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peavhyshy · 20 days ago

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⋆˚ 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.

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florencemtrash · 8 months ago

Text

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Eighteen

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Nothing super specific, but things get pretty dark (at least in my opinion). Mentions of torture.

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Azriel grabbed Rhys by the front of his jacket, hands shaking horribly despite all his efforts to stop. It had started this morning, when another disastrous attempt to talk to Andrian had left Azriel with his mind in shambles, knife pressed against his own throat. It had been going on for weeks now. Someway, somehow, Andrian would find a way to break through Azriel’s defenses and force him to relieve his worst memories. Sometimes he dreamt of his burning hands. Mostly he thought of you, and the day he’d nearly killed you.

“Tell me you didn’t,” Azriel growled desperately. “Tell me!”

It was too easy for him to pick out when his brother was speaking with Feyre, and something about the way Rhysand had been looking at him— like he was a fraction of a second away from splintering into a million pieces — told Azriel enough about who had been sent for. You were the only one who could calm him. The only one who could do what he and Rhys had failed to do.

Violet eyes shone from a perfectly handsome face. A face he knew too well. A face that he wanted to punch right now.

“I’m afraid I can’t, brother,” Rhysand responded gravely.

Azriel slammed his fist against the wall instead, taking out a chunk of granite that spit grey dust into the air. He swore beneath his breath, pacing the hallway and trying to steady his racing heart. He’d never wanted you to see this place. He’d never even wanted you to step foot on the island above, its rolling peaks a stark contrast to the tunnels below where Azriel conducted his business. Business that stained his hands a thousand shades of red.

“You’ve been working yourself ragged, Az, and Andrian still hasn’t said anything. Not to you. Not to me. We need to know all we can about Koschei. Vassa’s on the brink of madness. Henna’s dead. I can’t even get past Andrian’s mental wards. What the fuck are we meant to do?”

“So you thought to go behind my back and bring Y/n into this?! She’s not something for you to use, Rhys.”

“She’s already in this mess.” Rhys reminded him, as he often did. His eyes softened as he looked to the locked door at the end of the hall with its small, rectangular window. Bars breaking up the lamplight glowing from within. “And you know she’d agree this is the best course of action. She’ll be able to do it.”

Azriel’s hands shook. “Give me another week and I’ll get us the information we need. Tell Feyre to turn around. Don’t bring Y/n here.” Don’t let her see this part of me.

“The boy doesn’t have another week. He doesn’t even have a day.”

The shaking traveled throughout Azriel’s entire body. His eyes darkened and he began the process of hiding his heart away within the void that curled inside of him. That wicked beast that was always on the verge of swallowing him whole.

Feyre winnowed you both to the outskirts of the northern territories and you went from sweating in your fur-lined leathers to shivering in the knee deep snow. The Illyrian Mountains rose behind you like predatorial rows of shark teeth and the endless sea stretched in front, slate grey and empty except for lonely ripples of sea foam. Through the frosty haze you could make out a smattering of islands, each with their own tooth-like tips capped with snow and ice. Feyre looked at you, her eyes leaning more towards blue now that she’d tapped into the Winter Court’s power to stave off the cold.

The Warren was protected by wards that made winnowing impossible, so you let Feyre scoop you up in her powerful arms, wings growing from her back like unfurling shadows before the ground dropped away from her feet and she took off into the sky.

You clung to her shoulders, eyes slamming shut so you wouldn’t have to look down at the churning black waters and the rocks they crashed against. If you were to fall now, you could only hope you drown before the waves ripped your body to pieces against the rocks like meat torn between a pair of canines.

You stayed frozen and tight as a coil until the rush of wind stopped and you no longer felt your stomach creeping up into your throat. You could have dropped to your knees and kissed the ground if you weren’t sure your lips would freeze there. You did shove your hands into the gritty sand though, breathing slowly through your nose until you finally had the strength to stand.

Feyre led you down the long stretch of beach, waves whistling in the wind — a haunting, beautiful melody, like a woman crying.

