#outerbanksfluff

“Hold You Like This” —JJ Maybank x Reader —Hurt/Comfort, Angst with Fluff

📌 This is a work of fiction written by me. Reposts, copying or translations without credit is not allowed. Please be kind — creators deserve respect. 💌 — Warnings: Mentions of parental abuse, visible bruises, emotional vulnerability, gentle physical care, soft language

The steam rose from the hot tub, curling through the cool night air like a whispered secret. Around us, the backyard was dark and quiet except for the soft hum of the jets. JJ sat there, water just below his shoulders, muscles tense beneath the surface, face shadowed in the dim glow of the patio lights.

I slipped in beside him without a word, letting the warmth wash over me. The silence between us wasn’t awkward; it was the kind that filled with everything unspoken but deeply understood.

JJ’s eyes were fixed somewhere beyond the edge of the tub, distant like he was looking for something he could barely name. After a long moment, his voice came out, low and rough.

“I bought this for them.” His hand traced the rim of the tub slowly, deliberately. “For my family. So they’d have something good. Something to come home to.”

I turned toward him, catching the way his jaw clenched tight, like he was holding back a storm. The bruises on his ribs peeked from beneath the water—deep purples and yellows, angry marks left by a fight that didn’t just hurt his body but seemed to weigh on his soul.

“You don’t have to do everything alone, JJ,” I said gently. “You’ve done so much already.”

He finally met my eyes, dark and stormy. “I’m tough,” he whispered. “I’ve gotta be.”

“I know you are,” I said softly, the words like a balm. “You don’t have to prove it to me.”

He shifted, the water rippling as he moved. “I can take care of myself.”

“You have,” I said. “But that’s not all. You don’t have to. Not with me here.”

JJ’s shoulders dropped just a little, like he was easing down after carrying a weight he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His voice cracked just slightly when he said, “I’m used to doing it alone.”

“And now you’re not,” I told him, reaching out to let my hand hover just above his bruised ribs, careful not to touch too hard, but close enough for him to feel the promise in the space between us. “We take care of each other now. You don’t have to carry it by yourself anymore.”

For a long moment, JJ said nothing. Then he finally let out a breath that sounded like surrender, or relief, or maybe just the exhaustion of fighting so hard all the time.

“I want to be better,” he admitted, voice low, “not just for them, but for me too. But some days, it feels like I’m drowning in all the shit I’ve been through.”

I leaned closer, meeting him fully. “You’re not drowning. Not when I’m here.”

JJ’s eyes flickered, vulnerability breaking through the tough exterior for just a heartbeat. “Why would you stay? Why would you care?”

“Because I see you,” I said simply. “Not just the tough, angry side you show the world. But the part you try to hide. The part that’s scared and tired and still wants to believe in something better.”

He looked at me then, really looked, like he was trying to memorize the shape of my face. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not a burden,” I said firmly. “You’re someone I want to be with. Someone I want to stand beside, no matter what.”

JJ swallowed hard, the muscles in his jaw working. Then slowly, he reached out and took my hand, his fingers warm and steady in mine.

“I’ve always tried to protect the people I care about,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “Sometimes I’m scared I’m not strong enough.”

“You’re stronger than you think,” I assured him. “And you don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

The water rippled as JJ shifted closer, not with words but with a small, unspoken gesture. His hand found mine again, fingers tightening just enough to remind me he was still there—still holding on.

I reached out, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a quiet hug. His body was rigid at first, every muscle tense like he was waiting for the moment to break. But slowly, he leaned into me, resting his head lightly against mine.

“I don’t always know how to let people in,” he murmured, voice barely audible over the jets. “But... I’m trying.”

I pressed a soft kiss to the side of his head. “You don’t have to be perfect at it. Just let me be here.”

Gently, I ran my fingers over the bruises along his ribs—careful, tender. The marks were raw reminders of his father’s fists, but tonight, my touch was a small rebellion against the pain they represented.

“Let me help,” I whispered. “You don’t have to carry all this alone.”

JJ stayed still under my hands, breathing slowing as the warmth of the water and my touch started to ease the tightness in his body. For a moment, the weight he’d been holding so fiercely lifted—not vanished, but shared.

The night wrapped us both in its quiet hush. No promises were made, no grand declarations. Just two people, holding onto each other in the stillness, proving that sometimes strength comes from letting someone else carry part of the load.

And in that steaming glow, JJ didn’t have to be the only one holding up the weight anymore.

My hand lightly rested on JJ’s shoulder, steadying him in the warm water. After a moment, I slid my fingers beneath his arm and squeezed gently. “Let me help.”

He didn’t protest, but the way his muscles tensed told me he was already bracing himself for the pain.

I stood slowly, careful not to pull him too fast. “Ready?” I asked softly.

JJ nodded, but as he lifted himself out of the water, a sharp groan escaped him, low and guttural. His face twisted for just a second—the kind of pain that demands you pause and breathe.

I wrapped my arm around his waist, supporting his weight. “Take it slow. You don’t have to rush.”

He took a shaky breath, pressing his palm against his ribs as if trying to hold the bruises in place. I felt the heat from his skin, uneven and tender under my fingertips.

Together, we moved inch by inch, my hand sliding from his back to his side, careful not to touch the bruises until he was steady on his feet.

When he finally settled on the bench beside the tub, I reached for the healing balm. I warmed it between my palms, then pressed my fingers gently against his ribs where the bruises were darkest.

JJ flinched sharply, a small grunt breaking past his lips, and I stopped immediately, waiting for him to catch his breath.

“Sorry,” I whispered, but he shook his head, eyes clenched shut.

“No—keep going,” he said quietly. “Just… slow.”

I adjusted, pressing lighter, rubbing in slow, circular motions. The skin was tender, swollen beneath my touch, but the balm’s coolness seemed to soothe some of the heat beneath the surface.

JJ exhaled slowly, the tension in his body loosening just a fraction.

I stayed close, my hands gentle but steady. No need for words right then—just the quiet between us.

After a moment, JJ’s eyes found mine, tired but real.

He didn’t say much, just a quiet shake of his head, like he was trying to push something back down.

I gave his shoulder a squeeze. “You don’t have to keep it all inside.”

He swallowed hard but didn’t look away.

He gave a small, tired smile—the kind that’s both grateful and weary all at once. I kept my hands moving, slow and deliberate, tracing over every bruise and scratch, willing to take on some of his pain if only through touch.

When I finished, JJ shifted, his breath hitching as the soreness settled in again. I helped him lie back against the bench, wrapping a towel gently around his shoulders.

“Better?” I asked.

He nodded, though the ache hadn’t vanished. “Yeah. Thanks.”

For a moment, we just sat there—quiet, close, sharing something without words.

And in that stillness, I knew we’d both been holding up more than we thought. But right now, neither of us had to do it alone.

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