paperwaves

JJ doesn’t sleep.

Not even close.

He tries—leans back in the chair, head tipped against the wall, eyes shut like that’ll somehow shut his brain up too—but it’s useless. Every time he gets even close to drifting off, your voice cuts through it.

I love you.

Over and over. Different tones. Different meanings. None of them easier than the last.

He lets out a quiet, frustrated laugh, dragging both hands down his face. “Yeah, great,” he mutters to himself. “This is great. Fantastic, actually.”

You shift on the bed behind him, soft fabric rustling, and he immediately stills.

For a second, he thinks you’re awake—that you’ll sit up and say it again, sober this time, real this time—and he doesn’t know if that thought makes his chest feel lighter or ten times worse.

But you don’t wake up.

Just a small sigh, your hand slipping off the blanket, fingers curling like you’re reaching for something that isn’t there.

Him.

JJ notices before he can stop himself.

“Don’t,” he whispers, like he’s warning his own brain more than anything. Like if he names it, he can shut it down.

He pushes himself out of the chair, pacing the small room like it’s suddenly too tight, too full of everything he’s trying not to feel.

“You were drunk,” he says under his breath. “You didn’t mean it.”

That should settle it. It’s logical. Easy.

Except it doesn’t stick.

Because it wasn’t loud. It wasn’t sloppy. It wasn’t some thrown-around, end-of-the-night confession like everything else tonight.

It was quiet.

Soft.

Like you’d been holding it in.

JJ stops pacing.

“Doesn’t matter,” he snaps to himself, jaw tightening. “Still drunk.”

He grabs a random shirt off the floor, twisting it between his hands like he needs something to ground him. Anything.

But then his mind shifts—traitorous, relentless.

All the little things.

The way you always find him in a crowd without even trying. The way you sit a little too close, like it’s natural, like it’s nothing. The way you say his name—never just “JJ,” always something softer underneath it.

The way you look at him when you think he’s not paying attention.

“Stop,” he mutters again, sharper this time.

Because that’s dangerous territory. That’s the kind of thinking that gets people hurt. That gets him hurt.

He glances back at you.

You’re curled slightly on your side now, blanket half-kicked off, hair a mess across the pillow. Completely unaware of the absolute chaos you just dropped into his life.

And for a second—just a second—his expression softens.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Of course you’d do that.”

Fall asleep right after. Leave him alone with it.

His chest tightens again, but this time it’s different. Less panic, more something heavier. Something he recognizes a little too well.

JJ exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair as he leans against the wall.

Because here’s the problem.

If you didn’t mean it… he can pretend this never happened. Easy. Brush it off. Tease you about getting wasted, make it a joke, bury it like everything else.

But if you did mean it—

He lets out a sharp breath, shaking his head.

“No,” he says immediately. “Not happening.”

Because that means something real. Something he can’t screw up, can’t outrun, can’t treat like a game.

And JJ Maybank doesn’t do real. Not like that.

Not with you.

Another glance at the bed.

You mumble something in your sleep again, barely audible—but he hears his name in it, clear as anything.

That does it.

JJ huffs out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh, dropping his head back against the wall.

“Yeah,” he mutters, voice rough. “I’m screwed.”

Because somewhere between the parties, the fights, the stupid jokes, and the way you always choose him—

He’s already there.

Already too deep.

Already in love with you, whether he wants to admit it or not.

And now?

Now you said it first.

Drunk or not… it’s out there.

And he has no idea what the hell he’s supposed to do with that

.

jj x fem reader, fem reader is super drunk and confesses her love to jj

The bonfire had burned low by the time JJ realized you were gone.

Not gone gone—just… missing from his orbit, which somehow felt worse. One second you were beside him, laughing too loud at Pope’s terrible joke, fingers brushing his wrist like it didn’t mean anything. The next, just noise. Too many bodies. Too many red cups. No you.

He found you near the shoreline.

Your shoes were abandoned somewhere behind you, feet buried in the cool sand, swaying dangerously as the tide crept in. A half-empty bottle dangled from your fingers, and when you tipped it back, most of it missed your mouth entirely.

“Jesus, Y/N,” JJ muttered, jogging over.

You turned at the sound of his voice, face lighting up in that way that always hit him harder than he liked to admit. “J!” you slurred, like he was the best thing you’d seen all night.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s me.” He plucked the bottle from your hand before you could protest. “How much have you had?”

You squinted at him, thinking way too hard. “Enough,” you decided proudly.

“Clearly.” He glanced at the waves, then back at you. “C’mon. You’re done.”

You pouted immediately. “I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh. You’re about two seconds from faceplanting into the Atlantic.”

“I would look hot doing it,” you argued, swaying closer to him like gravity had a personal vendetta.

JJ caught you before you tipped forward, hands firm on your arms. For a second, you just stared at him—really stared—and something in his chest tightened.

“Okay,” he said quickly, clearing his throat. “We’re going back to the Chateau.”

“Nooo,” you whined, dragging out the word as you leaned your full weight against him. “Party’s just getting good.”

“You can barely stand.”

“I can too—” You took one step, immediately tripped over nothing, and ended up clutching his shirt.

JJ exhaled sharply. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

Before you could argue again, he bent slightly and hooked an arm under your knees, lifting you like it was the most natural thing in the world. You let out a surprised laugh, arms looping loosely around his neck.

“JJ!” you giggled. “You’re stealing me.”

“Saving you,” he corrected. “Big difference.”

The walk back to the Chateau was quiet except for the distant echo of music and your soft, uneven breathing against his shoulder. You smelled like salt and cheap alcohol and something unmistakably you, and JJ hated how much he noticed.

“You’re warm,” you murmured, pressing your cheek against his neck.

“Yeah, well. You’re freezing.” He adjusted his grip, trying not to think about how easily you fit there.

A few steps later, you spoke again—quieter this time. “You always take care of me.”

JJ swallowed. “Someone’s gotta.”

“No,” you insisted, lifting your head just enough to look at him. Your eyes were glassy, unfocused, but there was something real underneath it. “You do. It’s always you.”

He didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

Your fingers traced clumsy patterns along the back of his neck, and his jaw tightened. “You’re my favorite person,” you added softly.

“Yeah?” he said, forcing a half-smile. “That the alcohol talking?”

You shook your head, a small, stubborn motion. “No. It’s me.”

He stepped up onto the porch of the Chateau, pushing the door open with his shoulder. The place was empty, thankfully—everyone still at the party. He carried you inside, straight to his room, setting you down carefully on the edge of the bed.

You didn’t let go.

Your hands stayed fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer when he tried to step back. “Stay,” you mumbled.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, softer now. “Just—lemme get you some water or something.”

“No.” Your grip tightened. “Stay.”

JJ hesitated, then sighed, sitting beside you. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

You smiled like that was the best compliment you’d ever gotten.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the distant crash of waves and your uneven breathing as you leaned into him.

Then, out of nowhere—quiet but clear enough to cut through everything—you said it.

“I love you.”

JJ froze.

Not a joke. Not playful. Not loud and exaggerated like everything else tonight. Just… simple. Honest.

“I love you,” you repeated, like it was obvious, like it had always been there waiting to be said.

His chest tightened painfully, heart slamming against his ribs. “Y/N…”

You were already slipping, eyelids heavy, your grip on his shirt loosening as the alcohol pulled you under. “Don’t go,” you whispered one last time.

“I won’t,” he said automatically, even though you were already half-asleep.

He eased you back onto the bed, pulling a blanket over you, tucking it around your shoulders like he needed to make sure you stayed. Safe. Real.

Then he sat there, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it might give him an answer.

Because you were drunk.

You didn’t mean it.

Right?

JJ dragged a hand over his face, letting out a shaky breath. But his chest still felt too full, too tight, like something had been set loose and refused to settle.