Azriel had discovered The Warren centuries ago. After a particularly brutal brawl that had left him with a broken arm and cracked ribs, he’d taken to the skies, desperate to escape the hard packed floors and burning scent of sex mixed with alcohol that seemed to invade every corner of the Windhaven barracks. He’d been fighting over a woman, a woman that had been dragged into the rowdy common room trembling with the telltale sign of a whisky haze over her burnt umber eyes, dress ripped and muddy.

Did it even matter that he’d brought her back untouched to that leaning house with its wooden slabs frosted over and the chimney coughing up black smoke like a diseased lung? Azriel had wondered as he flew without a destination in mind. And when he’d finally collapsed on the island, frozen ground beneath his hands and knees and spitting out blood from his cut up gums, his shadows had tugged him towards the gaping mouth of The Warren, urging him to explore a darkness that was his and his alone. It had been his escape. A safe place in the world that had so few. But when Rhysand became High Lord and he the Spymaster, Azriel hadn’t hesitated to give up The Warren in the service of the Night Court, adding it to the long list of sacrifices he made so that he might actually start to feel like he deserved his place with his family.

You stilled in front of The Warren’s entrance, black walls glittering and damp from sea spray. Jagged, cracked bone rocks hovered overhead like axes ready to fall, jutting out of a cliffside and curling over the beach in the shape of a hunched back or an unhinged jaw. Wind whistled from within like asthma — high-pitched and keening.

“This is where you keep all your prisoners.” You weren’t asking a question, merely stating a fact.

Feyre had had little time for explanations back at the House. She’d focused on defending your body against the frigid cold to come, her mind split between you and Rhysand as he worried over Azriel from miles away.

“Not all of them. Only the ones Azriel finds useful.”

“The ones he plans to torture for information.”

From somewhere deep within the earth you swore you heard the clanging of chains, a growl, and a desperate groan that had the hair on your neck rising.

Feyre’s usual warmth was gone, replaced by something with more tact and less care. “This isn’t a place for the faint of heart, Y/n. And neither is Azriel. He’s tried to hide this from you, but it’s as much a part of him as anything else and if you care for him as much as I believe you do, you’re going to need to get used to this.”

There was the faintest flicker of doubt in your heart. “Andrian… he’s just a boy… you haven’t—Az hasn’t—”

“No,” Feyre said quickly. Horrified. “Azriel found him weeks ago trying to slip back into Day Court. We brought him here because it’s the most heavily warded place in Prythian and because the world needs to be protected from him as much as he needs to be protected from the world.” She grabbed your hands. They felt cold as ice. “Y/n. I swear to you, we haven’t hurt that boy. We won’t hurt him.”

“I know. I just… I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.” Already you felt sick to your stomach just for asking. Azriel was many things — dangerous, cruel to those he felt were deserving of it, maybe even murderous at times — but he was still Az… and you weren’t afraid. Not even as you let Feyre lead you into The Warren, and you were swallowed whole.

The mouth of the cave quickly narrowed into a tunnel before turning at a severe angle and twisting like a corkscrew downward. If it weren’t for you and Feyre’s glowing bodies, you might have missed one of The Warren’s slick steps and tumbled down forever.

You passed by two offshoots, each branching out into their own secret tunnels that whispered and echoed and smelled faintly of blood. Coppery and sour.

One of the rooms you walked through smelled like metal and limestone. The rust-colored ground and drain in the center of the floor told you all you needed to know about its purpose and before you could stop yourself, before you could even think about whether this was truly a good idea, you found yourself pressing a hand against one of the chains hanging from the ceiling.

If Feyre was right and this was truly a part of Azriel — something horrible that needed to come with all of the good that he was — then you wanted to know. You felt that you had some right to know, and if it was the power the Mother had granted you, then you would use it when you saw fit.

