a half-forgotten dream, and you let it wash over you, let the hum of the engine drown out the roar in your head, let the road carry you somewhere, anywhere that isn’t here, that isn’t now.

You don’t notice when he turns onto the familiar back roads.

You don’t notice the flickering neon light, the cracked pavement, the darkened windows.

You don’t notice where you are at all.

Not until he kills the engine.

Not until the silence crashes over you, sharp and final. Not until you hear the low creak of his kickstand settling, the way he shifts slightly beneath your hands, pulling off his helmet, running a hand through his hair before glancing over his shoulder.

Not until you look up.

And the sign is right there, right above you.

The River Styx.

Your stomach drops.

But Barry doesn’t say anything, his fingers brush over your wrist, still taught around his waist, and he pats his other hand over your knee. – C'mon.

You just stare at the sign, the neon glow casting strange shadows across the pavement, the weight of everything pressing down on you all over again.

You should have known.

Of course he’d bring you here.

Because where else would you go?

Where else is there to go?

Barry swings his leg off the bike, tossing the helmet onto the seat, shaking his head like he’s already exhausted by whatever is going on in his own head. He exhales sharply, running a hand over his jaw, then gestures toward the door.

– Come on, sweetheart, it's about time this day fucking ends. 

You swallow hard, unmoving.

His brows pull together slightly, like he’s trying to be patient, like he’s trying to find the right thing to say, but Barry isn’t built for patience, for softness, for comfort in the way people expect it.

So instead, he sighs, takes a step closer, and reaches for your wrist, fingers curling around it, not pulling, just holding. – You promised. – He says, but this time it actually is softer, kinder, nearly patient. – Now, we can go back if you want, but then the deal is over, and you'll have to sleep on the pull-out couch.

You scoff, still looking at the sign, but you feel your arm relax under his touch. – You suck.

– Not just yet, I’m still sober. – He winks, smiling half-heartedly as he pulls you to the door.

Finnean, the owner’s son, grins the moment he sees you, arms crossed over the bar, his too-many tattoos peeking out from what should have been the sleeves of this dirty wife-beater he’s wearing, the gold tooth in his smile catching the dim light. – Well, well. Look who finally crawled outta the grave.

– You thought we were dead? – Barry hums, unamused, knocking twice against the counter as he slides onto the stool, pulling you beside him. 

Finnean laughs, more a scoff than anything as he places two cups before you. – D’you ever hear the expression ‘only the good die young’? Good ain’t the case for you two. I was actually leaning towards your ass finally getting detained.

– Why? Your brothers need a lil company? Maybe sweetheart can go to see them. – Barry pats your leg, smiling, tight and taught, none of the usual ease on him. – What’d you say, jailbait?

– You can go all you like, sweets. I’m just not sure you’d come back.

– You’re a peach, Finn. – He smiles at you, green eyes flashing with something you don’t want to understand as he turns his back and grabs something.

– And you’re a plump, little red cherry. – He shakes his head, setting the glass down in front of you with a wink before tossing something onto the bar. – I could just pop you in my mouth.

A bowl of bright red maraschino cherries sits before you. Your heart stumbles, a smile actually forming on your face.

Barry grins, nudging them closer. – Knew that’d cheer you up. – His shoulder brushes yours as he pulls your stool closer, watching you eat. – We weren’t in jail or nothing, but this one just got out of house arrest.

– That brother you’re always talking about? – He asks Barry, already throwing his head back, laughing, reaching for the bourbon before Barry even asks. – That explains it. – You stop for a moment, aching again.

Was it so obvious? – Does it? – You murmur, and Finnean gives you a look.

– You disappear for months, and when you finally show up, you look like someone dragged you through hell backwards. – He nods at Barry. – He looks ready to start swinging on the first motherfucker who blinks at him wrong.

– That’s just his face, – You say dryly, eating so you don’t have to look at them.

Barry just snorts, shoving your shoulder lightly. – Ain’t you a charmer? – He takes a cherry from your hand, still chewing it as he downs his cup. – Hit me again.

– You tryna meet God or something? – Barry chuckles at your words, this time more genuine. The smile lingers as Finn pours more bourbon into his glass, sliding another over to you.

– Holler when you get tired of this loser, okay sweetheart? – He winks, that same old joke he always says, grinning as he slides on over to another customer. – Finn will love you long time.

You breathe out slowly, your lungs still burning as you reach for the glass.

You’re tired of thinking about John.

Tired of mourning someone who was never there to begin with.

Maybe Barry had a point with the whole drinking your sorrows away thing. He’d been doing it for years, already. Started drinking just after his father was finally arrested for good.