Behind him, you shifted in your sleep, murmuring his name.

Everyone kept telling me I was lucky.

The doctors.

The Pogues.

My family.

Even JJ.

Especially JJ.

“You’re here,” he would say.

Like those two words explained everything.

And maybe they did.

Because I was here.

But nobody talked about what happened after.

Nobody talked about the strange feeling of waking up and realizing your life had changed in a single moment.

Nobody talked about how a place that used to feel normal could suddenly feel different.

The road.

The sound of tires.

The feeling of being too close to something you couldn’t control.

I hated that.

I hated feeling afraid of something so ordinary.

Because I wasn’t supposed to be scared.

I was supposed to be fine.

Everyone said I was fine.

JJ noticed before anyone else did.

Of course he did.

He always noticed the things I tried to hide.

“You’re doing it again,” he said one afternoon.

I looked up from the sand.

“Doing what?”

He sat beside me.

“Pretending.”

I rolled my eyes.

“That’s a pretty vague accusation.”

He smiled slightly.

“Yeah, well. I know you.”

And he did.

That was the annoying thing about JJ Maybank.

He could barely keep his own life together sometimes, but somehow he could read me like an open book.

“I’m okay,” I said.

He nodded.

“I know.”

I looked at him, surprised.

Most people would argue.

Most people would say I wasn’t okay.

But JJ just sat there.

“You don’t have to be okay every second.”

The words hit harder than I expected.

Because I had been trying so hard to convince everyone.

That I wasn’t scared.

That I wasn’t shaken.

That I was the same person I had been before.

But maybe I didn’t have to be.

The weirdest part was watching JJ change.

Because everyone expected me to be the one recovering.

But JJ was recovering too.

At first, I didn’t understand it.

I thought he was just being JJ.

Overprotective.

Always checking in.

Always asking if I needed anything.

But then I realized something.

He wasn’t trying to control me.

He was trying to learn how to be there.

There was a difference.

Before, JJ would’ve shown up with a bad joke and pretended everything was fine.

Now?

Now he actually asked.

“How are you feeling?”

And he waited for the real answer.

Not the easy one.

Not the answer people gave when they didn’t want to worry anyone.

The real one.

The Pogues noticed too.

Kiara was the first to say something.

“You know he’s different, right?”

We were sitting on the beach while John B and Pope argued about something completely pointless nearby.

I smiled.

“JJ?”

She nodded.

“Yeah.”

I looked over at him.

He was laughing with John B, but when he noticed me looking, his smile softened.

“He’s trying.”

I nodded.

“He is.”

Kiara smiled.

“Before, JJ would’ve run.”

I looked back at her.

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged.

“When things got scary. When things got real. He would make a joke or start a fight or disappear.”

I watched him for a moment.

“But he didn’t this time.”

“No.”

She smiled.

“He stayed.”

That was the thing I kept thinking about.

JJ stayed.

Even when he was scared.

Even when he blamed himself.

Even when every part of him probably wanted to run from the guilt.

He stayed.

And maybe that was why I stopped being angry.

Not because the accident erased everything.

It didn’t.

We still had things to work through.

We still had moments where we misunderstood each other.

We were still two stubborn people who felt everything way too deeply.

But we were learning.

One night, JJ and I sat outside the Chateau.

The stars were brighter than usual.

Or maybe I was just noticing them more.

“You ever think about how weird life is?” I asked.

JJ looked over.

“Constantly.”

I laughed.

“No, I mean it.”

He smiled.

“I know.”

I looked down at our hands.

“Before everything happened, I thought I knew exactly what I wanted.”

“What changed?”

I looked at him.

“Nothing.”

His eyebrows lifted.

“That’s not what I expected you to say.”

I smiled.

“I still want the same things.”

“Which are?”

I thought about it.

Someone who stays.

Someone who listens.

Someone who chooses me.

“I want people who don’t run when things get hard.”

JJ went quiet.

Then he squeezed my hand.

“I’m working on that.”

I looked at him.

“I know.”

And that was the difference.

Before, I needed him to promise.

Now, I trusted him to try.

A few weeks later, we drove down the same road.

The one neither of us had wanted to go near.

JJ looked over at me.

“You sure?”

I nodded.

“Yeah.”

He didn’t push.

He didn’t tell me I had to.

He just said, “Okay.”

And somehow, that meant everything.

Because healing wasn’t about forgetting.

It wasn’t about pretending nothing happened.

It was about taking back the things that fear tried to steal.

My confidence.

My happiness.

My ability to trust.

And maybe, most importantly…

my ability to keep moving forward.

JJ Maybank wasn’t perfect.

Neither was I.

But we were learning.

We were choosing each other.

Not because we were afraid of losing each other.

The worst part wasn’t the hospital.

It wasn’t the waiting.

It wasn’t even the moment when everything changed.

The worst part was after.

Because everyone expected JJ Maybank to be okay once Y/N was awake.

They thought the panic would disappear.

They thought once she opened her eyes, he could finally breathe again.

But JJ had learned something about fear.

Sometimes, it didn’t leave when the danger did.

Sometimes, it followed you home.

The first night Y/N was back at the Chateau, JJ barely slept.

Not because he didn’t want to.

Because every time he closed his eyes, his brain replayed the same moment.

The argument.

Her walking away.

His voice calling her name.

The horrible feeling that he was too late.

He sat up suddenly, breathing hard.

For a second, he forgot where he was.

Then he looked over.

Y/N was asleep beside him.

Safe.

Here.

His chest loosened slightly.

He reached out, but stopped before touching her.

Because what if he woke her?

What if she needed space?

What if he was still the person who made everything harder?

JJ stared at the ceiling.

He hated that his brain worked this way.

He hated that even when something good happened, he was waiting for it to disappear.

The next morning, Y/N found him sitting on the porch.

“You didn’t sleep.”

JJ shrugged.

“I slept.”

She raised an eyebrow.

The thing about Y/N was that she knew him.

Really knew him.

“That was a terrible lie.”

A small smile tugged at his mouth.

“Yeah, well. I’m out of practice.”

She sat beside him.

For a while, neither of them said anything.

The waves crashed in the distance.

The world kept moving.

But JJ felt stuck.

“I keep thinking about it,” he admitted.

Y/N looked at him.

“JJ…”

“I know you’re okay.”

“You don’t sound like you believe that.”

He swallowed.

“I know you’re okay,” he repeated. “But I keep thinking about how close I was to losing you.”

Her expression softened.

“Hey.”

He looked at her.

“You didn’t lose me.”

JJ looked away.

“But I almost did.”

The honesty surprised even him.

Because JJ wasn’t good at saying things like that.

He was good at jokes.

Good at pretending.

Good at acting like nothing could hurt him.

But Y/N had always been the person who saw through that.

The Pogues noticed too.

Of course they did.

They always noticed.

John B found him fixing things around the Chateau that didn’t need fixing.

“You know the chair was already fine, right?”

JJ kept tightening the screw.

“Yeah.”

“So why are you fixing it?”

JJ shrugged.

“Something to do.”

John B watched him for a second.

“You’re blaming yourself.”

JJ’s hands stopped.

“No.”

“JJ.”

He sighed.

“Maybe.”

John B sat beside him.

“Dude, you love her.”

JJ nodded.

“Yeah.”

“And she loves you.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you acting like you have to earn the right to be here?”

JJ didn’t answer.

Because he didn’t know how.

Because deep down, some part of him still believed that people didn’t stay.

They left.

They got tired.

They realized he was too much.

And Y/N had already proven she was different.

But JJ was still learning how to believe it.

A week later, Y/N caught him doing it again.

Pulling away.

Not texting back.

Making excuses not to come over.

She showed up at the Chateau with her arms crossed.

“Okay.”

