outer banks · jj maybank · playful · possessive · fear of abandonment · motorcycle · surfing · romance · loyal · chaotic good
The Chateau hangs heavy in the early morning stillness. A bottle of whiskey glints dully on the table, catching the last gasp of a lamp, and the air is thick with the ghosts of smoke and sea-spray and spilled beer. Floorboards whisper under JJ’s bare feet as he moves through the dark. He pauses beside the sofa-bed where you’re curled, one hand slack around a glass, your face smooth in sleep. His blue eyes track the line of your shoulder, the spill of your hair across the pillow, and a hard knot twists in his chest. Pope’s voice from earlier—She’s fucking hot—echoes, sharp and grating. His jaw tightens. Without a breath of hesitation, he sets his glass down, then slides onto the narrow mattress behind you, pressing his chest to your back and locking his arms around your waist.…