And hey, if it worked for him…

You bring the glass to your lips, feeling your friend’s eyes on you as the liquid runs down your throat like straight gasoline. He chuckles, patting you in the back.

The first drink burns.

The second warms.

By the third, you’re floating.

The night bleeds away with every time you glimpse the bottom of your cup staring down at you.

Time slips through your fingers, lost in the clink of glasses, the sharp burn of bourbon, the sticky sweetness of cherries.

But though your thoughts slow, the ache never leaves you.

Barry loosens, even as you remain a little melancholy, all warmth beside you, his voice low in your ear, teasing, coaxing laughter from you with every sarcastic remark, every quiet joke. He tips the bottle, refilling your glass before you can even think to ask.

Your chest clenches.

The songs in the background rise, fall, twist into something familiar.

Somewhere between the fourth drink and the sixth, you’re singing along, voice tangled with Barry’s, both of you yelling out the lyrics, slurring through the old Irish verses, laughter shaking through you as the whole bar joins in.

You don’t remember when Finnean slid the bottle of homemade moonshine across the counter, just that Barry caught it with a smirk, tucking it under his arm before pulling you off the stool.

His hands are already on you, already guiding, already pressing against your waist.

You stumble, laughing, pushing him back. – You can’t fucking drive like this, dumbass.

Barry grumbles, rolling his eyes, but you grab his arm and pull.

So you walk.

Through the streets of the Cut, the night air cool against your flushed skin, your voices loud, singing through the empty roads from your empty chest. Barry spins you at one point, pulling you into his arms, making you laugh, and you linger a moment longer than you should, his arms still around you when you finally pull away, palms burning hot through the fabric of your shirt as he walks behind you.

By the time you reach his trailer, your legs ache, your chest hurts from laughing, and your head is woozy.

His trailer is dark, not a single light on as he pulls you towards it, hands searching your sides, his chest pressed against your back. His fingers rest at the small of your waist, loose, familiar, something closer to instinct than thought.

He’s closer than he should be, you know he is, but you don’t push him away.

Maybe it’s the drinking.

Maybe it’s the way the night has stripped you raw, leaving nothing but exposed nerve endings and memories that won’t stay buried.

Or maybe it’s just him.

The warmth of him.

The familiarity of him.

The fact that he’s still here despite the fact you’re down in the dumps.

But the way he's looking at you now isn't new. It's far too familiar.

His lips part slightly when he turns you, his head tilting, eyes flicking between your mouth and the mess of your hair, the flush of your skin, the shape of you standing so fucking close to him you could feel the shape of your body moulding to his.

He leans in, breath fanning against you like a dragon’s, warm, cutting, almost inviting you to be bitten. You turn just in time, his lips landing on your cheek, warm and soft, and way too eager. – You know we never stop once we start. – You mumble, your back brushing the railing as he pulls you up the stairs.

Barry’s lips twitch. His fingers flex against your waist, just barely dragging down, slipping lower, gripping just enough to pull you fully against him.

His voice is low, rough, already gone. – Who says I want to stop?

You know you shouldn’t.

It’s been a while since you drank and remained conscious, but the ache in your chest is doing nothing for your rational thinking skills, and when he cups your face, soft, so soft, like no one else in the world ever does, you let him.

You taste yourself first—sweet, sticky cherry, the sugar lingering on your tongue, and he hums, pulls away just a bit, licking his lips before he kisses you again. You taste him, then. Malt. Amber. Tobacco. Bourbon-smooth and burning at the edges.

You feel guilty already.

But you want the comfort. The ease. The warmth.

His hands tighten, pressing into the small of your back, like he needs you closer, like the inches between you are somehow unbearable, and he sighs against your lips as he kisses you again. The guilt writhes within you as your pride swells. He hums into your mouth, something low, something pleased, something that sounds dangerously like relief.

You barely register him guiding you back until your calves hit the edge of the couch on the porch, and suddenly you’re falling.

Not away from him.

With him.

Barry pulls you onto his lap, knees spreading beneath you, hands gripping tighter, hotter, rougher.

His mouth moves against yours with purpose now—hungry, claiming, a little desperate, a little too much. But he never pushes. He always begs you to take.

You feel his breath stutter when you shift against him, when your hands tangle in his hair, when your fingers scrape against his scalp just the way he likes and he groans, deep in his throat, pulling you tighter.

This is it.

This is the cycle.

This is the inevitable.

This is history repeating itself.

This is what you do when you have nowhere else to go.

This is a promise, a bad decision made in the heat of too much alcohol, sealed between his teeth and your lips, unspoken, unbreakable. You don’t really know what you’re promising. But like the fool you are —like the fool you’ve always been— you’re almost glad to hold it out on a silver platter, just to get that rare sliver of love you’re always desperately grasping at.

