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v3lary0ns · 5 months ago

Text

cried. sobbed. need to have this engraved on my tombstone because this KILLED ME!?!?!?

shape of my heart

pairing: jj maybank x bsf!reader

summary: sometimes you need to wait a little longer to find your true way

warnings: angst, fluff, friends to lovers, miscommunication, family issues, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 21.2k

a/n: based on this ask. thank u love for your request and I'm again so sorry that I made you wait so long.

ᯓ★ now playing…

sting - shape of my heart

Ten years ago.

THE PLAYGROUND WAS ALIVE WITH CHAOS — a symphony of children's laughter rising above the creak of rusted swings, sneakers scuffing across cracked concrete, and the distant thud of a basketball bouncing against the asphalt. You lingered on the edge, an outsider in a sea of familiarity, clutching your purple lunchbox like it was your last line of defense. The unfamiliarity weighed heavy on your chest, like you had wandered into someone else’s story.

You kept your eyes down, avoiding the girls weaving braids into each other's hair, the boys racing toward the gym, or even the smallest glances from passersby. Instead, you stared at the ground, at the stubborn tufts of grass forcing their way through fractured cement, small triumphs of resilience in a world that didn’t seem to notice them.

“Hey!”

The voice was sharp, cutting through the din like a whistle, startling you out of your thoughts. You glanced up, squinting against the golden sun, and there he was — a boy with sun-bleached blond hair sticking up in every direction and a faint streak of dirt smudged across his cheek, as if he’d been pulled straight from the earth itself. His grin was lopsided, too wide for his face, and yet it held a kind of magic that loosened something tight in your chest.

“You’re new, aren’t you?” he asked, rocking back on his heels, as though time didn’t apply to him.

You nodded, the words you wanted to say getting stuck somewhere in the tangled knot of nerves in your throat.

“I’m JJ,” he said, thrusting out a scratched, freckled hand. His fingers were rough, the kind that told stories of climbing trees, skipping rocks, and scraping knees.

For a moment, you hesitated, before placing your smaller hand in his. You mumbled your name quietly, almost afraid to claim it out loud.

“That’s a cool name,” he said with an easy confidence that made you believe him, and then his grin widened. “Wanna see something?”

Before you could respond, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out what looked like a wand — or maybe a stick. He held it out to you like it was treasure, tilting it so you could see the jagged letters carved into its surface: JJ.

“Cool, huh?” he asked, his voice brimming with pride. “Bet no one else has a stick like this.”

You stared at it, unsure whether to laugh or frown. “Why… do you need a stick with your name on it?”

His blue eyes narrowed, his lips twitching into a smirk, like you’d just asked the most ridiculous question in the world. “Why not?”

Before you could come up with a response, his expression shifted — suddenly sharp and purposeful. “Wait a second… you don’t have a stick, do you?”

You shook your head, your confusion growing.

“That’s what I thought.” He crouched down, his fingers digging through the dirt with the precision of someone who had done this before. “Don’t worry. I’ll make you one. Every tough guy — or girl — needs their own stick.”

You opened your mouth, then shut it again, your words tripping over themselves. “Are you even allowed to do that?” you finally managed, watching as he pulled a small, well-worn pocketknife from his shorts like a magician revealing his trick.

“Nope,” he replied cheerfully, flicking the blade open with a quick, practiced motion that made your heart skip. “But you’re my new best friend, so you’ve gotta keep my secrets, alright?”

“Best friend?” The words felt strange in your mouth, unfamiliar and heavy, like a coat that didn’t quite fit.

“Yep.” He didn’t even look up, his focus entirely on the twig in his hands. He carved with a jeweler’s precision, the blade gliding over the bark. “That’s how it works. I pick you, and you stick with me. Forever.”

Forever.

Something about the way he said it made your chest ache, a sharp pang that softened into warmth. You watched him work, his tongue poking slightly out of the corner of his mouth, the sun catching on the golden strands of his hair. And when he finally held up the stick, your name etched into its curve, the world seemed to tilt ever so slightly.

“Here,” he said, handing it to you like it was something sacred.

Your fingers closed around the rough bark, and you laughed — a sound that startled even you. In that moment, looking into JJ’s impossibly blue eyes, you felt the kind of calm you hadn’t known in a long, long time.

Forever with JJ didn’t sound so bad after all.

Seven years ago.

THE SKY ABOVE THE MARSH WAS AWASH IN THE MOLTEN HUES OF AN AUTUMN SUNRISE. Amber bled into fiery pinks, the colors rippling across the surface of the water like molten gold. The air carried the faint chill of impending cooler nights, but the day stubbornly clung to its warmth, as if unwilling to let go of summer. The Chateau loomed in the distance, a patchwork fortress that seemed to defy time itself. Its leaning walls echoed with laughter, the kind that concealed unspoken secrets and the weight of teenage dreams.

Inside, the usual chaos reigned. Bedding was strewn across mismatched furniture like a quilt of disorder, a testament to the ragtag family that lived there. Kiara sat perched on the porch railing, one bare foot swinging idly as she took lazy bites of an apple. She always had a knack for fitting in without trying, her sharp wit and effortless loyalty solidifying her place in the group. She was the kind of person who could call you out without making you feel small — someone who belonged.

Pope was hunched over the remnants of a broken picnic table, his brow furrowed in concentration as he fiddled with an ancient, rusted compass he’d unearthed from the swamp. Every so often, his face would light up with a flicker of triumph, his mind always chasing the next answer, the next puzzle to solve. His cautious nature often counterbalanced JJ’s wild energy, grounding their adventures in just enough reason to keep them all alive.

John B. was nowhere to be seen, but you could hear his voice faintly in the distance, shouting something about finding snacks. It was his house, after all. His rules — or lack thereof — held the fragile threads of your makeshift family together. His boundless optimism gave the chaos purpose, like a lighthouse guiding you all home.

But home didn’t feel quite right to you tonight.

You laughed when you were supposed to, smiled in all the right moments, and played your part well enough that Kiara didn’t ask questions and Pope didn’t pry. But deep down, a heaviness clung to you, a storm cloud that followed no matter how hard you tried to outrun it. Your family was crumbling, and every laugh felt like a flimsy shield against the ache in your chest.

JJ noticed. He always noticed.

He watched you from the doorway of the Chateau, his arms crossed casually over his chest. You were sitting on the edge of the porch, staring out at the horizon, your body wrapped in a loose blanket as if it could protect you from more than just the cold. The others were heading to the shore, their laughter fading into the distance, but JJ stayed behind. He leaned against the doorframe, his expression soft yet unreadable, and waited.

He didn’t push. That wasn’t his style. He’d wait until the silence wore you down.

Eventually, you stood and wandered toward the pier, your steps slow and deliberate. The wooden planks groaned underfoot, each creak a reminder of the weight you carried. Behind you, JJ’s boots clicked softly as he followed, keeping just enough distance to give you space. He caught up without a word and settled beside you at the edge of the dock, his legs dangling over the water like yours.

The swamp stretched out before you, golden and still in the last light of the day. The air was heavy with the smell of salt and earth, clinging to your skin like a second layer. But today, even that familiar comfort felt distant.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on, or am I supposed to guess?” JJ finally asked, his voice low but not unkind.

You shrugged, keeping your eyes on the rippling water below. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Bullshit,” he shot back, though his tone stayed light. “Come on, don’t do this. Not with me.”

A bitter laugh slipped out before you could stop it. “What do you want me to say, JJ? That my parents can’t stand the sight of each other? That I’m stuck in the middle, pretending everything’s fine when it’s not?” The words came out in a rush, raw and jagged. “That every time they fight, it feels like the whole house is gonna split in two? Or that I’m terrified my dad’s gonna leave, and I’ll be stuck alone with my mom and her... her anger?”

JJ didn’t respond right away. He just sat there, his blue eyes steady and unwavering, like he was bracing himself to catch everything you threw his way.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice quiet. “That’s what I want you to say.”

The simplicity of his answer hit you harder than anything else could have. Your breath hitched, and you shook your head, willing the tears to stay put. “It’s not fair, JJ. I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t even think I can.”

“You’re not supposed to fix it,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s their shit to deal with”

You turned to him, your voice trembling like the first fragile breath of morning. “You don’t understand. You’ve got your own stuff — your dad...” The words faltered, dissolving into the hush between you, thick with history, with everything left unsaid.

JJ’s jaw tightened, his gaze drifting toward the horizon where the sky was just beginning to bleed into gold. The world held its breath, the only sound the slow, rhythmic lap of water against the dock. Then, at last, he spoke, his voice rough, worn like the tide-washed edges of a broken shell.

“Yeah. I know what happens when things break.”

You opened your mouth to apologize, but he shook his head, silencing you before the words could take shape. “It’s fine. You know about my dad. But my mom…” He exhaled sharply, like he was trying to push the weight of her memory away. “She used to talk about leaving. I was just a kid, but I remember — her promises, her trembling, the way she’d whisper about getting me out of here.” A bitter laugh escaped him, quiet and sharp. “Guess she changed her mind.”

“JJ…” Your heart ached for him, for the past neither of you could change.

He shook his head again, as if brushing off ghosts. “It was their mess. And it’s not my fault how it ended. Just like it’s not yours.”

His fingers found yours, warm and sure, grounding you in the space between then and now. When you turned your head, his blue eyes were already on you, soft but steady.

“She left this behind.”

From his pocket, he pulled a small silver ring, its surface worn, scratched — a tiny thing that had survived despite everything. He held it out to you, his fingers hesitant, reverent.

“She used to say it reminded her that no matter how bad things got, there was always something worth holding onto.”

Your fingers trembled as you took it, the cool metal pressing into your palm, heavier than it should have been. As if it carried the weight of his mother’s dreams, of his own unspoken hopes.

“JJ, I can’t- ...”

“Take it,” he said, quiet but firm. “You need it more than I do.”

With careful fingers, you slid the ring onto your finger, feeling its weight settle against your skin like an anchor. “Thank you,” you whispered, voice cracking like the first light breaking over the horizon.

JJ leaned back on his hands, tilting his head toward the sky, where the first flush of morning painted the clouds in soft pinks and golds. “You know… you remind me of her sometimes.”

“Your mom?” you asked, surprised.

“Yeah.” He glanced at you, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “She was tough as hell. Stubborn, too. But she cared — about people. About me. Even when she didn’t have to.” He paused, his gaze steady, unreadable. “You’re the same.”

The words settled deep in your chest, too heavy, too meaningful to respond to right away. Instead, you turned your eyes toward the horizon, where sunlight spilled over the water in rippling gold.

“I’m scared, JJ,” you admitted, the confession barely louder than the breeze. “I’m scared of what’s gonna happen. Of losing everything.”

JJ’s hand tightened around yours, his touch warm, certain. “You’re not gonna lose me,” he said, his voice as steady as the tide. “Not ever.”

The promise hung between you, quiet and unshakable. And as the sun lifted higher, chasing away the last traces of night, you felt something you hadn’t in a long time — hope.

Five years ago

THE OUTER BANKS SHIMMERED IN GOLD, THE KIND OF GOLD THAT MADE YOU NOSTALGIC BEFORE YOU EVEN KNEW WHAT YOU WERE MISSING. The waves lapped at the sand in gentle rhythm, their white foam catching the blush of the sun. The salt hung heavy in the air, mingling with the earthy scent of the marsh and the tang of summer heat. It wrapped around you like an old friend, welcoming you home, though the nervous flutter in your chest refused to settle. The truck rattled and groaned as it bounced over the uneven path toward the coastline, and you gripped the door handle with one hand, your bag with the other, as though bracing yourself.

“It’s just the dock,” you told yourself, your voice barely audible over the grumble of the engine. But the words rang hollow. It wasn’t the dock, and it wasn’t the coastline — not really. It was him. It was all of them. And it was what they’d come to mean to you over the years.

“Still quiet over there,” your dad said, glancing your way with a knowing smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He always had that knack for reading you, even when you wished he wouldn’t.

You tried to shrug off the tension, forcing a lightness into your voice. “I’m just... excited, I guess.”

“Excited?” he teased, the smile deepening. “Or nervous? Those are different things, you know, kid.”

“Dad,” you groaned, rolling your eyes even as heat crept up your neck. “It’s not like that.”

He let out a low chuckle, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. “Sure, kiddo. Whatever you say.”

You could tell he didn’t believe you, not even for a second. Maybe because you didn’t quite believe yourself.

Italy had been a dream, one of those picture-perfect, sunlit chapters you’d always imagined. Rolling hills stretching out endlessly, gelato melting on your tongue in the lazy heat of the afternoons, and your mom’s laughter echoing through quiet cobblestone streets. She had come alive there in a way you hadn’t seen in years. And yet, through it all — through the beauty and the memories — you’d felt something tugging at you, an ache that only grew sharper with every passing day. Homesick, you’d called it. But deep down, you’d known it wasn’t the place you missed. It was the people.

It was him.

And now, with the truck crawling to a stop behind the dock, your heart leapt into your throat.

“Are you sure they’ll be here?” your dad asked, pulling the gear into park. His tone was casual, but there was something amused in the way he looked at you, like he already knew the answer.

“Of course,” you replied, your voice a little too quick, too rehearsed. You tightened your grip on the strap of your bag. “They’re where they always are.”

The truth was, you hadn’t told anyone you were coming back early. You hadn’t even told JJ. Especially JJ. He had made you promise — more than once over late-night FaceTime calls — that you’d text him the moment your plane touched down. He’d even threatened to show up at the airport, laughing in that easy, reckless way of his, though you’d known he was only half-joking. But you hadn’t sent that text. You’d wanted to see the look on his face when he saw you standing there, unannounced. And maybe, just maybe, you’d wanted to see what you’d find in his eyes when the surprise wore off.

The dock came into view, and there they were. John B was sprawled across a bench, his cap tilted low over his eyes, giving him the appearance of a man who hadn’t moved all day. Kiara sat with her legs dangling off the edge of the dock, flicking water at Pope, who was laughing and grumbling all at once but made no effort to move away. It was a picture of everything you’d missed — easy, loud, chaotic, and alive.

And then there was him. JJ.

He stood leaning against one of the weathered wooden posts, barefoot and careless, his golden hair catching the rays of the setting sun like a halo. He was laughing at something John B had said, that loud, uninhibited laugh that always seemed to cut through everything and fill the air with warmth. The sight of him sent a rush of emotion through you, so sudden and overwhelming it left you breathless. He hadn’t changed — not really — but there was something about the way he stood there, so vividly himself, that made your chest ache.

Your father’s voice broke the silence. “Go on, kid,” he said softly, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. He nudged you with his elbow, his eyes flicking toward the group on the dock. “I’ll grab your bag.”

You hesitated for half a beat, the nerves tying knots in your stomach. But then you stepped out of the truck, the warmth of the wooden planks beneath your feet grounding you. The salty breeze tugged at your hair, carrying with it the distant hum of cicadas. None of them had noticed you yet; they were too wrapped up in their own world. For a moment, you just stood there, watching, letting the scene unfold like the opening act of a play.

And then JJ looked up.

His laughter faltered mid-breath, his head snapping toward you like a reflex. His eyes, that familiar piercing blue, went wide with disbelief, and for a split second, he didn’t move. It was as though the world had stopped spinning, frozen in the space between his surprise and your racing heart. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

Your heart thudded painfully against your ribs. “Hi, Maybank,” you called out, trying to keep your voice steady despite the way it wavered on the edges.

He blinked, like he was trying to convince himself you were real. And then, all at once, he was moving. He pushed off the post with a kind of urgency that made your breath hitch, his steps quick and unhesitating as he closed the distance between you.

Before you could say anything else, his arms were around you, pulling you into him with a force that left no room for doubt. His grip was tight, desperate, like he was holding on to something he couldn’t bear to lose. Your arms came up to wrap around his neck, and for a moment, the rest of the world melted away. It was just you and JJ, the sound of his heartbeat loud and steady against your ear.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” JJ’s voice was muffled against your neck, rough and raw in a way that made your chest tighten. His arms were still wrapped tightly around you, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. You could feel the uneven rhythm of his breathing, the way his grip trembled just slightly. It was a rare thing for JJ to show cracks in his armor, and seeing it now left you speechless.

“I wanted to surprise you,” you murmured, your voice soft as you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. His face was so close that you could see the golden flecks in his blue eyes, the way his brows knit together like he was trying to figure out how to put words to whatever was storming inside him.

For a moment, the world shrank. It was just you and JJ, the sound of the waves lapping against the dock, and the faint hum of the evening settling over the marina. His gaze roamed your face, slow and intent, like he was memorizing every detail — the curve of your cheek, the faint freckles the summer sun had scattered across your nose, the way your lips parted slightly, trying to form words that wouldn’t come. There was something in his expression you couldn’t quite name, something that made your pulse quicken. It felt like standing on the edge of something vast, something you couldn’t yet see the bottom of.

But just as quickly, the moment broke.

“Well, well, well,” John B’s familiar drawl cut through the air as he strolled over, a grin tugging at his lips. “Look who decided to grace us with her presence. Miss World Traveler.”

You let out a soft laugh, stepping back from JJ, though you felt the absence of his arms immediately. John B threw an arm around your shoulders in a casual hug. “It’s been way too quiet around here without you,” he said, giving you a playful nudge.

Kiara was next, pulling you into a hug so tight it nearly knocked the breath out of you. “God, your tan makes me sick,” she teased, pulling back to inspect you. “Italy must have been amazing. I’m so jealous.”

“It was,” you said, smiling, though the word felt incomplete. Italy had been beautiful, yes — but it hadn’t been home.

Pope stepped forward, his grin crooked as he gave you a mock-serious look. “You know he was unbearable without you, right?” He jerked his thumb toward JJ, who was now leaning against a post, trying (and failing) to look indifferent. “We thought we were going to have to sedate him by the second week.”

“Shut up, Pope,” JJ snapped, but the tips of his ears turned red. He glanced at you, and for just a second, his tough exterior cracked again. There was that shy, almost sheepish smile he gave when he thought no one was looking, the one that always made your heart stutter a little.

You laughed, shaking your head, but something warm and unfamiliar bloomed in your chest. JJ looked... different. His features had sharpened over the summer — the curve of his jaw a little more defined, his shoulders broader, like he’d grown into himself in ways you hadn’t expected. But it wasn’t just the way he looked. It was the way he carried himself, with a quiet kind of confidence that hadn’t been there before. And yet, underneath it all, he was still JJ. Still the boy with the crooked smile and the reckless charm that felt like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

“Let’s go,” he said suddenly, his voice softer now. His hand found yours, his fingers curling around it like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You have a lot to tell us.”

The group fell into step together, leading you toward the bustling marina. The warm glow of the sun bathed everything in hues of orange, and the air buzzed with life — vendors calling out their wares, the occasional shout of a fisherman unloading his catch, the distant hum of a boat engine cutting across the water. It all felt so alive, so home, in a way that Italy never could.

The Pogues bombarded you with questions as you walked. What did you see? Was the food as good as everyone says? Did you meet anyone interesting? You laughed, trying to answer them all, but your attention kept slipping back to JJ. He hadn’t let go of your hand, his thumb tracing absent patterns on your skin — a mindless, gentle motion that sent shivers down your spine. It was such a small thing, but it made your heart race in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

“Italy sounds amazing,” Kiara said, her chin propped on her palm as she looked at you. “But I bet you missed us more.”

“Of course I did,” you said, smiling. The warmth in your voice was genuine, but you couldn’t ignore the way your gaze kept drifting toward JJ.

“She missed JJ the most,” Pope teased, leaning back against a post with a grin. “You should’ve seen him. He was a mess without you.”

“Pope, I swear to God– ” JJ started, his voice sharp, but his face betrayed him. The blush that crept up his neck was impossible to hide. He muttered something under his breath and looked away, scratching the back of his head.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning closer. “Oh? Did you miss me, Maybank?”

He scoffed, trying to look unaffected, but the corner of his mouth twitched in a way that betrayed him. “Just a little bit,” he said, his voice low. But the way his eyes softened when they met yours told a different story.

John B leaned forward, his tone conspiratorial. “He even tried to learn Italian, you know. Thought it’d impress you.”