Feyre froze when your power flooded the room without warning, feeling the energy and fury radiating off your skin without even turning to look at you. You kept the memories a safe distance away, but drank in the knowledge of every horrible hand that had hung from that ceiling like you were reading a list of names from a book. You read their crimes. You read every drop of blood that Azriel had spilled on the ground.

“Y/n?” Feyre asked tentatively, fearfully, when you blinked and released the chain.

She had every hope the bond would snap in place for you soon and that you’d help end Azriel’s centuries of loneliness. That you might be the one to finally show him he was deserving of kindness. But to love Azriel as he was, with all his rough edges and the pain he could inflict as much as he carried… it was not for the faint of heart.

“I understand why Azriel wanted to hide this place from me. This part of him,” you said quietly and to no one in particular. Not even to Feyre. “But he shouldn’t have.” Your eyes turned harder than stone. “They deserved it. Each and every one of them.”

Feyre stood, shocked into silence, and it wasn’t until you gripped her arm and nudged her into the next room that she found she was able to walk again.

You passed by more hallways and more rooms, some disturbingly clean and empty, others with chains hanging from the ceiling or littered on the floor. But the strangest part was, you could smell Azriel within these cramped walls, and that alone made you quicken your steps.

You chased that familiar scent, walking confidently through the dark and passing Feyre until you were spit out in a long, neat tunnel with one metal door at the end. Tendrils of shadow flickered from around the corner.

“Azriel?”

Your heart pounded in your chest when you saw him leaning against the wall, hands folded behind his back. Rhys’s eyes flickered to you, then to his mate as she followed closely behind. Azriel stiffened, his eyes locked and heavy. Shadows tugged at his eyes and accentuated the sharpness of his cheeks. He looked like he hadn’t slept since the day he left you… which wasn’t so far from the truth. Because the whole time he’d been here, he’d been thinking of you, and the ways you might hate him for what he did and the sick corners of his soul. For—

You sailed into his arms, wrapping yourself around his torso and pressing your face into the hollow of his neck. Part of your mind chastised you, calling you silly and desperate as it reminded you it had only been ten days since you’d last seen him. But you didn’t care. It felt far longer than that. Too long.

You needed this almost as much as he did.

You disappeared behind his wings, cocooned safely in membranous folds and shadows that kissed your skin. Azriel himself buried his face in your hair, feeling some of his worst worries dissipate. You hadn’t run away. You hadn’t been so disgusted as to leave just yet.

“Y/n,” he murmured your name before kissing your temple. “Gods, I missed you.”

“I would hope so.” You murmured into the curve of his jaw, “I might be a boring bookworm but I’m better company than this place.”

Azriel winced. “You have no idea.”

You missed the pointed look that Rhys and Feyre threw your way, but Azriel didn’t. He was tall enough to see over your head as Feyre pointed to the door at the end of the hallway, eyes glistening. They had come here for a purpose, and the sooner it was over with, the sooner they could all go home.

Azriel’s arms tightened around you. “I didn’t want you to come here. I didn’t want… I didn’t want you to see the things I do.”

“I know.” You traced the curve of his jaw, thumb smoothing over his cheek. “But I’m not afraid, Azriel.”

His eyes flickered from fear to relief to love, like one of those picture books you had to flip through to see the scene play out.

“You’re not?”

You shook your head no. Then you kissed him on the lips and whispered the words for him and him alone. “I trust you. You’re the most terrifying thing here anyway, and you’re mine.”

Yours.

Azriel quitel liked the sound of that.

Even here in the dungeons burrowed beneath empty frozen lands, Azriel found it within him to hope. Horrid creatures might be hidden elsewhere, creeping like slugs under the earth that he’d have to crush beneath his boot or tear treasured secrets from, but for now you were still by his side. For now you were still his and he would always be yours.

You looped your arm through his and moved towards that door at the end of the hallway, steeling yourself for what you already knew was behind it.