JJ looked up.

“Okay what?”

“We’re talking.”

He immediately looked nervous.

“I’m not in trouble, am I?”

She tried not to smile.

“JJ.”

“Sorry.”

She sat down across from him.

“You’ve been acting weird.”

“I’m always weird.”

“More weird.”

That made him laugh quietly.

But the smile disappeared quickly.

“I just don’t want to mess things up.”

Y/N’s expression changed.

“JJ.”

“I mean it.”

He looked down.

“Every good thing I get, I somehow ruin.”

Her heart hurt hearing him say it.

Because JJ said things like that so casually.

Like they were facts.

Like he had already decided who he was.

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

“I hurt you.”

“We had an argument.”

“And then you got hurt.”

“JJ.”

His eyes met hers.

“I know what happened wasn’t because of me,” she said gently. “But I know what you’re doing.”

“What?”

“You’re trying to punish yourself.”

He went quiet.

Because she was right.

And he hated that she was right.

That night, they sat on the beach.

The same beach where they had spent countless nights laughing.

Talking.

Dreaming about futures neither of them were sure they’d have.

“I’m scared,” JJ finally admitted.

Y/N looked at him.

“Of what?”

He stared out at the water.

“That one day I’m going to wake up and you’re not going to be there.”

Her face softened.

“JJ.”

“I know it doesn’t make sense.”

“It does.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

She shook her head.

“It does. Because you’ve lost people before.”

JJ looked down.

The silence said enough.

Y/N moved closer.

“But I’m not them.”

He looked at her.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

That question stayed with him.

Because maybe he didn’t.

Maybe loving someone wasn’t just believing they loved you.

Maybe it was believing you were worth staying for.

The next morning, JJ did something he wasn’t used to doing.

He asked for help.

Not because someone forced him.

Not because everything fell apart.

Because he wanted to be better.

For himself.

For Y/N.

For the future he never thought he’d get.

And slowly, things changed.

He stopped apologizing every time she laughed too loudly.

He stopped assuming every quiet moment meant she was leaving.

He started telling her when he was scared instead of pretending he wasn’t.

And Y/N started reminding him that she wasn’t going anywhere.

A month later, they sat on the hood of JJ’s truck watching the sunset.

“You know,” Y/N said, “you’re actually getting better at this whole communication thing.”

JJ looked offended.

“Actually?”

She laughed.

“Don’t ruin the moment.”

He smiled.

Then he reached for her hand.

Not because he was afraid she’d disappear.

Not because he needed proof she was there.

Just because he wanted to.

And for JJ Maybank, that was a bigger victory than anyone realized.

Because for the first time in a long time…

he wasn’t just holding on because he was scared of losing something.

The thing about loving someone like JJ Maybank was that it was never quiet.

It was messy.

It was late-night drives with the windows down and music too loud. It was laughing until your stomach hurt. It was knowing exactly when he was lying because he’d scratch the back of his neck or avoid eye contact.

It was also arguments.

Big ones.

The kind where two people who cared too much ended up saying things they didn’t mean.

And tonight was one of those nights.

The road was almost empty, the last bits of sunlight disappearing behind the trees as JJ stood beside his truck, running a hand through his hair.

“You don’t get it,” he said.

Y/N stared at him, hurt flashing across her face.

“No, JJ. I do get it. That’s the problem.”

His eyebrows pulled together.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I know you.”

The words hit harder than she intended.

JJ looked away.

Because she was right.

She knew him better than most people did.

She knew when his jokes were hiding something. She knew when his anger was really fear. She knew when he was pretending he didn’t care.

And maybe that was why this hurt so much.

“You think I don’t care,” JJ said quietly.

“I think you act like you don’t care.”

His expression changed.

Just slightly.

But she noticed.

“You think I don’t care about you?”

“I think you’re scared to.”

The silence afterward was worse than yelling.

JJ swallowed.

“Y/N…”

“No.” She shook her head. “Because every time things get serious, you push me away. Every single time.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?”

JJ didn’t answer.

And somehow, that hurt more.

Y/N took a step back.

“I need space.”

His face softened immediately.

“Wait.”

She shook her head.

“I’m serious, JJ. I need a minute.”

“Y/N, don’t just walk away when you’re upset.”

The irony of the words would haunt him later.

But she didn’t hear it that way.

She heard it as another fight.

Another thing she had to defend herself about.

So she turned around and started walking.

“Y/N.”

She ignored him.

“Y/N, please.”

The anger in her chest was louder than his voice.

She just needed a second.

A second to breathe.

A second to stop feeling like she was fighting for someone who didn’t know how to let himself be loved.

Then everything changed.

JJ didn’t remember the next few moments clearly.

He remembered the sound.

He remembered calling her name.

He remembered his entire body going cold.

And then he remembered running.

“Y/N!”

His voice sounded unfamiliar.

Panic.

Pure panic.

The same girl who had been yelling at him seconds ago was suddenly the only thing in the world that mattered.

The argument disappeared.

The frustration disappeared.

Everything disappeared.

Except her.

“Hey,” JJ said, dropping beside her. His hands shook as he reached for hers. “Hey, look at me.”

His voice broke.

“Please.”

For once, JJ Maybank had no joke.

No sarcastic comment.

No fake smile.

Just fear.

“I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m right here.”

By the time the ambulance arrived, JJ was still there.

John B had to physically pull him back.

“JJ.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“Dude, you have to let them help her.”

JJ looked at him.

And John B immediately understood.

This wasn’t just fear.

This was guilt.

“I told her not to walk away,” JJ whispered.

John B’s expression softened.

“JJ…”

“I told her.”

He looked down.

“The last thing I said to her was part of a fight.”

John B put a hand on his shoulder.

“You love her.”

JJ shook his head.

“That’s the problem.”

“What?”

JJ’s eyes filled with tears he refused to let fall.

“I love her, and I still hurt her.”

The hospital waiting room had never felt so quiet.

Usually, the Pogues were loud.

They filled every room they walked into.

But tonight, nobody knew what to say.

Kiara sat beside JJ, watching him stare at the same spot on the floor for almost an hour.

“JJ.”

Nothing.

“JJ, talk to me.”

“I should’ve stopped her.”

Kiara sighed.

“You can’t do that.”

“Yes, I can.”

“No.”

JJ finally looked at her.

Kiara’s eyes were red too.

“You don’t get to blame yourself for everything.”

JJ laughed quietly.

“Kind of my thing.”

“Yeah,” Kiara said. “And it’s exhausting.”

That almost made him smile.

Almost.

“She was mad because she cares,” Kiara continued. “You know that, right?”

JJ looked away.

“She shouldn’t have to care this much.”

Kiara frowned.

“JJ.”

“What?”

“She chooses you.”

The words hit him harder than anything else.

Because that was the thing JJ never understood.

People leaving made sense to him.

People staying didn’t.

When the doctor finally came out, everyone stood.

“She’s awake,” they said.

JJ let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“Can I see her?”

A few minutes later, he walked into the room.

And there she was.

Tired.

Bruised.

But there.

Alive.

His chest tightened.

“Hey,” she whispered.

JJ sat beside her.

“Hey.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Y/N looked at him.

“I’m sorry.”

JJ immediately shook his head.

“No.”

“But—”

“No.”

His voice cracked.

“I don’t want you apologizing.”

She looked confused.

“Why?”

“Because I’m the one who should be.”

The room went quiet.

JJ looked down at their hands.

“I was angry.”

“I was too.”

“But I should’ve followed you.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“I should’ve known.”

Y/N squeezed his hand.

“JJ.”

He looked at her.

“I don’t want us to keep hurting each other because we’re scared.”

That sentence broke something in him.

Because she was right.

They were both scared.

She was scared he didn’t care enough.