@chatgtfo @bitterdotcom @xmayankax @bluethperson @coralblue35 @myluvingera @munsoncultedits @the-bitch-who-binges @im-julessssss @redkarmakai @hwaaholic @sydkneez @sassyvilliantrope @vampiriito @sassybearfire

[m4tthewmurd0ck]

i love you, i’m sorry

── hockey player!rafe x fem!singer!reader

an obx au. obviously will not follow the plot of the show. no use of y/n EXCEPT for readers spam ig username. i do use she / her. no descriptors other than reader being shorter than rafe, and therefore all guys in the story since i don’t think any of them are short kings shdhsjdjxjs. irl drew starkey is 6’2” so… yeah.

this is just the preview / table of contents!

when you and rafe first announced that you were together, no one was surprised. fans had been spotting the 2 of you on outings together for awhile before you ever became official on social media.

but with you being one of the biggest rising singers, and rafe being the first overall pick in the nhl draft, it wasn't long before you were spending less and less time together. eventually, photos were quietly deleted and plans were no longer made, but what shocked people the most was that there was never any breakup announcement.

over a year later, you’re getting ready to release your first full length album, and rafe is preparing for the next season to start. when old photos and memories resurface (and not all of them are good), fans realize that the 2 of you have been close for a lot longer than you’ve said. now, rumors are spreading about why you really broke up. and you and rafe are forced to look back on the relationship you both now seem determined to ignore.

TABLE OF CONTENTS —

ONE ──

other socials~

john b ── public ig: johnb // spam ig: johnbisnotme

jj ── public ig: jjmaybank // spam ig: ynfanclub

pope ── public ig: heywardpope // spam ig: notarealpope

kie ── public ig: kiecarrera // spam ig: lostmykies

sarah ── public ig: sarah.cam // spam ig: idkausername

topper ── public ig: topperthornton // spam ig: alwaysontop

kelce ── public ig: itsmekelce // spam ig: notkelce

would like to dedicate this to @kissylec 💕 i know smau’s have been around for years BUT it’s specifically her story that made me want to get back into doing social media stories! go check her out and give her a follow if you haven’t already!!!

TAG LIST ── 7 out of 50 spots taken

@kissylec | @empath-bunny | @pillowprincess4him | @fieryghxul | @ursogorgeous13 | @maybankslover | @imtalkinnonsense

if you’d like to be added, let me know!

[anotherprocrastinator]

420!reader twitter pt.2

pt.1

taglist: @lil-sparklqueen, @voidangxls

guys please take a look at my reblogged stuff about greece/tempi 🙁 this whole situation is so devastating and no one is paying attention outside greece. itll take only a few moments from your day to read it and theres no signing petitions or anything- just stay educated!! please 💗💗

[grimesve1l]

Want

Summary: JJ sneaks off with his favorite kook at midsummer's

Warnings: Swearing, possessiveness, degradation, smut (mdni), oral m!receiving, p in v, unprotected sex

You had spent the entire week preparing so that you would look your absolute best tonight. For girls like you midsummers was a night to flaunt wealth and beauty. You're a stereotypical kook girl, your reputation is everything. That being said even you had your secrets and the biggest one of all was none other than JJ Maybank.

You knew if anyone found out about you two , it'd be over for you but you just couldn't help yourself . All your life you've gotten exactly what you wanted and if this time what you wanted happened to be a blonde haired, blue eyed pouge then so what. You'd have him too.

This mindset is how you ended up in this dynamic with him. You two weren't dating but the way the two of you snuck around sure made it seem like it. Tonight was a prime example of this. You had first seen JJ on the dance floor passing a note to Sarah Cameron of all people.

You couldn't stand Sarah and seeing her so close to JJ made you furious. You quickly wrote a note of your own and slipped it to JJ as you passed by him. After that you went to one of the many bathrooms the venue had and waited. Within minutes you heard a specific knock on the door that you knew belonged to him.

You quickly open the door letting him in before you slam it shut and lock it. JJ tries to lean down to kiss you but you push him back against the door before he can. "You think I'm gonna let that shit slide?" you say looking him dead in the eyes.

"Let what slide?" JJ asks confused. "I saw you and Sarah. You think that's cute?" you continue accusing him. "Chill out, there's nothing going on with her. I was just doing a friend a favor." he says trying to ease your grip on him.

Your grip only tightens "Your mine JJ. I don't give a fuck what you were doing. Don't get that close to her again." you say pressing yourself even closer to him. "What, you jealous." he asks smiling down at you. "So what if I am?" You reply.

"Nothing wrong with it in fact i think it's hot." he says gripping your hips as he whispers the last part. This was all you needed to lean up and press your lips against his. He groans when the back of his head hits the door. This gives you the perfect opportunity to slip your tongue into his mouth.

