Hiiiii I love your writing so much❤️
I’d love it if you could something with JJ Maybank and enemies to lovers with pogue reader or friends to lovers with lots of sexual tension and some super jealous JJ!!🩷🩷
a/n: hii, sorry it took too long, I hope you like this version of friends to lovers. Again I just don't know how to name this.
The humidity in the marsh was suffocating, the kind of heavy, wet heat that clung to your skin like a second layer of clothing and made every breath feel like inhaling hot steam. It was late July in the Outer Banks, and the Chateau was, as usual, a chaotic refuge of unwashed laundry, half-empty beer cans, and the low, rhythmic hum of cicadas screaming from the live oaks outside.
JJ Maybank was out on the porch, his calloused thumbs mindlessly flicking the wheel of his lighter, watching the spark catch and die, over and over again. His blonde hair was damp from a surf session earlier that afternoon, curling wildly around his neck. He was restless. He was always restless, but lately, a strange, prickling tension had been settling deep in his bones, an itch he couldn’t scratch.
It had everything to do with you.
You had been living at the Chateau for the last three months, ever since your rent got jacked up on the Cut and John B had shrugged, pointing to the empty pull-out couch in the screened-in porch before you eventually migrated into the small, cluttered spare room down the short hallway. You were a Pogue by blood and by circumstance, a permanent fixture in their tight-knit circle. And for JJ, you had slowly, agonizingly, become the center of gravity.
He hadn’t admitted it to anyone—not to John B, definitely not to Pope or Kiara, and least of all to you. But every time you laughed at his stupid jokes, every time you let him lean his heavy head against your shoulder on the late-night boat rides back from Masonboro, he felt it. A suffocating, desperate need to just *be* yours. He wanted to pull you into his lap and never let you go. He wanted to trace the tan lines on your shoulders and kiss you until you both forgot the Cut, the Kooks, and the absolute mess of their lives.
But JJ was a coward when it came to things that actually mattered. He was brave enough to stare down a gun barrel or jump off a cliff, but telling you how he felt? That felt like stepping onto a landmine. So, he waited. He flirted, he protected you, he lingered too long in your space, thinking he had all the time in the world.
The lighter clicked one last time before JJ tucked it into his pocket, sighing heavily. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the marsh in a bruised purple twilight. John B and Sarah were over at Figure Eight for dinner with her sister, Pope was working a late shift with his dad, and Kie was at the Wreck. He figured it was just the two of you tonight. He’d grabbed a couple of cold boarding passes—his nickname for cheap beers—from the fridge and was heading down the narrow hallway to see if you wanted to sit on the dock and watch the heat lightning in the distance.
As he neared your door, he stopped.
The door wasn’t completely shut. It was cracked open just an inch, a sliver of warm yellow light spilling onto the warped wooden floorboards of the hallway. JJ lifted his hand to knock, his knuckles hovering an inch from the wood, when he heard it.
A gasp. Sharp, breathless, and undeniably yours.
JJ’s hand froze in mid-air. His chest tightened instantly, a sudden, violent spike of adrenaline surging through his veins. He didn’t mean to listen. Every logical, respectful part of his brain told him to turn around, to walk back to the porch, to run down to the dock and dive into the dark water until his ears rang.
But his feet were glued to the floor.
"Wait, wait," your voice came out as a strained, breathless giggle, muffled by something—or someone. "John B could come back. Or JJ..."
"They're gone for hours, babe. Relax."
The guy's voice was a low, confident rumble. JJ’s heart didn’t just drop; it felt like it shattered into jagged pieces right inside his ribs. He knew that voice. It was Ethan.
Ethan was a local guy from the Cut who worked at the boatyard down the creek. He wasn't a Kook, but he wasn't a core Pogue either. He was just... there. A guy with broad shoulders, dark hair, a clean truck, and an easy smile that JJ had never quite trusted. Ethan had started hanging around the marsh docks a few weeks ago under the guise of helping Pope fix an old outboard motor.
JJ hadn’t thought anything of it. Now, the realization hit him like a physical blow to the sternum.
Through the crack in the door, a low, guttural groan echoed out, followed by the unmistakable, rhythmic creaking of the old mattress springs.