The light from the barred window flashed warm and cool then warm again. Light warped and pranced. The scent of rot hung in the air, humid and choking. You touched the door handle, feeling the magic fall away like it recognized you and opened up into a makeshift, but quaint bedroom. There were no windows here for there was nothing to see below ground, but some of Feyre’s landscape paintings hung on the wall. Faelights bloomed overhead, throwing light and heat on a child’s bed with green sheets, a table, and a bookcase overflowing with an assortment of puzzles and novels and toys. You felt your blood turn cold. They’d once belonged to Nyx before being repurposed for the little boy trembling on the floor.

You stared at him in horror.

The little boy who’d been so violently bright that morning in the marketplace was dull. Although he was wearing fresh clothes, his skin had turned a stone gray, black marks dotting his once silken, silver skin like a disease. He was aware of his condition, weeping on the plush rug cut in the shape of a flower as he batted at his arms, willing them to turn healthy again.

“No no no no no no,” he sobbed. He grabbed at his pillowy hair in frustration and tugged. A cloud of fragile strands came away and he cried harder, trying to stick them back to his scalp.

Rhysand’s face was broken and pale. He tried not to look at Andrian. He was too young. Reminded him too much of his own son.

“You were right.” Rhysand’s voice was hollow, laced with a pain that grabbed your throat and squeezed. “Koschei did kill him. He’s been dead this whole time.”

“NO!” Andrian screamed. “HE DIDN’T! HE PROTECTED ME!”

Fat tears rolled out of filmy eyes, dusty and brown as pond water. Rage filled him with new energy and he tried to attack your mind as he’d already done with Azriel. But there was something altogether different about your magic, something flexible that morphed and rearranged your mental walls until it felt like he was trying to attack himself.

He gave up when your walls didn’t fall, and chose the physical route instead. You recoiled as he took a swipe, bony arms reaching out in an awkward lunge. But his legs were too weak and crumpled beneath him. He looked like a fish laid out to rot on a summer day — bloated and slick.

“Koschei brought him back to life for his powers—”

“HE LOVES ME! PAPA LOVES ME!”

“To use as he saw fit when the time was right.”

“But he can’t survive being separated for so long from Koschei’s power, can he?”

Just like Vassa. Left on their own without their maker they couldn’t handle the curses that had been placed on them. They’d bend until they broke… unless they found another way…

“The killings,” You murmured as the pieces slowly fell into place, “He killed those Librarians and the tailor and the florist…” You didn’t want to be right about this. You prayed to the Mother that you were wrong.

But Azriel read the thoughts in your eyes and nodded. Feyre could only stand still and Rhysand couldn’t do more than speak out in that dead voice of his.

Andrian had killed those fae, not just to send a message, but because that was the price for going against nature, for being brought back from the dead. Power demanded balance. To stay alive, Andrian had needed others to take his place. Those Librarians and the Velarians hadn’t been murdered. They’d been sacrificed.

What Koschei had done to this boy — what he’d turned him into — made you want to crawl into a dark corner and stay there forever.

Andrian’s sobs died out. A crack of lightning followed by unnerving silence that had Azriel’s blood freezing in his veins. Andrian wasn’t much older than he’d been when he’d first been tossed into that dark cellar. When his brothers had set his hands aflame.

“He loves me,” he declared, as if saying it would make it true. He stayed curled up in a ball on the floor, rocking back and forth on his heels. “He stayed when Henna left me. He wasn’t afraid of me like the others. He took care of me.”

But Koschei hadn’t taken care of him. He’d taught Andrian to love him. To worship him, because that’s what he craved above all else. He’d helped the boy control his powers and had allowed him to live so he could send him off to die when it was most convenient. You’d thought Henna was Koschei’s perfect soldier, but you were wrong. Andrian was. He’d been broken and molded into something that should never have existed. He’d been sent to Prythian after his sister’s death to take her place. A boy who would have no choice but to return to the lake or die trying.

And he was dying. You could see it clear as day. Two teeth clinked onto the floor and Andrian’s hands flew up to his mouth. He whimpered, eyes locking on you like you might be able to fix this.