As soon as you try to deepen the kiss he pulls you back by your hair. "You kooks always try to be in control of everything. You know damn well I'm in charge of this." he says making you look at him. "JJ-" you begin as you try to get out of his grasp. "Quit whining and get on your knees. Don't forget you're the one who told me to come in here."

Knowing that he's not gonna let go off you unless you do, you sink to your knees in front of him. "Go ahead you know what to do." he says now looking down at you. You unzip his pants and take his cock out of his boxers.

You give it a few tugs before you give the tip a light lick. "Don't start you teasing shit." he mutters before grabbing your hair and forcing his cock into your mouth. You immediately gag as he hits the back of your throat relentlessly. Your hands grip onto his thighs tying to brace yourself.

He pulls your head back momentarily for you to catch your breath before continuing his actions. "Fuck baby. I'm gonna cum. Yeah?" he tells you. You can only mumble a "mhm" around his cock as his hips begin to falter. He delivers one final thrust before his cum shoots down your throat.

He lets go of your hair and you pull back before swallowing. As he leans against the door you begin licking any remnants of his release off his cock. "Goddamn look at you. Who knew kook girls were such dirty whores." he says watching you. "And who knew pouge boys liked it so much." you respond looking up at him through your lashes.

"Get up." he tells you. "I'm kinda busy right now." you respond still lapping at his cock as it begins to harden once again. He quickly grabs you and puts you on your feet only to bend you over the bathroom counter. "You've got a smartass mouth you know that?" he says as he pulls your panties down your legs.

"Shut up." you reply as you watch him through the mirror. "You act like you aren't soaked from sucking my dick." he says motioning to your dripping cunt. He takes his cock and lines it up before he quickly pushes inside you. You let out a yelp at the unexpected intrusion.

"You better be quiet. Wouldn't want all your kook friends to know you like getting fucked by a pouge." he tells you as he begins roughly thrusting in and out. You lower your head as you try to contain the noises you let out. "Don't do that." he says wrapping your hair around his hand as he pulls making your head come up as well.

He forces you to watch as he continues to fuck into you. "What you to see what a slut your are." he grunts out as he looks at you through the mirror. "JJ it feels so good." You moan. "Yeah? You gonna cum on this dick?" he replies. "Yes." you whimper out as you feel your orgasm start in to build.

Your legs begin to get weak as you're about to cum. JJ maneuvers the two of you so he can hold you up as he thrusts into you. "Oh shit i'm gonna cum." you say as your orgasm starts to wash over you. "Fuck Y/n." JJ says as you pulse around him.

He stops thrusting as he cums inside you. He lets go of your hair and pulls out of you before zipping his pants back up. As you lay against the counter he pulls your panties back up your legs so they catch any cum that could drip out. "Later babe." he whispers into your ear before he presses a kiss to your forehead and leaves.

Once you hear the door click you begin to stand up on your wobbly legs. You look at yourself in the mirror. Your eyeliner is running down your face and your lipstick is smudged all over your mouth. You can also feel the way both JJ's and your cum leaks into your panties.

If anyone you knew saw you now you would be the talk of the town. You didn't care though, looking at how you had let JJ wreck you didn't bother you at all. Because after all it's what you wanted.

A/n: Went back to my roots as a JJ girl to write this one lmao

[jjslvt]

A SMILE JUST FOR JJ ── .✦ fluff, blurb .ᐟ.ᐟ

the pogues (including you as you were one of them) were all gathered on the beach, sitting around in a circle — the mood had been pleasant and full of delicate silliness. the sun was to set soon. the warmth of a bonfire in the center of your circle sending crackles in the air amongst the laughter of you all could be heard.

it was one of those moments where life felt pretty damn good and all their worries melted away. the beach not having too many people around, so it felt like a little secret paradise to you all who were basking in the ambience. each of you simply enjoying each other’s companies as you all shared short stories or jokes.

your gaze flickered over to jj maybank, who was laughing brightly at one of the jokes just told. that smile practically shined like the sun itself and his good mood was just so charming that it became infectious.

you found yourself getting happier at the sight because you loved seeing him joyful yet calm too. he wasn’t on edge like life sometimes made him feel. you were best friends, all of you but sometimes with you and jj, there seemed to be something more lingering about. though nobody spoke on it, including the both of you but it hadn’t mattered too much. you two were extremely natural with each other, feeling satisfaction.

so when jj’s gaze met yours back, he kept that beaming open-mouthed smile… and something in you shifted. it was something you had always done, specifically for him — something he noticed and actually adored very much as it secretly tugged at his heart strings.