“John B, shut up,” JJ groaned, his face now fully red.

“It’s true,” Kiara chimed in, grinning. “He kept saying ‘ciao’ like it was going to earn him points.”

You burst out laughing, and the sound seemed to melt JJ’s embarrassment just a little. He ducked his head, but there was a small, bashful smile tugging at his lips. And in that moment, with the sun golden shine behind him and the sound of your laughter filling the air, you felt it — the quiet shift, the unspoken thing between you. It wasn’t just friendship anymore. It hadn’t been for a while.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a deep amber glow across the water, and the group decided to head back to the chateau for dinner. You climbed into the back of John B’s van, squeezed between Kie on one side and JJ on the other. The ride was a cacophony of laughter, teasing, and JJ’s increasingly absurd defenses.

“Learn Italian to impress her?” Kie snorted. “Did you think she’d forget English while she was gone?”

“It wasn’t like that!” JJ protested, his voice pitched higher, feigning offense. “I was broadening my horizons, okay? Becoming a cultured man of the world.”

“You downloaded one app, dude,” Pope deadpanned from the front seat.

The laughter that followed was so contagious, you clutched your stomach, gasping for breath. JJ caught your eye and grinned, nudging your arm with his elbow. “They’re all jealous of my superior intellect,” he said dramatically, leaning back against the van’s rattling side.

“Yeah, that’s it,” you teased, your shoulder pressing into his. The warmth of his presence next to you was grounding, familiar, and something else you couldn’t quite name.

By the time you arrived, the air was heavy with the scent of salt and pine, the ocean waves a distant hum. The chateau stood as it always had, leaning slightly to one side as though it was part of the landscape itself. It felt like a hug, warm and unassuming, wrapping you in its charm the moment you stepped out of the van.

The group scattered almost immediately — Kie and Pope darted into the kitchen, debating whether Kie’s avocado toast counted as dinner or a snack, and John B headed straight for the radio, mumbling something about needing “vibes” to cook. But JJ lingered, grabbing your wrist gently and pulling you toward the porch.

The wooden boards creaked beneath your feet as you stepped outside. The air had cooled, the sun’s absence leaving the sky awash in deep purples and soft blues. Stars were beginning to blink into view, scattered like salt across a velvet canvas. JJ leaned against the railing, his hands in his pockets, watching you as you took it all in.

“You missed this place, didn’t you?” His voice was quieter now, free of the bravado and teasing he wore like armor around the others.

You nodded, your throat tightening with emotion you hadn’t expected. “Yeah,” you whispered. “More than I thought I would.”

His gaze softened, and he tilted his head slightly, studying you in that way he had — the way that always made you feel like he could see through every wall you’d ever put up. “What about us?” he asked, his tone playful but laced with something more.

“I’ve already told you!” You smiled, your chest tightening as your heart thudded against your ribs. “I missed all of these. Especially you guys.”

He grinned, his signature mischievous look creeping across his face. “And me? You miss me the most, right?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way he suddenly felt so tall, so close, so... everything. “I didn’t miss you, Maybank. You wouldn’t leave me alone. You called every day,” you teased, trying to keep the mood light. But the truth lingered on the edge of your words, unspoken but heavy: I missed you more than anything.

JJ chuckled, but his smile faltered for just a moment, replaced by something uncertain. His eyes dropped to the floor before flicking back up to you. He shifted, tapping his bare foot against the wooden porch. “You... uh, you look different,” he said awkwardly.

“Different?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck in that nervous way you’d seen a hundred times. “A good different. Not that you didn’t look good before, because you did, obviously, but– ”

“JJ,” you interrupted, laughing softly. “Thanks. You look different too.”

He blinked, surprised. “Yeah?”

You nodded, your voice softening. “Yeah. In a good way.”

He straightened slightly, his gaze locking with yours. The dim light spilling from the house caught in his eyes, turning them into restless fragments of the sea — wild, endless, impossible to look away from. There was something in his expression, something raw and unguarded, like he was balancing on the edge of words he didn’t know how to say. It was the same look he’d had earlier at the dock, the one that had stolen the breath from your lungs.

Without thinking, your fingers found their way to the nape of his neck, threading through the soft strands of his blonde hair. He exhaled a quiet, contented hum, his eyes slipping closed for just a moment as his hand found your waist, pulling you closer. A soft giggle escaped your lips, ringing like a bell in the hush between you. His eyes fluttered open at the sound, locking onto you with an intensity that sent warmth curling through your spine.

The silence wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t easy either. It sat between you, heavy with everything unspoken, everything shifting in ways neither of you had quite named yet. The air seemed to hum, thick with something electric, something that made your skin tingle and your heart hammer against your ribs.

His fingers flexed against your waist, just enough to draw you closer, and your body, as if pulled by an invisible force, leaned toward him in return. His head dipped slightly, the space between you dwindling to something fragile, something trembling.

Then…

Kie’s voice cut through the stillness, sharp and teasing. ‘Come on, lovebirds! The food’s ready!’”

JJ let out a slow sigh, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “We better go before Kie decides to drag us in by force.”

Still, he didn’t move right away. And neither did you.

Then, as if remembering himself, he extended his hand toward you. Without hesitation, you took it. His fingers were rough with callouses, warm and sure, grounding you in the quiet shift of whatever this was between you.

As he led you back inside, you wondered if he noticed the way your hand lingered in his, the way your fingers curled just a little tighter around his. Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t.

But for now, it didn’t matter.

For all the things that had changed — Italy, the long summer apart, the way you caught yourself looking at him differently — one thing hadn’t. JJ was still JJ. And whatever this was, whatever it was becoming, it could wait.

Because right now, being here — being with him — was enough.

Three years ago.

THE SUMMER HEAT OF THE OUTER BANKS CLUNG TO THE WORLD LIKE A SECOND SKIN — THICK, STICKY, AND INESCAPABLE. The scent of saltwater mingled with sun-baked wood, and the ceaseless hum of cicadas filled the air, their song marking the passing hours like a heartbeat. At fifteen, you and the Pogues were in that strange, liminal space between childhood and adulthood — no longer the carefree kids you used to be, but not yet the grown-ups you pretended to be. Everything felt different now, like the tide had shifted without warning.

And for you, the biggest shift was JJ.

He’d always been your best friend, the boy you trusted with every secret, the one who could make you laugh so hard it felt like you might burst. He was constant, like the rhythm of the waves — a part of you, as familiar as your own shadow. But that summer, something about him was different. He carried himself in a new way, a confidence that made people look at him differently. His smile was sharper, his laughter louder, and there was a reckless glint in his eye that seemed to draw others to him.

And JJ didn’t shy away from the attention.

At every party, there was someone new. A girl with sun-kissed skin, her laughter ringing through the night as she leaned too close to him. She’d drape her arm over his shoulder, her fingers grazing his neck, and JJ would flash that grin — the one that could light up a room. You’d watch from the sidelines, your stomach twisting, and force yourself to look away.

It was Saturday night, and the Pogues were gathered around one of the many campfires dotting the beach. The fire popped and crackled, sending embers spiraling into the dark sky. Music blared from a nearby speaker, mixing with the steady rhythm of the waves. You sat perched on a weathered log beside Kie, clutching a can of beer, trying not to let your gaze drift.

But it always found him.

JJ was the center of attention, as he always seemed to be. He sat with a girl you didn’t recognize — a brunette with tan lines tracing her shoulders and a laugh that rang too loud. Her hand rested on his knee, and every time she shifted closer, your chest tightened. JJ leaned in, murmuring something to her, and whatever he said made her cheeks flush. She giggled, tucking her hair behind her ear, and you turned your gaze toward the ocean, swallowing against the lump rising in your throat.

The moon hung low, casting its silver light across the water in a shimmering trail. You tried to focus on that, on the soothing sound of the waves, on anything other than the way JJ smiled at her like she was the only person in the world.

“Hey,” Kie’s voice broke through your thoughts, gentle but insistent. She was watching you with that look — concern mixed with a knowing edge. “You okay?”

You forced a smile, one that felt more like a grimace. “Yeah,” you lied. “Just tired.”

Kie didn’t buy it, but she didn’t press — at least not yet. “You know, he’s just… being JJ. It doesn’t mean anything.”

You hesitated, your gaze flickering back to him. The girl had rested her head on his shoulder, her laughter cutting through the night like shards of glass. Your throat tightened, and you tore your eyes away again, back to the ocean, where the waves didn’t hurt to look at, gulping the rest of your beer in one go.

“That’s not it,” you said quietly, but your voice wavered, betraying you.

Kie raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into the faintest of smirks. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

You opened your mouth, ready to protest, but stopped. What was the point? Kie already knew. She probably had for a while.

“Just forget it,” you mumbled, your fingers tracing the rim of your empty beer can.

But Kie didn’t say anything else. She just gave you a knowing look and leaned back, her attention drifting back toward the fire.

And then, as if to twist the knife, JJ’s laughter rang out again, loud and carefree. You risked another glance, unable to help yourself. He’d leaned back now, his hands resting behind him, his head tipped back slightly as he laughed at something the girl had said. The firelight danced across his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the messy golden hair that never seemed to sit right, the mischievous spark in his eyes.

It was moments like this that made everything so confusing. Because no matter how much it hurt to see him like this — flirting, laughing, carefree—there were still times when JJ was just JJ. Your JJ. The boy who’d sneak out of his house at midnight to climb through your window when you couldn’t sleep. The boy who taught you how to surf, even though you were terrified of wiping out. The boy who made you feel like nothing in the world could touch you as long as he was around.

And maybe that’s what made it all hurt so much. That underneath all the bravado, the recklessness, and the flirting, JJ was still the boy you’d always known.

But now, he was someone else too. Someone who could break your heart without even realizing it.

It was easier when things were simple — when it was just the two of you, laughing, teasing, moving through life like you were invincible. But lately, even the simplest things felt like they carried a weight neither of you were ready to name.

Like now.

The sun hung high in the sky, beating down on the ocean as another wave crashed against the shore. JJ stood a few steps ahead, his board tucked under his arm, his sun-bleached hair glowing like gold in the afternoon light. That grin of his — mischievous and full of challenge — never failed to pull you in.

“Come on,” he called, his voice rising above the steady roar of the surf. “It’s simple.”

You crossed your arms, leveling him with a skeptical look. “It’s simple for you,” you muttered. “You’ve been doing this since you could walk.”

JJ rolled his eyes dramatically, wading deeper until the waves licked at his knees. “Trust me,” he said, holding out a hand. His grin softened slightly, and there was something steady in his gaze, something that made your heart skip in a way you refused to acknowledge. “I won’t let you drown.”

You hesitated, the familiar tug-of-war between reluctance and trust playing out in your chest. But, as always, JJ won. He always did.

With a resigned sigh, you grabbed the board and trudged into the water after him.

The next hour was a chaotic blend of saltwater, laughter, and repeated wipeouts. Every time you fell — and it was a lot — JJ was there, his hands steady as they pulled you back up. His laughter, warm and unrestrained, rang out like music, and though your pride took a beating, you couldn’t help but smile.

“You’re thinking too much,” he said after your fifth or sixth — or maybe tenth — tumble. He placed his hands on your waist, steadying you on the board once more. Your heart betrayed you, skipping a beat at his touch, but you stubbornly pushed the feeling aside.

“Easy for you to say,” you grumbled, brushing wet hair from your face. “You’re practically part fish.”

JJ chuckled, leaning closer, his breath warm against your ear. Despite the summer heat, goosebumps rippled over your skin.

“Then I guess that makes you a mermaid,” he teased, his voice low and tinged with a surprising tenderness.

Your cheeks burned, and you quickly turned your gaze toward the horizon, focusing on the rolling waves rather than the boy who suddenly seemed too close. “Let’s just try again,” you muttered, desperate to redirect the moment.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you managed to stand. It was only for a fleeting moment — barely long enough to count — but it was enough. The triumph surged through you, exhilarating and fleeting like the waves beneath you.

“See?” JJ said, his voice softer now, as if matching the mellow hues of the setting sun. “Told you you could do it.”

You turned to him, breathless and grinning, and for a moment, the world stilled. The sun was sinking low, painting the sky in soft oranges and pinks. It framed him perfectly, casting a warm glow over his features.

“Thanks, JJ,” you murmured, the words heavier than they should have been.

His gaze held yours, lingering just a moment too long. A strand of his hair fell into his eyes, and without thinking, you reached up to brush it away.

The movement froze both of you. His smirk faltered, just for a heartbeat, and something unspoken flickered in his eyes — something that made your chest tighten. Then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. His grin returned, as cocky and disarming as ever.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he teased, though his voice was softer now, his eyes unreadable. “Don’t go falling for my good looks.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Not a chance,” you lied, ignoring the way your stomach fluttered.

JJ laughed, loud and carefree, but you caught the way his gaze lingered just a second longer before he turned toward the waves.

And that was the thing about JJ — he could slip so easily between lightness and something deeper, between reckless teasing and the kind of silence that weighed heavy in the air. Moments like this, where the push and pull between you was almost tangible, never lasted long enough for you to grasp. Before either of you could acknowledge it, the moment was gone, carried away by the ocean breeze.

But there were other moments, quieter ones. Moments that felt heavier in their stillness, like those nights when JJ showed up at your door after another blowout with his dad.

The first time it happened, you found him sitting on your porch steps, his head in his hands, his shoulders hunched as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him.

“JJ?” you called softly, stepping outside.

He didn’t look up right away, but when he did, your breath caught. His face was bruised, his eyes hollow, and his exposed shoulders bore fresh cuts and bloodied scrapes, like shallow knife wounds carved by chaos.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he muttered, his voice rough and breaking at the edges.

You didn’t ask questions — there wasn’t any need. You just held the door open and waited for him to step inside.

In the kitchen, the warm glow of the overhead light did nothing to soften the bruises on his skin. If anything, it made them starker, painting him in shades of blue and violet, evidence of another fight, another night gone wrong. You swallowed hard and pulled out the first-aid kit, setting it down on the counter with hands that trembled despite your best efforts to keep steady.

“Sit,” you said, barely above a whisper.

JJ obeyed without his usual smart remark, without that lopsided grin he used to mask the things he didn’t want to talk about. Instead, he sank onto the stool, shoulders heavy, jaw tight, his usual armor nowhere to be found.

You stepped closer, standing between his legs as you reached for his arm. His skin was warm under your fingertips, burning, like it was branding something into you. You worked in silence, dabbing at the cuts and bruises, trying not to think about how close he was, how you could feel his breath on your collarbone when he exhaled. Every now and then, he winced — just barely, but enough to make your chest squeeze.

“You don’t have to do this,” he murmured, voice hoarse, almost hesitant.

“I want to,” you answered, your voice soft but firm.

His eyes flickered to yours then, searching, like he was trying to read between the lines of what you were really saying. You focused on your hands instead, fingers brushing over his knuckles, the rough callouses there. When you pressed a bandage over a particularly nasty scrape near his collarbone, his breath hitched — not in pain, but in something else, something thicker, heavier.

You could feel it, that shift. The one that always hovered just beneath the surface, the one neither of you talked about.

When you finished, you didn’t step away.

And neither did he.

Instead, JJ reached out, his fingers ghosting over your hip before settling there, light at first — like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed. But when you didn’t pull away, his grip tightened, tugging you closer until your thighs brushed against his.

The air felt too thin. His knees caged you in, his chest so close that every inhale felt shared.

Then, slowly, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against your sternum. His hands curled around the fabric of your shirt, fisting it like he needed something to hold onto. You froze, caught between the urge to step back and the need to stay right here, right in this moment where nothing else existed but the feeling of him against you.

“Thank you,” he murmured against your skin. His voice was rough, stripped bare in a way that made your fingers twitch with the need to touch him, to do something to ease whatever storm was raging inside his chest.

So you did.

Your hand found his hair, sliding through the messy blonde strands at the nape of his neck. He exhaled shakily, and his grip on you tightened just slightly, like he didn’t want to let go.

“Always,” you whispered, your lips barely brushing the top of his head.

The silence stretched, thick and charged. He was still leaning into you, still holding on. And you let him.

Later, when exhaustion finally claimed him, JJ collapsed onto the couch, his arm thrown over his eyes like he was shielding himself from something only he could see. You stayed close, curling up beside him on the floor, your knee brushing his where it dangled off the edge of the cushion.

At some point, his hand slipped down, his fingertips grazing your wrist. A slow, deliberate touch.

You didn’t move away.

Didn’t breathe.

Then, just as you thought he might have fallen asleep, his voice came, quiet, hesitant. “Sometimes… you’re the only good thing in my life.”

The words landed somewhere deep in your chest, something fragile cracking open at the sound of them.

You didn’t speak right away. Instead, you reached up, smoothing his messy hair back, letting your fingers linger just a little too long, letting them say the things neither of you could.

“You’re stronger than you think, JJ,” you murmured, letting your thumb graze the curve of his cheek.

His eyes, heavy with exhaustion, held onto yours for a second too long. Like he wanted to say something else. Like maybe, if you had both been braver, he would have.

But instead, he just sighed, eyes fluttering shut again, his hand still resting against your wrist.

As the night stretched on, as his breathing evened out, you stayed there, your fingers brushing against his in the quiet, in the space between friendship and something more, in the place where neither of you were ready to take that step — but neither of you could quite let go either.

At some point, exhaustion tugged at you, and you let your head rest against the couch, still close enough to feel the slow rise and fall of his chest. You weren’t sure when sleep finally took you, only that when you woke up, the room was filled with the soft, golden light of morning. JJ was already gone, but the warmth on your wrist where his fingers had been still lingered like a ghost of the night before.

Days passed, but that moment stayed with you, threading itself into the quiet spaces between you and him — unspoken, but always there.

And then, just like that, life moved forward.

JJ and your dad got along better than you ever expected. Your father’s easygoing nature seemed to calm JJ, something not many people could manage. The two of them spent hours on the dock fishing or tinkering with your dad’s old boat, a project perpetually in progress but never quite finished.

One evening, you leaned against the porch railing, watching the two of them by the water. The sun was low, casting golden streaks across the horizon, the kind of warmth that made everything feel softer, easier. JJ was crouched next to the tackle box, untangling a fishing line with a furrowed brow, while your dad stood beside him, gesturing animatedly as he explained some trick about casting in shallow water.

Your dad chuckled, shaking his head. “He’s a quick learner, I’ll give him that. Better than you ever were,” he teased, glancing over his shoulder at you.

“Hey!” you protested, crossing your arms with mock offense. “I was an excellent student.”

“Sure you were, kiddo,” your dad replied, grinning. “But this one’s got patience. You always wanted to skip straight to the catching part.”

JJ glanced up at you, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Guess I’m better at something, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile that slipped through. Because even as the moment shifted, as laughter replaced the weight of the night before, that quiet, unspoken something between you and JJ remained — always there, always waiting.

Later, after the lines were packed away and the mosquitoes started biting, the three of you retreated to the porch. The air was thick with the scent of salt and cut grass, the night settling comfortably around you. Your dad handed JJ a soda before easing into his chair with a contented sigh.

“He’s a good guy,” your dad said quietly, nodding toward JJ, who was leaning back against the steps, eyes lost somewhere in the stars. His fingers tapped absently against the can in his hands, his golden hair catching in the porch light.

You swallowed, your chest tightening at the sight of him like this — unguarded, weightless, like for once, the world wasn’t pressing in on him. “Yeah,” you murmured. “He is.”

Your dad turned to you then, studying your face with that knowing look only a parent could manage. “You care about him, don’t you?”

Your cheeks burned. “Of course I care about him,” you said quickly, too quickly. “He’s my friend.”

“Uh-huh.” Your dad’s voice was easy, but his eyes were serious. “Just make sure he knows it. Sometimes, people like JJ need to be reminded they’re worth something.”

The words hit deep, settling somewhere between your ribs, heavy and true. You nodded, not trusting yourself to say more.

On the steps, JJ shifted, stretching out his legs before turning toward the two of you. “What’s with all the whispering?” His grin was lazy, teasing, but his gaze flickered between you and your dad with quiet curiosity.

“Nothing,” you said quickly.

Your dad chuckled, shaking his head as if you’d just proven his point.