He was scared he cared too much.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Y/N’s eyes softened.

“I love you too.”

JJ took a shaky breath.

“I don’t know how to do this right.”

She smiled faintly.

“Neither do I.”

A small laugh escaped him.

“Great.”

“Great.”

They sat there quietly for a while.

Not because everything was magically fixed.

It wasn’t.

There would still be arguments.

There would still be moments where JJ pushed too hard and Y/N got too stubborn.

But they would learn.

They would try.

Because this time, they both knew something they hadn’t before.

Walking away was easy.

Coming back was the part that mattered.

A few days later, the Pogues sat on the beach.

Y/N was wrapped in a blanket while JJ sat beside her, his shoulder pressed against hers.

John B looked between them.

“So are you two finally done being dramatic?”

Y/N laughed.

“No.”

JJ nodded.

“Definitely not.”

Kiara rolled her eyes.

“Of course not.”

Pope smiled.

“Honestly, I’d be worried if you were normal.”

JJ looked at Y/N.

For once, he didn’t feel like he was waiting for something bad to happen.

For once, he let himself believe she was staying.

And when she leaned against him, he didn’t pull away.

The morning after Y/N came back didn’t feel like a fresh start.

It felt like the calm before something ugly.

Word traveled fast on the island—especially when it involved a Cameron.

By noon, JJ already knew.

Rafe knew she was gone.

And worse?

He was looking for her.

“You’re not leaving this house,” JJ said, pacing the length of the Chateau like a caged animal.

Y/N sat on the couch, knees pulled to her chest, JJ’s hoodie swallowing her frame. The bruises were darker now, blooming across her skin like something alive.

“I can’t just hide forever,” she said quietly.

JJ stopped. “Yeah? And what’s your plan then, huh? Walk right back to him so he can finish the job?”

Her jaw tightened. “That’s not fair.”

“No, what’s not fair is him putting his hands on you,” JJ snapped.

The room went still.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. “I just—” His voice dropped. “I just got you back. I’m not losing you again.”

That softened her.

“I’m not going back to him,” she said. “Ever.”

JJ searched her face, like he needed to believe it completely.

“Good,” he muttered.

They didn’t have to wait long.

The engine of a truck roared outside, tires crunching gravel.

Everyone froze.

JJ’s head snapped toward the door. “Stay here.”

“JJ—”

“Stay.”

But she was already standing.

Rafe didn’t bother knocking.

He shoved the door open like he owned the place, sunglasses on, jaw tight, rage barely contained.

“Where is she?” he demanded.

JJ stepped forward immediately, putting himself between Rafe and the rest of them.

“You’ve got about five seconds to get off our property,” JJ said coldly.

Rafe laughed under his breath. “You really think this is your fight?”

“It became my fight the second you touched her.”

That did it.

Rafe’s gaze flicked past JJ—

and landed on Y/N.

For a moment, something twisted in his expression. Not guilt.

Possession.

“There you are,” he said, voice low. “You really thought you could just disappear?”

Y/N felt her chest tighten, but she didn’t move back.

“I didn’t disappear,” she said. “I left.”

Rafe scoffed, taking a step forward.

JJ blocked him instantly, shoving him back. “I said don’t.”

Rafe’s smile dropped. “You think you can protect her?” he said quietly. “You? You can’t even protect yourself, Maybank.”

JJ didn’t flinch. “Try me.”

The tension snapped.

Rafe swung first.

It was chaos.

Fists. Shouting. Wood splintering as they slammed into the side of the Chateau.

JJ fought like he had something to lose.

Because he did.

Rafe fought like he had something to prove.

Because he always did.

“Stop!” Y/N shouted, but neither of them listened.

Rafe landed a hit that split JJ’s lip, and something in her broke.

“RAFE, STOP!”

Her voice cut through everything.

Both of them froze.

Breathing hard. Blood on their hands. Eyes locked.

Y/N stepped forward slowly, placing herself between them.

“Look at me,” she said, her voice shaking but firm.

Rafe’s attention shifted to her instantly.

“This isn’t love,” she said. “This isn’t protection. This is control. And I’m done being yours.”

His expression darkened. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“I just did.”

Silence.

For a second, it looked like he might explode.

But then—

he laughed.

Cold. Empty.

“You think this is over?” he said. “You think you can just walk away from me and everything’s fine?”

Y/N didn’t answer.

She just reached back—

and grabbed JJ’s hand.

That was the answer.

Rafe’s jaw clenched so hard it looked like it might crack.

“This isn’t finished,” he said quietly.

Then he turned, got in his truck, and drove off.

The air felt different after he left.

Lighter.

But not safe.

Not yet.

JJ wiped blood from his lip, wincing. “Guy hits like a truck,” he muttered.

Y/N let out a shaky breath. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah,” he said. “But I’m your idiot.”

She huffed a small, broken laugh—and then she was crying again.

JJ’s expression softened instantly. “Hey, hey—come here.”

He pulled her into his arms, careful of her injuries, holding her tight like he could keep the whole world out.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured into her hair. “He doesn’t get to touch you. Ever again.”

She nodded against him. “I know.”

And for the first time since she walked back into the Chateau—

she actually believed it.

That night, JJ didn’t leave her side.

Not when she fell asleep.

Not when she woke up from a nightmare.

Not even when the house went quiet and the weight of everything settled in.

Because this wasn’t over.

Not with Rafe.

Not with everything he’d done.

But this time?

Y/N always swore she’d never turn her back on the Pogues.

The Chateau was more than a place—it was home. It was laughter echoing through broken walls, late nights on the dock, reckless plans that somehow always worked out. And JJ… JJ was the heart of it all for her. Loud, impulsive, infuriating—and the only person who ever really saw her.

Which made it all the worse when she left.

No one understood it. Not Kiara, not Pope, not even John B. But JJ—JJ took it the hardest.

Because she didn’t just leave the Pogues.

She left him.

Rafe Cameron wasn’t just a Kook. He was everything the Pogues hated—money, power, control. And yet somehow, Y/N got pulled into his world. At first, it looked like a dream: parties, expensive clothes, security. But JJ saw through it from the beginning.

“He’s gonna ruin you,” JJ had snapped the night she told them.

“Maybe I don’t want to be saved, JJ,” she shot back.

That was the last real conversation they had.

After that, she stopped coming around. Stopped answering calls. Stopped being Y/N.

And JJ… he stopped asking.

Months passed.

The Pogues tried to move on, but there was always something missing. JJ buried himself in reckless distractions—fights, parties, anything to quiet the ache.

He told himself he hated her.

He told himself he was over it.

He told himself a lot of things that weren’t true.

It was past midnight when the knock came.

Soft. Uneven. Barely there.

JJ almost ignored it.

“Who the hell…” he muttered, dragging himself off the couch.

He yanked the door open—

—and froze.

Y/N stood there, swaying slightly, like the wind might knock her over.

Her face was bruised, lip split, one eye swollen nearly shut. There were dark fingerprints around her wrist, her clothes torn and dirt-streaked.

For a second, JJ didn’t breathe.

“Y/N…?”

She tried to smile.

It didn’t work.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” she whispered.

And then she collapsed.

JJ caught her before she hit the ground.

“Hey—hey, no, no, no—stay with me,” he panicked, lifting her like she weighed nothing. “John B! Kie! Get up!”

The house erupted into chaos.

Kiara grabbed towels, Pope ran for the first aid kit, John B fired off questions no one could answer.

But JJ didn’t say anything.

He just held her.

Carefully. Gently. Like she might break in his hands.

Hours later, the Chateau was quiet again.

Y/N sat on JJ’s bed, wrapped in one of his hoodies, staring at her hands. The bruises looked worse now in the light.

JJ leaned against the wall across from her, arms crossed tight, jaw clenched.

