In which a Kook gets in the middle of a Pogue mess.
ADVENTURE, ROMANCE, SACRIFICE, FRIENDSHIP.
{slowburn}
jj maybank x female oc
(Season 1 - Season 4)
Outer Banks - JJ Maybank fanfiction. I don't own anything related to Outer Banks. I only own my ch...
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As soon as they made it to a safe enough distance, the car rolled to a stop beside a small roadside shop with cracked walls and a faded sign swinging in the breeze. They needed to fill up the oil and grab some supplies—groceries, water, anything they could carry. They still had a long stretch ahead, and the desert sun was showing no signs of mercy.
Avery watched JJ as he finished with the pump, his movements just a bit too tight. Sweat clung to his temple, and there was a stiffness to the way he stood—as if the wound in his side was still tugging at him.
"So, JJ..." she started softly, breaking the stillness between them.
He sniffled once, rubbing the back of his arm across his nose before glancing up at her. His eyes were red—not from crying, but dust and sun and exhaustion had worn into all of them.
"You know," she continued, her voice light but laced with tension, "when we said no more dangerous stuff and all... Don't you think it might've been a little dangerous to jump on him like that? He was actively shooting a gun, J."
JJ pressed his lips into a flat line, looking away as he shook his head, almost like he was replaying the moment again in his mind.
"It was dangerous," he admitted. "But it was either that or they got shot. John B. Sarah. I had to do something."
Avery huffed, folding her arms across her chest, her eyes narrowing with a mix of frustration and fear. Of course she understood. That wasn't the problem.
"Doesn't mean I have to like it," she muttered, watching as a small, amused smirk tugged at the corner of JJ's mouth.
"Don't laugh at me," she warned. "He was holding a gun, JJ."
"Not anymore, though." He turned away, casually walking toward the vendor like they were just shopping on a sunny afternoon. His hand brushed over the gun now tucked into the waistband of his jeans—a silent reminder of how real things had gotten. "Live a little."
Avery rolled her eyes, exasperated. "Really? J, this is what I'm talking about." Her voice dropped, losing the teasing tone. "I'm just scared your luck's gonna run out one day."
He didn't answer. Not right away. He just paid for the oil and walked back, the weight of her words trailing after him like dust in the wind.
They were back on the road soon after, the tires crunching over dry gravel as the landscape unfolded around them. The Moroccan heat pressed down like a heavy hand, dry and relentless. The sun blazed high overhead, making the metal of the car hot to the touch and turning the air into a shimmering haze.
The road snaked past an old stone well, and Pope leaned forward from the backseat, pointing out the window.
"Hey, that looks like a good place to grab some water," he said. His voice was hoarse, like the words were scraping up from a sandpaper throat.