JJ’s grin widened. “You two always this suspicious?” He took a sip of his soda, watching you over the rim of the can. The way he looked at you — slow, steady, as if he was reading between every word—sent a shiver down your spine.

“What?” he asked when you didn’t look away. “Do I have something on my face?”

“Nothing,” you muttered, heat rising to your cheeks as you dropped your gaze.

JJ smirked and turned to your dad. “She always this mysterious?”

“She’s always something,” your dad said with a knowing smile. Then, softer, just for you, he added, “But don’t let him fool you. He looks up to you more than you realize.”

You glanced at JJ, watching the way his fingers curled around the can, the way his knee bounced slightly like he had too much energy trapped inside him. The words stuck in your throat. You wanted to tell him — to say something, anything — that might make him believe it. But before you could, he nudged your foot with his, just the smallest touch, grounding you back into the moment.

The Pogues, of course, noticed everything. Pope’s sarcastic quips, Kie’s amused smirks, and John B’s relentless teasing made it impossible to ignore the undercurrent of something more. But no one said it outright. No one dared to name the tension that crackled between you and JJ — the way your breath hitched when he leaned too close, how his gaze always found yours first in a crowded room, or how, even now, your legs rested against each other’s on the porch steps, neither of you moving away.

Maybe they were waiting for you to figure it out yourself. Or maybe, like you, they understood that some things were too precious to risk by putting them into words.

For now, you settled for moments like these — JJ’s quiet laughter mingling with your dad’s, the sound of waves lapping against the dock, and the certainty that, at least here, JJ was safe.

Two years ago.

THE SUMMER PRESSED IN AROUND YOU — THICK, RESTLESS, AND ELECTRIC, LIKE THE AIR BEFORE A STORM. It smelled of salt and adventure, but beneath it lingered something heavier, something that coiled tight in your chest with every reckless decision made in the name of gold. You had always been careful, the type to double-check before jumping, the one who hesitated when the others ran headfirst into trouble. But caution never counted for much with the Pogues. Trouble had a way of finding you anyway, slipping through the cracks, curling around your ankles, and pulling you under.

This summer was no different.

Treasure hunts, whispered secrets, maps worn soft by sweaty palms — it all blurred into the long, hazy days. But you never cared about the gold. Not really. The legend of the Royal Merchant and its lost fortune had always felt like a story belonging to another lifetime, another world. Yet somehow, you were tangled in it, caught in the chaos — not by the promise of riches, but by the boy who never once stopped to consider the fall.

JJ Maybank.

He was the reason. He had always been the reason.

With that reckless grin, sun-bleached hair that curled at the edges, and eyes that held the ocean’s mischief, JJ was impossible to ignore. He could turn a disaster into an adventure, a mistake into a story worth telling. And even when your gut twisted in fear, even when you knew the odds were stacked against you, JJ would throw an arm around your shoulders, press his cheek against the top of your head, and whisper things that made the world seem a little less terrifying.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he’d murmur, voice dripping with amusement yet carrying something softer underneath, something just for you. His fingers would squeeze your arm, grounding you. “I’m with you.”

And that was always enough. Even when it shouldn’t have been.

The search consumed everything — your days, your nights, your thoughts. You spent hours poring over clues, breaking into places you had no business being, running from men who wouldn’t hesitate to erase you if you got too close to the truth. Fear was a constant companion, coiling in your stomach, but it never seemed to touch JJ. He lived for this — the thrill, the danger, the chaos.

You wished you could say the same.

And then came Sarah Cameron.

She arrived like a summer storm — unexpected, electric, shifting the very air around her. You had spent so long balancing on the edge of what you knew, what you trusted, that you didn’t realize how tightly you had been holding onto it — until she knocked you off. At first, you resisted. The Kook princess with sun-kissed skin and a life spun from gold — what could she possibly understand about being a Pogue? About clawing your way forward with nothing but grit and a whisper of luck?

But John B fell for her — hard, fast, like a wave crashing against the shore. And somehow, without ever meaning to, so did you. Not in the way you had once imagined falling for someone, but in the way that existed in shared laughter between night shifts, in whispered confessions beneath a sky scattered with silver light. Sarah had a way of slipping past defenses, disarming without a single word. Before you could make sense of it, she was no longer just John B’s girl — she was one of you.

And just like that, the world shifted.

Something else was changing, too, hanging in the humid air like the promise of a storm. In the spaces between you and JJ, in the moments where words ran out and glances lingered too long. But neither of you dared to name it.

Not yet.

THE NIGHT FOLDED AROUND THE THREE OF YOU, WARM AND THICK WITH THE SCENT OF SALT AND SUMMER. The waves hummed their endless rhythm against the shore, distant yet steady, a lullaby you had memorized long ago. On the porch of the chateau, the wooden planks creaked beneath your weight as you leaned back on your palms, a half-empty bottle of stolen wine winking under the soft, flickering glow of string lights.

For the first time in weeks, the world was quiet. No running, no hiding — just Sarah’s easy laughter, Kiara’s sharp-edged grin, and the soft hum of night pressing in close, holding you all in the curve of its palm.

Kie stretched, her gaze flicking to you, something knowing in the curve of her lips. "Alright, let’s liven things up. Time for some girltalk."

You groaned, already knowing where this was headed. "Do we have to?"

Sarah clapped her hands, practically vibrating. "Uh, yes! I’ve been waiting for this moment forever."

"You’re tipsy," you accused, though a smile tugged at your lips despite yourself.

She only giggled, unbothered. "So what? That just makes it more fun. Okay, Kie, you first. What’s going on with you and Pope?"

Kiara scoffed, but the way her grip tightened around her glass didn’t go unnoticed. "What do you mean? There’s nothing going on."

"Oh, please," Sarah teased, nudging her shoulder. "The way he looks at you? It’s so obvious."

Kie sighed, tilting the bottle to her lips before answering. "Pope is... incredible. He’s kind, he’s smart, he actually listens to me. But I don’t know. If I let it turn into something and it doesn’t work out, I lose one of my best friends."

You reached over, squeezing her hand, the salt-sticky warmth of her skin grounding you. "You won’t lose him. Not Pope. He’d walk through fire for you."

Kie’s smile was soft, almost shy. But then she turned, sharp and knowing, her eyes gleaming in the dim light. "Okay, your turn, Honey. Any deep, dark secrets you wanna confess? Maybe about a certain blond hurricane we all know and love?"

Your stomach dropped.

Sarah practically vibrated with excitement. "Yes! I was just about to ask!"

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers moved on their own, finding the ring hanging from the chain around your neck. The metal was cool against your fingertips despite the heat of the night, familiar and grounding. A reminder.

JJ had given it to you years ago, slipping it into your palm with a rare kind of seriousness. "It was my mom’s," he had murmured, voice rough like he was handing over something more than just silver and memories. "Figured you’d keep it safe."

You had never taken it off.

The words sat on the tip of your tongue now, heavy and dangerous. You didn’t want to say it. Saying it would make it real, would give life to the thing you had buried so deep it felt like it was a part of you.

But Sarah and Kie were waiting, their trust shining so openly in the dark that it made your chest ache.

Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the way JJ’s voice was stitched into the fabric of your memories, the way his touch lingered even when he wasn’t there. Maybe it was the fact that, deep down, a part of you had been waiting for someone to ask — waiting for an excuse to finally say it out loud.

You exhaled. "JJ," you whispered, barely more than breath. "I think I’m in love with JJ. It’s always been JJ."

Kiara’s eyes widened. Sarah let out a delighted squeal, clutching your arm. "I knew it! I freaking knew it!"

"No, you don’t," you muttered, heat crawling up your neck. "He doesn’t see me like that. He looks at me like I’m his sister."

Kie snorted, tipping her head back. "Oh, sure. And I’m the Queen of England."

You laughed, but the weight of your confession settled like an anchor in your chest.

Because how could anyone not fall in love with JJ Maybank? He made it impossible.

The teasing. The ridiculous nicknames — "Princess," "Sweetheart," — always tossed out with that signature smirk, always laced with something else, something unspoken.

You told yourself it was just JJ being JJ. That the warmth in his voice was nothing more than habit. That the way his gaze lingered sometimes — soft, searching — meant nothing at all.

But then there were the moments when he didn’t speak, when his presence alone felt louder than words.

JJ Maybank, the boy who never shut up, who always had a joke, a quip, something to say — he knew when to be quiet with you. Knew when to sit beside you, knee to knee, shoulder to shoulder, saying nothing at all. Those moments stretched between you like an unspoken promise, like the space before a shift, before something fell apart or fell into place.

And maybe that was why it scared you.

He was your best friend and always will be. And you didn’t believed that something or someone could change it. Ever.

HE WAS ALWAYS THERE, ALWAYS WATCHING.

Protecting.

Sometimes, it was endearing. Other times, it was infuriating.

JJ had a way of stepping into your battles like they were his own, like he couldn’t stand the idea of you fighting them alone. But it wasn’t just when things got dangerous — no, it was the little things too. If someone so much as looked at you the wrong way, JJ was there, his easygoing demeanor hardening, his jaw clenching, shoulders tensing like he was ready to start a fight right then and there.

You had seen it happen before. But tonight, watching him all but snarl at some guy who had been a little too persistent at a party, you had had enough.

You grabbed his wrist before he could do something reckless — before he could do something stupid. "JJ, seriously, I can take care of myself.”

His pulse thudded under your fingertips. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t relax either, his muscles coiled tight beneath your touch.

“I know," he muttered, eyes still locked on the guy as he stalked off, his shoulders squared in something close to satisfaction. Then, softer, like he hadn’t meant to say it at all — "But you shouldn't have to."

You stared at him, heart stumbling over itself, because what the hell was that supposed to mean?

JJ looked at you then, really looked at you, and for the first time that night, you saw something in his expression that you didn’t quite know what to do with. It wasn’t cocky, wasn’t teasing. It was careful. Measured. Like he was teetering on the edge of something neither of you were ready to name.

And maybe you should have said something. Maybe you should have called him out, demanded an explanation, asked him why he felt the need to throw himself between you and the rest of the world like it was his responsibility.

But you didn’t.

Because, deep down, you already knew the answer.

THERE WERE NIGHTS WHEN IT FELT LIKE THE WORLD OUTSIDE THE CHATEAU DIDN’T EXIST.

When the danger, the chaos, the constant search for something just out of reach — all of it faded into the background, leaving only the warmth of JJ beside you, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek.

The two of you fit together without thinking, without needing to. His arm would drape over your shoulders, pulling you closer, and you would let yourself sink into him like it was the most natural thing in the world. The flickering glow of candlelight cast shadows on the walls, the scent of salt and smoke clinging to your skin, but all you could focus on was the rhythm of his heartbeat.

Thump. Thump. Thump. A sound so steady it could anchor you.

His fingers skimmed lazily through your hair, a slow, absentminded motion, like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

"You’re too good for me, you know that?"

The words were murmured into the quiet, his voice rougher than usual, low and edged with something you couldn’t quite name.

Your fingers, which had been tracing aimless patterns on his arm, stilled for just a second before you huffed out a soft laugh. “You’re an idiot.”

But the words lacked their usual sharpness.

Because he wasn’t joking.

Because beneath the teasing, there was something vulnerable, something raw.

JJ Maybank — the boy who threw himself into fights without a second thought, who always had a reckless grin and a cocky remark — was holding you like you were something delicate. Like you were something he was afraid to break.

And that scared you.

Because you didn’t know what to do with it. Didn’t know how to admit that your heart beat just a little too fast when he looked at you like that, or that you had memorized the way his arms felt around you, or that the ring hanging from your neck suddenly felt heavier in moments like this.

So you stayed quiet.

And he didn’t push.

The two of you just existed there, wrapped up in something too fragile to name.

Maybe you didn’t need to name it. Maybe it was enough to exist in these stolen moments, in the spaces between words, in the way his thumb absentmindedly brushed over your shoulder, in the way your fingers lingered on his skin longer than they should have.

But the truth was there. Unspoken, but undeniable.

It was in the way he looked at you, like you had hung the stars just for him.

It was in the way your chest ached when he wasn’t around.

It was in the way he always, always found his way back to you.

The search for gold continued, the stakes growing higher with every discovery, the danger creeping closer with every step. But JJ was always there. Always at your side. His hand firm on your shoulder, his reckless grin reassuring you that no matter what came next, you’d face it together.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

For now.

One year ago.

The world felt still. Not the kind of stillness that came with silence, but the kind that settled deep in your bones, pressing pause on everything outside this moment.

You sat side by side at the water’s edge, the damp sand cool beneath your fingertips, the ocean lapping at your toes in slow, steady breaths. The weight of reality — the danger, the chase, the impossible odds — felt distant, blurred at the edges like a half-forgotten dream. Here, in this in-between space, it was just you and JJ. No past, no future. Just now.

JJ sat cross-legged beside you, absently tracing patterns in the sand with a stick with his name on it, the movement lazy, almost thoughtful. His blond hair was a tangled mess, windblown and wild, falling into his ocean-blue eyes. He looked different here — quieter, lighter, as if the weight he carried had finally loosened its grip. The sharp edges of his chaos had softened in the lull of the waves, in the warmth of your presence.

“You know,” he murmured, glancing at you, “When we get rescued, I think I’ll miss this.”

You arched an eyebrow, fighting a smile. “The part where we’re stranded on an island with no food, no real plan, and absolutely zero chances of survival? Yeah, real paradise.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and easy, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. “No, dumbass,” he nudged your shoulder, his touch lingering just a second longer than necessary, “I mean this. Us. The quiet. The way things feel here.” He gestured to the palm trees swaying lazily in the breeze. “Back home, it’s just one thing after another. Running, chasing, hiding. But here… it’s just us.”

His words settled between you, heavier than the humid air pressing against your skin.

You studied him — his tanned skin, the way his lips quirked up like he was always on the verge of a smirk, the freckles scattered across his nose from too many days under the sun. This version of JJ, the one sitting beside you with the ocean in his eyes and something unspoken in his touch, made your chest ache in a way you didn’t know how to explain.

“I get it,” you admitted, your voice quieter now, more careful. “It feels... different here. Easier. No drama, no treasure hunts, no running for our lives.”

JJ’s grin stretched wider. “Yeah, but you miss it. Don’t even try to lie.”

You rolled your eyes, but he wasn’t wrong. Chaos was part of you, just like it was part of him. You weren’t built for stillness, for lives untouched by adventure. And yet, something about this island — this fragile moment — felt like a dream you didn’t want to wake up from.

The thought unsettled you.

Your fingers curled around the chain at your neck, the ring cool against your skin even in the warmth of the evening. JJ’s mother’s ring. His most treasured possession, now hanging from your neck as if it had always belonged there. He had given it to you to keep it safe.

And maybe — just maybe — he had meant more than just the ring.

A lump formed in your throat as another thought surfaced, unbidden.

"Do you think they’re still looking for us?" The question slipped past your lips before you could stop it.

JJ stilled. The stick in his hand froze mid-motion in the water, his jaw tensing for just a second before he turned to you. His gaze, usually so easygoing, softened.

“Of course they are,” he said, the certainty in his voice wrapping around you like a shield. “They’d never stop. And your dad? He’d tear the whole damn world apart to find you.”

You swallowed, blinking up at the sky as if you could hide from the ache building inside your chest. His words were meant to comfort you, but they only made the weight heavier.

Your father.

You could picture him, pacing the floor of your childhood home, staring at the door every night, waiting for you to walk through it. The thought twisted something deep inside you. He didn’t deserve this — didn’t deserve to be left in the dark, to wonder if you were dead, if you had abandoned him the way your mother did.

"I wouldn’t do that to you." You had told him that once, years ago, after she left.

"I’ll always come back."

And yet, here you were. Gone. Just like her.

A sharp pang of guilt dug into your ribs.

JJ must have sensed the shift in you because, without a word, he reached out and took your hand, his calloused fingers curling around yours. His grip was firm but not demanding — just solid, just there. A tether in the storm. It was such a simple gesture, familiar in the way only JJ could be, but it steadied you, pulling you back from the depths of your own thoughts.

Your gaze flickered to him, drawn in by the quiet reassurance in his eyes. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He just held your hand, his thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles over your knuckles, as if he knew exactly how to wordlessly tell you, I’ve got you. I always will.

And for a moment, you let yourself believe it.

For a moment, you let yourself lean into the warmth of his touch, into the silent promise between you.

"Hey." His voice was softer now, careful, like he was afraid to break whatever fragile thing had settled between you. He tossed the stick aside and shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours. “We’re gonna be fine, sweetheart. You have me, remember? I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You turned to him then, really looked at him, and the sincerity in his eyes stole the air from your lungs.

JJ’s bravado was as much a part of him as his reckless grin, his sharp wit, his fists that curled too easily in defense of the people he loved. But this — this quiet, unshakable confidence, the certainty in his voice — was something different. Something deeper. Something that made your chest feel too tight and too full all at once.

"I know," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "I know we’re together forever. What did you say back then? That I’m not getting rid of you?"

JJ’s smile returned, softer this time, and before you could think too much about it, his hand was reaching up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was light, almost hesitant, but it sent warmth curling through your veins, spreading beneath your skin like the lingering heat of the sun.

"There she is," he murmured, eyes crinkling at the corners as his grin widened. "That smile. For a second, I thought I lost my touch."

You rolled your eyes, but the laugh that slipped past your lips was real, unforced. It was easy, effortless — just like it had always been with him. And for a fleeting moment, the weight of everything else — the danger, the uncertainty, the endless stretch of unknown days ahead — faded into the background.

All that mattered was the golden light spilling across the sand, the waves humming their quiet song, and JJ’s laughter filling the spaces between.

As the sun dipped lower, the sky melting into deep hues of indigo and violet, JJ stretched out on the sand, hands laced behind his head. “Alright, come here,” he said, patting the spot beside him without looking.

You hesitated — just for a moment — before lying down next to him. The sand was still warm beneath you, cradling your body in its soft embrace. Above, the first stars flickered to life, tiny pinpricks of silver scattered across the darkening sky.

JJ turned his head to look at you, his expression unreadable.

"You know," he said after a long pause, his voice quieter now, almost distant, "if this is all we ever had… it wouldn’t be the worst thing."

Your heart clenched at his words, at the weight of them pressing into the space between you.

Because this — the two of you, side by side, lost but together — had always been enough.

You turned your head to meet his gaze, and for a heartbeat, the world held still.

All you saw was JJ.

The boy who had been your anchor and your storm. Your best friend. And something else, something unnamed but terrifyingly real, lingering between you like the spaces between the stars.

"Yeah," you whispered, the words slipping from your lips with the weight of a thousand unspoken truths. "I think that would be enough for me too."

JJ smiled — just barely, just enough for you to catch the way his breath hitched. And as the sky deepened and the waves whispered secrets only the ocean would ever know, you let yourself believe it.

Even if only for a moment.

Even if the world beyond this island would one day come crashing back in.

For now, in this sliver of eternity, he was yours. And that was enough.

BUT THERE ARE LESSONS YOU LEARN THE HARD WAY.

Like the fact that life is a bitch — unforgiving, cruel. And just when you think it’s finally smiling at you, it’s only a distraction before the next punch.

The golden light of the setting sun shimmered across the endless waves, casting long shadows as Kiara’s silhouette emerged in the distance. After what felt like a lifetime of being stranded, of fighting to survive, of holding onto the desperate hope that you’d all make it back — this moment should have felt like relief. Like victory.

But instead, it felt like the ground beneath you was crumbling.

Your chest tightened as Kiara took off in a sprint, her voice breaking into a joyful cry as she launched herself straight into JJ’s arms. And he caught her — easily, effortlessly. His arms wrapped around her waist as he spun her in a circle, their laughter intertwining in the salty breeze like a cruel melody.

It was the kind of moment that should have been beautiful — a testament to the unbreakable bond between friends who had been through hell together.

But all you could see was the way his hands lingered on her waist. The way her head tilted back, pure delight on her face. The way he looked at her.

You told yourself not to read into it. That it was nothing. That she knew.

She knew about the way your heart stuttered every time JJ’s hand brushed against yours. About the nights you lay awake, his voice and reckless grin haunting your thoughts. Kiara was the one you’d confided in during quiet moments, the one you trusted with the feelings you were too scared to admit even to yourself.