JJ’s eyes widened, his vision tunneling. He shouldn't look. He *couldn't* look. But through the tiny sliver of space, his eyes betrayed him. He saw the tangled mess of your sheets thrown over the edge of the bed. He saw Ethan’s broad, sun-darkened back, his muscles flexing and straining as he leaned over you, his hands gripping your hips.
"Ethan—" your voice broke into a high, needy whimper, a sound JJ had never heard leave your lips before. It was a sound that belonged in his wildest, most private dreams, but here it was, being dragged out of you by someone else.
"Yeah? Right there?" Ethan muttered, his voice thick with friction and heat.
You didn't answer with words. You just let out a soft, shattered cry, your fingers digging into the skin of Ethan's shoulders. JJ watched, paralyzed with a sickening mixture of white-hot jealousy, profound betrayal, and a deep, agonizing ache. He saw the way Ethan leaned down, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his mouth moving aggressively against your skin—the exact spot JJ had stared at a thousand times, imagining what it would taste like, wondering if it would smell like salt and vanilla.
The mattress creaked louder, a steady, torturous rhythm that seemed to synchronize with the agonizing thumping of JJ’s heart. He could hear the wet, heavy sounds of their bodies colliding, the heat radiating from the room so thick he could almost taste it. You threw your head back against the pillow, your eyes closed tightly, a flush spreading across your cheeks and down your chest. You looked beautiful. You looked utterly consumed.
And you were completely, entirely with someone else.
"Shh, you're gonna wake the whole marsh," Ethan teased, a smug, breathless chuckle in his voice as he shifted, driving deeper.
"Shut up," you gasped out, pulling him down by the back of his neck to smother your own moan against his lips.
That was the breaking point. Watching Ethan kiss you—watching his mouth slide over yours, tasting the breath right out of your lungs while his body moved inside of yours—turned something toxic inside of JJ. A wave of profound nausea hit him, closely followed by a blind, destructive rage. His grip on the two beer bottles tightened so hard his knuckles turned ghostly white. He wanted to kick the door off its hinges. He wanted to drag Ethan out of that bed by his hair and beat him until his face was unrecognizable. He wanted to scream at you, to ask you how you could do this, how you could let someone else touch you when he was right here, dying for you every single day.
But he had no right. He had never said a word.
With a ragged, silent breath that felt like swallowing glass, JJ stepped backward. He moved like a ghost, his bare feet making no sound on the floorboards as he retreated down the hallway, away from the rhythmic creaking, away from your soft, undone whimpers, away from the reality that just broke him.
He slammed the screen door on his way out—not enough to make them think someone was inside spying, but enough to let the world know he was there. He stormed down the dock, his chest heaving. With a violent swing of his arm, he hurled both unopened beer bottles far out into the marsh. They hit the dark water with two heavy, echoing *splashes*, disappearing into the muck below.
JJ sank onto the edge of the dock, burying his face in his hands. He didn't cry—JJ Maybank didn't know how to do that without turning it into a fight—but his breath came in jagged, trembling gasps. The image of Ethan’s hands on your skin was burned into his retinas, a brand that he knew would never, ever fade.
The next morning arrived with a brutal, unforgiving glare. The sun broke over the water, turning the Chateau into an oven by 8:00 AM.
JJ hadn't slept a wink. He had spent the night staring at the ceiling of his own room, his mind replaying the sounds and sights from down the hall on an endless, torturous loop. Every time he closed his eyes, he heard your breath catch. He felt sick, his stomach churning with an acidic mix of anger and exhaustion.
When he finally dragged himself out to the kitchen, the worst-case scenario was already waiting for him.
You were standing by the stove, making coffee, wearing an oversized t-shirt that JJ knew didn't belong to John B or Pope. It was too big, a faded charcoal gray. Ethan's shirt.
And there Ethan was, sitting at the cluttered kitchen table, looking perfectly at home in a pair of gray sweatpants, his dark hair messy from sleep. He was scrolling on his phone, but when you set a mug of coffee down in front of him, he looked up, smiled, and caught your hand. He pulled you down effortlessly, planting a soft, lingering kiss right on your lips.
JJ froze in the doorway, his hand gripping the wooden frame so tightly a splinter sliced into his palm. He didn't even flinch at the pain; it was nothing compared to the white-hot spike in his chest.