‘there’s that smile… the smile for me…’

you were already smiling with your friends before but now as you two locked gazes in a moment seemingly frozen in time, it changed.

it’s that smile you specifically reserve for jj maybank. the one you never gave to others… it was something very special. maybe the way your eyes softened too — the way you looked at him like he was the best person in the world. it made him feel good; his chest would tighten a bit in realization and a sudden wave of affection and mild possessiveness would wash over him. he never wanted anyone else to get that smile to be honest. it was his.

so he gestured for you to come over to him as soon as you did it. he just wanted you close to him whenever he saw it. of course you obliged, coming right over as the rest of the pogues got lost in their own conversations now, breaking off into small groups. once you sat next to him on the log, he wasted no time tugging you close to him and making you sit on his lap while he placed his chin on top of your head. you relaxed your back against his chest, enjoying it despite the pace of your hearts increasing ever so slightly and syncing up together even… to beat as one. everything and everyone else slowly faded into the background.

so… maybe you two weren’t just best friends. but whatever this was, you were both super content. a rare moment of comfortable silence and a sense of safety plus pure bliss rolling over as you two watched the sun finally fade.

but you heard him quietly murmur, “that smile is just for me… mine.”

maybe that was the start of a confession finally.

[arietem]

who is shoupe's daughter?

she is not a girly-girl, but she is soft. she loves dogs, especially big, goofy-looking ones. her favorite hobbies are cruising on her longboard, skinny dipping at sunrise, and riding her dirt bike. she is always filming something on her phone, making short movies. she is lonely but not desperate.

As Shoupe's daughter, you are caught between wanting to blend in with the pogues and making your dad safe by mingling with the kooks. You never really felt like you belonged anywhere. You're not really a pogue, but you are not really a kook either. Sure, you go to Kildare High School, and your house is on the Cut, but being the sheriff's daughter isn't really helping with where you stand with the pogues. On the other side are the kooks, who tolerate you at best and think of you as nothing more than a dirty pogue at worst. It's too bad that none of them took the time of day to get to know you and find out what you are actually about.

You love your dad, you do, but you can't stand for what the kooks are doing. The funny thing is, you can tell your dad doesn't either. He is keeping up appearances for both of your well-being and trying to change the system from the inside (his words). Unfortunately, the senior kooks are not happy with that, and neither are the other cops.

All of that to say, you are on your own most of the time. Sure, there are some friends you hang out with at school, but you can't say any of those relationships are particularly meaningful. Well, being on your own does have some plus sides to it. Everything you know, you taught yourself. You stand your ground, not one to back down or surrender.

masterlist

part 1 (coming soon)

[loveharlow]

The House Always Wins | Part 1

gossipgirl!smau

PAIRING ‧₊˚ jj maybank x fem!reader

CHAPTER WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, invasions of privacy

A/N‧₊˚ lmk how y'all feel about this first chapter, this series was planned out super quick so there may be some errors and the plot may be obvious lmao but i just thought it was fun and something to post in between SVN chapters (new one coming 3/3!!)

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗ | next part >

[wrtzia]

𝔒𝔲𝔯 𝔣𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 - 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝟸

⁻ ˢᵘᵐᵐᵃʳʸ ; After a toxic ex tries to get her back, the reader convinces JJ to have a fake relationship, only to keep her ex away for a night. That's what it starts at, for just a night. But then her ex is at every single party, then on social media, and finally it's not fake anymore.

Warning ; mention of abuse, trauma, nightmare

Main masterlist - part 1

Your body was full of bruises, his hand once again meeting your weak body. Your head was buzzing, your vision blurred, your blood straining the brown floor. You couldn’t remember how you ended here, perhaps you once again made him mad, maybe you wore something too revealing. Maybe you hung out too much with your friends, once again going to the beach with the Pogues instead of sticking with him for a dumb meeting.

You begged him to stop, just like almost everyday, tears soaking your bruised cheeks. Your hands were shaking as you tried to get him to stop, as you tried to calm the boy, and tried to stop him from laying hands on you. You knew he wouldn’t stop, the only thing that could save you right now was JJ, no begging, no tears, just your protector.

Every time it would happen, you would hope for him to arrive, to magically know something was wrong and come save you. But it only happened once.

Once, your wish had been fulfilled.

You remembered that day, one of the most brutal. The day JJ saved you. Aaron’s hands were all on you, you swore your arm was broken by how intense the pain was. Every part of you was bleeding, every inch of skin covered in bruises. It ran in your head like an old broken record. The words he said, the hit he gave, and the look on JJ's face when he found me—it was all burned into your memory. 

You no longer could stop the tears, you bursted out crying, everything was too much. You were about to beg him to stop, to beg him to let you and JJ go, when you got woken up by a very familiar voice. 