“Did he do that to you?” he asked, voice low.

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t have to.

JJ let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. “I told you,” he said, but it didn’t sound like anger anymore. It sounded like something closer to heartbreak.

“I know,” she whispered.

Silence stretched between them.

“I thought…” she started, voice cracking. “I thought I could handle it. That I could change him or—” She laughed weakly. “God, that sounds so stupid out loud.”

JJ shook his head immediately. “No. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Blame yourself for his crap.” His voice sharpened. “That’s on him. Not you.”

She looked up at him then, really looked.

And for the first time in months, JJ wasn’t hiding how he felt.

The anger. The fear.

The relief.

“You still care,” she said softly.

JJ let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well. That was never really the problem, was it?”

Her eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t leave because I stopped caring about you.”

“Then why?” he shot back, pushing off the wall. “Because from where I was standing, it looked like you chose him. Every single time.”

She flinched.

“I was scared, JJ,” she admitted. “Of… this. Of how much you matter to me. You make everything feel so real, and I didn’t know how to handle that. Rafe was… easier at first. Controlled. Predictable.”

JJ scoffed. “Yeah, real predictable.”

“I was wrong,” she said, voice breaking. “I know that now.”

He stared at her for a long moment.

Then softer, quieter—

“You should’ve come back sooner.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks. “I didn’t think I could.”

JJ crossed the room in two steps.

“You always could,” he said, gently tilting her chin up so she’d look at him. “You’re a Pogue. That doesn’t just go away.”

“And you?” she asked, barely above a whisper. “Do I still have you?”

That question hit harder than anything else.

JJ swallowed, his thumb brushing carefully against her uninjured cheek.

“You never didn’t,” he admitted.

And that was it.

No big moment. No grand speech.

Just the truth, finally out in the open.

Y/N leaned forward first, hesitating only slightly before resting her forehead against his. JJ didn’t pull away.

Didn’t even think about it.

“Stay,” he murmured.

She nodded. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The next morning, the Pogues were already making plans.

Not reckless ones.

Not stupid ones.

But the kind that meant something.

Because this time, it wasn’t about treasure.

It was about protecting one of their own.

And JJ?

JJ wasn’t letting her go again.

Not to Rafe.

Not to fear.

The storm came out of nowhere.

One minute you were on the phone with JJ, telling him you'd be home in an hour, that the medevac flight was routine, that you'd bring him dinner from the Wreck.

The next minute, the plane was going down.

You don't remember the crash. Just the screaming. The turbulence. The world tilting, spinning, falling.

Then silence.

You woke up to pain.

Sharp, burning, crushing pain in your legs. You tried to move, couldn't. Something heavy was pinning you down.

You opened your eyes.

Darkness. Smoke. The smell of jet fuel and blood.

You were under the wing of the plane. Trapped. Crushed.

"Help," you croaked. Your voice was barely a whisper. "Someone— help."

No answer.

Just the sound of the storm raging above, the rain pounding against the metal, the distant sound of sirens.

You tried to move again.

White-hot pain shot through your legs. You gasped, tears streaming down your face.

"Help," you said again, louder this time. "Please."

JJ found you three hours later.

He'd been at the crash site since the beginning, helping search, helping pull survivors from the wreckage. He didn't know you were on the plane. Didn't know you were hurt.

Until he heard your voice.

"Y/N?"

His voice was shocked. Disbelieving.

He dropped to his knees beside you, hands shaking as he touched your face, your hair, your chest.

"Hey," he said, voice rough. "Hey, I'm here. I've got you."

You looked up at him, eyes wide with terror. "JJ."

"I know." He swallowed hard, throat tight. "I know, baby. I'm gonna get you out. I promise."

You shook your head. "I can't— I can't move. My legs— they're—"

"Shh." He pressed his forehead to yours. "Don't. Don't think about that. Just look at me. Just stay with me."

You nodded, tears streaming down your face.

JJ pulled out his radio, voice shaking as he called for help. "I need a medevac. Now. I've got a survivor. Critical injuries. Leg trauma. Possible crush syndrome."

He dropped the radio and took your hand.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said. "I'm right here. I'm not leaving you."

You squeezed his hand, hard. "Don't leave me."

"Never."

The rescue team arrived ten minutes later.

They worked fast, efficient, cutting away the metal, clearing the debris, trying to free you without causing more damage.

JJ stayed by your side the whole time, holding your hand, talking to you, keeping you anchored.

"You're doing good," he said. "So good. Just a little longer. That's it."

You nodded, but your eyes were closing. You were so tired.

"Stay with me," JJ said, voice sharp. "Y/N, stay with me."

You opened your eyes. "I'm here."

"Good." He kissed your forehead. "Good."

They got you out after an hour.

But your legs were Crushed beyond repair.

The doctors said you'd need amputation. Both legs. Above the knee.

JJ didn't leave your side.

He held your hand when they told you. He held you when you cried. He held you when you screamed.

"I can't," you whispered, over and over. "I can't do this."

"Yes, you can." JJ's voice was firm. "You're the strongest person I know. You can do this."

"I don't want to."

"I know." He kissed your hair. "But you will. And I'll be here every step of the way."

The recovery was hard.

Harder than anything you'd ever done.

Physical therapy. Prosthetics. Learning to walk again. Learning to live.

JJ was there for all of it.

He held your hand when you fell. He cheered when you stood. He loved you when you hated yourself.

"You're beautiful," he said, one night, after a particularly brutal day. "You hear me? You're beautiful."

You looked at him, eyes wet. "I'm broken."

"No." He shook his head. "You're not broken. You're healing. And healing is ugly. But you're doing it."

You leaned into him. "I don't know how to do this."

"Yes, you do." He kissed your forehead. "One step at a time. That's all. One step at a time."

You didn't get your legs back.

But you got something else.

You got JJ.

And he wasn't going anywhere.

Not after the crash.

Not after the amputation.

Not after anything.

He loved you.

All of you.

Even the parts that were missing.

Especially the parts that were missing.

The night air was thick with humidity and the smell of jet fuel.

The tarmac stretched out in front of you, dark and endless, the only light coming from the distant glow of the hangar and the stars above. You were standing next to Peterkin, hands raised, heart pounding so hard you thought it might burst out of your chest.

JJ was on the ground.

He'd been shot. Or maybe he was just down. You couldn't tell from where you were standing, couldn't see past the terror clouding your vision.

And Rafe was pointing a gun at you.

"Drop it," he said, voice cold, steady. The gun in his hand didn't waver. "Drop the damn phone, Y/N."

You shook your head, fingers tightening around the device. "No. I'm not— I'm calling for help."

"There's no help coming." Rafe stepped closer, eyes hard, jaw tight. "Just drop it. Now."

"Rafe, please," Peterkin said, voice calm but strained. "This doesn't have to end like this."

"It ended the second you decided to betray me." Rafe's gaze flicked to you. "Both of you."

Your hands were shaking. The phone felt heavy, useless. You could hear JJ groaning on the ground behind you, could hear the distant sound of sirens—too far away, too late.

"Y/N," Rafe said again. "Last chance."

You looked at Peterkin. He gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod.

Do it.

You dropped the phone.

It clattered against the tarmac, screen cracking.

Rafe smiled, but it wasn't a real smile. It was cold. Calculated.

"Good girl," he said.

Then he raised the gun.

You didn't see him move. Didn't see his finger tighten on the trigger.

You just felt it.

A sharp, burning impact in your side. Like being punched with a fist made of fire.

You gasped, stumbling back, hands flying to the wound. Warmth spread between your fingers. Blood.

"Y/N!"

Peterkin's voice was distant. Panicked.

You hit the ground hard, the tarmac rough against your back, the sky spinning above you.

Rafe was gone. Running. Disappearing into the night.