"Morning, Jage," you said, pulling away from Ethan with a bright, cheerful smile as you noticed him. You looked glowing, rested, and completely oblivious to the wreckage standing in front of you. "There's coffee left if you want it."
JJ’s eyes locked onto your neck. There, just beneath your jawline, was a faint, purple-red mark. A hickey. Ethan’s mark.
A dark, dangerous heat flared in JJ's gut. He forced his face into a cold, unbothered mask, though his blue eyes were icy. "Nah. I'm good," he said, his voice rougher and deeper than usual from the lack of sleep.
Ethan looked up, giving JJ a casual nod. "Hey, man. Heard you come in late last night. Sorry if we were keeping you up." There was a subtle, knowing glint in Ethan's eyes—not necessarily malicious, but the casual confidence of a guy who knew he was getting exactly what he wanted.
JJ walked over to the fridge, ignoring Ethan entirely. He grabbed a jug of cold water and drank straight from it, his throat working hard. "Didn't hear a thing," JJ lied smoothly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he slammed the fridge door shut. "I sleep like the dead."
"Right," Ethan said, turning back to you. He reached out, his hand sliding casually over the bare skin of your thigh beneath the oversized shirt, his thumb tracing a slow circle. "Hey, babe, what time do you want to head down to the boatyard later?"
*Babe.* The word made JJ's jaw clench so hard his teeth clicked. He watched Ethan's hand on your thigh. It was an casual, possessive gesture, the kind of touch that said *this is mine*. JJ wanted to chop his hand off. He wanted to rip you away from him, to slide his own hands over your skin and erase every trace of this guy.
"Probably around one," you replied softly, leaning against the counter, your eyes fixed on Ethan with a softness that completely destroyed JJ. You looked happy. You looked loved.
"Cool. I gotta get changed, then," Ethan muttered, standing up. He slid his hands around your waist, pulling you against his chest right there in the middle of the Chateau kitchen. He leaned down, kissing you again, a deeper, slower kiss that made you let out a tiny sigh.
JJ stood less than five feet away, completely trapped. He couldn't look away, his eyes glued to the sight of Ethan’s mouth moving against yours, watching your eyelids flutter shut. It was a physical torture. Every single thing JJ had spent months dreaming about—the slow mornings, the casual kisses, the right to hold you like you were the only thing that mattered—was happening right in front of him, given to a guy who hadn't even had to fight for it.
When Ethan finally let you go with a playful slap to your hip, he walked past JJ, clapping him on the shoulder. "See ya later, Maybank."
JJ didn't move. He didn't look at Ethan. The moment the front screen door banged shut behind the guy, the silence in the kitchen became deafening.
"So," JJ started, his voice dripping with a casual, venomous sarcasm he couldn't quite control. He walked over to the table, tossing a stray lighter from one hand to the other. "Ethan, huh? Didn't know you were into the boatyard boys."
You blinked, surprised by his tone. You turned around, wiping down the counter, a slight defensive edge creeping into your voice. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing," JJ scoffed, a bitter, humorless smile cutting across his face. He leaned against the table, crossing his arms over his chest. "Just didn't think he was your type. A bit generic, don't you think? Big truck, backward hat, thinks he owns the place because he can change an oil filter."
Your brow furrowed, your expression hardening. "JJ, don't be a dick. Ethan is really sweet. We've been seeing each other for a couple of weeks."
"A couple of weeks?" JJ's voice rose, a dangerous spark igniting in his eyes. He stepped closer to you, his posture aggressive, driven by the raw, festering pain in his chest. "And you didn't think to mention it? Just decided to bring him into the house, tearing up the sheets down the hall?"
You flushed crimson, your jaw dropping slightly. "Excuse me? What I do in my room is none of your business. And since when do I need your permission to date someone?"
"You don't need my permission," JJ snapped, stepping directly into your space. He was taller than you, shadowing you against the counter, his breathing shallow. He could smell your shampoo, could see the tiny freckles on your nose, and the absolute proximity of you was making him lose his mind. "But this is the Chateau. We don't just bring random imports in here to play house."