“Hey, hey, cupcake, it’s okay, it’s just a bad dream.” Your eyes fluttered open, hand finding your chest just to make sure your head was still beating. Your head turned to the boy beside you, slowly coming back to the real world. The feelings of his hands on you were still way too real, the memories from the beating still hurting. 

It took you a few minutes to understand it was just a bad dream. You were safe near JJ, the blond making sure you were okay by gently rubbing your back. The gesture helped you relax, keeping the thoughts away for a bit. 

Your shaky hand grabbed his, intertwining your fingers with his. You were too focused on your dream to focus on the boy’s blush, your voice coming out shakily. “Did I wake you up ?” 

JJ gave you a reassuring smile, gently brushing you off. “Don’t worry about that.” He gently took you in his arms, imitating the way you would hold him every time he is the one having nightmares, head on his chest and hand in your hair, hoping to provide you comfort like you do for him so often. “You wanna talk about it?”  

A little whimper left your lips, your head nuzzling a bit further in his chest, as if to hide yourself. “...I just..” you couldn’t bring yourself to say it, suddenly all of the fear came back, exactly like when you used to be in this relationship. You felt like talking would cause him to find you again, to start again. But once again, you had to remind yourself ; it was just the two of you, your best friend and his warm hugs. Nothing could happen to you here.  

The soft beating from the boy’s heart under your head reassured you, all your focus shifting on it. The soft ‘thumb, thumb, thumb’ helped to ease your anxiety but didn’t erase it. JJ, knowing you better than you knew yourself, noticed the way your nail was scratching the side of your thumb. The hand that wasn’t messing with your hair found your own, thumb rubbing the back of your hand. He wasn’t about to force you to talk, he would let you take the time to take everything in. 

Finding you in such a vulnerable state was rare for him, as you rarely allowed yourself to cry, even more about something you were so responsible for in your eyes. Nonetheless the boy would be there for you, because that’s what best friends do. He owes you for each time that you were there for him, taking care of each of his injuries, all caused by his father. He owes you for every time he woke up in panic, the nightmares making him shaking, and each time you would answer his call, calming him with just a few jokes. The guilt you were feeling didn't have his place in this room, not when JJ was with you.

“..Do you remember.. The night you found out..?”

The question caught him out of guard. If he remembers the way he found you, bloody body and wet cheeks ? The way you snuggled in his arms and refused to let go for hours, refusing to be alone even to pee ? Yes, he remembered. That night was something he could never forget. The traumatized look on your face, every part of your body shaking. For a moment, he even thought you were afraid of him.

There are some looks you can’t forget, the look you had that night was one of them.

When he softly hummed, letting you know he remembered and was listening, you kept going, your incertitude and hesitation clear in your tone of voice. “...I keep seeing it when I’m dreaming..I can’t forget about it, it’s stuck inside of my brain…” He felt the slight change in your body, your tears coming back.

You were struggling to get the words out, your voice coming out in a whisper because of the amount of tears leaving your eyes. “..I just want to forget about it..I don’t want to remember - to live it again and again…I’m sick of that.”

His grip on you grew even tighter, cradling you closer to his chest. He could understand what you were feeling, your thoughts meeting what he himself was thinking about his father, the one supposed to love him more than anyone. “..I get it cupcake, I get it. But you’re strong, yeah ? you’ll get over it, it’s a bad memory, a bad thing that happened. It’s just you and me against the world.” 

His warm hand pushed a lock of hair away from your face, looking into your teary eyes. “He will never touch you ever again, he will NEVER get near you. You’re not alone. You never will be ever again.”

You looked at him, your hands coming to rub your wet eyes. You found comfort in his words, your body relaxing ever so slightly.  “Promise ?”

JJ gave you a soft smile, his hand rubbing your cheek, using the opportunity to wipe your tears to feel your soft skin. "I promise."

His words were full with sincerity, his eyes showing you how much he loved you, loved the friendship the two of you had. He put a chaste kiss on your cheek before putting your head back on his chest, hugging you close.

"Rest now, cupcake."

Part 3

1193 words <3

Please mention any spelling mistake or any amelioration I could do !

[bbyg4rl]

gentle love

cw: flangst, argument, happy ending !

summary: a heated argument leaves you and JJ reeling.

a/n: you can assume this is after the topper thing in s1 but its not really specific so it can be at any point in time! im having such a bad day need him so bad :/

JJ had never known love like yours. He had never known love that was gentle, a love so soft it wrapped around him like warmth. A love so nurturing, it could sustain him more than food ever could.

You were his own slice of heaven—his safe space. The one thing that could restore him when the world knocked him down.