Peterkin was beside you now, hands pressing against your side, trying to stop the bleeding.

"Stay with me," he was saying. "Stay with me, Y/N. Come on."

You tried to speak. Couldn't. Your throat was full of blood, your lungs full of fire.

JJ.

You turned your head, vision blurry, and saw him.

He was crawling toward you, one hand pressed to his own wound, face pale, eyes wide with terror.

"Y/N," he choked out. "No. No, no, no—"

He reached you, hands shaking as he touched your face, your hair, your chest.

"Stay with me," he begged, voice breaking. "Please stay with me. I can't— I can't lose you."

You tried to smile. Tried to tell him you loved him.

But your lips wouldn't move.

The world was getting darker. Quieter. The sirens were louder now, closer, but it felt like you were drifting away from them.

"I love you," JJ whispered, tears streaming down his face. "I love you so much. Don't you leave me. Don't you dare leave me."

You wanted to stay. God, you wanted to stay.

But the darkness was pulling, and you were too tired to fight it.

Your eyes closed.

And the last thing you felt was JJ's tears on your face.

You woke up in the hospital.

White ceiling. Beeping machines. The smell of antiseptic and sterile sheets.

JJ was in the chair beside your bed, head in his hands, still in the same clothes from the tarmac. He looked like he hadn't slept. Hadn't moved.

You moved your hand.

He looked up.

His eyes were red. His face was pale. His hands were shaking.

"You're awake," he said. His voice was rough. Exhausted.

"Yeah." Your throat was dry. "What happened?"

"You got shot." JJ stood up and moved closer, hands hovering like he wanted to touch you but wasn't sure if he was allowed. "Rafe shot you. You almost died, Y/N."

You closed your eyes. "Rafe."

"He's gone," JJ said. "Cops are looking. He's not getting away with this."

You nodded slowly.

Then you reached out and took JJ's hand.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

"Don't." He squeezed your hand, hard. "Don't apologize. You're alive. That's all that matters."

"I was so scared."

"I know." He leaned down and pressed his forehead to yours. "But you're here. You're with me. And I'm not letting you go."

You looked at him. Really looked.

His eyes were red. His hair was a mess. His hands were shaking.

And he was still here.

"I love you," you said.

JJ smiled, small and broken.

"I love you too," he whispered. "So much. Don't you ever do that again."

"I'll try."

"Good."

He kissed you, soft and sweet.

And for the first time since the tarmac, you didn't feel afraid.

You felt safe.

You felt loved.

The sun was just starting to peek through the curtains when JJ woke up.

It was a slow, lazy kind of waking—the kind where you're warm and comfortable and don't want to move. He was on his side, facing you, one arm draped over your waist, your back pressed against his chest.

You were breathing slow and steady, hair fanned out across the pillow, face peaceful in a way JJ hadn't seen in weeks.

He smiled, just a little, and pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

"Hey," he whispered. "Time to wake up, sleepyhead."

You didn't move.

JJ chuckled softly. "Come on. I made pancakes. Well, I'm gonna make pancakes. But you gotta get up first."

Still nothing.

He shifted closer, nuzzling into your hair. "Y/N. Baby. Wake up."

Your skin was cold.

JJ froze.

He pulled back slightly, hand moving to your face. Cold. Too cold.

"Y/N?"

His voice was sharper now. Panicked.

He shook your shoulder, gentle at first, then harder. "Y/N, come on. Wake up."

Nothing.

Your chest wasn't moving.

JJ's heart stopped.

"No," he whispered. "No, no, no—"

He rolled you onto your back, hands shaking as he pressed them to your neck, searching for a pulse.

Nothing.

"No," he said again, louder this time. "No, you don't— you don't get to do this. You don't get to leave me."

He started CPR.

Hands on your chest, pressing down hard, counting under his breath. Thirty compressions. Then breaths. Again. Again. Again.

"Come on," he begged, voice cracking. "Come on, Y/N. Please. Please come back to me."

His arms were burning. His throat was raw. His vision was blurry from tears he didn't realize he was crying.

"Please," he whispered. "Please don't leave me. I can't— I can't do this without you."

He kept going.

Compressions. Breath. Compressions. Breath.

"Please," he sobbed. "Please. Please. Please."

You woke up to the sound of his voice.

Groaning, confused, chest aching like you'd been run over by a truck.

"JJ?" you croaked.

He froze.

Looked down at you.

His eyes were red. His face was wet. His hands were still on your chest.

"You're—" His voice broke. "You're awake."

"Yeah." You coughed, wincing. "What— what happened?"

JJ didn't answer. He just pulled you into his arms, holding you so tight you could barely breathe.

"I thought I lost you," he whispered, face buried in your hair. "I thought— I thought you were gone."

You hugged him back, confused but not pulling away. "I'm here. I'm okay."

"You scared me," he said, voice shaking. "You scared me so bad."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He pulled back, hands on your face, searching your eyes. "Just— just don't do that again. Don't leave me."

"I'm not going anywhere."

JJ kissed you then, desperate and relieved and so full of love it made your chest ache.

"I love you," he whispered against your lips. "I love you so much."

"I love you too."

He held you for a long time after that, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go.

And you let him.

Because you knew.

You'd never leave him.

Not if you could help it.

Not if he needed you.

Title: Gravity

The depression didn't come like a storm. It came like fog.

Slow, creeping, silent. It wrapped around your limbs until moving felt like wading through wet sand. It filled your lungs until breathing felt like a chore. It muffled your thoughts until the world sounded like it was underwater.

You stopped getting out of bed.

At first, it was just one day. Then two. Then a week.

The curtains stayed drawn. The dishes piled up. The phone went unanswered. You existed in the grey space between sleeping and waking, too tired to move, too heavy to care.

JJ was the only one who knew.

He'd stopped asking if you were okay. He knew you weren't. He knew you wouldn't answer even if you were.

So he stopped asking.

And he started showing up.

He came in on a Tuesday morning with a key you didn't remember giving him.

You were lying on your side, staring at the wall, wrapped in a blanket that smelled like dust and old tears. You hadn't showered in days. Hadn't eaten. Hadn't moved unless you had to.

JJ didn't say anything at first.

He just opened the curtains, letting the light flood in. You flinched, squeezing your eyes shut.

"Sorry," he murmured. "But you need to see the sun."

He walked over to the bed and sat on the edge. Reached out, brushed his fingers over your hair. It was greasy. Matted. You hadn't brushed it in days.

"Come on," he said softly. "Up."

You didn't move.

"Y/N." His voice was gentle but firm. "You're getting up. Today."

"I can't," you whispered. Your voice was hoarse from disuse.

"Yes, you can." He pulled the blanket back. "I'm helping you."

You wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him to leave. Wanted to tell him you weren't worth the effort.

But you didn't have the energy.

So you let him pull you up.

The bathroom was cold.

JJ turned on the water, tested it with his wrist, adjusted it until it was warm. Then he helped you out of your clothes.

You didn't fight him. Didn't speak. Just stood there, numb, while he guided you into the shower.

The water hit your skin and you flinched. It felt too real. Too much.

JJ didn't leave. He stayed outside the curtain, talking softly, keeping you anchored.

"You're doing good," he said. "Just let it wash over you. That's it."

He handed you the shampoo. Helped you wash your hair when your arms got too tired. Rinsed it out, careful not to get water in your eyes.

When you were done, he wrapped you in a towel and helped you out.

You stood in front of the mirror and didn't recognize the person staring back.

Pale. Gaunt. Eyes hollow.

You looked away.

JJ gently turned your face back. "You're beautiful," he said. "Even now. Especially now."

You didn't believe him. But you didn't argue.

He dressed you in clean clothes.

Sweatpants. A soft hoodie. Socks. He brushed your hair, gentle, careful not to pull.