"He's not a random import! I like him, JJ!" you yelled back, stepping forward so your chest almost brushed his. "Why are you being like this? You've been acting like an asshole since you walked in here. If you're pissed because you didn't get any sleep, that's your problem, not mine!"
*I didn't get any sleep because I was listening to him make you scream,* JJ wanted to roar. The words pressed against the back of his teeth, hot and volatile. He wanted to grab you by the arms and shake you. He wanted to mouth the words against your lips until you understood that Ethan didn't love you, couldn't love you, not the way he did.
Instead, JJ let out a harsh, mocking laugh. He leaned down, his face inches from yours, his eyes drilling into yours with a terrifying intensity. "Yeah. Whatever. Enjoy your little boyfriend. Just tell him to keep his hands to himself when I'm around, because frankly, it's pathetic."
Before you could lash back, JJ turned on his heel and stormed out of the kitchen, kicking a stray plastic chair out of his way so hard it shattered against the wall. The screen door slammed shut behind him, a loud, violent exclamation point to his fury.
The days that followed turned into a prolonged, agonizing form of psychological warfare.
Because Ethan was helping Pope with the boat, and because he was now officially your boyfriend, he was at the Chateau *every single day*. He became a permanent fixture on the porch, on the dock, at the bonfire pit. And JJ couldn't escape him.
Everywhere JJ looked, there Ethan was.
If they were out on the HMS *Pogue*, drifting down the cut, Ethan would be sitting on the bench with you tucked between his legs. JJ would be stuck at the bow, steering the boat, his knuckles white on the wheel, forced to look back through the windshield and see Ethan’s chin resting on the top of your head. He had to watch Ethan reach down and adjust your bikini strap when it slipped, his fingers lingering on your sun-kissed skin. JJ would feel a physical sickness rise in his throat, a burning rage that made him want to crash the boat into the nearest sandbar just to ruin the moment.
One evening, the crew was gathered around the fire pit behind the Chateau. The sun had set, and the only light came from the dancing orange flames, casting long, flickering shadows across the grass. John B and Sarah were sharing a lawn chair, Pope and Kie were arguing over music, and you were sitting on a blanket on the ground.
Ethan was sitting right behind you, his legs spread wide so you could lean your back against his chest.
JJ sat across from you on an overturned crate, a cold beer dangling from his fingers. He hadn't spoken more than three words all night. His eyes were dark, fixated on the way Ethan's large hands were tracing patterns on your bare arms. You looked completely relaxed, tilting your head back to whisper something in Ethan's ear. Ethan chuckled, leaning down to plant a soft, biting kiss on your shoulder.
You let out a low, content sigh, shifting closer to him.
JJ swallowed a mouthful of beer, but it tasted like ash. His chest throbbed with a pain so acute he could barely breathe. That was supposed to be him. It should have been his chest you were leaning against. It should have been his hands keeping you warm in the cool evening breeze. He knew every line of your face, knew how you took your coffee, knew the exact pitch of your laugh when you were genuinely happy. Ethan didn't know anything. He just knew how to take what he wanted.
"Hey, JJ," John B called out, breaking the silence. "You good, man? You've been staring into space for an hour."
JJ snapped his gaze to John B, forcing a lazy, crooked smirk onto his face. "Yeah, man. Just thinking about heading into town later. See what's shaking at the boneyard."
"Don't get into a fight," Kie sighed, shaking her head.
"Me? Fight? Never, Harvey," JJ joked smoothly, though his eyes slid right back to you.
You were looking at him now. The anger from your kitchen argument had faded into a tense, confused awkwardness. You hated that things were weird between you and JJ. You missed your best friend. You gave him a small, tentative smile across the fire, a silent peace offering.
JJ’s heart squeezed. For a split second, the anger melted, leaving only the raw, bleeding truth of how much he loved you. He wanted to smile back. He wanted to tell you he was sorry.
But then Ethan shifted. He slid his hand down from your arm, his fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, his thumb caressing the bare skin of your hip in a deeply intimate, casual display of ownership.
The jealousy rushed back into JJ’s veins like lighter fluid on an open flame. His expression instantly went cold. He broke eye contact with you, looking down at his beer, his jaw locked tight. He saw your smile falter out of the corner of his eye, your shoulders tensing up. Good. Let it be weird. Let it be miserable. Because he was living in a living hell, and he refused to make it easy for you to ignore.