She wouldn’t do this to you.

Would she?

The question settled over you like a storm cloud, dark and suffocating, as the Pogues finally reunited. Their cheers and laughter rang hollow in your ears. You smiled when you had to, laughed when it was expected, but your gaze kept drifting back to JJ and Kiara.

You watched as he ruffled her hair, as she swatted his arm in playful protest. Their movements were easy, thoughtless—like they belonged to each other in a way you had only hoped you and JJ ever could. And then, for the briefest second, his eyes met yours.

And just like that, his smile faltered.

Not for long. Barely even a breath. But it was enough. Because instead of holding your gaze, he looked away.

The boat ride back to the Outer Banks should have felt like freedom. Like home.

But it was just another form of torture.

You sat alone at the stern, the wind whipping through your hair, the salty spray stinging your face as you stared out at the horizon. You forced yourself to focus on the endless blue, on the rhythmic crash of the waves, anything to drown out the quiet conversations and stolen glances happening behind you.

And then…

It happened so fast that you almost convinced yourself you imagined it.

As you turned to grab a bottle of water, your eyes landed on them.

JJ and Kiara.

Leaning toward each other, so close their faces were only inches apart.

His hand was on her cheek, his touch careful, almost reverent. And the way she looked at him — soft, open, unguarded — made your stomach drop.

You couldn’t hear what he was saying over the roar of the engine, but it didn’t matter.

It was the way his thumb brushed against her skin. The way her lips parted slightly, her breath catching. The way it looked like the entire world had faded away, leaving just the two of them.

"Hey, did you guys see the compass?"

Pope’s voice cut through the moment, shattering it like glass.

JJ and Kiara sprang apart, their movements too sudden, too guilty. JJ laughed — forced and a little too loud — scratching the back of his neck, while Kiara ducked her head, rummaging through her bag with a kind of frantic energy.

"Yeah, it’s right here," JJ said, tossing the compass over without making eye contact with you.

You turned back to the water, gripping the railing so tightly that your knuckles turned white. The salt spray burned your skin, but it was nothing compared to the ache carving itself deep into your chest.

You had seen enough.

The way he looked at her… it was different.

Or maybe — maybe — he had never really looked at you that way at all.

AFTER RETURNING TO THE MAINLAND, THINGS BEGAN TO SHIFT IN WAYS YOU COULDN’T IGNORE.

It was in the way JJ and Kiara sat close by the fire, knees brushing, heads tipped together as they whispered things only they could hear. It was in the way they disappeared on a grocery run for almost an hour, returning with matching grins and a half-empty bag of snacks, like they had just come back from some secret adventure.

It was different now.

You didn’t want to admit it — to say it — but you felt it. The weight of something slipping through your fingers, the quiet erosion of a space that had once belonged only to you and JJ.

And yet, JJ still called you by those ridiculous nicknames — "Princess," "Sweetheart" — like nothing had changed. But something had changed. Because now, when he said them, his voice held an unfamiliar warmth, something softer, something that sent an uneasy shiver down your spine.

And then there was Kiara.

Lately, her gaze lingered on JJ just a little too long. Her laughter came a little easier when he spoke. She found reasons — excuses, really — to be near him. A touch on the arm, a playful nudge, a whispered inside joke.

Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered. Maybe you wouldn’t have cared.

If she didn’t know.

She knew about the way your heart stuttered whenever JJ looked at you.

She knew about the ring he had given you — the one you still kept tucked safely in your pocket, as if it held something sacred.

She knew — and yet, it felt like she was stepping into a space that was never hers to begin with.

And you hated yourself for feeling betrayed.

Because Kiara was your best friend.

And JJ wasn’t yours.

And you had no right to feel this way.

But logic didn’t erase the way your stomach twisted when you saw her lean into him, her fingers grazing his wrist as she laughed at something only he could hear. Logic didn’t make it easier when JJ looked at her with that smile — the one that used to belong to you.

So you stayed quiet.

And maybe JJ noticed. Maybe that’s why his gaze lingered a little longer when he looked at you now, like he was searching for something he couldn’t quite place. Like he was trying to understand why things felt different. Why it suddenly felt like he was losing something — like you were slipping away.

And maybe, just maybe, he was just as scared as you were to find out what that meant.

You tried to brush it off, to convince yourself that you were imagining it.

But the more you watched them, the clearer it became. And the clearer it became, the more you pulled away.

Pope was the first to notice.

"You’ve been kind of quiet lately."

It was late, the two of you sitting by the dock, working to repair a torn sail. His voice was careful, gentle — like he already knew the answer but needed to hear you say it.

"Just tired," you murmured, keeping your eyes on the frayed fabric in your hands.

He didn’t believe you.

You could feel it in the way he hesitated, in the way he watched you — really watched you, like he had been seeing the cracks forming long before you were ready to admit they were there.

You’d always been tired lately.

Pope thought about saying it out loud, but he didn’t.

Because he understood. Maybe not completely — maybe not in the way that mattered — but enough. It hadn’t been easy for him either, watching his best friend and ex-girlfriend fall into something neither of them wanted to name. But for you…

For you, it had always been different.

It had always been written in your eyes — you were only his.

"Yeah," Pope finally said, voice quiet. "It wasn’t easy."

And he didn’t push further.

He didn’t need to.

Because in the silence between you, in the way he sat steady beside you, he let you know — without saying a word — that he saw you.

Even if JJ didn’t.

Over the next few days, you found yourself reaching for Pope more often.

It was easier that way. Easier than being around JJ. Easier than pretending you didn’t notice how he and Kiara seemed to orbit each other like they had their own gravitational pull.

But JJ noticed your absence.

"What’s up with you and Pope?"

His voice cut through the lazy afternoon, sharp and laced with something you couldn’t quite place. You glanced up from your book, sprawled out in a hammock, the sun warm against your skin. He stood above you, arms crossed, his jaw clenched just a little too tight.

"What do you mean?" you asked, feigning indifference.

"You two are always together," he said, his tone deceptively casual. But his fingers twitched at his sides, restless. "Did I miss something?"

You tilted your head, studying him. "Why?" A slow smirk played on your lips. "Are you jealous?"

He let out a short laugh, but it was hollow—forced. His eyes, stormy and unreadable, flickered over your face, searching for something. "Yeah, that’s right. Just wanted to make sure you weren’t leaving me in the dark."

You forced yourself to smile. "I’d never dream of it."

But the lie sat heavy between you.

SARAH WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO SAW THROUGH YOUR FACADE.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked one evening as the two of you sat on the beach, the waves whispering against the shore.

You shook your head, hugging your knees to your chest. "There’s nothing to talk about."

"Come on," she pressed, her voice soft but firm. "I see the way you look at him. And the way you don’t."

A lump formed in your throat, but you swallowed it down. "It doesn’t matter. He’s happy. That’s what’s important."

Sarah’s hand found yours, squeezing gently. "You deserve to be happy too, you know."

You nodded, but the words felt distant, like a dream slipping through your fingers before you could grasp it.

So you threw yourself into the one thing that could keep you from drowning — El Dorado. The thrill of the chase, the adrenaline, the endless dangers. It was easier to focus on that than the ache in your chest. But even then, JJ and Kiara were always there, a painful, constant reminder of everything you couldn't have.

"WHY ARE YOU AVOIDING ME?"

JJ’s voice shattered the fragile distance you had so carefully maintained.

The two of you stood on the beach, the night air thick with salt and unspoken words. He had cornered you away from the others, the ocean stretching endlessly behind him, the stars like shattered diamonds overhead.

You stiffened, forcing your arms across your chest. "I’m not avoiding you."

“Bullshit.” He took a step closer, his blue eyes burning into yours. "You’ve been different since we got back. And don’t tell me it’s nothing, because I know you."

You exhaled shakily, staring at the sand. You couldn’t look at him — not when his voice was laced with that raw, unfiltered concern that always made your walls crack. "It’s just… too much, okay?" You gestured vaguely, grasping for an excuse. "The whole El Dorado thing. Everything we’ve been through. I just needed space."

JJ studied you, his expression shifting — softening. His fingers brushed against your cheek, light as a whisper, and you froze.

"It was easier on the island, wasn’t it?" His voice was quieter now, almost hesitant.

Your throat tightened as memories of Poguelandia washed over you. The stolen moments of peace, the laughter, the way JJ felt like home. "Yeah," you admitted, barely above a whisper. "It was."

His thumb traced along your cheekbone, lingering. "I miss it." His voice cracked, just a little. "It was just… simple. Like we could just be."

Your breath hitched. "Me too."

The words hung between you, heavy with meaning neither of you dared to name.

JJ’s gaze dropped to your lips. Your heart pounded, a war raging inside you. The words you had buried for so long clawed their way to the surface, desperate to be spoken.

"JJ, I…"

But then you stopped.

Because the moment you let those words escape, there would be no going back.

JJ frowned, searching your face. "What?"

You shook your head, biting your lip so hard it stung. "Nothing. It’s nothing."

His jaw tightened, frustration flashing across his face before he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You know you can talk to me, right? About anything."

You nodded, forcing yourself to meet his eyes, forcing yourself to smile.

"I know."

But it felt like a lie.

And from the way JJ looked at you—the way his fingers curled into a fist at his side—you had a feeling he knew it too.

NOW THAT YOU WERE ON THE VERGE OF ANOTHER INCREDIBLE ADVENTURE, THE WEIGHT OF IT ALL THREATENED TO CRUSH YOU.

The jet’s engines hummed beneath you, a steady vibration that should have been reassuring but instead felt like a countdown. A reminder that time was slipping through your fingers. The air in the cabin was thick with anticipation, but it did little to settle the storm raging inside you.

Pope sat across from you, his fingers toying with the strap of his backpack, a nervous habit he’d developed over the years. Next to him, Cleo leaned back in her seat, her usual air of confidence contrasting sharply with the unrest in your chest. Further down the aisle, Sarah and John B. whispered to each other, their hands woven together, completely lost in their own world.

You should have been feeling the same rush they did — the thrill of what lay ahead, the rush of another impossible journey. Instead, all you could think about was him.

JJ.

Your eyes kept flicking toward the empty seat next to you. It was his seat. It was supposed to be filled by now.

He had gone to Kitty Hawk to get Kiara. He promised he’d be back in time. He promised.

"Don’t fly away without me, sweetheart," he had teased, flashing you that signature JJ Maybank grin, the one that could disarm you in seconds. And then, just before he left, he had kissed your forehead. A lingering press of lips against skin, warm and fleeting.

But now, the seconds stretched long, and he still wasn’t here.

You pressed your fingers to your temples, willing the creeping anxiety to quiet down. Your heart felt like a caged animal, slamming against your ribs with every passing minute. Because today — today — you had made a decision.

After that night on the beach, you hadn’t been able to sleep. The words you had swallowed down burned like acid in your throat. The more you tried to push them away, the heavier they became, pressing into you until you felt like you’d suffocate under their weight.

You had spent days watching JJ laugh, watching him be himself again. Carefree. Happy. And it had become unbearable. Because the truth sat between you, unspoken but screaming.

You couldn’t do it anymore.

The moment he got on this plane, you were going to tell him. Everything. Every feeling you had buried, every longing glance you had stolen, every time you had wished — God, wished — he would look at you the way he looked at her.

You were going to risk it all.

And yet, he still wasn’t here.

"Are you okay?"

Pope’s voice broke through your spiral, his expression soft with concern. He had always been able to read you too well, and you cursed how transparent you must have looked.

"Yeah," you lied, forcing a tight smile. "Just tired."

Pope didn’t push, but Cleo wasn’t so easily fooled. She studied you for a long moment, her sharp eyes catching every detail — the way your fingers gripped the armrest, the restless bounce of your knee, the tension in your shoulders.

"You’re wound tighter than a fishing net," she remarked, tilting her head. "Maybe you should tell us what’s really on your mind."

You swallowed hard.

"I’m fine," you said again, though the words tasted like sand. "I’m just… worried about all of this."

Cleo didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press. And for that, you were grateful.

Because how could you explain what was tearing you apart?

How could you tell them that this trip wasn’t what had your heart in a vice? That the only thing you feared right now wasn’t the danger that lay ahead but the way JJ’s absence felt like a missing piece of yourself?

And worst of all — what if he didn’t show up?

What if, for him, this adventure meant something different now?

What if you had already lost him before you even had the chance to tell him how much you loved him?

The minutes bled into an hour.

The empty seat beside you remained empty.

Every second that ticked by felt like a punch to the gut, the slow, agonizing kind that left you breathless but never quite knocked you out. You kept glancing at the entrance of the jet, expecting — needing — to see JJ come rushing in, his signature grin in place, an over-the-top excuse tumbling from his lips.

But he never did.

Anxiety coiled tight in your chest, a snake of worry and frustration twisting its way through your ribcage. John B. had tried to call him twice, pressing his phone so hard to his ear that his knuckles turned white, but both times, it went straight to voicemail.

"C’mon, man. Pick up."

The cabin was suffocating. The steady hum of the engines felt like a countdown to something you weren’t ready for. You gripped the seat beneath you, nails digging into the fabric, heart hammering in your chest.

"He's coming," you muttered under your breath, almost like a prayer. "He wouldn't just—"

But doubt had already crept in, dark and insidious.

Because what if he would?

What if JJ had finally stopped running back to you?

John B. exhaled sharply and pushed himself up from his seat, dragging a hand through his hair. His movements were tight, shoulders wound with tension as he turned to face the group.

"We can't wait any longer," he said, voice strained. "We'll miss the window if we don’t leave now."

Your stomach plummeted.

Sarah shifted uncomfortably, glancing between you and John B., lips pressing into a thin line. Pope shot you a cautious look, one laced with sympathy, but it only made the ache in your chest worse.

He was really not coming.

You forced yourself to nod, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. Keep it together. Don’t let them see.

Pope’s hand landed on your shoulder, warm and reassuring, but it did little to stop the sinking feeling in your chest. The moment the plane began to taxi down the runway, it was like something inside you cracked wide open.

You turned toward the window, watching as the world outside blurred past. The sky was streaked with hues of orange and pink, a soft and cruel beauty.

JJ should have been here.

The weight of disappointment pressed down on you, suffocating. And beneath it, something uglier stirred — resentment, heartbreak, the bitter taste of being left behind.

Maybe, deep down, you had always known.

Maybe you had always been waiting for the moment JJ Maybank stopped choosing you.

SOUTH AFRICA HAD BEEN CHAOS FROM THE MOMENT YOUR FEET HIT THE GROUND.

There was no time to think, no time to process, no time to feel. You were too busy running. Hiding from dangerous locals, deciphering cryptic maps, escaping gunfire in the middle of the night. Survival demanded your full attention, and you gave it — because if you didn’t, you’d drown in the thoughts that crept in every time you stopped moving.

Thoughts of him.

JJ.

You had been ready. So ready.

Before leaving the Outer Banks, you'd made a decision — to tell him. To finally put everything into words, to lay it all out, no more running, no more pretending. You’d imagined the conversation a hundred times. The way his blue eyes would widen in surprise, then soften with understanding. Maybe he’d smile that slow, lazy smile, the one that always made your knees weak, and pull you into his arms.

But he never showed up.

And now, here you were, thousands of miles away, still carrying the weight of those unsaid words, letting them fester like an open wound.

But the pain in your chest was nothing compared to the moment you saw him again.

It was late at night. You had been running — all of you — navigating the narrow alleys of some unfamiliar town, adrenaline coursing through your veins as heavy footsteps thundered behind you. Your lungs burned, every breath sharp and desperate, but you couldn’t stop.

Then you turned a corner.

And crashed straight into them.

JJ and Kiara.

The world lurched beneath your feet.

For a split second, all the noise faded — the shouts, the pounding of feet, the chaos of your escape. It was just him. Just you.

Your heart slammed against your ribs, your brain scrambling to process what you were seeing.

JJ stood there, his chest rising and falling, his hair a mess, dirt smudged across his face like he had been running too. Relief surged through you so fiercely it almost knocked you over.

But then you noticed her.

Kiara.

And then — their hands.

Intertwined.

Fingers laced together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You forgot how to breathe. The relief, the anger, the longing — it all collapsed under the weight of this.

JJ’s eyes met yours, and for a fleeting second, something passed through them — guilt. His easy, careless grin faltered, but only for a moment.

"Hi, guys," he said, as if this was nothing. As if this wasn’t everything.

Before you could even form a response, Kiara tugged on his arm, her grip tightening. On him.

"We need to move," she said urgently, her gaze flickering around the alley. "Right now."

You couldn’t move.

You couldn’t speak.

You felt everything — and yet, at the same time, nothing at all. It was like watching the ocean pull away from the shore before a tidal wave crashed down, swallowing everything whole.

Every shared moment, every stolen glance, every inside joke — gone.

Had you imagined it all?

Had you been so stupid to believe he was ever yours?

"Are you okay?"

Sarah’s voice was soft, hesitant. A hand touched your arm, grounding you. Cleo stood beside her, brows furrowed, as if she could feel the weight of your heartbreak pressing against the air.

You forced yourself to nod. Forced yourself to breathe.

"Yeah," you lied, voice barely above a whisper. "I'm fine."

But you weren’t.

You were anything but fine.

But there was no time to fall apart.

The next second, you were running again.

THE JOURNEY IN SEARCH OF GOLD HAD DRAINED YOU TO YOUR VERY CORE. Days bled into nights, exhaustion pressing into your muscles like an iron weight as the group clawed their way through dense jungles, ancient traps, and relentless enemies. Every step had been a battle. But now — here it was.

El Dorado.

The cave swallowed you in silence, thick and heavy with history. And at its center — treasure.

Gold, endless and gleaming, stacked in chaotic brilliance. The flickering torchlight made the ancient riches seem almost alive, the reflections shifting like liquid fire. The air smelled of damp earth and something metallic, something old. The sight should have felt like victory.

"We did it," John B whispered, voice unsteady with disbelief.

Pope let out a breathless laugh, his fingers tightening around Cleo’s hand. "We really did it."

Sarah turned to you, eyes glassy with unshed tears. "Can you believe this?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. "We actually found it."

You nodded, but the joy that should have come never did.

Because as the others celebrated, your gaze drifted — to him.

JJ stood a few feet away, but he felt worlds apart. His blond hair was tousled, his body relaxed in a way that made it seem like this was just another wild day, another reckless adventure. But it was who he stood with that made your chest tighten.

Kiara.

Their heads were tilted toward each other, their words low and intimate, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. She said something, and JJ grinned, his signature smirk flickering across his face. The same one that had once been yours.

The gold around you blurred.

A sharp ache speared through your ribs, and you tore your gaze away before the lump in your throat could choke you whole.

The treasure was breathtaking. But it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

Returning to OBX was surreal.

The sun still set over the water in a hazy blend of burnt orange and indigo, the waves still kissed the shore in a rhythmic lullaby, and the marshes still whispered secrets in the wind. Everything looked the same. But nothing felt the same.

The Pogues weren’t just Pogues anymore. They were legends. Their names passed through hushed conversations, spoken with a mixture of awe and envy. Reporters. Strangers. Questions. Cameras. The world suddenly wanted a piece of the treasure, a piece of you.

But beneath all the chaos, something far more dangerous had crept in.

Tension.

JJ stopped coming around.

At first, you told yourself it was because of everything that happened — the fame, the stress, the gold. But deep down, you knew the truth.

He didn’t come around because of her.

You saw them sometimes, glimpses of them through town — JJ and Kiara, sitting close, laughing, the world fading around them the way it once had for you and him.

You stopped looking.

You stopped waiting.

But your father noticed.

One evening, as the sun began its slow descent into the water, you found yourself sitting on the old wooden steps of your childhood home, watching the marsh sway with the breeze. You had barely spoken to him since returning. It wasn’t intentional — you just felt so lost that words had started to feel meaningless.

But then, your father sat down beside you, his presence heavy with unspoken concern.

"You’ve been quiet," he said after a long moment, his voice gentle but firm. His hands, rough and calloused from years of working on boats, rested on his knees.

You didn’t answer right away.

Because how could you?