He reveled in the way you looked at him—like he was the only boy in the world, the only one that mattered. The way your eyes softened and your lips curved into a smile in his presence sent a spark through him he couldn’t explain. Being with you was the best feeling in the world. He loved knowing you were his, and even more, that he was yours.

But like all beautiful things, your relationship had its struggles too. JJ wasn’t one for communication. When something overwhelmed him, he’d turn tail and run—usually straight into your arms. But when it was you who stirred those feelings in him, he was lost, unsure where to go or what to do.

All couples fight—it’s normal. Not everyone can get along all the time, right?

The argument started like any other. You were angry at him for getting into a fight with some random Kook, and he brushed it off, insisting he was fine and that you didn’t need to worry. But this time was different. This time, it wasn’t just a fight—he had pulled a gun on someone.

Normally, you would have talked him through his anger, calmed him down like you always did. But the weight of exam stress had made you sharper, less patient, and he didn’t take it well.

Blunt words were exchanged, tempers flared. His frustration boiled over as he snapped, “You never understand me.” His voice was raw, edged with something almost desperate. Then, quieter, almost to himself, he muttered, “Maybe this just isn’t working anymore.”

Before you could respond, before the weight of his words could fully sink in, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Tears welled in your eyes as you collapsed onto the floor, clutching your knees as waves of pain rippled through your chest. You had never fought with JJ like this before.

Your fingers found the necklace around your throat, trembling as you rubbed your thumb frantically over the J-initial locket. What did he mean by that? His words echoed in your mind like a broken record, each repetition cutting deeper.

Did this mean you had to take the necklace off? That you had lost him? The questions swirled in your head, suffocating you as you sobbed against the cold bedroom floor.

Eventually, the exhaustion, the heartbreak, and the sheer weight of it all pulled you under, dragging you into unconsciousness.

You're only woken up by JJ's calloused hands gently cupping your jaw, pulling you into him. Blinking up at him, you find tears streaming down his face, his expression shattered with guilt. His breath trembles, and then—a wrecked sob escapes him, your name breaking apart on his lips.

You assume he let himself in through the window, just like he had countless times before. A quick glance at the clock tells you it’s been an hour since he left—an hour that felt like an eternity.

Looking back at him, you pull him close, a mix of relief and heartbreak crashing over you. He wraps you in a tight embrace, arms locking around you as if afraid you might slip away. His grip is desperate, unyielding—like he’s holding on for dear life.

You sit in silence, finding comfort in each other’s arms as your breathing slows, your hearts steadying together. The quiet wraps around you like a fragile truce until, finally, his voice cuts through it.

"I’m sorry."

"I'm sorry too" you whisper back, your voice barely above a breath. You know he was only doing what he could in the circumstances he was trapped in.

"I should've let you explain before I snapped at you." You look up at him, a pang of guilt striking your heart as the words leave your lips.

"It's alright," he murmurs, his southern drawl soft, almost sheepish. "I shouldn't have yelled at ya either. I was bein’ a dick."

You both settle back into silence, the weight of unspoken emotions lingering between you. Then, his voice breaks through again.

"I hope you know I’ll never leave your side. Whatever I said before... I was just angry. I didn’t mean it."

His words tumble out in a rush, his tone almost frantic—like he’s trying to take his previous words back, like he’s just stepped on a puppy’s tail and is desperate to make it right.

You press your palm against his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heart as he apologizes. It’s a silent gesture—one that tells him you believe him, that you accept his apology without needing to say a word.

"I could get rid of the gun if you want me to" he murmurs softly against your temple. "You mean more to me than a piece of metal."

"No, it’s okay. Keep it. Just… don’t get into trouble." Your voice is quiet but firm, a stern edge creeping in.

He nods without argument, pulling you closer, his arms tightening around you. Then, with a sigh, he buries himself in the crook of your neck, as if that’s the only place he truly feels safe.

You turn your head, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head. "Please don’t ever tell me you’d leave me again," you whisper, your voice trembling, fragile with fear.

He lifts his gaze to yours, guilt pooling in his eyes. "Never" he vows before pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

Then, without a word, he reaches for the ring on his pinky finger, sliding it off effortlessly. He gestures for your hand, taking it in his own as he carefully slips the small ring onto your finger.

"Never again." he murmurs, a silent promise, a quiet commitment to never hurt you.

You cradle his face in your hands, pulling him into a slow, lingering kiss—deep and unhurried, saying everything words couldn’t. He was yours, and you were his. That was all that mattered.