The breaking point arrived a week later.
A massive summer storm had rolled in, turning the sky a violent, bruised charcoal and dumping sheets of torrential rain over the island. The wind was howling through the live oaks, throwing branches against the tin roof of the Chateau with loud, echoing cracks.
John B, Sarah, Pope, and Kie were trapped over at the structures on Figure Eight, unable to cross the bridge before the county closed it due to localized flooding. It was just you, Ethan, and JJ at the Chateau.
JJ had spent the afternoon in his room, cleaning his gun, pacing the floor, listening to the rain beat a frantic rhythm against his window. The house felt small, suffocatingly tight. He could hear the low murmur of your voice from the living room, followed by Ethan’s deeper tones. They were watching a movie, or trying to.
Around 9:00 PM, the power flickered twice, then died completely, plunging the house into absolute darkness.
JJ cursed under his breath, tossing his cleaning rag aside. He grabbed a heavy flashlight from his nightstand, clicked it on, and walked out into the living room.
The beam of his flashlight cut through the darkness, illuminating the living room couch. You and Ethan were wrapped in a thick blanket. Ethan had his arm tightly around your shoulders, pulling you close to shield you from the sudden chill that the storm had brought into the house.
"Power's out," JJ stated flatly, his flashlight beam lingering on Ethan’s face for a second too long before he dropped it to the floor.
"Yeah, we noticed," Ethan said, a bit annoyed by the bright light. "You got any candles, Maybank?"
"Kitchen counter. In the drawer," JJ replied shortly. He walked into the kitchen, his flashlight guiding the way. He heard Ethan stand up and follow him.
The kitchen was pitch black save for the beam of JJ's light. JJ was rifling through a drawer, pulling out a couple of half-burned emergency candles and a pack of matches. He set them on the counter with a loud *thud*.
"Thanks," Ethan said, reaching for the matches.
JJ didn't let go of the box. He kept his hand flat over it, his eyes lifting to meet Ethan's in the dim, flickering light of the flashlight bouncing off the ceiling. The tension that had been building for weeks was suddenly compressed into the small, dark space of the kitchen.
Ethan paused, his brow furrowing. He pulled his hand back, a slow, challenging smile spreading across his face. "You got a problem with me, Maybank? Because I'm getting pretty tired of the tough-guy act."
JJ stood up straight, his chest expanding. The flashlight in his hand cast long, villainous shadows across his face. "I don't have an act, Ethan. I just don't like trash cluttering up the house."
Ethan's smile dropped, his eyes narrowing. He stepped closer, matching JJ's height. "Trash? Is that what you think I am? Or are you just pissed because I'm the one sleeping in her bed every night?"
The words hit JJ like a physical strike. His vision went red. The memory of that night—the sounds, the sights, the agonizing reality of Ethan touching you—exploded in his mind.
"What did you say?" JJ's voice dropped to a lethal, quiet whisper.
"You heard me," Ethan scoffed, stepping right into JJ's face, his confidence turning ugly. "You think you're slick, but everybody sees it. You watch her like a dog waiting for scraps. You've been pinning after her for months, and you didn't have the balls to do anything about it. So don't get mad at me because I actually know how to handle a girl like her."
*Handle a girl like her.*
That was it. The thread snapped.
JJ didn't think. He didn't plan. He dropped the flashlight, and in the sudden, near-total darkness, his fist flew forward. The sound of his knuckles connecting with Ethan's jaw was a sharp, sickening *crack*.
Ethan stumbled backward, his boots skidding on the linoleum, crashing into the kitchen table with a loud, splintering screech.
"JJ! Ethan!" your voice screamed from the living room. A second later, the weak light of your phone screen illuminated the doorway. You rushed in, your eyes wide with horror as you saw Ethan holding his jaw, a line of dark blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" you screamed at JJ, rushing to Ethan's side. You caught Ethan by the arm, helping him steady himself. "Are you insane?!"
JJ was standing in the center of the kitchen, his fists clenched, his chest heaving like a wild animal. His knuckles were bleeding, throbbing with a dull, satisfying pain. He didn't look at Ethan; his eyes were locked on you, on the way you were holding Ethan, on the terror and anger in your expression.