How could you tell him that you weren’t sure who you were anymore? That everything you had fought for, bled for, had left you feeling empty? That JJ — the boy who had once been your best friend, your safe place—was now just another person who had walked away?

So you just shrugged. "I’m tired, Dad."

He turned his head, studying you. And that’s when you saw it — the flicker of pain in his eyes.

He didn’t recognize you.

Not because of the way you looked — you were still his daughter, still the same person who had grown up on these docks, chasing after dreams that once felt limitless.

But because the light in your eyes was gone.

Because the fire, the spark that made you you, had been snuffed out.

"I missed you, you know," he said quietly. "Missed my girl."

Your throat tightened, and you had to look away, your fingers curling into the fabric of your jeans.

"I’m right here," you whispered, but it felt like a lie.

Because weren’t you gone, too?

He exhaled slowly, then reached over and squeezed your hand — the simplest, smallest act, but it nearly broke you.

"I don’t know what happened out there," he admitted, voice thick with emotion. "And I won’t pretend to understand. But whatever it is, whatever’s weighing you down… you don’t have to carry it alone."

The words burrowed deep, but you just nodded, afraid that if you spoke, your voice would crack.

So he didn’t push. He just stayed there, watching the sunset with you, holding your hand like he used to when you were small.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself lean into the comfort of someone who had never left.

Someone who never would.

Days passed in a blur, and you did your best to exist.

You spent your time with Pope and Cleo, their presence grounding you when everything else felt like it was crumbling. Cleo’s quick wit and Pope’s unwavering logic kept you from unraveling completely, and you buried yourself in distractions — helping fix boats, working odd jobs, anything to keep your hands busy, to keep your mind from spiraling.

But none of it stopped the ache.

And none of it changed what had already happened.

It was a quiet afternoon when Kiara finally found you.

You were sitting on the porch with Pope, your fingers tangled in an old fishing net as you helped him untangle the stubborn knots. The rhythmic motion was comforting, something solid in a world that felt anything but.

Then Kiara’s shadow stretched across the wooden planks.

"Hey."

The single word was hesitant — uncertain. That alone made you pause.

You glanced up, fingers stilling. Her usual confidence was gone. She stood stiffly, shifting on her feet, avoiding your eyes like she wasn’t sure if she had the right to be standing there at all.

"Can we talk?"

The words made your stomach twist.

You didn’t want to talk to her.

You still felt the sting of her silence, the betrayal of knowing she had stood by and said nothing while you drowned in feelings you had never even gotten the chance to voice. Kiara had been the one to encourage you, the one who had known what JJ meant to you.

And yet, when she had taken him, she hadn’t even warned you.

But you knew the truth. You had no right to be angry.

JJ was never yours.

And that was the most painful part of all.

Kiara’s words hung between you, heavy with meaning, but not enough to fix anything.

You wanted to believe her.

You wanted to take a deep breath, let go of the ache inside you, and tell her that everything was okay. That you weren’t hurting. That it didn’t feel like something inside you had cracked wide open the moment you saw JJ’s fingers intertwined with hers.

But you couldn’t.

Because it still hurt.

Because no matter how much you tried to push it down, to convince yourself that it was just bad timing, just one of those things — you knew better.

And so did she.

"It’s just... a lot. For everyone."

It was the best you could offer. A truth, but not the whole truth.

Kiara swallowed hard, nodding like she understood. And maybe she did. Maybe she felt it too — the quiet breaking of something between you, something that no amount of apologies could completely mend.

The silence stretched.

The wind whispered through the trees, carrying the salty scent of the ocean with it. The marsh swayed in the golden afternoon light, the world moving forward while you stood still.

"I miss you," she admitted softly.

You let out a slow breath, looking at her — really looking at her. This girl who had been your friend, who had been one of your closest people, now sitting across from you like a stranger trying to find her way back.

And maybe, in another time, another life, you would have reached for her hand. Maybe you would have forgiven her, let her in, let yourself believe that nothing had changed.

But it had.

And you weren’t sure if you could ever go back.

"Yeah," you murmured. "I miss you too."

But even as you said it, you knew — some things, once broken, don’t ever fit the same way again.

THE SKY BLED WITH THE LAST REMNANTS OF DAYLIGHT, BRUISED PURPLES AND DEEP ORANGES SINKING INTO THE HORIZON LIKE A SLOW EXHALE. The ocean stretched endlessly, its surface a restless mirror, broken only by the occasional ripple of unseen movement beneath. The dock beneath your feet creaked as the tide whispered against the worn wooden pillars, a slow, rhythmic lullaby that did nothing to quiet the storm inside you.

The air was thick with salt and the distant scent of bonfire smoke drifting from the beach. A cold breeze curled around your shoulders, making you shiver — not just from the chill, but from something deeper, something that had been building inside you for months.

And then, just like you knew he would, JJ found you.

His footsteps were steady but hesitant as he approached, the kind of walk someone has when they already suspect they won’t like the answers they’re about to get. The moon cast a pale glow over him, softening the hard set of his jaw, but it couldn’t hide the tension in his shoulders, the weight in his eyes. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, like he was trying to hold himself together.

“We need to talk.” His voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the urgency behind it.

You didn’t turn to him. The waves in front of you were easier to look at. Easier to understand. “About what?”

JJ let out a short, frustrated breath. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That thing where you act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.” He took a step closer, his presence radiating heat despite the cold night air. “You’ve been… different. Distant. And I don’t get it.” His voice softened for a moment, almost careful. “Did I do something?”

A bitter smile flickered across your lips before you could stop it. God, the irony. The déjà vu of it all hit like a punch to the gut. Same dock. Same moonlit ocean. Same boy, standing there, looking at you like you were a puzzle he couldn’t figure out.

The only difference was you.

Back then, you had still carried hope like a fragile ember, cradled in your chest. Now, all that was left was smoke.

Your fingers curled into fists, nails biting into your palms. You wanted to yell at him, to shake him, to make him see. But the words felt stuck, lodged deep inside a place you weren’t sure you could reach anymore.

So instead, you exhaled sharply and forced your voice into something steady.

“I’m just tired, JJ. That’s all.”

He scoffed. A sharp, humorless sound. “Bullshit.”

Your shoulders tensed. He rarely ever spoke to you like that.

“You’re always tired,” he went on, stepping closer. His eyes searched yours, desperate now. “But this is different. You’re shutting me out, and I don’t– ” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I don’t know what I did wrong.”

You turned to him then, finally meeting his gaze head-on. His eyes were stormy, filled with something between anger and hurt, like he was bracing himself for an answer he didn’t want.

“That’s the problem,” you murmured. “You don’t know.”

JJ blinked. Confusion flickered across his face, followed by something else. Something heavier. But it was too late.

He let out a breath, shaking his head. “C’mon. We’re friends. We always figure this shit out.”

Friends.

The word cut deeper than it should have. It landed in your chest like an anchor, heavy and suffocating, dragging you down into a truth you had spent too long trying to ignore.

Your breath shuddered as your fingers reached for the thin chain around your neck. You felt the cool weight of the small, worn ring — the one you had carried with you for years, the one that had once meant everything.

The one that meant nothing now.

You pulled it over your head, the metal cool against your fingertips, and held it out to him.

JJ stared at it, then at you. His brows knitted together. “What the hell is this?”

Your throat burned. “I’m giving it back.”

His face twisted in something close to disbelief. “Why?”

Your fingers curled around the empty space where the ring had been. The night air felt colder now, like the ocean had crept up and wrapped itself around you.

“Because I can’t do this anymore.” The words shook, but they were final. “I can’t keep pretending. I need to let go.”

For a long moment, JJ just stood there, looking at the ring in your hand like it was a foreign object, like it was something he had never seen before. Then, slowly, his fingers closed around it.

His voice was quieter now, rough around the edges. “So that’s it?”

You didn’t answer.

You just turned away, walking into the night, leaving him standing there with a piece of your past clutched in his fist.

The dock groaned beneath your feet, the sound echoing into the dark. The ocean whispered its endless secrets to the shore, uncaring, unmoved.

And as you disappeared into the shadows, you made a silent vow — one last promise to yourself.

To stop waiting for something that was never going to happen.

Present time.

THE MOROCCAN SUN WAS RELENTLESS, BEATING DOWN IN WAVES OF UNBEARABLE HEAT, FLOODING THE ENDLESS DUNES WITH LIQUID GOLD. The air shimmered, thick with dust and despair, distorting the horizon into a cruel mirage of salvation that would never come. The wind howled low, stirring up the sand, slipping into your clothes, into your lungs, burning like fire. But none of it mattered.

Not the heat. Not the ache in your knees, pressed into the pitiless desert. Not the sunburn scorching your skin, making it raw and blistered. None of it mattered.

All that mattered was JJ.

He lay sprawled in front of you, his once-white shirt dark with blood, the fabric clinging to his skin, soaked in scarlet. It spread like ink across his torso, seeping between your trembling fingers as you pressed down desperately, trying — failing — to stop the life from spilling out of him.

His usual electric energy — the endless, restless spark that made him him — was flickering, dimming by the second. His blue eyes, those damn ocean-blue eyes that were always so full of trouble and laughter, were struggling to stay open, heavy-lidded, dazed. And you?

You were falling apart. Piece by piece. With every shallow breath he took.

Your hands trembled as you pressed a handkerchief — his bandana — against the wound on his side. It was already soaked through. Useless. "JJ, no!" Your voice cracked, shattered, raw with panic. You were sobbing so hard you could barely breathe. "Just- … just hold on! Help is coming soon, I swear! Just a little more, okay? You hear me?"

He let out a choked, hoarse laugh, one that made your heart lurch violently. His lips curved into that same crooked, maddeningly cocky smirk, the one you’d seen a thousand times before. "Well, well, sweetheart," he rasped, his voice like sandpaper, barely audible over the pounding in your ears. His hand, calloused and warm even now, reached up, brushing against your tear-streaked cheek.

"I'm not worth your beautiful tears."

"Don't you dare say that," you choked out, grabbing his hand, pressing it against your face, as if you could keep him here just by sheer will. “Don’t you dare.”

His gaze never left yours, steady despite everything. That infuriating, impossible calm, like he wasn’t bleeding out in the middle of the desert. Like he hadn’t just thrown himself into danger for you.

And God, you hated yourself.

You hated yourself for every moment you ignored him, every glance you turned away, every time you convinced yourself he didn’t matter as much as he did. All because you couldn’t stand the way it burned — watching him and Kiara, pretending it didn’t hurt, pretending it wasn’t killing you.

"You shouldn't have done that," you whispered, your voice shaking, barely more than a breath. "You shouldn’t have risked yourself for me."

A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips, fading as another wave of pain crashed over him. "I couldn't help myself," he murmured, blinking slowly, his grip on your hand tightening for a fleeting second before going slack again. His smirk twitched, weaker now. “It’s just like me, huh? Playing the hero.”

You let out a shaky, broken laugh. "This isn’t funny, JJ. You don’t– ” Your voice faltered. A sob clawed its way up your throat, but you swallowed it down. “You’re not allowed to leave me.”

He tilted his head slightly, barely able to keep his eyes open, but still, still he reached for you, brushing a strand of hair from your face with trembling fingers.

"Why not?" he teased, voice softer now, thinner, like it was slipping through your fingers.

Because I…

The words tangled in your throat, caught between fear and regret and love so raw it felt like it was splitting you in two.

Tears blurred your vision, falling freely onto his cheeks, his chest, mixing with the blood. "I thought you knew," you whispered. "I- … I’ve loved you since the beginning. Please, JJ, please don’t leave me.”

His breath hitched, something flickering in his eyes — recognition, regret, something unsaid that had been there all along. A slow, fragile smile touched his lips, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he looked like himself again.

“I knew,” he breathed, the barest hint of a smirk still tugging at his mouth. His fingers curled weakly against yours. "I’ve been waiting for you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, the world stopped.

The wind died. The searing heat, the endless dunes, the distant shouts of the others — none of it mattered. It was just you and him, and the weight of his words crashing over you like a tidal wave, breaking something inside you, something that had been locked away for far too long.

“What?” you gasped, disbelief twisting in your chest, making it hard to breathe.

JJ's lips curled into a faint but sincere smile, though exhaustion dulled the edges of it. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he repeated, voice hoarse but unwavering. "I broke up with Kiara before this trip. I couldn’t pretend anymore." He exhaled shakily, his grip tightening around your fingers with the last bit of strength he had left. "You’ve always been everything to me. All this damn time.”

Your heart clenched violently.

Your mind raced to keep up, to piece together the truth that had been right in front of you, buried under layers of fear, miscommunication, and unspoken feelings.

"Then why – …why didn’t you say something?"

His eyes, deep and piercing even through the pain, held yours with quiet intensity. “Because you pulled away,” he said simply. "And I thought that’s what you wanted.”

The truth hit you like a punch to the ribs. You inhaled sharply, shaking your head. "No." The word barely made it past your lips. "No. I was scared. I thought I couldn’t handle it. Seeing you with her… It hurt too much. So I ran.” Your voice cracked. Your fingers clenched around his, desperate, desperate, desperate to hold on to something you had almost let slip through your hands. "And I'm sorry, JJ. I'm so sorry.”

He studied you for a moment, his gaze soft despite the pain creasing his brow. Then, with what little energy he had left, he smirked—small, tired, but undeniably him.

"Don’t apologize,” he murmured. "Just… don’t leave me hanging, okay?"

A sob broke free from your throat, raw and full of something you weren’t ready to name. You nodded fiercely, gripping his hand tighter. "I won’t. I swear to God, JJ, I won’t.”

The sound of running footsteps cut through the suffocating air, and you turned, the haze of panic breaking just enough for reality to crash back in. The Pogues. John B, Pope, Kiara — your family — rushing toward you, their faces twisted with fear.

John B dropped to his knees beside you without hesitation, his hands immediately moving to help press against JJ’s wound. His fingers were slick with blood — JJ’s blood — and the sight of it made your stomach lurch. Kiara stood frozen for a moment, her face pale, her hands trembling as Pope frantically rummaged through the bag for the supplies you had packed before the trip.

“We’ve got you, man,” John B said, trying to sound confident, but his voice wavered, just enough to betray his fear. “You’re gonna be fine.”

“Damn right,” JJ rasped, his smirk faltering as he winced. He turned his head slightly, his tired eyes finding yours again, and for a second, it was just you and him in the vast, unforgiving desert.

“Now I have something to live for.”

Your heart clenched so hard it hurt.

A fresh wave of tears burned your eyes, but you refused to let go. You reached for his hand again, holding on as if your grip alone could anchor him, could keep him here, keep him yours. “We’re not done talking about this,” you whispered, voice trembling but steady. "Not even close."

His lips twitched, a flicker of amusement dancing through the pain. "Looking forward to it, sweetheart."

The Pogues worked with frantic precision, their hands moving fast despite the tremor of fear running through them. Kiara handed Pope the bandages with shaky fingers, and John B pressed harder, murmuring reassurances to JJ, to himself, to all of you.

JJ’s breathing was shallow, but it was there. It was steady. A fragile, desperate reminder that he was still here, still fighting.

And as the sun dipped lower, painting the dunes in streaks of crimson and gold, you made a silent vow.

No more running. No more hiding.

JJ Maybank had risked everything for you.

And you’d spend the rest of your life proving to him that it was worth it.

THE NORTH CAROLINA COAST SHIMMERED UNDER THE LAZY GLOW OF THE LATE AFTERNOON SUN, ITS GOLDEN LIGHT CASTING LONG SHADOWS ACROSS THE SAND. The waves rolled in gentle, rhythmic whispers, curling and uncurling against the shore like a lullaby, as if even the ocean had settled into a rare moment of peace. A soft breeze carried the scent of salt and sunscreen, mingling with the distant sounds of seagulls calling to one another.

A year had passed since Morocco.

And somehow, after everything, life had fallen into something that felt too good to be true.

The Pogues, older, maybe even a little wiser — but still just as reckless and full of life — had gathered at the Chateau for one of their usual, chaotic meetings. Laughter mixed with the rolling tide, the weight of past troubles dissolving in the summer air.

At the heart of it all sat Jessica, now eight months old and the undisputed queen of their little kingdom.

She was sprawled on a sun-bleached blanket, babbling happily as she reached for a set of colorful beach toys scattered around her. Her chubby fingers wrapped around a bright yellow shovel, clumsy but determined. Beside her, JJ sat cross-legged in the sand, his usual cocky smirk softened into something infinitely more tender.

"Okay, Jess," he said in an exaggeratedly serious tone, flipping the shovel dramatically. “If we’re gonna build the greatest sandcastle this beach has ever seen, you have to stay focused. Just don’t eat the sand, alright?”

Jessica, wide-eyed and curious, blinked up at him — then immediately grabbed a fistful of sand and stuffed it into her mouth.

JJ groaned, head tilting back in exaggerated defeat, while you, a few feet away, laughed as you set out snacks on the picnic table.

"She doesn't take you seriously," you teased, leaning on the edge of the table with a knowing smirk. "I think your motivational speeches need work, Maybank."

JJ twisted to look at you over his shoulder, grinning. “You’re just jealous because she listens to me more than she listens to you.”

“Oh, is that what you think?” You raised a brow, stepping closer before squatting down next to him.

Jessica’s attention immediately snapped to you, her chubby little hands stretching out with an excited squeal. JJ gawked.

“See?” you said smugly, scooping her up into your arms. “She knows who her favorite is.”

JJ let out a loud, mock-offended gasp, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “Losing my grip?” he repeated, shaking his head. “Damn, babe. You’re killing me here. Everyone knows I’m the funny one.”

“Of course you are,” you cooed, lips twitching.

As if to prove his point, JJ suddenly leaned in and made the most ridiculous face imaginable — eyes crossed, lips puckered, nose scrunched.

Jessica let out an explosive giggle, clapping her hands in delight.

You sighed, defeated, shaking your head. “Great. You’re officially raising a mini menace.”

JJ smirked, his eyes twinkling with something deep and unspoken as he watched you cradle Jessica against your chest. Despite all his bravado, his recklessness, his wild heart, there was an effortless ease to the way he was with her. Like he was made for this — this quiet, unspoken happiness. And maybe that was the most dangerous thing of all.

A few feet away, Kiara lounged on a blanket, lost in conversation with her friend, Maya — a quick-witted artist who had seamlessly slipped into their group like she’d always belonged. The two were locked in an animated debate over which beach snacks were superior, their laughter ringing out, blending into the symphony of the waves.

It was moments like this, the quiet ones, that made everything feel right.

That reminded you of just how much you all had survived.

And, more importantly — how much was still ahead.

As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in a breathtaking blend of burning oranges and soft pinks, the salty breeze carried the distant laughter of your friends. The ocean stretched out before you, its waves rolling in slow, steady murmurs, as if the entire world had exhaled into peace.

JJ stood on the porch of the Chateau, Jessica cradled against his chest, his arms wrapped securely around her tiny frame. His usual restlessness had faded into something quieter — something softer — as he rocked back and forth, his movements gentle, instinctive.

You watched from the doorway for a moment, your heart swelling at the sight of him like this. Unburdened. Present. Real.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you stepped closer.

"You're real," you murmured, the words slipping out before you even realized you’d said them.

JJ glanced at you, and for a fleeting second, his usual confidence wavered. A flicker of vulnerability crossed his face — something rare, something raw.

"I’m not sure about that," he admitted, his voice quiet, almost hesitant. His gaze dropped to the baby in his arms, and his features softened. "But everything feels... easier with her. She’s just– … God, she’s perfect, you know?"

You reached out, resting a hand lightly on his worn-out T-shirt, feeling the warmth of him beneath your fingertips.

"She’s got a pretty amazing godfather." You hesitated, searching for the right words. "And I have an even more amazing – …”

JJ's lips curled into a knowing smirk, but his eyes stayed soft.

“Boyfiend?" he teased, tilting his head. "The love of your life? A future husband?"

You let out a breathy laugh, leaning your forehead against his shoulder.

"All of the above."

For a moment, neither of you spoke, letting the ocean and the distant voices of your friends fill the quiet spaces between you.

Then, after a beat, JJ adjusted Jessica in his arms and looked down at you, something uncharacteristically shy in his expression.