Entwined in each other’s arms, you stay on the floor, neither willing to let go. The bed is forgotten, lost in the warmth of his touch and the quiet intensity that lingers between you.

check out my other works ! masterlist

[zyafics]

KILDAREWATCH.COM | 02

MASTERLIST (SMAU)

Pairing — Ex-BSF!Rafe x Kook!Female Reader

Pairing II — Ex-BSF!Kook!JJ x Kook!Female Reader

Summary — You, JJ, and Rafe have been best friends since birth. But after an unexpected fallout, you all went your separate ways—with you deciding to leave the island altogether. Now, back for the summer alone, you decide to return to Kildare Watch, the exclusive social hub, and chat anonymously with strangers. However, you discover you're talking to one of your ex-best friends. The problem? You don't know which one.

Content — kook!jj au, sarah and rafe are twins!au, pogues and kooks are the same age!au, childhood friends to strangers/enemies to lovers, love triangle, anonymous chatroom!au

Navigation — Part 01 | Part 02 | Part 03

*What you choose will affect the outcome of the story.

IMPORTANT INFO ABOUT TAGLIST AND UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications! however, if you want to be added to this specific taglist, let me know (but to remain tagged, you must interact with the posts).

TAGLIST FOR KW.COM: @promiscuousg1rl / @itneverendshere / @inthelibrarybtw / @papercranesandinkstains / @krtsvig / @adoreeyou / @akobx / @mmaybanks / @dreamybabbyy / @psychocitylights / @mayanqueenxx / @atjlovverr / @saviorcomplexrry / @mckkenziee / @drewsswifeyy / @barnesboo1967 / @acidfeens / @justdamnpeachy

Zya's Post Notes: Surprise! This will be an interactive SMAU. This means that most parts will conclude with a poll where you, as the reader, have the chance to change the trajectory of the story based on the top vote. I have thought about this since HB:L, and I'm so excited for it to come to fruition, especially because I can add you all as part of my writing process. Have fun!

[drewsephrry]

my boys

[robinsgrl]

Rafe with weird girl is a bit more nonchalant and tame compared to JJ with weird girl. he WILL match your freak and that’s a threat and yeah you might be weird but he’s much weirder he makes you shy. YOU.

weird girl masterlist

MDNI 18+

you’re talkative. You’re never not talking someone’s ear off. Most people can’t handle it. Sometimes your own friends need a moment of silence. But never JJ.

you’re laid back on your bed, legs spread open as his face hides between you. “deb deserves so much better. her boyfriend is such an asshole.” you breathe out shakily as he laps at your cunt.

he hums into you, nodding. “she does, mama. much better.” he dives right back in, your fingers threading through his hair.

“yeah, and the weird thing is she doesn’t think she does,” a small moan leaves your lips but you continue. “we tell her all the time. oh! I forgot the worst part! when they were on a break, he came to the store and-and bought condoms. at her register.”

this makes him pull his face from your heat, eyes wide as he looks down at you. “no fucking way.”

You nod, just as exasperated. “yeah, i know, it was fucking crazy” you tell him as you push his head back down

you’ve gone fishing with him and you’re so damn bored. you came to tan but the suns slowly going down and you're sure you’re as tan as you can be. he adds bait one last time and throws it far into the water. your eyes trail on his strong arms that are flexing under the soft hue of the sunset.

you dont even question your thought. you lean over and chomp down onto his bicep. he’s not even phased. “what’s my sunscreen taste like?” he asks as he glances over at you with a pretty smile. it makes your cheeks flush.

“delicious. wanna try mine?” it’s a joke. but you should know better than to joke like that with him. he doesn’t hesitate to drop his rod and rush to you.

a loud laugh leaves you as he tackles you in a hug, making you land on him as he falls to his back on the boat. he’s nipping at your neck, biting and sucking on you. “jj!” you can’t stop the happy laughs that leave you.

“you taste so good, mama!” he trails his lips down to your chest and bites the side of your boob that’s pressing out of your bikini. it doesn’t take long for him to fully take your tit out and bite your pebbled nipple.

“JJ!”

you’re in bed with jj when you realize something. he’s butt naked. “bro, where are your pants?”

“bro, i like letting my balls get air”

“bro, are you clenching your cheeks right now?” You ask with a laugh as you smack his ass. He lets out a fake moan and pushes his ass to you.

“Bro, i loved that. Do it again.” He’s laying on top of you now, feeling his everything against you. Your hands fall to his butt and you easily squish his cheek. “Bro, im getting a boner.”

“Your bro is giving you a boner? Bro, that’s fruity.”

He nuzzles his face into your neck as you keep smacking his naked butt. “Your little butt is so cute” you comment.

“My butt is NOT small”

“Yes, it’s a tiny lil bubble butt”

“There’s nothing tiny about me, mama” you laugh as he rolls his hips into you.

“JJ! Oh my god!” You laugh and try and push him off of you.

Yeah, no one can ever truly grasp JJ’s freak— he leaves you miles behind. Moral of the story…… he wins.