You sat on the edge of the bed like a doll, letting him move your arms, lift your legs, tie your shoes.

When he was done, he stepped back and smiled.

"There," he said. "Perfect."

You didn't feel perfect. You felt heavy. Tired. Broken.

But you didn't say anything.

He fed you next.

Toast. Eggs. Juice. Small things, easy to swallow.

You sat at the kitchen table, staring at the plate, stomach tight with something that wasn't quite nausea but wasn't quite hunger either.

"Eat," JJ said, sitting across from you.

You picked up the fork. Put it down.

"I can't."

"You can." He pushed the plate closer. "One bite. That's all. Just one."

You looked at him. At the hope in his eyes. At the love that was so raw it hurt.

So you ate.

One bite. Then another. Then another.

You didn't finish. But you ate half.

JJ smiled like you'd won a prize. "Good," he said. "Really good."

You didn't feel good. But you felt... lighter. A little.

The days blurred together.

JJ came every day. Sometimes twice a day. He opened the curtains. He made you shower. He dressed you. He fed you. He brushed your hair. He held you when you cried. He sat with you when you couldn't move.

He didn't ask you to be better. He just asked you to be here.

And slowly, slowly, you started to be.

One morning, about a month in, you woke up before JJ arrived.

You stared at the ceiling for a long time. The fog was still there, heavy and thick. But it felt... thinner. Like there was a crack in it, just barely, letting a little light through.

You sat up.

Your legs were shaky. Your head was light. But you were up.

You walked to the bathroom. Turned on the shower. Washed your face. Brushed your hair.

When JJ arrived, you were sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of tea in your hands.

He stopped in the doorway, eyes wide.

"You're up," he said.

"Yeah."

"You... you did this?"

You nodded. "I thought... I thought I'd try."

JJ crossed the room in two strides and pulled you into his arms, holding you so tight you could barely breathe.

"I'm proud of you," he whispered. "So proud of you."

You closed your eyes.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn't feel like you were drowning.

You felt like you were floating.

Not healed. Not fixed. But here.

You hadn't eaten in four days.

You told yourself it was fine. That you weren't hungry. That your stomach was just tight, that's all. That you'd eat when you felt ready. When the thought of food didn't make your chest ache with something you couldn't name.

But you weren't ready.

And you were getting weaker.

It happened at the Pogue.

You'd come over to hang out with the guys, to pretend everything was normal, to pretend you weren't slowly disappearing. JJ had been texting you all day, asking if you'd eaten, asking if you were okay.

You'd lied.

You were sitting on the edge of the boat, legs dangling over the water, listening to John B and Pope argue about something stupid. JJ was across from you, watching you with those eyes that saw too much.

"You okay?" he asked, for the third time in ten minutes.

You nodded. "Fine."

"You sure? You look pale."

"I'm fine, JJ."

He didn't look convinced. But he didn't push. Just kept watching you, like he was waiting for you to crack.

You stood up.

The world tilted.

You sat back down quickly, gripping the edge of the boat, heart racing.

"Y/N?" JJ was on his feet now, moving toward you. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." Your voice was shaky. "Just... stood up too fast."

"You haven't eaten, have you?"

It wasn't a question.

You didn't answer.

JJ's face hardened. "Y/N—"

"I'm fine," you said, but your voice was getting weaker. The room was spinning. Your vision was blurring at the edges. "I just need... I just need a minute."

"You need food."

"I need—"

The world went black.

You didn't feel yourself falling.

But JJ caught you.

He grabbed you before you hit the water, arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you back onto the boat. You were limp in his arms, unconscious, skin cold and clammy.

"Y/N!" His voice was shaking. Panicked. "Y/N, come on. Wake up."

John B and Pope were on their feet now, rushing over, asking questions JJ didn't have answers to.

"Is she breathing?"

"Did she hit her head?"

"Should we call 911?"

JJ didn't answer. He just held you, one hand on your chest, feeling the faint, fluttering beat of your heart.

"She hasn't eaten," he said, voice rough. "She hasn't eaten in days."

"Days?" Pope's voice was shocked. "How do you know that?"

"Because I've been watching." JJ's jaw was tight. "Because I've been trying to get her to eat and she won't. She won't."

He looked down at you, pale and still in his arms.

"Come on," he whispered. "Come back to me."

You woke up in the hospital.

White ceiling. Beeping machines. The smell of antiseptic and sterile sheets.

JJ was in the chair beside your bed, head in his hands, still in the same clothes from earlier. He looked like he hadn't slept. Hadn't moved.

You moved your hand.

He looked up.

His eyes were red. His face was pale. His hands were shaking.

"You're awake," he said. His voice was rough. Exhausted.

"Yeah." Your throat was dry. "What happened?"

"You passed out." JJ stood up and moved closer, hands hovering like he wanted to touch you but wasn't sure if he was allowed. "You haven't eaten in four days, Y/N. Four days."

You looked away. "I know."

"Do you?" His voice rose, sharp with fear and anger. "Do you know what that does to your body? Do you know what could've happened? You could've died, Y/N. You could've actually died."

"I didn't."

"This time." He sat back down in the chair, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. "But what about next time? What about the time after that? When do you stop?"

You didn't answer.

You couldn't.

JJ was quiet for a long time. Then he said, "I found you on that bathroom floor once before. Do you remember? You overdosed. You stopped breathing. And I had to bring you back."

You flinched.

"I'm not doing it again," he said. His voice was barely audible. "I'm not losing you to this. Not to drugs. Not to starvation. Not to anything."

You looked at him. Really looked.

His eyes were red. His hair was a mess. His hands were shaking.

And he was still here.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

"I know." He reached over and took your hand. "But sorry doesn't fix this. Sorry doesn't keep you alive."

"I know."

"Then eat."

You looked down at your hands. "I can't."

"Yes, you can."

"JJ—"

"No." He squeezed your hand, hard. "You're not doing this alone anymore. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. And I'm not letting you starve yourself to death."

You didn't answer.

But you didn't pull away.

A nurse came in with a tray of food.

It was small. Just toast, eggs, juice. But it looked like a mountain.

You stared at it. Your stomach turned.

"Eat," JJ said.

"I can't."

"You can." He stood up and moved the tray closer. "I'm not leaving until you do."

"JJ, please—"

"No." His voice was firm. Gentle, but firm. "You want to get better? Start here. One bite. That's all. Just one."

You looked at him. At the fear in his eyes. At the love that was so raw it hurt.

And you picked up the toast.

You didn't eat it all.

But you ate half.

And when you were done, JJ pulled you into his arms, holding you so tight you could barely breathe.

"I'm proud of you," he whispered into your hair. "So proud of you."

You closed your eyes.

And for the first time in days, you didn't feel empty.

You felt full.

Not just in your stomach.

But in your heart.

Because JJ was still here.

You hadn't eaten in three days.

You told yourself it was fine. That you weren't hungry. That your stomach was just upset. That you'd eat later, when you felt better, when the thought of food didn't make your chest tighten with panic.

But JJ knew.

He always knew.

He showed up at your house with a paper bag from the Wreck.

You opened the door and immediately smelled it—fries, salt, grease, the kind of food you'd been avoiding for weeks. Your stomach turned.

"Hey," JJ said, like he hadn't just ambushed you with calories. "You hungry?"

"No," you said automatically. "I'm not—"

"Good." He grinned, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. "Because I got enough for both of us."

"JJ, I'm not—"

"Eat."

He set the bag on your counter and started pulling things out. Fries. A burger. Onion rings. Enough food to feed a small army.

You took a step back. Your heart was racing.

"I can't," you said. Your voice was small. Shaky.

JJ turned to face you. His grin was gone.

"Yes, you can."

"JJ, please."