"Hey," he said, clearing his throat. "I, uh... I got something for you."

You blinked, eyebrows arching in surprise as he carefully passed Jessica into your arms. Her tiny fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt, warm and trusting, as she settled deeper into sleep.

JJ reached into his pocket, fingers fumbling before he pulled out a small, familiar silver ring. Your breath hitched.

"JJ..." you started, but he lifted a hand, stopping you.

"I know it’s not a proposal," he said, his voice quiet yet certain, his blue eyes steady on yours. The words were familiar — spoken once before, in a different place, under different circumstances. "Not yet. But it’s still a promise. That I’m in this. For real. For the long haul."

He swallowed hard, rolling the ring between his fingers before gently sliding it onto your hand. His fingertips lingered, tracing the delicate curve of your knuckle like he was memorizing the shape of you.

"You’re everything to me," he whispered. "Always have been. Always will be."

Emotion swelled in your chest, raw and overwhelming, knotting your throat and making words impossible. So instead, you reached for him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you closed the space between you. His breath hitched just before your lips met, and then everything melted away.

The kiss started soft, tentative, but then he deepened it, his hand rising to cup your face. His thumb brushed your cheek, warm and rough, as though he wanted to wipe away every doubt, every fear. He kissed you like he was grounding himself in you, like he needed you to breathe. The warmth of him, the quiet strength of his arms — it left you dizzy and safe all at once.

By the time you pulled back, your foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the cool night air. His fingers brushed down your arm, finding your hand again, twining his fingers with yours like he never wanted to let go.

"I love you," you murmured, your voice barely a whisper.

JJ’s smile was crooked, soft, a little breathless. "I know. And I love you more."

By the time you returned to the group, Jessica was fast asleep in your arms, her breaths soft and steady. The Pogues greeted you with their usual mix of teasing and tenderness—John B tossing out a smirk and Kiara shooting JJ a knowing look that made him roll his eyes. Pope, ever the observant one, just grinned as if he’d seen this coming long before either of you had.

But beneath the jokes, beneath the playful nudges and sarcastic remarks, was something deeper — an unbreakable bond that had carried you through the darkest of times and would continue to hold strong in whatever came next.

And as the stars slowly blinked to life in the vast, endless sky, you realized — without a shadow of a doubt — that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

hey lovies, i'm sooo happy to finally share this piece with you. i've been working on it for three months now, and honestly, i still feel like it’s not quite perfect. but i really wanted to post it today because it’s not just any day — it’s the one-year anniversary of this blog! 🥹 i started this whole thing with a jj fic, so it felt kinda special to keep that tradition going.

i just wanna say a huge thank you to everyone who's been here with me throughout this year. your support means the world to me, truly. every like and reblog is amazing, but your comments? they’re everything. they keep me inspired and make all the effort so worth it. so if you have thoughts — whether you loved it or not — i’d be over the moon if you shared them in the comments or my inbox :3

and before i go — happy international women’s day to all the incredible women out there! you are powerful, beautiful, and unstoppable 💫

love always, your santi 🪐

masterlist

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank fic #jj mayback imagine #reblogged #outerbanks

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v3lary0ns · 6 months ago

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will be devouring this at the next possible moment

❝ 𝐬𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧. ❞

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: arranged to be wed to prince aegon ii by oppressive parentage, you are bewildered to learn that he seems just as nervous as you, and that this union isn’t as hopeless as it seems.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: aegon ii targaryen x tyrell!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 11.5K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), aegon isn’t a good person but he’s also tormented, canon-typical misogyny, arranged marriage, loss of virginity (reader), pathetic aegon, switch!aegon (mild sub!aegon) begging, dry humping/grinding, making out, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, unprotected p in v sex, descriptions of cum, multiple positions (lotus, cowgirl), sweeter ending + aftercare.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: writing for aegon is such a challenge for me because I’m scared of getting him right, so I hope this is good! I also apologize for the fic length, I wasn’t expecting it to be this long! thank you all so much for any support this gets! ❤️ much love!

IT WAS OFTEN THE REASON FOR EXISTING, A YOUNG LADY OF A NOBLE HOUSE — MADE TO WED A FOREIGN LORD, SHIPPED AWAY TO UNFAMILIAR LANDS AND PROVIDE HEIRS. IT WAS YOUR SUPPOSED PURPOSE, IMPRESSED UPON YOU FROM YOUR FLOWERING ADOLESCENCE TO ADULTHOOD.

Only, you were to become a queen, with time.

House Tyrell was the presiding power of The Reach, a font of wealth and lavishness for the Seven Kingdoms, with Highgarden as its primary seat — a castle that bested Casterly Rock in stature and beauty.

Forging alliances often came through lucrative marriage proposals, and you were bound to one, inevitably made to wed Aegon II Targaryen, the supposed heir to the Iron Throne.

Whispers of men who had seen too many winters spoke of Aegon’s ascension over that of Princess Rhaenyra, men who never saw a woman as anything more than a prize to be won. It filled you with such dread, wondering if Aegon would view you in the same light — a conquest.

King’s Landing was a pungent place, with a populace crammed into walls that cared little for them. It made you yearn for Highgarden, for the loamy trees bristling with ivory blossoms, for the air that carried the scent of a perfumed dowager.

Stench of city sewage filled your nostrils as your noble carriage buckled across uneven streets, the cobblestone shoddy compared to that of Oldtown. Your parents accompanied you, with little comfort to offer other than threadbare reassurances.

Rumors reached your ears of Prince Aegon’s lecherous nature — a spoiled man who preferred drowning in his cups and whoremongering through the Streets of Silk. You feared what new existence this wedding might yield for you, what fate awaited you after tomorrow.

Yet, they were rumors — you continued to offer yourself some words of encouragement, in hopes that your expectations of the Targaryen Prince would not be shattered upon first meeting.

The Red Keep glowered above you, its shadow oppressive and not at all welcoming as you hoped it would be. Instead, its pointed pillars and garish walls served as a reminder that this would be your home — no more ivory stones of Highgarden.

A wave of nausea overcame you, rocking through your stomach like the turbulence of crashing tides, settling uneasily within your bones. The corset you wore made it difficult to fully catch your breath, constricting you like a vice.

If House Tyrell were known for anything, it was their beauty, their lavishness — and you were no exception; the pretty rose, unwilted and comely. Your appearance was akin to a whimsical fable, known by all who had taken an interest in your family.

As your host circled into the courtyard of the Red Keep, you glimpsed a row of Targaryen bannermen intermingled with that of House Hightower. An older man stood at the top of the steps, accompanied by one of the Kingsguard.

“Do not slouch, or pout,” Your mother warned, leaning over to fix a facet of your gown, brows furrowed together. “It is unbecoming of a princess to-be.” Her utterance could cut as sharp as any blade.

“Of course, Mother.” With a courteous reply, you nearly cringed when the carriage came to a sluggish halt, as your parents made their exit first, with you soon to follow.

It was a relief to find a sliver of fresh air, no longer suffocating to an early grave within your carriage. You stood up straight, unnaturally so, rigid in your stance as you accompanied your host to meet the stalwart figure of Otto Hightower.

“King Viserys extends his welcome,” Otto uttered, countenance a calculating one. His gray eyes drifted to you, and you seemed to shrink, withering away beneath his glower. “As does House Hightower.”

“I assume the final preparations are underway?” Your father quipped, desperate to get this over with. The peacocking and ceremony of a royal wedding was often a headache, and the expenses were vast and never-ending.

“They are,” Lord Hightower gestured for you all to follow, the gates creaking open to herald your host into the Red Keep. “They will be wed on the morrow. Your chambers are prepared for your stay.”

“Excellent. I detest these lengthy walks,” Your mother groaned, and still, you said nothing. “I desire an audience with the Queen, should she make herself available.”

It all became rather dull — a background buzz that promptly simmered into nothingness for you. Talk of weddings, political affairs, the frivolity of it all — you wanted this to be done. Fear and anxiousness drove you now, fretting over whether or not the Prince would like you.

Once, you had dreamed of your wedding, of finding one you loved and basking in the warmth of it all. Here, you felt cold and stiff, yielding to the desires and machinations of others, prepared to be sold off like some prized broodmare.

Instead, you silently admired the architectural wonder of the Red Keep, the scaling walls and massive, winding staircases. It became easier to avert your attention elsewhere, to keep your mind preoccupied.

Ascending the staircase, you gathered your skirts in fistfuls, taking careful steps up behind your parents. The conversation at-hand held nothing of merit for you, and there was not a single murmur in regards to Prince Aegon.

Perhaps he feared this just as much as you did, forced into a union with a stranger to appease the powers that reigned. You wanted to meet him, assure that, with time, you could grow to love one another and achieve happiness.

Perhaps, he cared very little for it.

Aegon was crushed beneath the weight of being made to obey the whims of family for some time — his mother, his grandsire. His own father did not falter from naming Rhaenyra as heir to the Iron Throne, a choice that embittered some.

In the eyes of his father, he would never measure to the beacon of light that was his half-sister. Aegon the failure, Aegon the foolish. Any desire for the Iron Throne died long ago in his youth, along with any aspirations for going above his station.

Upon being told that he would wed the young lady of House Tyrell, he did not rage and bark at those who had a hand in it. It was easier to quietly accept his fate, to play the part of a dutiful son — perhaps then, he would finally be viewed as favorable in the eyes of those that pulled him apart.

His whoremongering and rampant salaciousness were immediately put to the executioner’s block, with Otto berating him for his blatant recklessness. Aegon had learned to take whatever verbal punishment was hurled at him — stand and take it, wet tears glistening within his lilac hues.

That and his drinking were no longer permitted, and so Aegon took to reluctant isolation. He could only imagine what vile things you’d been told about him — the lecherous, drunkard Targaryen with nothing but a title to his name.

Yet, when he saw you in the courtyard of the Red Keep from the ramparts, riding the coattails of your oppressive parents, a sliver of him could empathize. He did not want to like you, of course, but he did have a beating heart, even still.

Your posture bore a semblance of desperation, clawing your way toward the approval of your forebears, desiring nothing more than to appease. Aegon knew what that was like — he’d been trying to do it all his life.

“Be satisfied that she is a beautiful creature, brother,” Aemond uttered, arms folded behind his back as he stood beside Aegon, one eye glowering down upon you from afar. “This could be much worse.”

Aegon scoffed, his smile mirthless and anguished as he stood upright, a wisp of a breeze stirring his pale tresses. “As everyone ceaselessly continues to remind me.” He retorted, one hand clenching into a fist.

Aemond hummed, clicking his tongue as he turned toward Aegon, pale brows furrowing together. “This was inevitable, as is your duty to our house,” He uttered, reminding his brother of his purpose. “I suggest making the most of it, instead of resorting to self-pity.”

There was always a lack of propriety with Aegon — a lack of determination, no drive to become anything more than a gluttonous Prince. Aemond studied the sword, the histories, language, politics — and yet he was never yielded an opportunity such as this.

Aegon’s countenance was one of clear disdain, finding little joy in his brother’s aloof scolding. “You sound like Mother,” With an embittered tone, he ran a palm across his face, looking down at you again. “House fucking Tyrell.”

Clearly, this was all his grandsire’s work — there could be no other mastermind behind such an advantageous alliance. His mother would always go along with such ideas, forever beneath his thumb — trapped in her cage, much like he was.

Yet, Aemond did have something of a point.

At the very least, Aegon could learn to tolerate your presence — and you were incredibly beautiful, even from afar. Whispers of your splendor had reached him at the initiation of your betrothal. Attractive company would not be the end of the world, but he wondered if you were airheaded and self-centered.

It was something he would have to discover for himself, much to his own misfortune.

You terrified him.

Aegon spent much of his evening gathering gossip and information about you — your supposed mannerisms, the topics you conversed about, your demeanor. All servants seemed to come to the same crossroads — you were truly pious, and kindhearted.

The sudden desire to appear likable and gallant was thrust to the forefront of his mind, the need for validation born from deeply-rooted insecurities. For so much of his life, he had toiled over wanting everyone to gravitate towards him, to find him captivating as they had Rhaenyra.

He detested having to put up some performance in the name of appealing to you, but he could not stop himself, now. Aegon knew that seeking you out before your wedding was untoward and improper, but he needed to speak to you himself.

It pained him to realize that he cared for the perspective of a stranger — for the opinions of a woman whom he hadn’t yet uttered a word to.

There was a rotten weight upon his shoulders, the weight of satisfying his family, to no longer be looked upon with disdain. The notion that he was the disappointment had always danced around him, and now, it was staring him down.

On the morrow, he would be wed — a husband, perhaps a father, if you even permitted him to touch you. Seven Hells, he was going to wretch.

A bottle of Dornish Red had been carefully stashed away beneath a loose cobblestone in his chambers, and he intended on drowning in it somewhere in the gardens. The hour was becoming late — now the hour of the bat, a listless dusk shrouded by gray wisps of cloud.

Aegon’s mind was plagued by thoughts of you, of disappointing you, knowing that you were just as shackled to this union of convenience as he was. Had he not drawn attention to himself through debauchery, this might’ve never happened.

Truthfully, he had no one to blame but himself.

Beneath the floral canopies of the royal gardens, Aegon snuck away from his chambers, preferring to drink in solace whilst the opportunity presented itself. Stars glistened above, thousands of twinkling lights that accompanied the silver glower of the moon.

Clad in a loose, sage tunic and linen breeches, he wandered through the gardens, bottle in-hand, countenance one of despondency. There was a small terrace where he often went to drown in the depths of a bottle, rage to the skies.

A loose shape remained seated along the bannister, head hung in a state of despair — the image of such grace, the maiden herself.

Aegon hadn’t expected to find you here, dwelling within his typical nook, brows drawn together as you picked at the skin of your cuticles. His clumsy footfalls alerted you, bewildered hues meeting those of lilac, just as confused as you were.

“My Prince,” A strangled gasp erupted from your throat as you hastily stood, curtsying as if your head would fall from your shoulders from sluggishness. “I — I was not expecting you. I will relocate.”

The envy of a thousand stars, Aegon thought; beauty incarnate stood before him with such humility that it very nearly subdued him. He was not often reduced to such boyish nerves in the presence of women, but you seemed to do just that.

Acclaimed was your charm, a comeliness so enchanting that many were ensnared, and he was no exception to this. Aegon felt a cold perspiration slither along his palms, grip becoming tighter around the bottle’s throat.

“You cannot find rest either,” Aegon’s jaw tensed as he pointed out the obvious, pale tresses tousled, turned white from the moon. “I was just …” A begrudging sigh escaped him as he held the bottle of wine aloft.

“May I join you?” Your inquiry was sudden and unexpected — Aegon nearly turned you away until he saw the anxious state you were in, much like himself.

Aegon gaped, lips parting as he gave a lazy shrug of his shoulders. He stepped forward, sinking down atop one of the stone benches lining the bannister walls. Wordlessly, you approached him, taking a seat at his side, ensuring a comfortable distance.

Upon closer inspection, you were pleased to find that Aegon was handsome — ethereal, in fact. Many Targaryens were renowned for their physical beauty, from pale tresses to violet hues, and he was no exception to this.

“Do you drink because of me?”

The question was born of fear, of a gnawing nervousness that ate away at your very bones. You worried that Aegon was already resentful without knowing you fully, but even he seemed perplexed by your inquiry.

“Not because of you,” Aegon uttered, removing the cork from the bottle before taking a swig, sweet red trickling down his throat. “I suppose this is not an ideal position to be in — for either of us.”

Your hands stilled within your lap as you considered his words, and you did agree. It was not ideal, nor was it something either of you desired. “It is not, but that does not mean that it must be miserable. I have no ill will towards you.”

Aegon scoffed, his mirthless smile striking you as the inner turmoil of a young man coming to terms with his new reality. You did not begrudge him so — it was easy to empathize, given that you were in the same situation.

“You may change your mind,” He uttered, taking another hearty gulp of Dornish Red, allowing it to ease some of his own nerves. “I would not fault you for it.” Aegon stated, twisting one of his rings around upon his finger.

Being a poor husband was something he’d witnessed between his own family — his Mother, far too young to be wed to an old man, and his father, now withered and decrepit. Maybe there was love, but he seldom saw it.

Brazenly, you reached for the bottle of wine, and he relinquished it, watching with surprise as you took a rather daring swig. It was sweet yet strong, causing you to sputter before you gave it back.

“And if I do not change my mind? Are you insinuating that you will change it for me?” Your questioning was growing sharp, tinged with frustration. You did not want to dislike him — you wanted him to give you no reason to feel that way.

Lilac hues shifted toward you, ivory brows knitting together as he drank again. He wondered what all you knew of him — the rumors, the whispers of his frequent whoring. “Is your mind not already set firm on such thoughts?”

With a look of concern, you shook your head, fingers idly plucking at your sleeves. “It is not,” You murmured, head canting to one side. “I cannot judge you without a foundation — I do not know you, my Prince.”

Aegon was rather bewildered at your confession, but part of him did not believe you. It was commonplace to be plagued by rumors of one’s betrothed — perhaps you neglected to tell the truth to spare his feelings.

“There is little to know.” Aegon sold himself short, greedily consuming yet another barrage of sips from the wine. He knew he needed to slow down — it was dulling his senses.

“Must you discredit yourself so quickly? I would disagree — there is plenty to know, and I wish to discover it all for myself.” With a firm retort, you sat up a little straighter, remembering the quipped words of your mother.

He despised how likable you truly were — if he loathed you, it would make it easier on himself, in this union. Aegon did not wish to spend each waking moment clawing for your affections, knowing it would only end in disappointment.

Silence drifted between the two of you, until the only sound was that of the wind, the rustling of vines and flora along the lattice canopies. Aegon drank another few swigs — it was not in his best interest.

His insecurities were palpable upon your tongue, you realized — there were more layers to Aegon than he was willing to let on. You noticed the wet sheen within his violet hues, a forlornly sense of anguish that washed over him.

You wanted him to try to be happy.

If he were so determined in making himself miserable, you knew that it would inevitably take you with him. A soft sigh escaped your parted lips as you pressed your palm against his bicep.

“I am not asking for you to be delighted and joyous, but I do … I want you to be somewhat happy. I wish for us to try and make one another happy,” Your suggestion was something Aegon was willing to consider. “Will you consider it?”

Aegon hesitated, feeling the first inklings of frustration paint his features, eyes wet with the onslaught of tears. He always thought himself unlovable — his family detested him, thought him to be insignificant.

There was nothing stopping you from following in their sentiments — and if you did, he would not blame you for it. Gods, he loathed himself — wallowing in misery, begging for a reprieve.

If anyone could grow to love him, it would be you — you, this beautiful, tenderhearted stranger who captivated him so. Aegon did not want to squander such an opportunity to find a potential solace in the one person who wished the same from him.

Instead, he nodded, placing the bottle of Dornish Red off to the side, knowing that if he indulged himself further, it would be disastrous. “I will try.” Aegon uttered, head hung as he rested his elbows against his thighs.

“Thank you, my Prince.” Without hesitation, you leaned over, pressing a chaste kiss against the side of his head. Aegon felt his breath hitch within his throat, preening at such a small gesture of affection — he could feel it in his marrow.

A surging buzz bristled throughout his body, the heady sting of intoxicants finding residence within his bones. His mind became somewhat clouded, plagued by both drink and a whirlwind of endless thoughts.

Gathering your gown in delicate fistfuls, you politely stood from the bench, exhaustion seeping into your being. “I should be returning to my chambers, before I am discovered,” You cleared your throat. “Unless there is anything else, your Grace.”

“Aegon,” His insistence bled through, a clammy perspiration breaking out along his palms. Turning his chin upward to face you, Aegon felt his heart seize within his chest, an unfamiliar fire blooming throughout. “We can abandon the formalities.”

Lilac hues set within pale flesh seemed to be glistening with tears; tears that you could not fully comprehend. Grayish circles encapsulated his eyes, making him appear a touch gaunt.

Aegon leaned back against the bannister, sage tunic taut against his musculature, which happened to lack sinewy definition. He was not nearly as whiplike as Aemond, revealing his streak of overindulgence with wine.