"Get him out of here," JJ breathed, his voice trembling with a terrifying, raw emotion. "Get him out of this house before I kill him."
"This is my house too!" you yelled back, tears of anger and shock welling in your eyes. "You don't get to dictate who is here! You just attacked him for no reason!"
"No reason?!" JJ roared, taking a violent step forward, making you flinch. "You think I did this for no reason? He's a smug, disrespectful piece of shit who doesn't care about you! He’s using you, and you’re too blind to see it!"
"He's not using me! He treats me better than you ever have!" you screamed, the words flying out of your mouth before you could think.
The kitchen went deathly quiet, save for the howling wind outside.
The words struck JJ right in the center of his chest, a lethal blow that took the air completely out of his lungs. He stumbled back a half-step, his face draining of all color. His clenched fists slowly loosened, his arms dropping to his sides. He looked at you, his blue eyes suddenly wide, shattered, and completely stripped of all his anger.
He looked like a little boy who had just been abandoned in the dark.
"Is that what you think?" JJ's voice was barely a whisper, a broken, fragile sound that cut through the storm louder than any shout.
You saw the immediate shift in him, saw the profound, devastating hurt in his eyes, and a sudden wave of regret flooded your gut. "JJ... I didn't mean—"
"Forget it," Ethan spat, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked at JJ with pure hatred, then turned to you. "I'm leaving. I'm not staying in this psycho ward with him."
"Ethan, wait, the storm—" you tried to protest, but Ethan was already moving. He grabbed his keys from the counter, stormed through the living room, and slammed the heavy front door behind him, leaving the Chateau in a heavy, suffocating silence.
You stood in the darkness of the kitchen, the weak light of your phone illuminating the space between you and JJ. He hadn't moved. He was staring at the floorboards, his shoulders slumped, his chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged breaths.
"JJ," you said softly, taking a step toward him. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. You're my best friend, you've always protected me, I just... I don't understand why you hate him so much. I don't understand why you're being so cruel to me."
JJ let out a low, broken sound—a mix between a laugh and a sob. He slowly lifted his head, and when the light from your phone caught his face, you saw the tears shining in his eyes. JJ Maybank was crying. It was a sight that made your heart completely halt in your chest.
"Cruel to you?" JJ whispered, his voice cracking. He took a slow, agonizing step toward you, closing the distance until he was standing right in front of you. "You think I'm being cruel to you?"
"I heard you," he whispered, the truth finally ripping out of him like a bleeding organ. "Two weeks ago. In your room. I was coming down the hall to see if you wanted a beer. The door was open."
Your breath hitched, your blood turning to ice. Your phone trembled in your hand. "What?"
"I heard everything," JJ said, a tear finally escaping and racing down his sun-darkened cheek. His voice was thick with an old, festering agony. "I heard what he was making you say. I saw him. I saw his hands on you. I saw him kissing you."
You stared at him, completely paralyzed, the realization crashing over you like a tidal wave.
"Do you have any idea what that did to me?" JJ asked, his voice rising, thick with a desperation that broke your heart. He reached out, his hands trembling as he grabbed the collar of your shirt—Ethan's shirt—before instantly dropping them, as if the fabric burned him. "Every single day, I have to sit here and watch him touch you. I have to watch him kiss your mouth. I have to see him slide his hands over your skin, wearing his clothes, looking at you like he owns you."
"Because I didn't tell you!" JJ shouted, a fresh wave of tears spilling over. He slammed his hand against his own chest, right over his heart. "Because I'm a coward! Because I've been in love with you for a year, and I was too terrified of ruining what we had to say anything! I thought I had time. I thought... I thought eventually you'd see me. Truly see me."
You couldn't breathe. The kitchen seemed to tilt on its axis. *JJ was in love with you.* Not as a friend, not as a Pogue, but with a consuming, desperate passion that was currently tearing him apart right in front of your eyes.
"And then he shows up," JJ whispered, his voice dropping into a broken, breathless sob. He stepped so close you could feel the heat radiating from his chest, could feel the frantic, erratic beating of his heart. "And he gets everything. He gets to hold you when you're cold. He gets to see you smile first thing in the morning. He gets to make those sounds out of you... the sounds I’ve been dying to hear since the day you moved in here."