"No." He crossed his arms. "You haven't eaten in three days, Y/N. I know. I've been watching. And I'm not letting you starve yourself anymore."

"You don't understand."

"I understand that you're killing yourself." His voice was sharp. Angry. But underneath it, you could hear the fear. "I understand that you're so busy hating your body that you're forgetting to keep it alive."

"That's not—"

"Then eat." He pushed the bag toward you. "Prove it. Prove me wrong."

You stared at the food. At the greasy bag, the smell, the calories that felt like poison.

"I can't," you whispered.

JJ's expression softened.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I know you can't. Not on your own."

He reached into the bag and pulled out a fry.

Held it out to you.

"Open."

You shook your head. "JJ—"

"Open."

"Please don't make me."

"I'm not making you." He stepped closer, voice gentle but firm. "I'm helping you. One fry. That's all. Just one."

Your eyes burned. Your hands were shaking.

But you opened your mouth.

JJ fed you the fry.

It tasted like salt and oil and fear. You wanted to spit it out. Wanted to run. Wanted to disappear.

But you swallowed.

"Good," JJ said softly. "Another one."

He fed you another fry. Then another. Then another.

You didn't stop him.

By the time you got through the fries, you were shaking. Not from hunger. From panic. From the feeling of food sitting in your stomach like a weight.

JJ pulled you into his arms, holding you tight, letting you cry into his shirt.

"I hate this," you whispered.

"I know."

"I hate feeling like this."

"I know."

"I don't want to be sick anymore."

"You're not sick." He kissed the top of your head. "You're healing. And healing sucks. But you're doing it."

You closed your eyes.

"Stay," you said. "Please stay."

"I'm not going anywhere."

He held you while you cried. While you shook. While the panic slowly, slowly faded.

And when you were ready, he fed you another fry.

You didn't get better overnight.

Some days you ate. Some days you didn't. Some days JJ won. Some days the anorexia did.

But JJ never gave up.

He showed up every day with food. With patience. With hands that held you when you cried and a voice that told you you were worth more than a number on a scale.

And slowly, you started to believe him.

One night, about a month in, you were sitting on the couch with JJ, a plate of pasta in your lap.

You hadn't finished it. But you'd eaten half.

JJ glanced over, eyes soft.

"You good?"

You nodded. "Yeah."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." You looked at him, small smile tugging at your lips. "Thanks. For not giving up on me."

JJ reached over and took your hand.

"Never," he said. "You're worth fighting for, Y/N. Every meal. Every bite. Every damn day."

You leaned into him.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt full.

Title: Salt in the Wound

The doctor's office smelled like antiseptic and bad news.

You sat on the edge of the exam table, legs swinging slightly, fingers picking at a loose thread on your jeans. JJ was in the chair beside you, one leg bouncing restlessly, eyes fixed on the door like he expected it to burst open any second.

He'd been like this since you walked in. Jittery. Anxious. Trying to make jokes that fell flat.

"It's probably nothing," he said, for the tenth time. "I mean, you're young. You're healthy. You eat like a bird. A very picky, picky bird."

You smiled, but it didn't reach your eyes. "JJ."

"What?" He grinned, but it was too wide, too forced. "I'm just saying. Cancer doesn't happen to people like us. We're Pogues. We're immune to that kind of crap."

"JJ," you said again, softer this time.

He stopped talking. Looked at you. Really looked.

And you saw the fear in his eyes.

Dr. Evans walked in with a folder in her hand and a face that told you everything before she even opened her mouth.

She sat down. Took a breath. Said the words.

Stage 4.

Aggressive.

Not a lot of time.

You didn't hear the rest. You just heard the clock on the wall ticking, loud and steady, counting down seconds you didn't have anymore.

You looked at JJ.

He was staring at the doctor, face pale, mouth slightly open, like he'd been punched in the gut.

"That's... that's not... " He shook his head, like he could dislodge the words if he just moved fast enough. "There's gotta be a mistake. You said stage 4, but that's... that's like... "

"Terminal," you finished for him.

Your voice sounded flat. Distant. Like it belonged to someone else.

JJ flinched like you'd slapped him.

"Don't," he whispered. "Don't say that."

"It's true, JJ."

"Don't."

He stood up so fast the chair scraped against the floor. Paced to the window, hands in his hair, shaking.

"This is bullshit," he said to the glass. "This is... she's nineteen. She's supposed to... she's supposed to have her whole life."

"JJ," you said.

He turned to face you, eyes wet, jaw tight. "We'll fight it. We'll... there's treatments. Clinical trials. Something. We'll find something."

You looked at Dr. Evans. She was watching you with sad, sympathetic eyes.

"There are options," she said carefully. "But the prognosis is... "

"We don't need prognosis," JJ cut in, voice sharp. "We need a miracle. So give us one."

The doctor was quiet for a long time.

Then she said, "I'm sorry."

You didn't cry in the car.

You didn't cry when JJ drove too fast back to the Pogue, knuckles white on the wheel, jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle jumping.

You didn't cry when he parked the car and just sat there, staring at the dashboard like it had answers.

You didn't cry until he reached over and took your hand.

"Hey," he said, voice rough. "Hey, look at me."

You looked at him.

His eyes were red. His hair was a mess. His hands were shaking.

And he was still here.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, like he could read your thoughts. "I don't care how long you have. I don't care what the doctor said. I'm not leaving you."

"JJ," you whispered. "You don't have to—"

"Shut up." He squeezed your hand, hard. "You don't get to tell me what I have to do. I'm staying. End of discussion."

You wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him he deserved better. That he shouldn't waste his time on someone who was already gone.

But the words wouldn't come.

So you just leaned over and cried into his shoulder.

And JJ held you while you fell apart.

The Pogues found out two days later.

Sarah was the first to cry. She hugged you so tight you could barely breathe, tears soaking into your shirt, whispering "I'm sorry" over and over like it could fix something.

Pope didn't say anything at first. Just sat there, staring at his hands, looking like he was trying to calculate the odds, the statistics, the impossible math of it all.

John B was angry. You could see it in the way he paced, the way his hands clenched into fists, the way he kept looking at JJ like he wanted to punch him for not being able to fix this.

But JJ didn't leave your side.

Not when you threw up from the chemo. Not when you lost your hair. Not when you were too weak to stand and he had to carry you from the bed to the couch.

He was there.

Always there.

One night, about a month into treatment, you woke up in the middle of the night to find JJ sitting on the edge of the bed, watching you.

"What are you doing?" you whispered.

He didn't answer right away. Just reached out and brushed his fingers over your bald head, gentle, like you were made of glass.

"Thinking," he said finally.

"About what?"

He was quiet for a long time. Then he said, "About how much I hate this."

You laughed, but it was weak. Broken. "Yeah. Me too."

JJ leaned down and pressed his forehead to yours.

"I love you," he whispered. "I love you so much it hurts."

You closed your eyes.

"I love you too."

"Good." He kissed you, soft and sweet. "Because I'm not done with you yet. Not by a long shot."

You smiled, small and tired.

"Okay," you said. "Okay."

JJ kissed you again.

And for a little while, the cancer didn't matter.

For a little while, it was just you and him and the salt in the air and the promise of tomorrow, however many tomorrows you had left.

You didn't get better.

But you didn't give up either.

You fought. Every day. Every treatment. Every moment of pain and nausea and fear.

And JJ fought with you.

He drove you to appointments. He held your hair back when you threw up. He held you when you cried. He made you laugh when you didn't want to.

He loved you when it was hard. When you were angry. When you were scared. When you were barely there.

And when the end came, he was there for that too.

He held your hand as your breathing slowed. Kissed your forehead as your eyes closed. Whispered "I love you" as your heart stopped.

And even after you were gone, he stayed.

Because he'd promised.

y n routledge x jj

y n x jj enemies to lovers confession