With all of his flaws bubbling to the surface, he observed you in rapt silence, noticing the semblance of appreciation that crossed your features. Your quiet admiration lacked subtlety, and Aegon nearly blushed beneath your warm gaze.

“Aegon,” His name rolled from your pretty tongue, such a saccharine utterance — you spoke his name with such a beguiling tone. “The name suits you.” The weight of your compliment was one that he clung to; desperately.

Histories often regaled the name Aegon — Aegon the Conqueror, whose reign began that of the Targaryen dynasty in Westeros. To have a name with such bearing, one would be destined for greatness.

Aegon did not think so — given the Conqueror’s name, his blade, his coat of arms — but nothing more. His father detested him so, and no matter what he did, there was no outpouring of love or appreciation.

He disliked how easy it was to let his barriers dissolve beneath your comforting gaze — vulnerability laid bare, allowing you to trace his heart with your fingers. “You jest.” Aegon uttered, earning a look of confusion from you.

Aemond was the stoic one, unyielding and stalwart with a piercing eye and indifferent scowl, and Aegon occasionally wore his soul upon his sleeve. It was involuntary, done in moments of weakness, and he wished that he could be as unchanging as his brother.

“What is there to jest about?” Perplexed, you idly gathered a fistful of your skirts, relinquishing some of your nervousness. “If we are to become husband and wife, I would like for us to know one another — to compliment, to appreciate.”

Saintly — Gods, you were vexing, to say the least.

With a sardonic huff, Aegon settled, abandoning the brief aura of indifference for something more sincere. You were genuine, he knew this — did he not owe you the same sentiment?

He stayed silent, swallowing the sudden lump within his throat before appraising you, Dornish Red beginning to muddy his senses. Aegon did not stop what lascivious thoughts escaped his mouth, then and there.

“You are every bit as beautiful as they say,” Aegon uttered, pale brows furrowing together. “I suppose if I am to wed a stranger, let it be an enchanting one.” His lips quirked into the ghost of a smile as he took yet another swig — the bottle was nearly empty.

Warmth danced along your spine, like a crackle of heat that blossomed across your body in fiery tendrils. Fidgeting, you happened to peer toward the bottle of wine. “You flatter me, Aegon,” You cleared your throat. “Is that wise?”

His derisive snort was a bemused one as he held the bottle aloft, dismissing your concern. “I promised myself that this would be my last night of overindulgence,” Aegon sighed. “No matter the consequences.”

If his Mother or grandsire knew of his drinking, particularly in front of his betrothed, he would likely be scolded for such foolish behavior. Perhaps he would regret it later, but you did not seem to admonish him for it.

“Are you certain that you will be well enough to return to your quarters?” Concern permeated your soft tone as you stood near the archway of the terrace, head canting to one side.

“Do not trouble yourself, betrothed. I have spent many nights in this garden, alone.” Aegon sounded sullen, as if it weren’t his design. Sometimes, drinking and isolating were the only things that numbed whatever else he felt.

Tears swam within his eyes — his anguish and turmoil often reared its ugly head when he had too much to drink. It was easier to commiserate over his life, his obstacles in solitude.

He loathed sobbing — it made him feel weak and insignificant, as if he could not keep himself pieced together. Aegon watched you closely, realizing that your countenance held nothing but a tender concern and twinge of affection.

No pity, no rage, no spite.

“Of course,” You exhaled, assuming that you should leave him to his own devices. “I should be returning. I … I do look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Aegon. I pray to the Seven that our union will be a fruitful one.”

Before you could step away, Aegon called out to you, beseeching you to wait as he stumbled to his feet, gripping the bottle like a vice. He didn’t know what to say — his mind swam, shrouded in a thick haze of bottled emotion and intoxication.

“Do you think that you could grow to love me, with time?”

Aegon’s fragmented inquiry brought a sharp and sudden sting to your heart, as if he believed himself incapable of being loved. His lilac hues reflected an untold battlefield of turbulent feelings that had been buried and smothered for such a long time.

If you were being truthful with yourself, you could see love forming with time — it would be long and arduous, but it was in your mind’s eye. Had you not experienced this chance encounter, you might’ve felt otherwise.

“I do,” A smile like rays of sunshine, parting the lingering dark that had shadowed his heart. Your answer came to him like the hum of springtime, softly-spoken. “Goodnight, Aegon.”

He let himself sob to the stars, to any Gods that would listen once you were out of sight.

When you saw Aegon again, it was beneath glistening pools of colored glass, perched atop a rather unimpressive terrace in the Grand Sept. He appeared every bit as gallant as you imagined him to be, cloaked in a cowl of velvety-emerald, embossed in threads of burnished gold.

He had such a disheveled, uncouth look about him in the Gardens — now, he seemed renewed. His pale tresses shimmering with a silvery sheen, cleansed and steeped in oils, countenance less haggard, lilac hues seeking yours.

The audience that had gathered to witness your union was much larger than you expected, many of them lesser nobility of King’s Landing flocking to see the new bride of Prince Aegon II.

You were the very image of perfection last evening, in the Gardens — shrouded in hues of cerulean and gold, bearing rose-patterned embellishments upon your gown. Now, you appeared as a goddess, wedding gown the color of liquid gold, touched by rays of a waning sun.

Aegon had taken your words into consideration — he did not want to make this miserable for you, or for himself.

A threadbare smile crossed his countenance, thin yet genuine as he gazed upon you, rapturously drinking in your appearance. Beauty might’ve been your true identity, a most gorgeous creature, sculpted by merciful gods.

As you assumed your place by his side, Aegon noticed the anxious smile that had graced your features. You seemed a touch nervous, but did not allow the sentiment to overshadow this moment.

His hand found yours, giving it a brief squeeze as the Septon prepared the vows of marriage. A union between House Tyrell and House Targaryen spelled great things, in the eyes of powerful men who operated from the shadows.

House Tyrell had sworn bountiful supplies of food and some of the finest armor in Westeros, whilst House Targaryen offered builders, riches — a chance for you to become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.”

Emerald velvet enveloped you, bearing the draconic sigil of House Targaryen. Aegon was disarmingly gentle, fastening the gilded clasps around you. As much as he wanted to stave off his own nerves, it was incredibly difficult for him to do so.

The ceremony, in the sight of Gods and Men, floated by swifter than you expected it to. Once you and Aegon had exchanged vows, hands bound together in crimson ribbon, it was his turn to end the formalities.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love.”

Aegon felt heat ripple throughout his chest at such words, heart hammering against his ribcage as he searched your eyes for any ounce of uncertainty. When he found none at all, his palm moved to cradle your cheek, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to your lips.

The taste of your mouth was honeyed, ambrosial as it made his head turn. He was bewildered to find your gentle reciprocation, the kiss being returned, even if it were fleeting. Aegon did not register the applause that came afterwards, drowning within your presence.

As you withdrew, Aegon appeared akin to a doe caught within the hunter’s snare, wide-eyed and clawing for composure. You seemed genuinely pleased, offering him a fleeting smile that made his heart leap out of his chest.

The transition into the wedding feast was seamless, and fortunately, it was easier to become lost within the general splendor of it all. Much of it was spent gorging yourself on such a lavish meal, and some of it spent speaking to your new husband.

You sat beside Aegon, King Viserys and Queen Alicent to his side, and your own parents on yours. The ailing King did not seem at all well enough to be in attendance, yet he endured it anyway, hunched over within his chair.

Admittedly, Aegon was somewhat nervous — and that wasn’t commonplace.

He feared inadequacy when it came to intimacy and consummating your union, an inability to satisfy you. Most of his exploits were spent in brothels, and of those trysts, he consumed too much wine to be considered useful to anyone.

It was all so self-centered when he lay with whores in the brothel, and even then, he could not remember most encounters. Expected to perform in a marriage and to a woman as lovely as you filled him with an unexpected dread.

Without consuming a drop this evening, he wondered how he would fare with a sound mind and body — poorly, he imagined. He knew of pleasure, of what it all entailed, but then came pleasing you. What if you hated it? Hated him?

The more he contemplated, the more frustrated he became, and in-turn, made him itch for something to calm his nerves. It was then that he felt your hand against his forearm, gentle and comforting, a smile upon your face.

“Would you like to dance?” A talented dancer you were, but without a partner, your skills seemed all for naught. Aegon’s pause made you wonder if your question was misplaced, but he steeled himself and nodded.

“I fear you’ve chosen a poor partner,” Aegon murmured, hovering beside you as the both of you took to the floor. Waves of people parted like the sea to usher in the newlyweds, and the new princess. “I am not fleet of foot.”

“You do not have to be.” You assured, the melody transforming into a slow ballad, allowing for a more intimate dance. With bound hands and his arm around your waist, he began to move, albeit with uncertainty.

As he twirled you around across the floor, the idle hum of the festivities swirled around you. You paid little mind to it, searching Aegon’s countenance for any sign of disdain. Instead, you found a hint of anxiousness in his lilac hues.

There was something that gnawed away at his heart — you could tell through gaze alone. As you danced, Aegon kept his stare locked on you, something to focus on. “You look beautiful.” That much was true.

Fortunate to have a bride as resplendent as yourself, Aegon marveled at the sight of you, the very image of beauty. Your comely visage seemed so perfect when compared to your wedding gown, his cloak still tied around your shoulders.

Touched by his softspoken praise, you bowed your head, nimbly weaving closer to him as a dancing couple passed by. Aegon was noticeably stiff in his movements, swallowing his nervousness, attempting to appear unphased.

“You seem tense,” Your voice was little more than a whisper, ensnaring his attention. His gaze flickered between the hum of the audience in-attendance and you, mustering up a threadbare smile. “Are you well?”

The genuineness of your inquiry could not be mistaken, and Aegon seemed bewildered that anyone would truly ask about his wellbeing. “I am,” He reassured, chest-to-chest with you. “This all seems rather frivolous.”

Admittedly, it wasn’t the root of the matter, but he wanted to placate you. Aegon bit his tongue from confessing the truth, a truth that he did not want to utter here, with wandering ears.

“The festivities? I would agree,” You replied, knowing that the expenses of such an event were rather much. “I am only here for you.” Aegon happened to smile at that, one far more genuine than the last.

Before he could speak, he noticed his Mother escorting the King towards the floor, whose gait was strained and incredibly sluggish. He leaned upon his cane, wheezing with every step, coming to a halt in front of the both of you.

“King Viserys wishes to extend his blessing to the both of you, and hopes for a happy union.” Alicent seemed a world away, treating you to a smile that was devoid of joy, merely a courtesy. “We must take our leave.”

“Thank you, your Grace. I hope to be a good wife to Prince Aegon.” You would never forget your manners, curtsying before the both of them. Alicent made no comment, simply bowing her head before guiding Viserys away.

Aegon appeared somewhat downtrodden with the leaving of his parents, and not entirely surprised. He seemed to quietly accept their leave, thanking his parents before they made their way through the now-parted crowds. Criston Cole nipped at their heels, following closely behind the King and Queen.

It was as if the buzz of excitement began to dissipate with the absence of the King, but you did not seem to be bothered by it. You wanted to make the most of it with Aegon.

With the absence of the King and Queen, the celebration seemed to dim — not that Aegon cared. He was more inclined to retire and get the consummation over with, as to not make a complete fool of himself.

Nervousness gnawed at his gut, and that irritated him. He shouldn’t have been so high strung about something so trivial. The physical aspect of marriage was often to perform a duty, and not anything more enjoyable than that.

Yet, Aegon found himself wanting to ascend duty.

Seven Hells, he was in for a long evening. His constant agonizing over how to approach this with you was going to eat him alive. It continued to fester within his bones throughout the duration of the night, up until you made it to your marital chambers.

Your shared quarters were beautiful — gilded in gold, draped in tapestries of emerald. They were far more grandeur and spacious than your own room back in Highgarden.

“If there is something not to your liking, I shall have the servants alter it.” Aegon murmured, attempting to quell his nerves. He could not recall the last time he had been so frayed, so fraught with anxiousness.

There was no wine to dull his senses, and so he was left with the rawness of his own sentiments, opting to sit beside the hearth.

The scenery was not nearly as perplexing as your new husband, who seemed more focused on gazing into the fire instead of consummating your union. You were told that it was duty — for a man to put a babe in you and be finished.

“Aegon,” Concerned, you rounded the chaise lounge, moving to sit beside him. Admittedly, this whole scenario seemed to confuse you more than anything else. “Is something the matter?”

Gods help him — Aegon did not know where to begin. It was best to tell you of his past experiences, inform you that his virtue was tarnished, that he was deplorable, and admit that lying with you would wrack him with immense guilt.

Perhaps, it was best to confess that he was nervous, more than you, and elect not to consummate at all. If his Mother or Grandsire found out about his lack of performance, he would be forced into putting a babe in you.

A bitter laugh escaped him as he attempted to control his sudden bout of frustration. “I cannot do this,” He murmured, shaking his head back and forth. “You don’t deserve this.”

With furrowed brows, you sought elaboration, hands twisting themselves together to relinquish your anxiousness. “Don’t deserve what? I do not understand.” You uttered, fearing that it was you who had slighted him.

“I have committed countless sins — it isn’t fair to you, to consummate when I have already tarnished myself so deeply,” Aegon sighed, pressing a hand to his face. “Yet duty demands that I must.”

There was a palpable nervousness within his voice, and it seemed to mirror your own. You feared disappointing him, but his sentiments were shared, much to your bewilderment. “I do not care what you did before this,” You replied. “We are married now. What matters is the path we take from now on.”

Damn you — so virtuous, so saintly that it made him look like some uncouth fiend compared to you. Of course you would be understanding, as you had been all along. Aegon hoped that you would be angry; it would make this so much easier.

It was a valiant attempt to mask his own nerves, which became glaringly obvious as moments ticked by. “I am nervous, admittedly, but … I know that I simply lay down and let you finish.”

Aegon’s brows creased together, and he realized that you did not expect much from him at all. You didn’t know what it all could entail, the art of pleasure. He never bothered to fully explore it himself, with his whoremongering and blatant self-interest.

Swallowing the growing lump within his throat, he attempted to set his worries aside, hands fisting at his trousers to relieve his nerves. “That is not what it has to be,” He murmured, glancing at you with wide, lilac hues. “Unless you want it that way.”

Intrigued, you seemed desperate to know what all the physical side of a marriage entailed. Aegon seemed anxious, but he wanted to try and treat you well, explore a new realm of pleasure together.

Silently, you reached for his hand, prompting him to shiver at the contact of your soft flesh and warm digits. “I do not.” Your gentle utterance set his heart ablaze, stomach swirling with a foreign giddiness as he regained his composure.

Aegon exhaled, mauve hues wandering towards the delicate curve of your mouth, the slender plane of your throat. He let himself become lascivious with his thoughts — Gods, you were so beautiful that it nearly pained him to look at you.

“You are too good for me,” Aegon mumbled, his self-deprecation laid bare for you to witness. He seemed so solemn in his words — and you did not believe him. “I do not deserve you.” Before he could speak again, you silenced him.

With your fingers pressed firmly to his mouth, brows furrowed together, you ensured that he listened to you without interruption. “Stop,” You urged, shaking your head. “Whatever occurred before our union, during it, it is in the past. This is the present — you deserve me.”

He wished that he could believe you — it was difficult for those words to fully sink in, for him to take it all to-heart. Those lilac hues swam with melancholy, yet he attempted to wipe it all away for your sake.

Instead, you moved to bring him into your embrace, hugging him close to relieve whatever anguish he felt. To your surprise, he held onto you, burying his face against your collarbone, arms settling against your hips.

Admittedly, he felt pathetic — all of this agony and frustration pouring out on his wedding night, and you were comforting him. It mattered a great deal to him, your simple act of listening and ensuring his wellbeing.

A gust of your scent hit his nostrils, a floral concoction that balanced upon the edge of sweetness and something alluring. Aegon steeled himself and decided to cease his bout of guilt and try to be a proper husband and lover to you.

“Seven Hells.” Aegon hissed, brows screwing together in a look of inner disdain. He was often several flagons deep whenever this ordeal took place — there was nothing to ease his nerves.

“Aegon …” Before you could ask what troubled him so, he silenced you with a singular glance, lilac hues swimming with unshed tears. Frustration seeped into his gestures, a coiled repression of a rooted inner loathing that threatened to consume him.

“I have not — Fuck,” With a mumble of annoyance, he steeled himself, knowing that the truth of the matter might make you disgusted by him. “I have not had a clear mind, laying with a woman.” Admitting to his nervousness made his stomach turn with dread.

Overindulgence was his cardinal sin, and yet he hadn’t had a drop of wine at all this evening. His confession gave you pause, enough to contemplate, consider the weight of the truth. “Would this be the first time?” Your tender utterance lacked any initial shrewdness.

Aegon simply nodded, palms still clutching onto you, able to feel the pliant curvature of your body beneath your wedding gown. His closeness made your breath hitch, lilac hues boring into your own, drinking you in. “You are divine.” He murmured.

To see you without the haze of intoxication — there was nothing more perfect. Swallowing the growing lump within his throat, Aegon felt your hand drift across his shoulder, through velvet and silk, until you reached his jaw.

It was disarmingly gentle, the unexpected grace of your fingertips as they stroked across his cheek. His lips parted slightly, enough for a brief huff of surprise to escape him. Absentmindedly, he found himself careening into your embrace, seeking the warmth of your palm.

Lilac hues ogled your mouth, until he could bear it no longer. Aegon planted a gentle kiss against your lips, feeling your body tense beneath his hands, the gesture fleeting. A wisp of a whine bubbled within your throat, falling from your mouth.

Abandoning such rigidity, your body sluggishly relaxed into his hold, tension unfurling from your shoulders. A wave of repression seemed coiled within your kiss, as if you were holding the dam aloft, refusing to let it shatter.

Yet, such desperation oozing from you mirrored his own, one that he thought he’d buried. Roused from dormancy, Aegon’s flame of desire began to smolder as he coaxed you closer, tormented by the sweetness of your kiss.

Eager digits flexed against your hips, index finger circling over the divot there, aching to see you bare, unobstructed. He savored your taste, like that of piety, something saccharine, now transformed into a ceaseless craving.

He could not recall the last time he had wanted; this incessant ache had now warped into some amalgamation of desire and despair, yearning to touch you, worship you. Aegon had never felt the urge to covet something — not until his gaze had found you.

With another barrage of fervent kisses, the pale-headed prince retreated, the distance slim as he looked upon your doe-eyed countenance. “I wish to see you,” His utterance had adopted a lascivious edge, lilac hues burning with need. “Please.”

Joined hands fluttered to the many ties of your gown, seeking to free you from your cage of immeasurable fabric. It was you who had subtly allowed one palm to fly toward his own doublet, evening the score.

Aegon did not protest, even if he wanted to. As you shed your wedding gown, letting it peel away from you, draped over the lounge, he felt his heart hammer within his chest. He felt like some deplorable lecher, entirely undeserving of you, but he did not want to ruin this with his insecurities.

Through your tantalizingly-thin shift, the Targaryen Prince allowed his gaze to rake over you, covetous and aching. “Fuck.” Aegon mumbled, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip, unable to tear his hands from you. They squeezed at your hips, lingering over your backside.

Adjusting his position, he moved to coax you into his lap, noticing your sheepish disposition. This was all unfamiliar territory for you, one that he desired to handle with care, as if rectifying his past blunders. It would never be enough, never repairing what damage he’d done, but it was a start.

Neediness had driven you closer, slotting yourself into his lap as he greedily cupped your backside, kneading into the pliant flesh. Aegon kissed you once more, a low groan tearing past his throat, echoing within your maw.

Kisses devolved from shy and exploratory to innately wanton, your own need bleeding through as you tilted your head slightly, deepening your entanglement. The pad of his thumb traced circles into your thigh, savoring the soft flesh beneath.

A prodding of his tongue to your kiss-swollen lips sent a shiver of delight through you, mouth parting to make way for his greedy maw. Lips clashed, collided, and meshed again — arousal surged within you, thick between your thighs.

The fabric that clung to your form even still left little to the imagination, hips writhing into his own, creating a delicious friction between you both. Proof of his desire was laid bare, straining against the front of his trousers as you pressed closer.