"JJ..." your own tears were falling now, hot and fast down your cheeks. You dropped your phone onto the counter, the light casting long shadows across the ceiling as you reached out, your hands trembling as you placed them against his chest. His heart was hammering against your palms like a trapped bird. "I didn't know. Oh my god, JJ, I didn't know."
"Every time he kisses you," JJ whispered, his forehead dropping down to rest against yours, his breath hot against your lips. He was shaking, completely undone, all his armor stripped away until there was nothing left but raw, bleeding honesty. "Every single time, it feels like someone is ripping a knife through my chest. I have to look away. I have to walk out of the room because if I don't, I feel like I'm going to literally burn alive."
Your heart shattered into a million pieces. You looked at him—at his beautiful, broken face, at the raw devotion and agonizing pain in his blue eyes. You thought about Ethan. You liked Ethan. He was safe, he was nice, he was a distraction from the confusing, unacknowledged feelings you had been burying deep in your own chest for JJ for months. You had started dating Ethan because JJ was always so distant, always pulling away, always playing the unbothered, reckless Pogue. You thought JJ didn't see you that way.
"JJ," you whispered, your fingers sliding up his chest, wrapping around the back of his neck, pulling him down just an inch closer. "Look at me."
JJ opened his eyes, his gaze swimming with tears, completely vulnerable.
"I'm sorry," you breathed, your lips brushing against his as you spoke. "I am so, so sorry."
"Don't go back to him," JJ pleaded, his voice a broken, desperate prayer against your mouth. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you against his body with a sudden, fierce possessiveness that made your core ache. He held you so tightly it almost hurt, his fingers digging into your back. "Please. I can't do it anymore. I'll do whatever you want. I'll be whoever you want. Just... please don't let him touch you again."
You didn't answer with words. You couldn't.
You slid your hands into his damp blonde hair and pulled his mouth down to yours.
The kiss wasn't gentle. It was an explosion of months of suppressed hunger, agony, jealousy, and unspoken love. JJ let out a low, ragged groan into your mouth, a sound of pure, unadulterated relief, and gripped you tighter. He turned you around in the dark kitchen, pressing your back firmly against the counter, his body pinning you there as his mouth devoured yours.
It was entirely different from Ethan. Ethan’s kisses were confident and casual. JJ’s kiss was a matter of survival. He kissed you like he was drowning and you were the only air left in the world. His tongue slid into your mouth, deep and demanding, tasting the salt of your tears and the sweetness of your breath.
JJ’s hands slid down your back, lifting you effortlessly up onto the kitchen counter. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into your space. He let out a harsh, breathless sound, his hands sliding up beneath the oversized charcoal shirt, his calloused palms finally, *finally* making contact with your bare skin.
The feel of his hands on your hips made you gasp, a sharp, needy sound that echoed through the dark kitchen. JJ froze for a fraction of a second against your lips, a low, dark growl vibrating in his chest as he heard that sound—the sound he had dreamed of—finally directed at him.
He broke the kiss, his mouth sliding down your jawline, his breathing frantic. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his lips pressing aggressively against your skin, right over the faded mark Ethan had left. JJ bit down softly, a possessive, marking gesture that made you arch your back, your fingers digging into his shoulders.
"Mine," JJ muttered against your skin, his voice rough, dark, and thick with an intense, unyielding jealousy. "Tell me you're mine. Not his. Never his again."
"Yours," you gasped out, your head throwing back against the dark kitchen cabinets as his mouth moved lower, tracing the line of your collarbone. "I'm yours, JJ. Always."
Hearing those words, JJ lifted his head. In the dim, ambient light of the phone screen, his eyes were no longer broken. They were burning with a fierce, protective, and consuming fire. He cupped your face in his rough hands, his thumbs wiping away your tears before he leaned down, kissing you again with a slow, deep reverence that promised he would never, ever let you go.
The storm continued to rage outside the Chateau, the rain thrashing against the windows and the wind howling through the trees. But inside the dark kitchen, the agonizing cold that had settled into JJ’s bones for weeks was finally, completely gone, replaced by the white-hot, healing fire of your skin against his.