You wanted to beg Rhys and Feyre to do something, to fix him, but it was a useless endeavor. They wouldn’t have brought you here if they could just reach into Andrian’s mind and end it all peacefully. Andrian was too powerful for that. But you could use another way.

You approached him like a wild, injured animal, grimacing when he tried to run at you only for his ankle to twist and then snap. He fell to the floor in a pathetic sprawl.

“Hey there, little feather.”

Andrian paused at that familiar nickname, watery eyes looking up. You said it just like Henna had once upon a time. The same inflection in a differently pitched voice. His lips trembled.

“She left me.”

You shook your head before kneeling on the ground in front of him. He smelled of death. It clung to his linen shirt and trousers. It clung to the few strands of hair still woven into his scalp, skin so thin you could make out his skull.

“She didn’t leave you, Andrian.” You poured your voice out over him, as soothing as you could make it, forcing the tears down. “She thought you’d died and that you’d stayed dead. She had a little ceremony for you out near the willow tree and buried your favorite toy beneath it with a handful of water lilies. Do you remember it? The little wooden doll you dressed up like a soldier with the red cap and the silver shoes?”

He clamped his hands over his ears, shaking his head while his weak neck teetered dangerously atop his shoulders.

“Andrian—” You pulled his hands away and in a bold, dangerous move brought them to your temple and slowly lowered your mental wards. You didn’t give him free reign, but rather guided him through snippets of memories you’d taken from Henna before her death. They all revolved around him. Before, and even after Koschei had poisoned their minds, Andrian had remained her true priority.

The boy’s eyes flashed from anger to confusion then, finally, to despair.

“She didn’t leave you.”

Andrian waited a few moments that had your heart seizing, then rushed into your arms, tightening them like a vice around your shoulders and burying his face in your hair. You held your breath, but tightened your grip. You weren’t his sister, but you were the closest thing he had.

Slowly, like sand falling through an hourglass, you felt his arms weaken and fall from your shoulders. He stared at you, wide and terrified as his hand snapped off at the wrist and fell to your side in a grey heap.

“Make it stop. Please make it stop.”

You smoothed back his hair, shoving down the tears that threatened to fall. His eyes were white now and unseeing. “It’s ok, little feather. It’s ok.”

“I don’t—” Even his voice was crumbling apart. Raspy and broken like cracked glass. He had little time left. The fight in him gone. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go to that dark place. Please don’t make me go.”

Azriel had been watching the entire time, trying not to picture the little boy with dark hair, weak wings, and bandaged hands. He went so, so still.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok. It’s going to be ok.” You promised. You forced your trembling lips into a smile.

He took in a rasping breath. “Will you go with me this time, Henna? Please.”

You gritted your teeth, brows furrowed in an effort to stay here instead of turning and sprinting back to the surface.

“I will. That’s why I came” You brushed his hair away from his forehead, saying nothing when the wispy white strands were torn away from his scalp like silk… just like the memories of Koschei’s lake you plucked from his mind without him knowing. You swallowed the pain of what you knew was coming. “I won’t let you be alone.”

He went quiet after that. Maybe his voice had deteriorated beyond saving, maybe he finally felt at peace. All you knew is that you needed to keep brushing his hair and holding onto his hand when he laid down and placed his head in your lap. He was like a little windup doll that had run out of string. He kept breathing until he finally stopped.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

So... this was a rather sad one, bit of a tonal shift if you ask me, but I wanted to wrap up the stuff with Henna and Andrian before we continue on to other things.

BUT, you have to appreciate when Y/n walks into what's effectively a torture chamber and goes "yeah, nope, still in love with Azriel." It's just one of those things that gets brushed under the rug but like... this guy's WHOLE JOB is inflicting pain upon people.... and you know what, it's a fantasy book, so who the hell cares. We stan Y/n being supportive of Azriel's career lol

#the shadowsinger and the inkbird #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel shadowsinger

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