Beneath the rich, emerald velvet of his doublet, Aegon’s tunic sagged against his poorly-defined musculature, the hue of sage. It was your insistence and clamoring hands that had spurred him to shed it all, fabric pooling alongside your gown.

“Aegon,” A rapturous sigh tumbled from your parted lips, mouth stilling against his own as you sought to touch him, hands trailing through his pale tresses. Oozing warmth coalesced between your thighs as Aegon planted a kiss to your throat. “Please.”

As one palm continued to grope at the swell of your backside, the other coursed over your collarbone, downward still until he cupped your breast. Mouths continued to connect in heated kisses, a low groan erupting from his throat.

Fire’s crackling glow blanketed him in pooling orange, illuminating his ethereal features. Each touch evoked a deep-seated repression from you, desiring as much as he was willing to give you.

Another satisfied hum escaped him as you carded your fingers through his hair, hips lurching forward. Absentmindedly, your hips continued to urge against his, eliciting a breathy sigh from Aegon. He sounded so pleased, continuing to palm at your breast.

One of your hands clamored to relocate, smoothing across his chest, and then towards his abdomen. Gooseflesh followed in the wake of your incendiary touch, like that of a blazing fire, turning him to ash. Fingertips then found the ties of his trousers, earning you a look of surprise.

He feared that if you touched him, he would’ve combusted then and there — and that was no way to end one’s wedding night. Instead, he redirected you, savoring the sensation of your silky hand snug against his chest. His kiss made your head spin.

Bodies continue to glide together, friction crackling where space becomes increasingly nonexistent. Flesh meets flesh, a seamless mold that prompts you to shiver, mouth a roaring flame as you continue your barrage of kisses.

The cool metal of his ring felt like some pleasant brand against your flesh as he kneaded your breast, thumb circling around your peaked nipple. A delighted noise leaves you then, akin to the sweet lull of a siren’s song, drawing him in.

As your hips rocked against his own, Aegon fought against his own baser instincts, the swell of his cock brushing languidly against your core. A sharp inhale ripped through his lungs, hands groping you, kneading into your flesh, caressing wherever he could as he held you close.

His mouth had dropped to your neck, showering your velvety flesh in strings of passionate kisses. There was no intoxication finer than you, whose heady, saccharine scent beguiled him without a care, more tempting than ever.

Aegon continued to greedily toy with your breasts, savoring their weight, the way they melded into his palms. Eager digits lightly pinched at your nipple; each moan that left you was akin to a lullaby, dizzying his senses.

“Gods, stop squirming.” Aegon huffed, lilt lacking any bite to it. It emerged as a partial groan, attempting to spare himself from embarrassment on his wedding night. He deposited you onto the plush cushions of the settee, gentle as ever.

Warm and clouded with a desirous haze, you watched in wordless rapture as your husband clamored down, moving to kneel in between your legs. Amethyst hues glittered with adoration, peering up at you as he smoothed his palms along your thighs.

“I am sorry,” Fearing you’d done something wrong, he soothed you with a string of kisses to your leg, pressed upon the inside of your knee. Pale tresses swept across your velvety skin, and he marveled at the sight of you, beauteous beyond comprehension. “Aegon, I ...”

“Do not apologize.” A brief shiver rolled down his spine as your palms cupped his face, cradling his visage within your hands as you stooped down for a searing kiss. He felt like some starving animal, moving upwards to reciprocate your kiss, desperate for any scrap of affection.

Unblemished hands began to push at the fabric that clung to you still, allowing it to unceremoniously pool around your hips. A moan rippled through you, slick nethers exposed to your new husband, embarrassment beginning to settle into your bones.

Before you could make some valiant attempt to shield yourself from him, Aegon refuted you with a light push of his shoulders. His countenance sparkled with a growing ardor, mauve hues boring into you as he shook his head.

“Please, do not deny me this,” It was a strained plea, the Prince begging for you to oblige him, slotted between your legs as if he belonged there. “I wish to taste you.” His confession felt hot, uttered from greedy lips.

Completely and utterly besotted with you, and you with him, you sluggishly began to allow your legs to part, kissing him once more. As your slender digits twined against his crown, he nearly groaned, savoring the pliant pillars of your mouth as he reluctantly withdrew.

His countenance seemed so docile, subservient — amethyst hues glittered with a budding attachment, lips parted as he rested his head against your thigh. Inhaling a gust of your scent, he began to press kisses to your leg, hands kneading against your haunches, reveling in all of you.

Pleasure was not a foreign concept to you, but the act itself was. Exhilaration stung your flesh, prickling away within the pit of your belly as he kissed along your thigh, each ministration wrought with rapture.

Aegon had come to spill his sins, let them vanish between your legs. “Beautiful.” He exhaled, kissing his way toward the rousing heat nestled against the apex of your legs. It was as if he were drunk upon you, intoxicated by your very essence.

The constant preening of your fingertips throughout his tresses set him ablaze, a soothing sensation that nearly subdued him. As he kissed his way to your nethers, he was delighted to find you warm already, slick glistening upon your petals. It gave him some twinge of confidence — he did not disgust you, at least.

“Aegon,” A shrewd whimper bubbled from your throat, hand sinking to cradle the base of his skull. It was as if your body already knew, hips attempting to lurch forward. Hot breath fanned over your core, prompting you to writhe beneath him. “Gods, please.” A sigh of passion left you.

“What a pleasant surprise.” Aegon crooned, stoking the fervent flame that churned within your belly. Ringed palms gleefully cupped your thighs, chilled metal of his signets pressing into your flesh as he kept your legs parted.

Dragging one finger through your petals, he watched in awe as you shivered. Gods, you were wet — admittedly, he hadn’t wholly expected for you to be this way. As you urged him closer, diaphragm erupting with sputtered whines and wrought with desperation, he indulged you.

A greedy tongue raked hot embers over your slit, groaning at the ambrosial taste that clung to you, a finer stout than many. Straining against the front of his trousers, his cock throbbed with an incessant ache, longing to be inside of you.

Aegon lacked tact, lapping at your cunt with messy, eager strokes that had made your back arch. One could not mistake it for anything other than enthusiasm intermingled with covetousness, digits smoothing themselves over your inner thighs.

A shrewd whine erupted from your throat, a noise that had sounded so foreign from your tongue. The Prince’s pale crown had become your anchor, fingers idly perusing throughout oil-mussed strands, tugging and pulling as you pleased.

“A—Aegon!” A squeak of surprise tore past your lips, the foreign sensation of pleasure spreading through you like wildfire. Gods, he reveled in your noises — he wished to hear them again and again, if he could.

Ring-adorned digits clamped down into your thigh, the other snaking toward your hips, caressing circles into your supple flesh. His mouth was like that of fire, kissing his way along your nethers, tongue teasingly prodding against your entrance. It was more than enough to make you squirm.

The coil of taut heat within your stomach seems to tighten as Aegon greedily lapped at your cunt, like that of a man starved. A sharp groan blossoms throughout his sternum as you incessantly tug upon his pale locks, urging him closer.

Aegon’s ministrations lack practice and grace, an amalgamation of want intermingled with greed, his desire to have you. Nevertheless, his sloppiness is welcomed, thighs involuntarily squeezing around his head, and he moves closer still.

It is then that he seeks the pearl of your cunt, pressing a string of wanton kisses to the sensitive clutch of nerves. A shiver of delight grips your spine, throat erupting with a moan as your back begins to arch.

With a devious lash of his tongue, he openly laps at your pearl, drunk upon the taste of you, far more intoxicating than that of any wine. Aegon’s fingers tense against your thighs, quietly marveling at your softness, plush and pliant within his hold.

Hips surge forward, jolting into the greedy heat of his mouth, and he merely treats you to incessant barrages of his tongue. Admittedly, your enthusiasm in the matter only spurred on his confidence in pleasing you — he did not do this very often.

His name rolls from your mouth like some incantation, tapering off into a string of whines and stifled moans. Molten heat churned violently within the pit of your stomach, volatile and oozing, coalescing between your thighs.

“Aegon!” A breathy plea tumbles from your lips, body begging for more, for whatever he is willing to give you. His ministrations change from gently suckling upon your pearl to broad, tactless laps of his tongue, with little variation.

Aegon’s lips glistened with a sticky sheen of your nectar, of a finer stout than many, more delectable than any wine that had befallen his mouth. You were quickly ascending towards your release, body pulled taut, preparing to snap in the wake of such devastating pleasure.

His cock throbbed with an incessant, desperate ache, precum slick around the head as it strained against his trousers. Your own satisfaction spurred him on, and your delightful noises only sent him spiraling into the depths of further depravity.

It doesn’t take much more for you to unravel, bursting at the seams as your new husband brings about your first release. It is blinding, the white-hot throes of ecstasy that sends you crashing into a blissful afterglow.

You do not recall how many times you cry for him, sob his name, but Aegon commits it all to memory. The Prince’s stomach surges with a volatile heat, nearly groaning in response to your pinnacle.

A heaving sigh jostles him, inhaling gusts of your saccharine scent, catching his own breath as he presses continuous kisses over your thigh. His cheek happens to rest against your leg, and as you begin to come down, the sight of him is enough to reignite the flame once more.

Amethyst hues seem to sparkle with triumph and elation, flickering towards you, glittering lips twitching into a lopsided smile. Aegon felt happy — he could not recall the last time he’d felt true joy, uninhibited by wine.

“That was …” Truthfully, you do not know how to describe it, but your reaction is more than enough to please the Targaryen prince. Your fingers continue to rake through his pale tresses, dancing over his crown before cupping his face. “Wonderful.”

“I am not finished yet,” Aegon uttered, slithering from between your legs to capture your mouth with his, able to taste yourself. A whine of delight escapes your lips and he revels in it, mouths entangling in a heated kiss. “I need you.”

It isn’t an easy thing to admit to, needing someone — and yet he does, and it feels unusually effortless. The weight of his words takes root within you, head bobbing up and down in a consensual nod as he seizes you from the settee.

As you clamor for your shared marital bed, he stops at the mattress’s edge, hands tangling against the hem of your shift. Your arms adjust, allowing him to free you from the fabric, which happens to feel too restrictive, too claustrophobic.

Aegon’s visage is buried beside your collarbone, marveling at the sight of you — Gods, he was exceedingly fortunate. Even then, a despondent voice screamed at him, how he did not deserve you in the slightest, and he refused to listen to it.

His mouth became dry, desire swelling within him like the urgent crash of a tidal wave. Aegon’s violet gaze remained transfixed, unable to tear themselves away from you and the perfection of you; all of you.

“A—Are you going to be gentle?” The nervousness of your inquiry is unmistakable, and he is swift to quell such fears, pressing a kiss against your brow. You’ve always been told that consummating was physically painful, such horror instilled within you once you reached womanhood.

“Of course,” Aegon was not a good man — rotten, really. However, he had no desire to treat you with callousness, no desire to manhandle you into subservience. “I would not harm you.” His reassurance seemed a mutual thing, a promise to both himself and you.

With a nod, a tender smile spreads across your face, beguiled by him as you reach for the laces of his trousers. A flicker of surprise settles into his lilac hues, but he doesn’t protest, swallowing the growing lump within his throat.

Hungry and rapturous, Aegon allowed his gaze to roam over you freely, committing every detail of your form to memory — beauty incarnate. He permits you to untie his breeches, the strings loosening altogether.

As leather gives way and he stands bare before you, your features warm at the sight of him, ethereal; incandescent, really. He is more godly than you imagined him to be, vexed by him, by body and by heart.

That is when you feel it, the proof of his arousal pressing into your lower belly, oozing with precum as he slowly ruts his hips into you. A sharp moan blossoms throughout your diaphragm, palms gathering at the nape of his neck as you coax him down for a searing kiss.

A groan rippled through his throat, escaping into twined mouths as you moved against his erection, enough to nearly make him sputter. Aegon’s desperation bleeds into you with a blinding intensity, so poignant and so palpable that it makes your knees buckle.

Before you can protest his recoil, Aegon moves with you onto the sheets, a clamor of eager limbs, and your belly surges with butterflies. You know not to be fearful, but you cannot help it, expecting him to crawl atop you and make it easy.

Bewilderment settles into your features when he does the opposite, coaxing you into his lap with such enthusiasm, such neediness. Mauve hues were blown-out with lust and exaltation, enthralled by you as he felt you settle down against him, thighs firmly caging him in on either side.

The game of waiting was an agonizing one, as he longed to be inside of you, let you feel him with renewed vigor, drown himself within your growing affections. Aegon groaned when your lips met his, connecting with a thinly-veiled ardor, passionate yet tender.

Wandering hands smooth themselves over the swell of your hips, clutching at the pliant flesh, his erection pressing against your thigh. A sharp inhale passes through him as you gently adjust yourself, comfortable atop him — you rather enjoy this, you think.

Desire made him dizzy, head beginning to spin in a delirium, induced by the growing haze of ardor. He couldn’t recall the last time he laid with a woman and truly enjoyed it — yet, he enjoyed this, reveled in it all, craved you as one would gusts of fresh air.

“I need you,” The felicity dancing within your wanton plea makes him want to sob, and he knows that he needs you just as terribly. His cock twitched, the flushed head proclaiming his own want without the use of words. “I beg of you, Aegon.”

“Fuck,” Aegon groans; your nethers clench pathetically around nothing at all. Eagerness seeps into each caress of his hands, every touch, every sigh of passion. “Sit, I — I need you terribly.” His pleas made your bones ache, stomach churning with a flame that demanded to be extinguished.

At your mercy, he slumped back against the golden pillows, countenance echoing such unrestrained yearning, guiding his aching cock to your glistening cunt. He steeled himself, watching in a tremulous rapture as you adjusted yourself, slowly sinking yourself onto his length.

A cacophony of whines escaped you, the sudden intrusion somewhat painful, but nothing agonizing — not how it was made to appear. His grasp steadied upon your hips, digits kneading into your flesh as you continued to rock downwards.

It was a sluggish start, agonizingly so, bodies finding moments to adjust to one another, grow accustomed. The way in which you milked him, moved agonizingly slow, allowing him to feel your cunt tighten around him — it was nearly overwhelming.

“Ae—Aegon,” With a blubbering moan, your palms fell atop his chest, splayed over pale flesh as you awkwardly began to ease yourself up into an erratic rhythm. You did not know how to move, but he seemed to revel in it, mouth erupting with groans aplenty. “Gods.”

Such sensations seemed to overwhelm you, a blissful ecstasy seeping into your bones, belly sloshing with excitement. You did not go quickly at all, each movement slow and punctuated, thighs stinging from the first inklings of exertion.

Beneath you, Aegon gazed at you as if you were some goddess, amethyst hues shimmering with a thinly-veiled ardor. His heart hammered within his chest, breath catching as one hand slithered downward, groping at your derrière.

Neither of you would last long in this state — him, in particular. He was dizzy, rendered stupefied by such wanton desire, his cock throbbing inside of you with an incessant need. Precum continued to ooze forth, spilling inside of you.

Aegon watched you carefully, completely and utterly mesmerized, beguiled as he began to guide your movements. It all instilled a fire within you, raging as it seared your nerves, set all of you ablaze as his cock kissed your walls with a gentle fervor.

The full, lovely swell of your breasts bounced gently atop your chest as you continued your ministrations, repeating the monotonous motion of rocking along his cock. Your stomach sloshed with molten heat, and it quickly spread to your loins like wildfire.

A breathy groan of ‘fuck’ emerged from Aegon’s mouth, countenance contorted into a look of complete and utter ecstasy. “Gods, do not stop, I beg you,” Aegon commanded through wanton groans, hips desperately rutting up inside of you. “Please.” He pleaded.

Ceaseless, you carried on, thighs burning as you rode him as you would a broken gelding, palm sliding toward his face. Wordlessly, you coaxed him in for a blistering kiss, prompting him to sit up from his partial slouch, mouths connecting in a frenzied flurry of bliss.

Aegon’s hips continued to jolt forward, cock burying itself deep within you, a sword sheathed within its scabbard. Moans emerged from you in myriads, hands suddenly clamoring for the nape of his neck, fingers twisting themselves into his silvery tresses.

Between kisses of tactless passion, his mouth withdrew, only to sloppily pepper themselves along your jaw before settling against your throat. The very image of grace, tarnished with lust; a maiden worth worshiping.

The coil of heat that had remained furled within Aegon began to rapidly pull apart, his pleasure one of such dizzying ecstasy. Hips clashed together, the friction a delicious sensation as a shiver iced your spine, and then his.

“Aegon!” A fever that you couldn’t sweat out, you rode him ceaselessly, ministrations a touch erratic, yet you maintained a steady pace. A whimper of ardor bubbled from your lips as you became invigorated, rocking yourself up and down along his cock, aided by his grasp upon your hips.

Drowning within ecstasy, Aegon knew that he could not cling to restraint any longer, cock throbbing with a persistent ache. His digits gripped you tightly, a choked groan emerging into the hollow between your throat and shoulder.

The lewd, crass union of flesh against flesh joined the ambiance, his hips continuing to buck up into you intermittently. You clung to him as if you were drowning, his lips ravishing your flesh whenever he had a moment to breathe, cock nearly kissing your cervix.

It only took one more roll of your hips for him to fall apart completely, in shambles beneath you, hot ropes of virile seed filling your womb with a wild desperation. The rush of warmth soon flooded your insides, his spend sticky against your nethers.

Aegon saw stars from the intensity of his release, nearly collapsing in the aftermath of it all. Perspiration glistened along his spine, bones nearly turning to molten liquid as you continued to ride him for a few moments more.

Foreheads pressed together, lips soon finding one another, disarmingly gentle as he allowed one palm to cup your cheek. His thumb danced over your jaw, the gesture unusually sweet as your hips began to slow to a mere crawl.

Sheepish, you began to withdraw, a soft moan leaving you as you maneuvered yourself from his lap, a rush of sticky warmth coating your inner thighs. You crawled from bed, dancing over discarded clothing as you sought out something to wear.

Aegon lazily rolled to lay down, amethyst hues trained upon the gilded canopy above, running a hand over his face. He hadn’t expected to come undone as he had, but it was perfect — he hadn’t felt like that in some time.

His gaze soon found you, softening at the sight of you bundled up within his sage tunic, the silk brushing against the top of your thighs. Lust gnawed at his bones, seeing you like that — it only made him covet you in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

“Seven Hells,” Aegon mumbled, tongue darting to wet his lower lip as you slunk forward, his stare half-lidded as he shamelessly admired you. “Must I take you again, looking like that?” He murmured, noticing the way you became smitten so very quickly.

“Should I remove it?” Afraid that you had misstepped, you nearly reached for your shift until he shook his head, waving you over. Your features burned, pleasantly warm as you crawled back into bed with him, curling into his side.

“I would often say yes,” His voice was remarkably smooth, lacking the initial torment and despair from before, instilled with a subdued joy. “Not this time. Come here.” Inviting you to lay with him, you turned, chin perched against his shoulder.

His hand circled around you, fingers trailing along your spine as he drew the sheets around you both, reveling in the feeling of your form pressed to his. In the blissful afterglow, you remained quiet for a moment, palm placed atop his chest.

A lump formed within his throat as he contemplated this, being with you — he had not felt so at-ease in what seemed like forever. You had made him feel so comfortable, vulnerable in a way that he both craved and detested, but perhaps it was for the best.

Perhaps, you would draw out the best in him, allow him to atone for past mistakes, even if he felt like it was all too late. Firelight danced throughout your chambers, beginning to wane as embers replaced roaring flames, the room ambient with even breaths and steady hearts.

“Aegon?”

As your sweet cadence cut through his lament, he looked to you, head cocking to one side. “Hm?” Admittedly, he could fall asleep now if it weren’t for your presence, mauve hues absorbing the beauty of your smiling countenance.

People rarely afforded him a smile, let alone the doting look you gave him — and he melted, collapsed within the tenderness of it all. Again, he swallowed, attempting to force the swell of emotion down his throat.

“I think we will be happy together, you and I.” He knew you meant it — knew your sincerity, genuineness spilling from each syllable. You weren’t expecting him to answer, allowing your head to rest neatly against his chest, and he held you closer.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, true happiness had tugged at his heart.

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